Now, as I ate my way steadily through two large pastry coffins filled with meat and gravy, followed first by savoury, and then by apple dumplings, I did my best to winkle some information out of Mistress Tuckett and the groom, but without success, as both were adept at parrying unwanted questions. The latter, who was indeed elderly and also extremely taciturn, was particularly good at it, and on more than one occasion cut the nurse-housekeeper short when her tongue showed an inclination to run away with her. Finally, I was forced to accept that there was nothing to be got from either of them.
My only consolation was the prospect of a night free to roam about the stables and other outbuildings in the hope of a glimpse of Beric Gifford. But, with an inward sigh, I had to admit to myself that even this was unlikely. I should hardly have been offered the freedom of the courtyard unless Berenice and Katherine were absolutely certain that Beric was safely within doors and away from my prying eyes.
I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand and stood up.
‘Thank you, Mistress Tuckett,’ I said, presuming, in the absence of anyone else, that she must also be the cook. ‘The pasties and dumplings were delicious.’
‘It’s good of you to say so. A word of appreciation never comes amiss. But it’s too much for one woman,’ she continued. ‘In the days when I was the nurse here, we had a cook and a housekeeper and maids besides. And it’s high time we had them again, if you want my opinion, now that my young lady can afford them. But we all know where her money goes!’ she added angrily.
‘That’ll do!’ the groom warned; and Mistress Tuckett, with a white-eyed look, pressed her lips together.
‘The apples,’ I went on, ‘were especially fine. You must have had a visit yesterday from Master Godsey.’
‘Oh, Bevis! Yes, he was here. Went away very pleased with himself, after talking with his cousin. I don’t know why.’
‘Do you mean Mistress Glover?’ I enquired. ‘I was told that she and Master Godsey were kinsfolk.’
But the housekeeper only tightened her lips still further and started to clear away the dirty dishes. So I stretched my arms above my head and gathered up my almost empty pack and my cudgel.
‘I’ll be off to the stables, then,’ I said. ‘Good night to you both.’
‘There’s no need to go through the hall.’ The groom detained me, indicating a door in one of the further corners of the kitchen. ‘There’s a passageway on the other side that leads out into the courtyard. You’ll find the stables easily enough, I reckon. They’re next to the laundry.’
The passageway, when located, I discovered to be dimly lit by a single cresset set high on the wall, close to the outside door. This was still unbolted, and I was about to lift the latch, when I was seized by the powerful conviction that someone was watching me. I stood for a moment, frozen into immobility, my heart pounding, my breathing all but suspended. Then, slowly, very slowly, my right hand curling convulsively about my stick, I turned my head first to the right, where there was nothing to be seen except the blank wall, then to the left, where I suddenly noticed a narrow arch and a flight of stairs, rising into the darkness beyond it …
My heart stopped its pounding; in fact it almost stopped beating altogether as I found myself staring straight into the eyes of someone lurking in the shadows.
* * *
Robert Steward, as he duly introduced himself, was, unlike the groom and Mistress Tuckett, as old and as frail as Jack Golightly had portrayed him. He claimed that he was almost ninety years of age, having been born, so his mother had told him, in that year when the Scots beat the English at the battle of Chevy Chase, somewhere in the north. But although his sight and hearing were both impaired, I found it possible to hold a perfectly rational conversation with him provided I faced him when talking and spoke with clarity and care.
To begin with, I have to admit, all was confusion and muddle until I established who he was and the fact that he wanted me to accompany him to his bedchamber.
‘Don’t know who you are,’ he mumbled, laying a withered hand on my shoulder, ‘but it’s good to see a new face. An honest one, too.’ He shivered, gathering the skirts of his patched and darned woollen robe about his emaciated ankles, and turned to lead the way upstairs. He shook his head so that the thinning grey locks became even more untidy. ‘I don’t know what’s going on in this house. There’s something evil abroad. I’m frightened.’
I was instantly intrigued by these words and followed him with alacrity to the top of the flight, where an iron-studded door opened into a tiny room under the eaves. A bed took up most of the floor space, and the only other object was a cedar wood chest, standing in one corner. The whole was illumined by a solitary rushlight, placed next to a tinderbox on a shelf.
My host invited me to sit on one side of the bed while he sat on the chest, facing me. ‘Now, tell me your name,’ he demanded, ‘and what you’re doing here.’
Once I had disposed of my pack and cudgel by the simple expedient of pushing them under the bed, I obliged on both counts, not disguising my interest in the murder of Oliver Capstick and the present whereabouts of Beric Gifford. When I had finished speaking, Robert crossed himself.
‘Something evil,’ he repeated. ‘Here, in this house.’
I leant forward, resting my forearms on my knees. ‘Beric’s still here, is that what you’re saying? He hasn’t gone abroad? He hasn’t run away? But are you sure about that? The Sheriff’s men couldn’t find him when they came looking, now could they?’
‘No, nor never will,’ he answered, staring at me with his rheumy, faded blue eyes.
‘Why not? Do you also believe that Beric’s eaten of Saint John’s fern?’
Robert’s gaze, which had been sharply focused on mine, now slid away from me, looking at some point beyond my right shoulder.
‘He was a sweet little lad,’ he said sadly. ‘Grew up into such a happy child. Everyone doted on him, especially his sister.’
‘So why do you think he bludgeoned his great-uncle to death?’ I asked. ‘What turned him into a murderer?’
The steward thought about this, sucking his toothless gums. ‘She did,’ he said at last. ‘Things were never the same after she came here to live.’
‘Do you mean Katherine Glover?’
‘Yes. Her! The fisherman’s daughter.’ His gaze returned to my face.
‘Why do you say that? Why were things never the same?’ I persisted.
He shrugged, the bony shoulders beneath his robe looking as brittle and as fragile as a bird’s. ‘They just weren’t. She became mistress of this place. We all had to do as she told us. All of us.’
If this were true, it explained Mistress Tuckett’s animosity.
‘But what about Mistress Berenice?’ I said. ‘She appears to me to be a strong-minded woman, one who would never tolerate such an untoward situation. And now, surely, there can be no question of Katherine Glover ever becoming mistress of Valletort Manor. Mistress Gifford’s position in the house has to be unassailable.’
Robert Steward shook his head dolefully. ‘The master’s disgrace doesn’t seem to have made any difference to that trollop’s position. It’s as though the mistress still regards her as the true chatelaine of the manor. Oh, don’t mistake me!’ He flapped his bony, brown-mottled hands in one of those displays of irritation that old people indulge in every now and then. ‘Katherine Glover would never presume to take liberties with the mistress. But the rest of us have to do as she says. She was the one who evicted me from my room next to the hall and pushed me away in this piddling little cupboard, and all because I’m too old now to carry out my duties properly.’ He added with a venom that sent the spittle flying from the corners of his mouth, ‘She’d have turned me out altogether if Mistress Berenice would have agreed to it.’