In the end, I decided I had no choice but to stay perfectly still and simply be an observer of what happened. Nor did I have long to wait. Within minutes, Katherine’s slender form, a cloak thrown over her night-shift, was running across the short stretch of ground between the inn and the trees. The man, who, meantime, had vanished, stepped once more into view, catching her in a smothering embrace. She responded by throwing her arms around his neck and covering his face with passionate kisses, before they both withdrew into the shelter of the copse.
Now was my chance to finish the job in hand and rouse the household. The thought had barely crossed my mind, however, when the man once again emerged from the trees, but this time on horseback, evidently persuaded that he was taking too great a risk by remaining longer. Katherine also reappeared, stretching up to embrace him as he bent towards her from the saddle. Another laugh reached my ears as the youth laid his whip across the big black horse’s flank, then galloped off along the east-bound track, glancing round only once to wave and blow a kiss before being swallowed up by the darkness. The girl, gathering her skirt into one hand, ran swiftly back to the inn and passed from my sight.
At last I was able to finish closing the shutters before sitting down on the edge of my bed, my ears alert for the tell-tale sounds of her return. I heard again the creak of the landing floorboard and the gentle shutting of her door, but after that, all was silent. I found that I was trembling, but whether from fear or excitement, I was not quite certain. I had seen Beric Gifford: that was the thought uppermost in my mind. He had not gone to France or Brittany; neither had he taken refuge in some remote part of the country. He was still here, close to home, meeting with his betrothed and no doubt laughing up his sleeve at all attempts to find him.
I shivered as I recalled the way in which he had vanished into the trees without my noticing. Had my attention wandered for those few precious, vital seconds? Or had I become blinded by my racing thoughts, as happens when a person stares at something, but sees nothing? Or was he truly able to make himself invisible? Had Saint John’s fern really bestowed that supernatural power upon him?
I sighed wearily. It seemed to me that I was almost back where I had started. But not quite. I knew now that Beric was somewhere in the vicinity and there for the taking, if only I could discover his hiding place. I returned to bed, settling down once more in the musty darkness, the wool of the blanket again irritating my chin. For a long while, I lay awake, the events of the past hour going round and round in my head; and when I did, finally, fall asleep, my dreams were haunted by hobgoblins and evil sprites, who chased me through never-ending woodland, jumping out from behind shrubs and thickets, or grinning down at me, disembodied faces, from between the leafless branches of the trees.
* * *
The sun was climbing in the sky when I eventually awoke the following morning. The latch of my bedchamber shutters had once again sprung open, and a soft golden glow was suffusing the oiled parchment of the windowpanes. From below, both in and out of doors, I could hear the sound of voices, Theresa Glover’s louder than the rest; and from the subdued chorus of male tones, I gathered that the inn was open for trade and already doing business.
I fell out of bed and dressed as quickly as I could, descending to the kitchen, unwashed and unshaven.
‘I’m afraid I’ve overslept,’ I said to my hostess by way of apology.
She was busy preparing breakfast for a party of travellers just arrived by ferry, and only paused to direct me to the pump in the yard before bustling away to the taproom with laden dishes. ‘There’s a pan of hot water on the fire,’ she called over her shoulder as an afterthought, ‘if you want to scrape off your beard.’
While I made myself presentable, I wondered how I was going to face Katherine Glover without some chance word or expression of mine giving her a hint that I had been a witness to her meeting with Beric Gifford. But as I passed the stables, I noticed that the stall nearest the inn was empty. The palfrey had gone, and so, presumably, had its mistress.
Theresa Glover confirmed this to be so when I re-entered the kitchen and enquired after her niece.
‘Oh, Kate’s well on her way home by now. She got up early, afraid that Mistress Gifford may have been worried about her when she didn’t return to Valletort Manor last night. Sit down, chapman, and have some porridge.’ She eyed me shrewdly as she ladled the gruel from the iron pot hanging over the fire into a bowl. ‘You don’t look very refreshed to me. Didn’t you sleep well?’
I had been considering whether or not to say anything to either of the Glovers about what I had seen, but had decided against it. Even if they believed me — which was highly improbable, regarding Katherine, as they did, as the fountain of all truth — they were members of the girl’s family, and would be loath to accuse her of harbouring and succouring a wanted criminal. They were more likely to brand me a liar, and to tell lies themselves if necessary in order to prove me wrong. So I merely made some lame excuse for my tiredness and tucked into the bowl of porridge with apparent zest, although it was in fact neither very hot nor had much flavour.
Once I had eaten, I paid my shot, fetched my belongings from my room and said farewell.
‘Which road are you planning to take?’ Maurice Glover enquired suspiciously.
‘Oh, I go as the fancy pleases me,’ I answered cheerily. ‘Maybe I’ll go as far as Brixton and then turn inland, to Totnes.’
He seemed satisfied with this and went back indoors, calling to his wife that they needed to broach a new cask of ale. Meantime, I set out along the eastward path, but only to double back on my tracks once I was out of sight of the inn, approaching the stand of trees from the opposite side. I knew I was being stupid, yet I had to convince myself that the events I had witnessed early that morning had not been a dream. But it required only a moment or two to find the hoof- and shoe-marks of the horse and his rider imprinted in the rain-softened earth, and I upbraided myself for being a self-doubting fool. Then I picked up my pack and stepped out again along the path that leads eventually to the little town of Modbury.
After quarter of an hour’s steady walking, however, fresh doubt’s began to creep into my mind. How could I be so sure that Katherine Glover’s nocturnal visitor had indeed been Beric Gifford? On the face of it, and in view of all the facts, it seemed the natural assumption to make. But supposing that, since Beric’s disappearance, she had taken another lover and was frightened that word of her defection might reach Beric wherever he was hiding. Would there not then be a need for the kind of secrecy I had witnessed last night?
But I dismissed the idea almost as soon as it entered my head. Katherine was still living at Valletort Manor with Berenice Gifford, and it was extremely unlikely that she would be able to conduct a second romance without her mistress becoming aware of the fact. Nor was it plausible to suppose that the youth I had seen would be a party to such a clandestine affair. I remembered the careless laughter and the easy way he sat astride the big, black horse. This young man, whatever else he was, was afraid of very little.
His mount, too, was another reason why I had to believe that he was indeed Beric Gifford. What was it Joanna and John Cobbold had said the evening before last, at supper? ‘Beric Gifford rode up on that big black horse of his.’ ‘A huge, showy, very spirited animal. Master Capstick told me once that his great-nephew was the only person who could manage the brute.’ Well, the horse had certainly been big and black, although there had been no way to tell if it were spirited; but everything added up to make my doubts look as ridiculous as they really were. Nevertheless, I still had every intention of calling at the villages of Brixton and Yealmpton in order to discover, if I could, the two people who had seen Beric on the day of the murder, and find out what they had to say.