‘That morning,’ I said, ‘the morning of May Day, when you saw him in the distance, near Sequers Bridge, do you remember if Beric was riding towards Plymouth or in the direction of Valletort Manor? Did you notice anything strange or odd about him?’
Stephen Sherford frowned and his eyes focused on me as though he had not really seen me before. He repeated the questions I was always being asked, had always been asked from my childhood onwards: ‘Why are you so interested? What has it got to do with you?’
‘I told you,’ I answered smoothly. ‘I promised John and Joanna Cobbold, who are Master Capstick’s neighbours, that I’d try to find out anything I could that might lead to Beric Gifford’s arrest.’ (One thing seemed plain enough at any rate, and that was that Bartholomew Champernowne had not warned Stephen Sherford of my advent, nor tried to persuade him not to speak to me.)
Fortunately, my new acquaintance seemed happy to accept this explanation without further questioning on that particular score and merely nodded his head.
‘What did you mean,’ he queried, ‘when you asked if I’d noticed anything strange or odd about Beric?’
I countered this with the question he had not yet answered. ‘In which direction was he riding?’
‘Towards Plymouth. It was very early. The dew was still thick on the grass, I remember, but I had been out maying with some of my father’s tenants. We were coming up from the woods below Sequers Bridge when I saw Beric in the distance. I called out to him but he must have been too far away to hear.’
‘You’re certain it was your friend?’
‘Of course! I recognized both Beric and his horse.’
‘And there was nothing different about either of them that you can recollect?’
‘No. I was a bit surprised that he didn’t hear my shout, but perhaps it was because Flavius — that’s his horse — was being especially mettlesome and it needed all Beric’s skill and attention to quieten him.’
‘Was there a particular reason for the horse’s behaviour, do you think?’
The delicate eyebrows rose once again. ‘Why should there have been? He’s always been a difficult brute, and it’s only Beric who can manage him. Moreover, he doesn’t take kindly to crossing bridges. Never has done. I remember on more than one occasion, Beric cursing the fellow who sold him Flavius for not mentioning the fact before he parted with him. Said he wouldn’t have bought him if he’d known.’
‘But on that morning of the first of May, was the horse being more difficult than usual?’ It had occurred to me that if Beric himself were jumpy and nervous because of his purpose when he reached his journey’s end, then that edginess might have conveyed itself to his mount, making the animal more recalcitrant than was customary.
Stephen Sherford considered my question. ‘Perhaps a little,’ he conceded at length. ‘Why do you ask? It can’t possibly have any bearing on what happened subsequently, can it?’ When I did not answer immediately, his irritation returned in full force. ‘Why are you wasting my time with this stupid interrogation? What’s the point of it?’
I nearly repeated to him what I had said to Jack Golightly about the dross and the diamond, but instead, I answered his query with one of my own.
‘What do you think has happened to Beric Gifford in these months since the murder of his great-uncle? Where do you believe he’s hiding?’
‘He’s escaped, of course. To France, if he’s any sense.’ The answer came all too pat.
‘Without Katherine Glover?’
Stephen shrugged. ‘Oh, I expect she’ll join him, sooner or later. That’s if he still fancies her after he’s met all those attractive Frenchwomen.’
It was on the tip of my tongue to point out that Katherine Glover was a very pretty girl, but I didn’t want to antagonize him further. Something in his tone, made me ask, ‘Don’t you like her?’
‘She’s his sister’s maid, for heaven’s sake!’ he retorted impatiently. ‘All right for a tumble in the hay, but not to marry!’
‘Did you tell him so?’
‘No, of course not! I wasn’t such a fool. I’ve told you, he has the devil of a temper when roused, and he believes himself very much in love with Katherine Glover.’
‘Is her lowly status the only charge you have against her, or is there some other reason?’
Stephen Sherford pursed his lips. ‘I’ve only seen her twice, each time in Beric’s company. But on both occasions it seemed to me that he was more in love with her than she with him. Oh, she was affectionate enough, kissing him and hanging round his neck, so I can’t really tell you what gave me that idea. It just crossed my mind that she might be using him for some purpose of her own.’
‘Such as?’
Again the irritation spurted. ‘How in God’s name should I know?’
I leant my back against the wall of the archway and waited while a carter with a full load of hay passed through. Once he was safely in the courtyard, with Sir Anthony’s servants swarming about him, I said, ‘Well, if you’re right, whatever purpose she may have had in view must now lie in ruins. She can hardly have expected him to become a permanent fugitive from justice. And from all that I can gather, she seems, so far at least, to have remained true to her lover.’ I did not add that I had received positive proof of Katherine Glover’s affection for Beric Gifford only the night before last.
There was another interruption as a couple of kitchenmaids hurried past on their way indoors, vegetables from the garden held up before them, cradled in their aprons. The pair of them glanced sidelong at us, then broke into giggles once they thought themselves safely out of earshot.
My companion flushed and said angrily, ‘I must be going. I’ve wasted enough of the morning as it is, talking to you.’
I remembered to be obsequious again, an objective I had almost lost sight of. ‘You have been most kind. I can’t thank you enough.’
He was mollified. ‘Have I been of any use to you?’ he queried.
‘I’m sure it will prove so,’ I assured him, ‘when I’ve had a chance to sort through all you’ve told me in my mind.’ As he turned to go, however, I laid a hand on his arm. ‘Forgive me, but there’s just one thing I haven’t asked on which I should be grateful to have your opinion. There are rumours, I’ve been told, that people claim to have seen Beric Gifford in this neighbourhood within the last few months. So could he, do you think, have eaten of Saint John’s fern?’
Stephen Sherford blinked at me for a second or two, then gave a shout of laughter. But it had, I thought, rather a hollow ring.
‘I don’t believe in any of that nonsense, do you?’
I smiled. ‘I have to admit that I’ve never met anyone who’s actually known anyone who’s eaten the hart’s-tongue fern and become invisible. But is that proof positive that it hasn’t happened to someone, somewhere, at sometime?’
‘I should say so, yes.’
‘Then where is Beric Gifford hiding? For he’s still in the neighbourhood, you can take my word for it. I saw him the night before last.’
My companion gave me so incredulous a glance that I was forced for the sake of my own plausibility to explain the circumstances to him. When I had finished my story of Beric’s encounter with Katherine Glover, he slowly shook his head.
‘If what you say is true, then I have no idea where he can be. I thought him safe in France. Or in Brittany with Henry Tudor.’
It was the same answer that I had received from so many others. No one seemed able to suggest a hiding place close at hand where for months on end a man might defy all the forces of the law to find him. Stephen Sherford was plainly shaken by my revelation, and I exonerated him from any suspicion of pretence.
‘I must tell my father what you have told me,’ he said in trembling accents. ‘I have sisters. My parents would prefer them not to walk abroad unattended with a murderer loose in the vicinity.’ Friendship had obviously not survived the killing of an old man; nor, on reflection, did it deserve to. ‘Where will you go now?’ he added.