The Traitor of St. Giles (26 page)

‘Where were you last night?’

‘I went out to a tavern for a while, but most of the time I was here.’

‘Alone?’ Simon snapped.

‘Why . . . no.’

‘Who was with you?’

‘My maid.’ He broke off and bellowed, ‘
Rose!
’

It took only a moment for the girl who had opened the door to hurry in. Baldwin eyed her with interest, convinced that she must have been listening at the screens.

‘Rose, tell these men where I was last night.’

She stared at the ground. ‘My master was with me. In his bed.’

Simon shot the merchant a quick look. The bailiff was certain he saw a small smile of self-satisfaction in the man’s eyes. Simon looked down at his feet with a small frown. Some men would happily take advantage of any of the women in their households, but to deflower a child as young as Rose seemed almost barbaric.

‘For how long?’ Baldwin asked.

‘For most of the night,’ she said slowly. ‘From before dark to early morning. Then I had to rise to get on with my work.’

‘Thank you, child,’ Baldwin said, and she turned hurriedly and walked out.

‘You see?’ Andrew said smugly. ‘Was with her all night.’ His expression changed swiftly, and he licked his lips as he gazed from one to the other. ‘But there’s no need to talk about this, is there? I don’t want my wife to find out, or—’

‘Or your brother-in-law?’ Simon asked sharply. ‘You mean to tell me you spent your time with your maid when your wife’s brother was here?’

‘He wasn’t about last night.’ He stopped, a hand flying to his mouth as he realised the implication of his words.

‘Really?’ said Baldwin smoothly. ‘And I wonder where he would have been, then?’

‘I don’t know. Up at the castle, probably. He delivers much of the wine to my Lord Hugh.’

‘When did he get back?’

‘Not until late.’

‘Where did your wife think you were?’ Simon asked.

‘My wife and I were married because it was convenient. It was useful for me and useful for Nicholas. That doesn’t mean I have to enjoy sleeping with her.’

‘She knows you sleep with her maids?’

‘I have not slept in the same room as her for years. She likes her bed in the front of the house, where she can look out over the road. Her chamber is above the hall here. I like mine at the back, where it’s a bit quieter. Nicholas sleeps here in the hall like any guest.’

‘And the servants?’

‘Most are at the back. There’s a small hall for them all out there.’

‘And each night you call Rose to your room?’

‘She is paid well for her services,’ Andrew stated, and there was a small smile on his round face again as he realised what Simon and Baldwin were thinking: they were jealous of him! Well, and so might they be. With girls like Rose in his household Andrew was jealous of no man. ‘She is very experienced, you know,’ he began confidentially. ‘She . . .’

‘I have no wish to listen to your vulgar bragging about how you have raped your servants,’ Baldwin interrupted sharply. ‘Suffice it to say that I think it a disgrace that a man should so forget his common humanity as to take a girl of that age to his bed.’

Andrew sank back in his chair with a sneer.

‘But,’ Baldwin continued, ‘I do want to hear about your brother-in-law. You say he returned late. How do you know, if your room is at the back of the house? If he slept here in the hall, he’d have come in through the front door, wouldn’t he?’

‘No, he came in through a door at the back, in the alley that runs behind the house. I heard the man who guards the gate asking who was there and opening it.’

‘Would that have been towards the middle of the night or later?’

‘About the middle of the night. It was black as pitch outside.’

‘When you executed Dyne, were you together with Nicholas all the time?’

‘No. We separated to find the man.’

‘Who found him?’

‘Me.’

‘Why did you beat him so harshly?’

‘He had a knife. I had to beat him to make him surrender. Nick arrived later. Why?’

‘Yet you told the Coroner that you knocked his dagger away with ease,’ Baldwin reminded him. ‘The night before you found the felon and killed him, were you with your brother then?’

Andrew frowned with the effort of recollection. ‘No, I don’t think so . . .
No
, I was here. That’s right. I’d been with him for much of the day, and we had food prepared, but he sent a ragamuffin brat to us to say that he had been detained at the castle and would feed himself there or at a tavern.’

‘What time was he back?’

‘Again, it was after I had gone to my chamber,’ Andrew said dismissively. ‘And Rose was competent to remove any interest I might have had in affairs outside.’

‘But it was late?’

‘Oh, I suppose. Yes, he would have been quite late home.’

‘There is one more thing. We heard at the inquest that there was a woman dressed in green at the scene. Do you know who that was?’

‘No. I’ve no idea,’ he said coldly.

‘Husband, there is no need to lie for me.’

In the doorway stood Matilda. Baldwin thought her suffering was almost tangible. She was as pale as a corpse, with bright eyes that spoke of plentiful weeping.

Andrew stood. ‘My dear, you shouldn’t be up. Why not return to your bed and rest?’

To Simon he sounded unnecessarily solicitous, but then the bailiff remembered the tenor of their conversation and realised that Andrew was terrified that his wife might have overheard his confession of adultery with his maids.

