[Roger the Chapman 06] - The Wicked Winter (16 page)

The chaplain was racked by yet another spasm of coughing. Then he went on, 'It was her father's dying wish, when he stood on the very brink of eternity. How could she' refuse to obey? I suspect, too, that she did not know what else to do. She was at a loss. She knew nothing of sheepfarming, and would have been at the mercy of her bailiff. Furthermore, she had no interest in the raising and welfare of sheep. So she accepted Sir Hugh's proposal with the one proviso that Gerard and his wife came south with her to Cederwell Manor, and were housed and cared for by her future husband.'

'Sir Hugh agreed?'

'Mmm... yes, but not readily. He was reluctant to have two more mouths to feed. He is not a generous man, as you might have gathered. But yes, he did agree. He had no choice if he wanted to marry her, for she would not have consented otherwise. Nor, I suppose, did he wish to be seen as a man who would ignore a father's dying request.'

'And why do you think he wanted to marry her? Was it only the fact that she was a wealthy heiress?'

The chaplain thought about this for a moment or two, giving several loud trumpet blasts into his handkerchief while he did so. At last he said, 'I confess I think that to have been his main consideration. She was also very young and pretty. But I believe, too, that he was intrigued by her - her - er circumstances. Like many men, he felt sure that Jeanette must have done something to encourage her attacker; that she must have led him on. He thought that, secretly, she was hotblooded and promiscuous, and what would have been a deterrent to many of his fellows, fascinated Sir Hugh.'
 

'But this was not the case?'

'Far from it. Indeed...' Father Godyer hesitated, a little uncomfortable and carefully picking his words. 'It is possible that Jeanette was in... in one respect, not a... a satisfactory wife to him.' He took a deep breath and speech flowed more freely. 'But having once taken her marriage vows, she was prepared to be a good and faithful helpmate.'
 

'And, in return, expected the same loyalty from Sir Hugh?'
 

The chaplain spread his thin arms. 'With her strong religious beliefs, she would expect no other. She was a child who knew nothing of the world.'

'Had never wanted to know,' I suggested. 'How soon did things begin to go wrong between them?'

Father Godyer gave a gusty sigh. 'They were never really right, and if my assumptions about Sir Hugh are correct, how could they have been? But they rubbed along tolerably for a couple of years - until Mistress Lynom's husband died. Everyone on the manor, except Jeanette, suspected, or maybe even knew for certain, that his relationship with the lady was more than simple friendship. But once Anthony Lynom was dead and buried, neither made much attempt at concealment. It became apparent even to my mistress that they were lovers.'

'This shocked her'?'

'Deeply. Not because she was jealous.' The chaplain gave a wry, shrewd smile. 'I think Sir Hugh might have made an effort to end the affair if that had been my lady's reason. No, no, but because it was a mortal sin. Because it was an affront to God for her husband to imperil his soul in such a manner. Many a time, she has implored me to speak to him; to beg him to see the error of his ways, but alas, Chapman, she appealed in vain. I may as well tell you, for you'll probably discover it for yourself, that I am morally a very weak man. My feet are made of clay. I could never risk upsetting Sir Hugh for fear of losing my place here. You can despise me if you like. I give you free leave.'

I laid one of my large hands over both his fragile ones as they lay clasped together on the shabby counterpane.

'I assure you that I have far too many frailties of my own to despise you for yours. But continue. Was this liaison between Sir Hugh and the Widow Lynom the reason why Lady Cederwell sent for Friar Simeon?'

The chaplain nodded. 'When word of his being in the district reached us, Jeanette became very excited. His reputation had preceded him by many weeks, and we all knew his views on immorality and carnal vice. She told me that if the friar failed to convince Sir Hugh of the error of his ways, she would suggest that he threaten both him and Mistress Lynom with excommunication.'

I did not put such a course of action past Brother Simeon.

To fanatics like himself and Lady Cederwell it would not matter that, if adultery were to be made an offence worthy of exile from the Church, there would be very few communicants left within it. Such people were prepared to take on all the world. But there was something else to which I needed an answer.

