Having stripped down to my shirt and hose, I lay down on one of the mattresses and pulled the blankets up around my chin. My companion did likewise and blew out the candle.
‘Did you sell your fruit in Modbury market before coming on to the island?’ I asked, hoping that my interest in his movement sounded offhanded enough to prevent suspicion. Bevis made a sort of grunting noise that I took for assent, so I continued, ‘I understand that there’s a house of some size between Modbury and the coast. I thought I might try to find it on my return journey tomorrow. The women of the household might be glad to buy from me. Do you know the place I mean?’
‘Valletort Manor,’ he answered reluctantly. ‘Yes, I know it. I’ve visited it once or twice in the past, but not today. I went nowhere near it today.’ And with this strangely overemphatic statement, my companion turned on his side, humping his back towards me, and would respond to no more of my questions on the subject. Within minutes, he was either fast asleep, or feigning to be so.
Although extremely weary, I lay awake a while longer thinking about the thumb ring and wondering how it came to be in Bevis Godsey’s possession. Even on such a short acquaintance, I did not believe him to be a thief, and anyway, how on earth would he have managed to pilfer it from off Beric Gifford’s hand? No, I felt certain that it had been given to him in payment for some service rendered, but what sort of service, I could not imagine.
But where and when had he met Beric? Bevis’s urgent denial that he had been anywhere near Valletort Manor today suggested the opposite to my already distrustful mind. Yet, if it had been within the manor pale that the two men had encountered one another, why had it been necessary for Beric to pay for any kind of favour with a valuable ornament, when he had easy access to his doting sister’s purse?
There might be an answer to that question, I eventually decided. If Bevis Godsey had not known who Beric was, had met him at a sufficient distance from Valletort Manor not to guess at his identity, then Beric had probably wished to keep him in the dark. A visit to the house and his return with money, could well have alerted Bevis to the truth, or, at the very least, made him curious. On the other hand, the initials in the ring would provide a clue as to Beric’s identity.
It was an unsatisfactory explanation, but then, the whole situation was as muddied as a village pond. For instance, what sort of favour was Bevis Godsey capable of rendering Beric Gifford that could not be performed by either Katherine Glover or Berenice? I had seen little of the former and even less of the latter, but for all that, both had struck me as being strong-minded women, perfectly able to carry through any task, however formidable, in the name of love.
But that was as far as I got in my deliberations that night, because sleep overtook me; and apart from a resolve to confront Bevis Godsey with my suspicions on the following day, I knew nothing else until morning.
* * *
I was awoken by the faint, sad crying of the gulls.
Suddenly alert and vigorous, I heaved myself off my mattress and threw wide the shutters, letting in the grey light of an early dawn. The stars were paling fast, some of them already snuffed out, and there was the damp, delicious smell of dew-drenched grass. The air was fresh and easy to breathe, and I could hear the eternal murmuring of the sea.
I turned to my companion, ready to rouse him to the delights of this brand-new day, only to find his mattress empty, the blankets neatly folded at the foot, himself nowhere to be seen. I scrambled into my clothes, snatched up my pack and cudgel and went in search of Geoffrey Shapwick at his cottage.
‘Bevis Godsey?’ he said, when I eventually ran him to earth on the hillside, driving the sheep from pen to pasture, in company with two of the brothers. ‘He left early, before it was light; as soon as the tide had receded enough to allow him to cross dryshod to the mainland. He asked me to give you his good wishes and to say that he had enjoyed your company. He was sorry he couldn’t stay until you woke, but he had urgent business at home and wanted to be there by midday.’
I cursed silently. If I had not slept so soundly, worn out by my long walk and the sea air, I might have been disturbed by Bevis’s stealthy rising, and been able to question him further about the ring. But at least, now, I felt sure that he had something to hide. Probably, waking with a clearer head, he had recalled our conversation of the previous night and realized that he had given the lie twice over to his original story. And he would guess that I had realized it, too. The only course, therefore, was flight before I tried to satisfy my curiosity with yet more questions.
I stripped off and waded into the sea to wash away yesterday’s dirt, then dressed again, cleaned my teeth with my willow bark and begged some of the monks’ fresh water, brought to the island in barrels, in which to shave. By this time, Geoffrey Shapwick had returned to his cottage and prepared me a breakfast of a couple of fried bacon collops between two hunks of coarse, oaten bread, washed down with yet more ale.
‘You’ll be on your way as well, I dare say,’ he remarked as I stuffed the last mouthful of bread and meat into my mouth and wiped my lips free of grease on the back of my hand. ‘Now that the tide’s out.’
I nodded, then, when able to speak, enquired thickly, ‘Bevis Godsey, does he come here often?’
‘About once a month,’ was the answer, thus confirming what Bevis himself had told me. ‘He brings us fresh fruit and such vegetables as we can’t grow ourselves on the island. He sells also to the fisherfolk along the shore.’
‘What about Valletort Manor?’ I asked. ‘Does he call there, do you know?’
Geoffrey Shapwick hunched his shoulders. ‘Probably. Now and then.’
‘Did he visit it yesterday, do you know?’ I persisted.
I was given an odd look for my pains. ‘If he did, he didn’t mention it to me, but he was talking to Brother Anselm for most of the time before you arrived. You’re an inquisitive fellow, I must say.’
‘I always have been,’ I answered cheerfully, humping my pack on to my back and preparing to take my leave. ‘God be with you, Master Shapwick. Where can I find Brother Anselm at this hour of the morning?’
‘He went up to Saint Michael’s chapel to douse the lamp for me, as I had your breakfast to see to. He might still be there. He doesn’t move very quickly nowadays.’
The chapel was very small — no more, I should guess, than some five paces long and four paces broad. Brother Anselm was indeed still there, staring out to sea through one of the windows set in the eastern wall.
‘I’ve come to take my leave of you, Brother,’ I said, ‘and thank you for your hospitality.’
‘I trust you were comfortable, my child.’ He patted my arm with an avuncular smile. ‘You passed a good night?’
‘I slept like a log,’ I assured him. ‘I had pleasant company, too, for the evening. Bevis Godsey,’ I added.
‘Ah yes! Bevis! A bit of a chatterer, but a good man, for all that. It was because he stayed talking to me that he was caught by the tide.’
‘He comes once a month, I understand, to bring you fresh fruit and vegetables.’
‘Yes. We have a few things from him, but not enough I’m afraid to make it worth his while to travel this distance, unless he had another reason to do so.’
‘And does he?’ I prompted.
‘Fortunately! He has kin amongst the fisherfolk. His mother was a member of one of the families hereabouts. And they are very clannish, very tightly knit communities, you know. They never lose touch with one another, not even when they go some miles away to live, as did Bevis’s mother, Susan Glover. Indeed you might say that the Glovers are the most clannish family of the lot.’