I grimaced. ‘In that case, perhaps I should point out that you see before you a man devoted to King Edward IV and all his family.’
Jack Golightly shrugged. ‘That doesn’t worry me, chapman, although I think you’re misguided. But many years ago now, when I was young — that same year, in fact, that Edward of Rouen was crowned in London as our present king — the French sent a force into Plymouth to help our cause. As soon as the Champernownes got wind of it, old William Champernowne sent his men to repel the French, but they were intercepted here, at Yealmpton, by the Courtenays and their followers.’ The strangely pale blue eyes glittered with unshed tears. ‘The Courtenays won the skirmish and the Champernownes were forced to retreat, but not before they’d fired this cottage out of revenge. My father and I managed to douse the blaze, but the shock was too much for my mother. She died not long afterwards. The Champernownes killed her as surely as if they’d put a knife through her heart.’
I don’t know whether or not he expected me to sympathize with him, but I could not bring myself to do so. A great many common people had suffered grievously during the civil war that had torn this country apart for so many years; but, as I had just told him, I was sufficiently devoted to King Edward and, above all, to his younger brother, the Duke of Gloucester, to be unmoved by the plight of their enemies. So I took refuge in silence and buried my face, as far as I could, in my cup as I finished my ale.
‘You see, therefore,’ he continued at last, ‘why I make no bones about serving any Champernowne a backhanded turn if the opportunity arises.’
‘I do, indeed,’ I said, setting down my empty cup. ‘You don’t deny, then, that you met Beric Gifford on the morning of May Day as you were going towards Plymouth and he was returning. Were you on foot?’
My host smiled sourly. ‘Of course I was on foot. I’m not rich enough to own a horse, or even a mule. I have a shoulder yoke from which I suspend my baskets. He was riding, though; that great, black horse of his that he was so proud of. And still is, as far as I know.’
‘Where did you encounter him? Were you close to him or at a distance?’
Jack Golightly repeated the habit he had of sucking his teeth before replying.
‘It was in the forest near here. I expect you came through it. I had to jump aside, into the trees, to get out of his way. He was riding at a great pace, in spite of the roughness of the ground, bent low over the animal’s neck, the reins all bunched up in one hand and the fingers of the other knotted’s in the black’s mane, as though he were scared to death he was going to fall off. I remember thinking to myself: One day, my boy, you’ll break your neck, and serve you right, going at such a speed. But when I arrived at Martyn’s Gate and found Bilbury Street swarming with Sheriff’s officers and people who had just arrived to gawp, and when I learnt of the murder and was told the murderer’s name, I understood his hurry. And I was able to tell one of the sergeants that I’d seen Beric Gifford heading, as far as I could tell, in the direction of Modbury and Valletort Manor. But a posse had already been sent that way after him.’ My companion sounded cheated.
‘You hadn’t met the posse on your journey?’
‘No, for I took the road to the ferry. They’d have gone north to the ford, or further on, to the bridge, if it were floodtide, just as Master Gifford must have done, before riding southwards again to join this track at Brixton.’
I asked, ‘When Beric passed you in the forest, did you notice if he was wearing a jewel in his hat? Gold with a teardrop pearl.
My companion laughed. ‘He was riding too fast for me to take notice of anything he was wearing.’ Nevertheless, Jack wrinkled his brow as he obligingly tried to remember, but after a while he shook his head. ‘If my life depended on giving an answer, I’d say that he wasn’t. But if his life depended on it, I’d have to say that I can’t be certain.’
Beric wasn’t wearing the ornament that was now in my pouch, of course, for it had fallen from his cap in the bedchamber, where it had been lost among the rushes, and my host’s testimony in some part confirmed this. I saw the curiosity in Jack Golightly’s eyes, guessed the question hovering on his lips and made haste to divert his attention.
‘Are you acquainted with Beric Gifford and his sister?’ I asked.
He shrugged. ‘I know them by sight well enough to recognize them when I meet them. And I listen to all the gossip. I know that they’re famed for their prodigality; that they both spent far more money than they could afford until one of them murdered their uncle and the other inherited his fortune. I know that Berenice Gifford is betrothed to that young coxcomb who was here this afternoon, and that her brother is — or was — determined to marry her maid, Katherine Glover, which was the cause of his falling out with old Oliver Capstick. In short, I know as much as most other people do concerning their neighbours.’
‘And what do you think has become of Beric Gifford since he killed his uncle?’
My host shrugged. ‘If he’s any sense, he’ll be miles away from here. France, Brittany, Scotland.’
I thought for a moment, before deciding to take him into my confidence. ‘If I told you that I’m certain I saw him last night, talking to Katherine Glover outside the Bird of Passage Inn at Oreston, what would you say to that?’
Once more, Jack Golightly pursed his mouth and sucked on his teeth. ‘I’d think him the biggest fool in Christendom,’ he answered slowly.
‘You wouldn’t think that he’d eaten Saint John’s fern and could render himself invisible or visible at will?’
My companion laughed. ‘No, I shouldn’t! I’ll tell you something, chapman. I ate the leaves of the hart’s-tongue fern once, when I was a boy — and nothing happened! I waited all day to become invisible, but not so much as a fingernail vanished. If you believe that story, you’re more gullible than I take you for.’
‘I didn’t say I believe it,’ I answered. ‘But I was speaking the truth when I said that I saw Beric Gifford last night. Unfortunately, it was impossible to apprehend him. Where do you think he’s hiding?’
Jack Golightly had stopped laughing and was regarding me earnestly. ‘If what you say really is true-’ he began, but broke off to protest, ‘No! Impossible! I find it hard to accept that he’d be so foolish. Do you have proof positive that it was him?’
‘I have to admit that I don’t know Beric Gifford except by report,’ I confessed. ‘But this man and Katherine Glover — who was spending the night at the inn, as I was — were behaving in a very lover-like fashion. And he was riding a black horse. I could tell that, even in the darkness.’
My host scratched his head. ‘It sounds as though it could have been Beric you saw, I’m bound to agree. But if that’s the case…’ He chewed his nether lip and pondered. At last, he went on, ‘If that’s the case, there’s only one place where he could be lying low with any measure of safety, and that’s in Valletort Manor itself.’
Chapter Nine
‘Why do you say that?’ I asked, frowning. ‘Surely the Sheriff’s men have searched Valletort Manor more than once and failed to discover Beric Gifford?’
‘And for that very reason, they are unlikely to search it again,’ Jack Golightly argued. ‘So what safer place for him to lie concealed?’
‘I don’t think you can rely on that. Furthermore, there must be servants,’ I persisted. ‘And however loyal the majority of them might be, there has to be one whose attachment is questionable, or whose devotion could be bought if the inducement were sufficient.’
My companion shook his head. ‘After their father’s death, the Gifford children fell on hard times. Servants were turned off one by one until, I believe, only three remained: three, that is, until Mistress Berenice decided to employ Katherine Glover as her personal maid.’