'What of Sir Hugh's son and Fulk Disney?' I asked.

A wary look entered Father Godyer's eyes. 'So? What of them?'

'They make no secret of the great friendship between them.'

'There have been great friendships between men throughout the ages. David and Jonathan. Damon and Pythias. Pylades and Orestes.'

'The second Edward and the Gascon, Piers Gaveston.'
 

The chaplain shot me a look through half-closed lids. 'I know nothing of that.'

Nor wish to know, I thought to myself. Adultery he could cope with, it was a common enough sin. But the vice of the ancient Greeks was unthinkable to a man of his timid nature, because, if once suspected, his calling would require him to root it out, bringing death in its train. But I did not doubt that Lady Cederwell would have known no such compunction.

Father Godyer also began to shiver. I urged him to lie down and cover himself with the blankets.

'You are still far from well. I'll see if I can procure a hot stone from the kitchen to put at your feet.' I moved closer and tucked the bedclothes around his shoulders.

He peered at me. 'Is that my cassock you're wearing?'
 

'Yes. I was so cold and this was on top of the chest. You watched me put it on and made no objection.'
 

'Oh, I don't object,' he assured me. 'You're welcome to it. I just couldn't see what it was, that's all. Keep it on if you like.'

I laughed. 'I'd meet with too many ribald remarks in the kitchen.' I unwound it and draped it across my arm. 'I'll take it with me, though. It'll do to wrap the hot stone in, unless one of the maids can find me some flannel.'
 

'You're very kind, my son. God bless you. Do you stay long on the manor?'

'Only until the tracks are passable. Will you remain as Sir Hugh's chaplain now that Lady Cederwell and her brother are dead?'

'If he wants me. Where else am I to go?' The pale blue eyes filled with tears. 'But it won't be the same. It won't be the same. I shall be very lonely.'

I patted his shoulder consolingly, then picked up the tray with the empty soup bowl on it and left the room. As I passed the open chapel door, Brother Simeon was just rising from his knees, so I stepped inside and made my obeisance to the crucifix above the altar. This was nothing like the one in the Saxon tower, being of silver and cedarwood, the face of the Christ peaceful, as though its owner were sleeping; a quiet, untroubled death, this, the crown of thorns resembling a halo rather than an instrument of torture. The wound in the side just showed above the loincloth, a faint dent in the silver.
 

Cruelty and barbarism were absent; you could look at it and feel only a gentle sorrow.

The altar itself was draped with a cloth embroidered in jewel-bright colours, vivid reds and greens and blues with, here and there, the rich glow of amber. The walls were painted with pictures of the saints; Saint George with his raised lance, about to slay the dragon, Saint Cecilia; playing the harp, Saint Erasmus being fed by a raven. There was also a stained glass window depicting the Virgin with the Christ child on her lap. Both faces were serene and happy, giving no hint of future agony.

'You've been closeted a while with our friend, the chaplain,' Brother Simeon remarked as we eased our way down the narrow stairs. 'Did he have anything worthwhile to say? I thought him a poor dab of a man. Small wonder that Lady Cederwell could get no help from that quarter.'

 
'He admits it himself. His lack of courage, I mean. But the poor man is afraid for his place with Sir Hugh. He's not young any more.'

The friar snorted contemptuously, but contented himself with asking, 'Did you glean any information from him?'
 

'I'll tell you later,' I said as we were, at that moment, entering the kitchen.

Here, all was fuss and bustle as before. My request that Father Godyer be given a heated stone for his feet met with scant favour, but eventually I was able to persuade Jenny Tonge to set one in the oven with the baking bread, until it was warmed right through. Then, swathing it in the cold cassock, I returned upstairs as I had promised. The chaplain was fast asleep, lying flat on his back, mouth open, loudly snoring. I lifted the covering bedclothes and slipped the stone under his feet.

