Authors: Alys Clare
He was, Josse decided, considerably less courteous than the guard on the gates. He gave his and Helewise’s names, adding – for the steward’s manner seemed to draw the words out of him – that they were acquainted with the late Lord Benedict. He refrained from adding what they had thought of the man.
Steadying himself (Sebastian’s intense stare felt a little like an attack) he went on: ‘We wish to speak to one of Lord Benedict’s kinsmen, on a private matter.’ Which was really a polite way of saying that it was not a conversation he was prepared to have with a steward.
But Sebastian was shaking his head. ‘Lord Benedict had no blood kin. There is nobody except his widow, Lady Richenza.’ He seemed to grow in stature as he said her name, Josse thought, as if to prove that anyone wanting to talk to her would have to get past him.
Josse held his ground. Beside him, he sensed Helewise move closer. ‘Then please would you summon Lady Richenza,’ he said politely.
For several heartbeats, nobody moved. Then, with a sort of grunt, Sebastian spun on his heel and strode smoothly away down the hall, disappearing through an arched doorway at the far end.
‘Has he gone to fetch her?’ Helewise whispered.
Josse smiled grimly. ‘Let’s hope so.’
They waited. Quite a long time passed. Then, when Josse was on the point of suggesting they gave it up, Sebastian emerged from the doorway. He threaded his way skilfully across the crowded hall like a needle through thick fabric, and very soon was beside them. ‘Lady Richenza has agreed to see you,’ he said. It was obvious that he thought she was bestowing a huge and unwarranted favour. ‘Follow me.’
He led the way back through the doorway, along a passage and up a short flight of shallow steps, the stonework crisp-edged and obviously new. Through another arch, its heavy wooden door slightly ajar, and into a square room which, even on that overcast day, seemed to be flooded with light. Looking round in astonishment, Josse saw that the high windows were glazed. Now was not the moment to calculate just how much
that
must have cost.
In the far corner of the room, in a small recess, was a private chapel – little more than an altar bearing an elaborate, gilded cross on a richly embroidered cloth and, in front of it, a wooden
prie-dieu
at which knelt a slim, slight figure. At the sound of footsteps, she turned towards them, then gracefully rose to her feet.
She was dressed in a dark grey gown, wearing a flowing veil that entirely covered her face. Sebastian stepped forward and, leaning down to speak quietly to her, announced her visitors.
‘Does she mask her grief, or the lack of it?’ Helewise whispered to Josse.
‘I sense we shall not be permitted to find out,’ he murmured back.
Lady Richenza appeared to be staring at them, although it was hard to tell; her veil hung in generous folds, and little but the outline of her features could be seen. She made a gesture of dismissal towards Sebastian and, with a deep bow to his young mistress and a final glare at Josse, the steward left the room, closing the door with exaggerated caution behind him.
Josse, watching Lady Richenza closely, would have sworn that a great deal of the tension in her slim body left her as soon as the door closed.
‘Sir Josse d’Acquin,’ she said, her voice high and whispery. ‘I believe I know the name …?’
Without pausing to think – he was eager to reassure her – Josse said, ‘You may know of my daughter. Meggie is a healer, and came here with Mistress Gifford when … after …’ Too late, he realized his blunder. He had brought up the one topic guaranteed to terrify Lady Richenza into silence.
She was visibly trembling, the veil shaking. ‘I … I didn’t …’ she began.
With a soft sound of pity, Helewise went up to the young woman – she was, Josse saw, little more than a girl – and put an arm round her. ‘We are not here to accuse you,’ she said gently. She turned to glare at Josse. ‘Our visit has nothing to do with the death of your husband, save that we would express our sympathy at your loss.’
‘Thank you,’ the girl whispered. ‘He was … he …’ She gave up. Perhaps, Josse reflected, dragging up anything nice to say about Lord Benedict was beyond her. Recovering herself, she said, ‘Why
have
you come?’ And she went on to say, with disarming frankness, ‘Most of the people crowding into my hall seem to be expecting money, for one reason or another. Either that or they’ve turned up early for the funeral feast. No doubt they want to make sure they’re included. Medley,’ she added, ‘is famous for its feasts.’
‘It is for neither of those purposes that we are here,’ Helewise said. ‘Indeed, it has nothing, really, to do with your late husband at all.’
