‘Strange behaviour!’ she said. ‘Thank you, Berold.’
He gave a nod, then slipped past her into the chapel. Albreda glanced down at the letter with curiosity. Before she even opened it, she had a sense of impending disaster.
The ecclesiastical community was stunned by the murder of Hervey de Marigny. Bishop Osbern was horrified and a wave of quiet terror spread outwards from the cathedral to wash over the city’s many churches. It was felt that a murderer was stalking the city. Two leading barons had already fallen victim to him. A third attack was only a matter of time. Fear kept many on their knees in prayer or safely hidden behind locked doors. Only when the killer was caught would the shadow of death be lifted from the city of Exeter.
‘We feel as if we are being held hostage,’ said Dean Jerome gloomily.
Canon Hubert sighed. ‘It is a time of tribulation for us all,’ he said. ‘The lord Hervey took such pride in his appointment as a commissioner. Nobody could have expected his career would end so suddenly and so brutally.’
‘The sheriff will not rest until the murderer is brought to justice.’
‘The lord Ralph has set his own inquiry in motion.’
‘Let us hope that, between them, they bring success.’
They were standing outside the cathedral with the wind plucking at their cowls. The dean looked more morose than ever and the canon was unusually subdued. Accustomed to a ready acceptance of God’s will, they yet found there were times when they dared to question divine dispensation and this was one of them. When they searched for meaning in the death of Hervey de Marigny, they found it elusive.
‘Why?’ mused Hubert. ‘Why, why, why?’
‘I wish that I had the answer.’
‘Is it merely a demonstration of the mutability of human existence? Or are we looking at a warning from the Devil rather than a sign from God? The lord Hervey had only been in the city a matter of days. He had no enemies here. Who could possibly wish to kill him?’
‘The same man who struck down the lord Nicholas.’
‘For what purpose?’
‘Who can say, Canon Hubert?’
‘I can make no sense of it.’
They were still struggling with their bewilderment when a man came walking towards the main entrance to the cathedral. Carrying a sack and a length of rope, he gave the dean a submissive nod and went on into the building. Hubert recognised the newcomer at once from his two appearances at the shire hall.
‘That was the lady Loretta’s servant, was it not?’
‘Yes, Canon Hubert. She has kindly loaned him to us.’
‘For what reason?’
‘Eldred has to go up into the tower from time to time.’
‘Does he tend the bells?’
‘No,’ said Dean Jerome, ‘but he performs a great service for us.’
‘In what way?’
‘We have a problem which you no doubt have encountered at Salisbury Cathedral as well. It is one which we share with some of our churches and we are lucky to have Eldred to call on. He helps to get rid of them, Canon Hubert.’
‘Get rid of what?’
‘Bats.’
Golde’s sprained ankle was no longer so tender. She still suffered an occasional twinge of pain but could now hobble around without the aid of a stick. When she was summoned to the lady Albreda, she managed to walk to the latter’s apartment with relative ease, but she was grateful to be able to sit down once more. Albreda seemed tense and drawn.
‘How are you this morning?’ she enquired.
‘Much better, my lady.’
‘Good.’
‘I would never dare to admit this to Ralph,’ said Golde, ‘but it was more comfortable in bed last night when he was not there.
He was not able to kick my ankle again in his sleep.’
‘Where, then, did he spend the night?’
‘I do not know, my lady. He rode to Tavistock on an errand.’
‘An important one if he spurned your bed to go there.’
‘Ralph went to make enquiries in connection with the lord Hervey’s death. That is all he would tell me. He and his men have not yet returned from Tavistock.’
‘I see.’
There was a long pause. Albreda seemed to be wrestling with her thoughts and Golde waited with a patient smile. At length, her companion bit her lip and gave a nervous laugh.
‘You said a moment ago that you would not dare to admit something to your husband. Is that true, Golde?’
‘It was said in fun.’
‘But there are things you hold back from him?’
‘Not as a rule.’
‘What if they threatened your happiness?’
‘I do not understand.’
Albreda held up the letter in her hand. ‘This was given to me earlier this morning,’ she explained. ‘And by Berold, of all people!
There is a cruel irony in that, for this is anything but a jest’
‘What is it, my lady?’
‘A letter which I wrote some years ago to the lord Nicholas. A fond and very private letter, Golde. It was intended for his eyes alone.’
‘How did it come into Berold’s possession?’
‘A stranger thrust it into his hands at the castle gate.’
‘Why?’
‘So that I would not know who sent it.’
‘But is that not obvious?’ suggested Golde.
‘Obvious?’
‘If the letter was kept by the lord Nicholas, his widow must have found it after his death. She decided to return it to you.’
‘The lady Catherine would not have done that, Golde. She would have been far more likely to burn it in anger than send it back out of consideration to me. The problem is,’ she said, lowering her head, ‘that it was not the only declaration of love I sent to her husband. If he kept this letter, he may well have kept the others. They are much more damaging to me.’
‘Damaging?’
‘My husband would be enraged if he read them.’
‘But there is no chance of that, is there?’
‘There is every chance, Golde. Why else should this letter be given to me in such a mysterious manner if not as a warning?
Someone has got hold of my correspondence. They are in a position to cause me intense embarrassment and to create a rift with my husband that might never be healed. I am in peril here, Golde.’ Albreda gave a sudden shiver. ‘What am I to do? What would you do in my place?’
‘Show the letter to my husband.’
‘That would be madness!’
‘Not if he loves and trusts you.’
‘I would sacrifice both love and trust if he saw this.’
‘Why?’
‘It was written after I was married.’
‘Oh!’
‘Do not misunderstand,’ said the other hurriedly. ‘I have not been unfaithful to my husband. From the time that I married him, I never saw the lord Nicholas alone, but … I was still attracted to him and we remained friends. Baldwin was away a great deal. I was bored and alone. On impulse, I wrote this letter to the lord Nicholas but regretted it the moment it left my hand.’
‘How did he respond?’
‘Very warmly. He encouraged me to write again.’
‘And you did.’
‘Yes,’ confessed Albreda. ‘I was young and foolish, Golde. I did not know what I was doing. I was excited by the idea of a secret love which sustained me but which brought no harm to anyone else. And that is how it was for a while until I saw the folly of it all and stopped writing.’
‘Did you realise that he would keep your letters?’
‘No, Golde. I begged him to destroy them and he swore that he did.’
‘What of his letters to you?’
‘I burned them as soon as I had read them.’
‘But their contents stayed with you.’
‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘I remember every word that he wrote to me.’
‘The important words are the ones you wrote to him,’ Golde pointed out. ‘They have the power to hurt you. I still believe that you should go to your husband and tell him the truth.’
‘I could never do that.’
‘After this length of time together, he surely cannot doubt you?’
‘I fear that he may.’
‘Be honest with him.’
‘I dare not, Golde. He has such a vile temper and this letter will spark it off. There is no telling what he would do. I am frightened of him. The person who has my letters knows that only too well.’