Neither Cristen nor Hugh had given him the slightest overt indication that they wished him gone. Why then, Alan wondered, did he feel their desire so urgently?
He walked out the door, closed it behind him, and walked firmly across the landing to the spiral staircase that led down to the third level of the castle. When he reached the staircase, however, he halted, then retraced his steps on silent feet.
Bernard’s room had a door that opened onto the landing as well as one that opened into Cristen’s room. Moving cautiously, Alan opened the landing door and slipped into Bernard’s room.
The sick man was asleep, breathing heavily through congested lungs. Alan stood quietly, listening to that stertorous breathing, and thought that Hugh and Cristen had not been misleading the sheriff and Richard about the seriousness of Bernard’s illness. He certainly was not breathing like a man who could manage an escape.
The door that opened into Cristen’s room was always kept ajar, so that she could hear Bernard. If Alan remained by the landing door, however, he knew he would be invisible from the other room.
Sir Richard had told him to try to listen to what was said between Hugh and Cristen, so even though Alan did not expect to hear anything about a projected escape plan, he remained. He was determined to carry out his mission as thoroughly as he could.
He heard Hugh, perfectly audible through the open door, “Where is Mabel?”
“I sent her to spend the evening with Lady Elizabeth’s household,” Cristen replied. “I thought it would be more cheerful for her than spending her evening in a sickroom.”
Hugh’s voice brimmed with amusement. “And Alan has gone to return the chess set. How convenient.”
“Isn’t it?” Cristen replied softly.
There was a rustling, which Alan interpreted as Cristen getting up from her stool, and then there was no sound.
After a while, as the silence continued, Alan realized with scandalized shock that they must be kissing.
More silent minutes went by. Finally Hugh said in a desperate voice, “Cristen…”
“We can’t, Hugh.” Her voice was breathless. “Alan could come back at any moment.”
He groaned. “Damn Richard anyway,” he said.
“Richard?” Cristen asked. “What has Richard got to do with this?”
Hugh’s voice sounded slightly more under control as he replied, “Richard sent the boy to spy on you. He suspects that I love you and he wants to find out about you.”
Alan’s eyes widened with shock at this shrewd assessment of his mission.
“But why?” Cristen asked in bewilderment.
Hugh’s voice sounded louder, as if he had come closer to Bernard’s door. “Richard wants to know everything about me. He wants to know when I go to garderobe and when I cut myself shaving. God knows why. I certainly don’t have the same interest in him.”
“What do you think he was doing in the sheriff’s office tonight?” Cristen asked.
“He was probably altering the books,” Hugh replied.
At these words, Alan’s mouth dropped open in outrage.
There was silence from next door.
Then Cristen said in a troubled voice, “Hugh, don’t let Richard know that Alan told you he was there tonight. He’s a nice boy. I don’t want him caught in the middle of this power struggle that is going on between you and Richard.”
“I don’t know that I would call it a power struggle, Cristen,” Hugh protested.
“Well, whatever you want to call it, that is what it is,” she returned. “And it worries me.”
“Never fear, my love.” The tenderness in Hugh’s voice caught Alan by the throat. “Richard may be clever and ruthless, but he’s not as clever and ruthless as I am.”
“What a comforting thought,” Cristen said.
Hugh chuckled.
In a brisker tone, she went on, “Have you made any progress in your investigation?”
“I’m not sure,” Hugh replied. “I went out to Deerhurst this afternoon and talked to Edgar Harding’s eldest son. He told me that they were holding his sister’s betrothal feast on the night of de Beauté’s murder and that his father was there all the time.”
“Well then,” Cristen said, “that is that.”
“Aye. It is the kind of defense that is almost impossible to break. But if Saxon betrothal feasts are anything like Norman betrothal feasts, everyone in that hall was stinking drunk by the time dark fell. It would have been easy for either Harding or his son to slip away and ride into Lincoln without anyone knowing they had gone.”
“His son?” Cristen repeated in surprise.
“Aye. Cedric Harding appears to be a formidable young man, and he hated de Beauté fully as much as his father did.”
Cristen said curiously, “Do you really suspect the Hardings of this murder, Hugh?”
Hugh was silent. At last he said slowly, “I don’t know. In truth, I think the Roumare connection is more likely. This was not a murder done in the anger of the moment. This was a murder that was planned.” Hugh’s voice became fainter as he turned away from the door, but his diction was so clear that Alan had no trouble hearing him. “The question that keeps coming back to me is, who benefits the most from de Beauté’s death? The Hardings don’t benefit. Stephen is not likely to return their land to them because de Beauté is dead. I can see either Edgar or Cedric Harding killing de Beauté in a fit of anger, but to plan it out in such cold blood…I don’t know if revenge could be that important, even to a Saxon.”
“You think Roumare benefits the most from Lord Gilbert’s death?” Cristen asked.
“Aye. It is almost certain that he will be made the next earl, and that is an honor he covets.”
“I think you may be right,” Cristen said, “but what I don’t see, Hugh, is how you are going to prove it.”
“I have to prove it,” Hugh said. “If I don’t, Bernard will hang. And neither Ralf nor Adela would like that.”
Alan jumped as the man in the bed made a sudden, restless movement.
I’d better get out of here, he thought. Silently he melted through the door back out onto the landing. Then he walked to the second door on the landing and knocked. It was opened by Hugh.
“The sheriff’s office was locked,” Alan said, avoiding Hugh’s eyes. “I shall have to return the chess set in the morning.”
He went to put the game back upon the stool where it had sat earlier. Cristen was not visible and the door to Bernard’s room was open wider than it had been before. Alan glanced in and saw her standing by the bed. She held a cup of something in her hand.
“Hugh,” she called. “Come and help me, please.”
Hugh went immediately to join her by the bed. As Alan watched from the door, he supported Bernard’s head as Cristen got him to drink whatever it was in her cup.
After Hugh had lowered Bernard back to his pillow, they stood together over the sick man and Hugh slipped his arm around Cristen. She leaned her head against his shoulder and for a brief moment, his dark head bent so that his cheek rested against her hair.
Alan turned away from the door and went to stare out the tower window into the blackness below.
Hugh sounded like a completely different person when he talked to Lady Cristen. He actually sounded like someone Alan could like.
That is a pointless conclusion, Alan scolded himself. Hugh was clearly Richard’s enemy, and in any contest between the two men, Alan knew whose side he would be on.
17
From the lowest to the highest, the citizens of Lincoln were preoccupied with the upcoming Saint Agatha’s Fair, a town event that always took place the week before the start of Lent. With the specter of a murder trial hanging over the city, however, the townsfolk had worried that this year their fair would be canceled.
In fact, if the king’s chief justiciar had arrived in time to convene the trial before the fair was scheduled to open, Gervase would have called it off. But Lord Richard Basset appeared to be dragging his feet getting to Lincoln, and under such circumstances the sheriff decided that the fair could go forward.