‘And who are these three?’ I asked. ‘Do you know their names or offices?’
Jack Golightly wrinkled his brow. ‘I understand there’s an old nurse, who has been with the Giffords since Noah was a lad, and who, no doubt, is completely trustworthy, as such women generally are. They regard each succeeding generation of the family children as their own, and lavish a parent’s love and care upon them. Of the remaining two, one, I think, is a groom, who has also been in the Giffords’ employ for many years, and the other is an ancient who was once the household steward, but who is now semi-blind, and probably deaf as well.’
‘But who does the sweeping and cooking and dusts the place?’ I asked, with all the newly married man’s awareness of such day-to-day practicalities. ‘Surely Berenice Gifford doesn’t clean the house herself?’
Jack Golightly shrugged. ‘These are questions I can’t answer, I’m afraid. My knowledge of Valletort Manor is limited to such gossip as comes my way.’
I forbore to comment that a great deal of gossip concerning the Gifford domain did apparently come his way. Instead, I gave voice to a sudden thought.
‘Where exactly is Valletort Manor situated?’
I half expected him to reveal that the Giffords were his nearest neighbours, but it appeared that this was not the case. By my host’s reckoning, the manor was a mile or two south of Modbury, on the peninsula of land that is bounded on two sides by the rivers Erme and Avon, and on- the third side by the sea. I knew, from having been in the locality, some years previously, that that particular stretch of coast was populated by several closely related families, all of them fishermen, whose isolation encouraged in them a disdain for the laws and customs of the outside world, and who ran their community according to their own self-imposed rules. And had not the cottager’s wife told me that Katherine Glover’s parents were fisherfolk? Was it not possible, then, that Beric Gifford had found sanctuary among these people, and was being protected by them?
But yet again, that one word ‘Why?’ returned to tease me. Why had Beric Gifford not escaped to France or Brittany by now, taking Katherine Glover with him? Why had he placed himself in such jeopardy that he was forced to put his safety in the hands of others? Why had his anger against his great-uncle not cooled overnight, after his first abortive attempt to murder Master Capstick?
The answer to that last question remained, as always, the same. Something had happened, some revelation had been vouchsafed to him, between his return home on the last day of April and the morning of May Day that had turned him into an avenging fury, whose anger against his kinsman could only be assuaged by the most extreme violence. But what it could be, I was unable to imagine, and I asked Jack Golightly if he had any idea.
‘I can’t tell you that,’ he answered, his face brooding and dark. ‘But I will say this: I can understand Beric Gifford’s feelings. Maybe the hatred for old Capstick had been building up inside him for many a long year, and to be informed that he must give up Katherine Glover for a woman of his uncle’s choosing was the final insult.’ My companion leant forward across the table to tap the back of my hand, and the pale blue eyes were suddenly as hard as flint. ‘I tell you, chapman, that I could barely keep my hands from grabbing young Champernowne by his scrawny neck this morning and throttling the life out of him. Instead, I had to content myself with taking his money, knowing that I’d no intention of doing his bidding should you show up, as he prophesied you would, asking questions. But it was touch and go. And I have no especial dislike of Bartholomew Champernowne, except that he is a member of that family I abhor above all others. The passage of the years hasn’t cured my detestation of them. My mother’s death is as fresh in my mind as if it had happened yesterday, and I loathe every member of their race. One day, maybe, I shall do one of them a mischief and end up like Beric Gifford, a hunted criminal.’
I was a little taken aback by the vehemence of this speech, but I had to admit that Jack Golightly’s interpretation of the events leading to the death of Oliver Capstick might have something to be said for it. Slow-burning rage can, on occasions, suddenly burst into flames. Nevertheless, I was unable to rid myself of the notion that there was more to Beric Gifford’s actions than a simple explosion of anger could account for. I had no rational explanation for this conviction — it was purely intuition — but I had learnt over the years to trust my instincts.
‘I must be getting on my way,’ I said, rising to my feet. I paused, resting my hands on the tabletop. ‘I was told that there was yet another witness in these parts, who saw Beric Gifford on May Day morning, either going towards, or returning from, Bilbury Street. My informant didn’t know his name, but said the man concerned was a friend of Beric’s, who recognized him in the distance, close to Sequers Bridge. You don’t happen to know who that could be, or where he might be found?’
Jack Golightly shook his head. ‘I’ve probably misled you into believing that I know a great deal more about Valletort Manor and its inhabitants than I really do. My knowledge is confined to such gossip as I pick up when I go to Modbury to sell my goods. You may have noticed that I grow comfrey and coltsfoot and coriander, all plants necessary to people’s health, and I do a fair trade both there and in Plymouth. But as to being able to name any of Beric Gifford’s particular friends, I’m afraid I can’t help you. You’ll have to enquire of those who know him better than I do.’
‘Maybe not,’ I argued. ‘Try to think of any young men in this vicinity of whom you’ve heard mention, who could possibly be friends of Beric. Young men of birth, of about the same age, who follow the same pursuits. There can’t be that many of them, I’ll warrant. Above all, is there such a one living in the neighbourhood of Sequers Bridge? Wherever that may be. Is it far from here?’
‘Some two to two and a half miles,’ Jack Golightly answered slowly. ‘It crosses the Erme about a mile or so this side of Modbury.’ Once again he puckered his brow. ‘Now you jog my memory, there is a young man of about Beric’s age, Stephen Sherford, who lives near Edmeston, not far from the bridge. He’s the son of Sir Anthony Sherford and probably the only youth hereabouts who would answer your requirements.’
‘Can you direct me to Sir Anthony’s house?’ I asked eagerly. ‘I should like a word, if I’m allowed it, with young Master Sherford.’
‘Yes, I can put you on the right path,’ my host replied. ‘But what do you hope to gain from asking all these questions? Why do you suppose that you can run Beric Gifford to earth when the Sheriff and his officers have failed?’
‘Because,’ I said, answering his last query first, ‘in the past, I have had some success in bringing to justice felons who would otherwise have escaped the rigours of the law. As to what I hope to gain from all my questioning, I don’t always know that until I hear it. It’s like searching through a pile of dross for a diamond that I’m not even sure is there in the first place.’
Jack Golightly didn’t look as though he really understood, but he smiled politely and nodded his head. ‘I’ll set you on your way to the Sherfords’ house,’ he added, moving towards the door.
But when he opened it and we stepped outside, we found that a steady rain had begun to fall, and that black clouds were piling up in the western sky, threatening a further downpour. My host glanced dubiously at them.
‘You’d do well to stay with me tonight, chapman,’ he advised, ‘and continue with your journey in the morning. Otherwise, you’re going to get uncomfortably wet.’
I was bound to agree with him, for the rain was increasing in volume with every succeeding minute. If I insisted on going further that evening and could find no shelter for the night — and who could guarantee that Sir Anthony Sherford or his steward would offer me a place to sleep? — I should be forced to take refuge in a barn, or even beneath a hedge, a foolish thing to do when I had the chance of warmth and a roof over my head.