‘No?’ Lady Richenza glanced over at the door, as if to make sure it was closed, then, in a gesture expressive of relief, flung back her veil.
Josse studied her. In other circumstances, he reflected, she would have been quite beautiful. Now, she was very pale; the full lips were colourless and dry, and the wide blue eyes were darkly circled. Of the swollen, pink eyelids that follow lengthy tears, however, there was no sign.
She was married to a fat, cruel and vicious old man
, Josse told himself.
It is quite unreasonable to look for grief at his demise
.
‘Sir Josse?’ Helewise prompted. ‘Lady Richenza is waiting.’
‘Oh – aye, of course.’ He brought his thoughts under control. ‘My lady, we come from Hawkenlye Abbey, where the nuns are concerned for an elderly woman who has gone missing from the infirmary. A search has been organized, and we have come to ask if you, or any of your household, have seen her. Perhaps she is staying here? Perhaps you—’
‘What sort of a woman is she?’ the light little voice asked.
‘Er – she is old, as I said, and she has been troubled in her mind by the signs and portents which have been reported recently, such as—’
Lady Richenza shook her head impatiently, setting the heavy gold earrings jingling. ‘No, no, no, I don’t need the details,’ she interrupted. ‘Is she quality? Is she a lady?’
Josse looked at her coolly. ‘No. She’s a peasant, from a little village deep in the Kent countryside.’
Lady Richenza’s smooth white brow creased in a frown. ‘Then what would she be doing here, among my guests?’ she asked, sounding genuinely puzzled. ‘Oh – you mean she might have come here looking for work? We are, I suppose, taking on extra people to help with the feast …’ She waved a vague hand in the direction of the hall. ‘Sebastian says close on a hundred will attend.’
Josse felt his anger rising. Helewise, who had returned to stand beside him, put a warning hand on his arm. Swallowing his anger, he said mildly, ‘She would not have been wanting work, no. We wondered if perhaps somebody might have brought her here?’
Again, Lady Richenza seemed totally mystified. ‘Why would they do that? I don’t know this woman – I’m quite sure I don’t. What’s her name?’
‘Lilas. Lilas of Hamhurst.’
The girl smiled, as if at the unlikelihood of her knowing someone with such an absurd name. ‘Unless she has been smuggled in and locked in the deepest cellar, she’s not here,’ she said.
‘Who might know, if that really had happened?’ Helewise asked.
Her quiet tone seemed to make the suggestion a possibility, and, with a considered look at her, Lady Richenza said, ‘Sebastian, I imagine.’ She added bitterly, ‘He knows
everything
that goes on at Medley.’
Josse bowed. ‘Then, with your leave, my lady, we will go and ask him.’ Without waiting for a reply, he strode over to the door and wrenched it open. Turning to bid her farewell, he noticed that, in that brief instant, she had already pulled down her veil. At a stroke, she had turned herself once more into the impenetrable, grieving widow.
Helewise caught him up as he hurried back down the passage. ‘Well, what else did you expect?’ she demanded in an angry undertone. ‘She’s barely more than a child, and yet some relation – some
man
– decided it was appropriate for her to be married to that fat, cruel old goat! And you act as if her failure to be driven to her knees with grief offends you!’
Stung by her fury, he stopped dead. ‘I am
not
offended!’ he hissed back. ‘Helewise, you should know me better than that!’
She muttered something that might have been,
yes, I should.
Then, calming herself with an obvious effort, she said, ‘Was it, then, her attitude to Lilas that made you so cross?’
He gave her a rueful grin. ‘What do
you
think?’
She smiled back, taking his arm. ‘We’d better find that supercilious steward, and ask him if he really has hidden the poor old woman away somewhere.’
Josse sighed. ‘Aye, you’re right, although I don’t imagine he’d tell us if he had.’
They found Sebastian standing in the hall’s entrance, greeting yet more visitors. Once he had ushered them inside, he turned to face Josse and Helewise. Before he had a chance to speak, Josse said, ‘We are searching for an elderly woman, Lilas of Hamhurst. Lady Richenza has no knowledge of her; have you?’
‘I do not know the name,’ Sebastian replied. ‘Why would she be here?’
Not prepared to tell him, Josse repeated what he had said to Lady Richenza.
‘And you think she might have wandered away from Hawkenlye Abbey and found her way here?’ Sebastian asked. ‘No; as far as I am aware, she has not. Wait – I will check.’
