It crossed my mind that Robert might be exaggerating Katherine Glover’s part in his humiliation, but his story raised a more interesting question.
‘Why do you suppose a new steward has not been appointed in your place?’ I asked. ‘The omission seems strange to me, especially as you were made to vacate your old quarters. And why does Mistress Berenice not employ more servants in general? Money can no longer be an object with her. Mistress Tuckett was complaining about the lack of help while we were eating our supper.’
Robert considered the problem for a moment or two. ‘Maybe she can’t get people to come and work here,’ he said at last. ‘Maybe she never will until Beric’s caught and sent to the gallows. It’s lonely here.’ He shuddered suddenly and gave a whimpering cry. ‘And there’s a murderer loose.’
It was an explanation that I should have thought of for myself and I was ashamed that it hadn’t occurred to me. I prayed that my powers of deduction were not deserting me.
‘Of course. You must be right,’ I said, and rose to my feet. ‘Well, I’d best be off. Your mistress has offered me accommodation in the stables for the night. I’d hoped for a warmer berth, like the kitchen, but, alas, beggars can’t be choosers.’
‘You could stay here, with me,’ my new acquaintance suggested with a pathetic eagerness. ‘I’d be grateful for your company. You’re a big, stout lad. I’d feel safe. For this night, at least.’
‘What is it you’re afraid of?’ I asked gently.
But he didn’t seem able to say, simply repeating that there was something evil in the house. ‘You can share the bed with me,’ he added hopefully. ‘There’s room for two.’
I looked at the softness of the mattress, but regretfully shook my head. He followed me, shuffling and wheedling, as I descended the stairs to the outer door.
But this had now been securely bolted top and bottom. Furthermore, the key had been turned in the lock and then removed. While I had been upstairs, Valletort Manor had been secured for the night.
I smiled ruefully at my companion. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘it seems that I have no choice. Master Steward, you’ve got yourself a bedfellow.’
Chapter Sixteen
I could easily have returned to the kitchen to inform Mistress Tuckett that I was still in the house, and ask her to unlock the outer door. But the suspicion that I had been deliberately relegated to the stables because Beric was sleeping inside that night had taken a firm hold upon me. I suddenly felt sure that this was a God-given opportunity to bring me one step closer to Oliver Capstick’s murderer.
‘They’ve locked up early tonight,’ Robert volunteered as I followed him back up the stairs to the room beneath the eaves, once more stowing my pack and cudgel under the bed, where neither of us could hurt himself by tripping over them. My companion resumed his former seat on the chest, beaming his toothless smile.
‘You didn’t answer my question just now,’ I said, also sitting down again on the edge of the mattress. ‘I asked you if you thought Beric Gifford had eaten of Saint John’s fern.’
‘He may have done,’ was the dismissive answer. ‘I suppose it’s possible. But it doesn’t make you invisible for ever, you know. Leastways, not that I’ve ever heard of. You have to keep on eating the leaves if you want to stay unseen for any length of time.’
‘Well, the plant grows plentifully around the manor,’ I pointed out. ‘And no one would want to remain invisible for very long, surely. In Beric’s case, just long enough to help him evade the law and justice.’ I added, ‘You’re an old man and have lived a great many years upon this earth. Honestly, now! Have you ever known anyone who’s become invisible through eating the hart’s-tongue fern?’
Robert Steward thought this over. ‘A distillation of the leaves is a well-known cure for the hiccoughs,’ he offered at last.
‘I’m aware of that fact,’ I retorted irritably. ‘But what I’m asking you is: does eating the raw leaves cause you to vanish?’
‘Everyone says so.’
‘I know everyone says so! But have you, in all your long life, ever come across someone who’s done it? Eaten the leaves of the Saint John’s fern, that is, and been made invisible?’
Of course, I could guess his response even before he shook his head, sad at having to acknowledge defeat. ‘But,’ he added, brightening, ‘that doesn’t mean to say it hasn’t happened, does it?’
It was an argument I had heard before and which was virtually unanswerable, so I let the matter drop. Instead, I enquired, ‘Where are the other bedchambers in this house? How do I get to them from here?’
Robert looked alarmed and a scrawny hand shot out to grasp my wrist. ‘You’re not leaving me alone!’ he exclaimed. ‘You promised to stay the night with me!’ When I indignantly protested that I’d made no such commitment, his grip on my arm tightened; and although I could have shaken him off easily enough, there was a wild expression in his eyes that made me uneasy. ‘You’re not going anywhere,’ he continued. ‘I’ll have one night’s good sleep, even if I have to lock you in to get it.’
He was as good as his word. Before I had time to realize what he was up to, he had slid off the chest, rounded the corner of the bed and turned the key in the lock of the chamber door. He then put the key inside the breast of his food-stained gown, pushing it up under his left armpit and clamping that arm to his side.
Again, it would have taken little effort on my part to overpower him and seize the key, but it would have involved me in an unseemly brawl with a man old enough to be my grandfather, and one, moreover, who was in some sort my host. Besides which, there was the distinct possibility that if I went searching for Beric against Robert’s will, he would raise the household and reveal my purpose. I had learnt that crossing a very old person is like crossing a very young child, and often produces the same results: tantrums and tearful recriminations. (I shall be like that myself, one day. Indeed, the hour is already fast approaching, if my behaviour towards my children and their children is anything to judge by. But then, when you’re over seventy, why shouldn’t you have your own way occasionally? Time’s running out, after all.)
I considered arguing with him, pleading, cajoling, but eventually concluded that it would be a wasted effort. I could see that he wasn’t open to reason. Force was my only option, and I had already rejected that. So I took off my boots, swung my legs up on to the bed, stretched myself out, arms linked behind my head, and stared up at the ceiling.
‘You’re angry,’ he said with an attempt at pathos. But he made no effort to remove the key from its unsavoury resting place.
‘No, I’m not,’ I lied; but found, after a moment or two, that this was the truth. I was suddenly dog tired, caught in a lethargy of mind and body induced by the long day’s walk, the salt sea air and the fact that I had overeaten at supper. ‘Lie down and let’s get some sleep.’
Robert nodded happily, turning to open the chest with his right hand and pulling out an assortment of old garments. These, once he had produced the key and carefully placed it under his half of the pillow, he proceeded to pile on over his ancient house-gown.
‘It starts getting chilly at nights this season of the year,’ he explained. ‘And I can’t stand the cold like I used to. You’d do well to get under the blankets before you fall asleep.’ I did as he suggested, but he kept a sharp eye on me, just to make sure that I wasn’t feigning weariness, and wasn’t about to make a sudden grab for the key.
The last item he fished out of the chest was a flat-crowned, black velvet hat with which he covered his head, pulling it down by its narrow brim until it covered his ears.
‘This is better than an ordinary nightcap,’ he said happily. ‘Much warmer.’
I had been almost asleep, politely holding my eyes open with a tremendous effort, but suddenly I was wide awake again, raising myself up on one elbow.
‘Who does that hat belong to?’ I demanded. ‘Where did you get it?’