As I again passed the chapel, it occurred to me that I had not said my prayers that morning. I went in and knelt before the altar, trying unsuccessfully to concentrate my thoughts on God. But Father Godyer's snores reverberated through the dividing wall, making this well-nigh impossible. As I raised my head and glanced around in desperation, I noticed what I had missed before, a confessional box in one comer, to the left of the window. I thought that perhaps God would not mind if I offered my devotions in its comparative peace and privacy, so I entered the penitent's cell and pulled the curtain closed behind me. But I had barely resumed my orisons when there was an interruption.

'In here,' said Sir Hugh's deep voice, and I heard the door close. 'No one will think of searching for us in the chapel.'

Chapter Eleven

I wish I could say that I had intended to disclose my presence immediately, but that they began to speak before I had sufficient time to do so. The truth, however, is that there was a long enough pause for me to have shown myself and I kept quiet, huddled silently in the musty gloom of the confessional box.

A second voice belonged, unsurprisingly, to Ursula Lynom. She sounded a little breathless, less self-assured than she had done the previous morning, and her words made it apparent that this was the first occasion since her arrival on which she and Sir Hugh had thought themselves sufficiently out of earshot of any other inhabitant of the manor. They had not after all - or so I guessed - dared to spend the night together.

'Hugh, you've no need to pretend with me. Hamon told me everything.' The tone was low, but perfectly audible.

'What do you mean by that, pray? What could Harnon possibly have to tell you?' The knight's voice was edged as much by irritation as by fear.

'He saw you bending over Jeanette's body outside the tower.'

There was a silence during which I scarcely dared to breathe. The pounding of my heart sounded so loudly in my ears that I was convinced one of them must hear it. I started to sweat in spite of the cold.

At last, Sir Hugh demanded harshly, 'What was Hamon doing at the tower?' I wondered if he had considered denying the accusation. If so, he had thought better of it.

'He came here on my instructions, to deliver some buttons to you; buttons that I'd bought from the chapman. I explained all this yesterevening.' She was impatient.

'I haven't forgotten.' Her lover was equally annoyed. 'But why was Hamon anywhere near the estuary? I should have expected him to look for me in the house.'

'He... He probably did.' Mistress Lynorn's tone was guarded. 'He... saw you, and followed.'

I thought to myself, 'Simeon, you and I may congratulate ourselves on having approached so near to the truth.' But the next moment, I was not so certain.

'No.' Sir Hugh was confident. 'No one followed me from the house, I'm sure of that. You know as well as I do that once you leave the gate in the wall, the path lies across open country. I looked over my shoulder several times, but there was no one behind me. If your man was at the tower, he must have left the main track before he reached the manor and approached it by the path through the scrubland. And if that is so, he had to be there for his own purposes.' After a moment's hesitation, he added, 'Or yours.'

Another, longer silence succeeded his words, and although I could not see either the knight or Mistress Lynom through the worn velvet curtain, I could imagine them eyeing one another up, wary as a pair of cats.

Eventually, the woman asked, 'Why should he be there for any purpose of mine?' continuing, with a flash of inspiration, 'How can you be so sure that Hamon didn't follow you from the house? Tostig or one of the others might have told him where to find you. You could have reached the tower some time ahead of him and gone inside, looking for Jeanette.'

'No. I told no one where I was going and I didn't enter the tower. In heaven's name, Ursula! You must have questioned your man on this head?'

'I... No! Why should I? I... I was too upset. It was enough to know that Jeanette was dead and that he had seen you stooping over her body. If what he told me was true and I have no cause to think him a liar - my first concern was to ensure his silence on the subject. For your sake, Hugh! For our future happiness! Oh, my dear! If, in a moment of desperation, you took the law into your own hands, are you afraid that I won't understand? You did it for me! For us !'

'Oh, no!' Sir Hugh's voice shook with growing apprehension. 'You don't plant the blame on me, Ursula, for something you planned. You sent your bravo to murder Jeanette; to throw her down from the tower. Do you think my memory's so short that I've already forgotten what your mood was yesterday morning, at Lynom Hall? All you could talk about was the possibility of some accident befalling her, which would set us free to marry. You even referred to her dangerous habit of standing on the edge of the parapet.' 'You were the one who mentioned that!'