‘I think he’s telling the truth,’ Helewise whispered as the steward glided away. ‘He was very quick in offering to ask the rest of the household, and he would hardly do that if he had something to hide.’
‘Aye,’ Josse agreed. ‘Anyway, there can surely have been no real need for him to go and check: to echo Lady Richenza, nothing happens here that he doesn’t know about.’
Presently Sebastian returned. Either, Josse reflected, he was a very good actor, or the name Lilas of Hamhurst really was unknown to him. Shaking his head, he said, ‘I am sorry. We cannot help you.’
‘I believe him,’ Helewise said as they rode away.
‘So do I,’ Josse agreed. ‘We’ll have to—’
At that moment, a rider came cantering up fast behind them, following them out of Medley’s great courtyard. Josse and Helewise drew rein, moving to the side of the track to let the rider, who seemed to be in haste, go by.
The horse was a fine bay, moving with graceful, eager speed. The rider, who acknowledged Josse and Helewise making room for him with a briefly raised hand, was cloaked and hooded. Just as he passed them, an overhanging branch snagged at his hood, revealing his face. Hurriedly, he drew the heavy, concealing folds forward again.
In the brief instant in which he had been uncovered, Josse took in the features. He stared after the rider as he flew on down the track.
‘What is it?’ Helewise demanded. ‘Do you know that man?’
‘No, but I’ve seen him before, very recently.’ Josse was thinking hard, trying to recall where he’d seen the man. With its deep eyes beneath jutting brow ridges, and the sharp, prominent cheekbones, it was not a face you saw every day … Then he had it. ‘He was up at the abbey yesterday, when Fitzwalter paraded his tame monk,’ he said, the words rushing out. ‘He was standing towards the front, just behind the massed ranks of Fitzwalter’s men. There must in truth be a link between Fitzwalter and Medley Hall, just as we thought – although I can’t for the life of me think what it is – and that man, whoever he is, proves it.’ Gathering the reins, he urged Alfred forward. ‘We’ll have to ride hard, Helewise – I will see you safely back to the turning for home, then I’m going after him.’
It was an anxious ride. Although Josse had been very glad of Helewise’s company at Medley, now he felt nothing but relief when, on reaching the place where the path for the House in the Woods branched off the main track, she set off for home and left him to go on alone.
As they had hurried along, she had called out to him, suggesting that she went with him. He did not want that. He was quite prepared for possible danger – he had a strong sense that it was lurking – but would not risk her safety. Since, however, any mention of danger would instantly have glued her to his side, he said instead, ‘No, go on home – I’ll be faster on my own, and there’s less chance of his spotting one pursuer than two.’
He knew she did not want to leave him, so, as soon as he had ridden off, he spurred Alfred on. The sooner he was out of her sight, the better.
The rain began. He did not dare risk stopping to drag on his hooded cape, and so had to endure the downpour. It both helped and hindered: it helped because the mounted man he was trailing was now leaving a clear pattern of hoof prints in the wet mud, but it hindered because it cut visibility to perhaps twenty paces. Josse reassured himself with the thought that, if he could not see his quarry, then the man could not see him.
The horseman and Josse were now on the track that led round the northern edge of the great forest. They passed the turning down to Tonbridge on the right and, presently, the bulk of Hawkenlye Abbey. The rider went on and, to judge by the horse’s imprints, he did not slow his steady pace.
Josse followed the twists and turns of his route. He thought he knew where the rider was headed, although it was a surprising destination, and at first he doubted his conclusion. This mysterious rider had a connection with both Medley Hall and the Fitzwalter faction, and surely neither could have anything to do with
this
place? After a few more miles, however, there was no more uncertainty. Careful now – he did not want to be spotted at this stage – Josse went on.
He followed the track that ran between the two ridges, emerging cautiously into the hanging valley. There, ahead, was Wealdsend – and there, even now approaching its firmly barred gates, was the hooded horseman.
You have ridden all this way for nothing, my friend
, Josse said silently to him.
There is nobody there.
But the horseman had reached out and, with the pommel of his drawn sword, he was banging on the stout wooden panels of the gate. Astonished, Josse watched as a small gap appeared. It widened just enough to let horse and rider pass within, then abruptly the gates banged shut. Even from where he was, Josse heard the clang as the locking bar on the inside fell into its brackets.