Matilda waved aside his concerns. ‘You wanted to know who it was in the woods, Keeper? Well, it was me. I was there to try to kill that hideous man Dyne. I wanted revenge.’ She crossed the floor and took her husband’s arm, a cool, elegant woman with the pallor of mourning lying heavily upon her.

Baldwin studied her with interest. ‘You must have been furious when you heard that Dyne was to be exiled.’

‘Why should he live when he killed my daughter? The evil wretch deserved his end.’

‘My wife had nothing to do with his death,’ Andrew said heavily. ‘She didn’t see what happened. We sent her home first.’

‘You went?’ Baldwin asked her, ignoring Andrew.

She met his gaze. ‘No, of course not! I waited in the woods out of sight. I saw it all.’

Simon noticed Andrew’s face at this point. The man had gone quite pale.

Matilda continued, ‘He received a fitting death; I was satisfied. It was the least I could do for Joan and for her father.’

Baldwin glanced at her, then her husband. ‘She wasn’t
your
daughter, Carter?’

‘No.’

Matilda smiled faintly. ‘Joan was the daughter of my first husband. I was widowed. That was why Nicholas and I came here. And here I met Andrew.’

‘I am surprised your brother could bring his whole business down here. Why did you not remain with him at your old home?’

‘At Witham?’ The name seemed to make her realise she had said too much. She appeared suddenly flustered, making a short angry gesture with a hand. ‘Nicholas was living with my husband and I. When my husband died we both chose to leave. That is all.’

‘Please, go on.’ Baldwin nodded encouragingly. Simon, having noticed the woman’s apparent slip and swift recovery, glanced at his friend but could see only eager interest in Baldwin’s eyes. It was the name she had mentioned, he was sure.

Matilda looked up at her husband’s face with pride. ‘I went off after Dyne with every intention of killing him, but then I saw my man here. Dyne was in the road at the time. When Andrew rode off without killing the wretch I realised that he and my brother were going to lay in ambush farther along the road. I decided to follow Dyne myself, both to make sure that he didn’t escape back to Tiverton, but also in order that I could see his death.’

She paused but Baldwin motioned to her to continue.

‘It was a while before it became dark and then I saw the evil creature stop dead in the road. Ahead of him there was smoke rising from a bowl in the ground near the river.’

‘That would be where Sir Gilbert had camped,’ Simon noted.

‘Perhaps. I thought – and I reckon Dyne thought – that it was an ambush. He darted into the trees. Fearing he might escape, I turned my horse in as well, meaning to track him, but with the noise my horse made, I couldn’t hear a thing. Not until I heard an awful row: a man riding full tilt through the undergrowth. I’m afraid I screamed with fear. One hears such horrible stories about outlaws.’

‘Who was it?’

‘I know it sounds silly, but it was Sir Peregrine. He was making off back towards the northern road, back towards Tiverton.’

‘Ah yes. That would be the road to Withleigh,’ Baldwin confirmed. The same road which Harlewin and Cecily Sherman would have taken, he reminded himself.

‘Then Nicholas my brother heard me. He suddenly appeared on my right, horrified to find me there. He told me to return home.’

‘But you didn’t?’ Baldwin pressed.

She shook her head. ‘I knew my husband and brother were going to make Dyne pay for his crime but I had to witness it.’

‘What exactly did you see?’ Baldwin asked. Andrew opened his mouth as if to speak but Baldwin silenced him with a cutting gesture of his hand.

She glanced down. ‘I saw my husband ride off one way, my brother the other. I followed Nicholas at a distance. I don’t know how long we went back and forth in the woods. It was cold and I felt miserable, but determined to see whatever I could. And then Nicholas came to an open space and went through it to the other side. I heard a dog bark, then a scream. It wasn’t Andrew, and I was convinced it was Dyne. I set off towards it and when I came to a clearing I saw Andrew kicking the boy on the ground.’

Baldwin glanced at Andrew. He had gone white as if recalling the horror of the evening. Baldwin couldn’t condemn the man for killing the lad in revenge. Anyone would have done the same.

Andrew met his gaze. ‘He was going to run. I had to beat him to keep him there. Then I tied him up and waited for Nick.’

‘It’s true,’ Matilda confirmed. ‘I stayed there and watched. Dyne begged to be released, but Andrew hit him over the head and Dyne fell over. Then Nick arrived. He grabbed the boy, held his head back and made sure it was Dyne, then made him kneel, holding his arms behind him, and he screamed as Andrew swung his sword . . . It was over in moment.’

She was silent, grasping her husband’s arm for support. Baldwin could see that she was exhausted, worn down by the grim events of her daughter’s death and the aftermath.

His voice was more gentle. ‘Did you see anyone else in the woods or along the road?’

‘Yes. After I turned back, I saw Father Abraham on his way to comfort Father Benedict at Templeton. When I had passed him I heard another horse and hid in the trees. It was far from the nearest house and I didn’t want to be caught by a footpad.’

‘Who was it?’

‘John Sherman, and what a filthy mood he was in! Swearing about his wife, calling her all kinds of names.’

‘Thank you,’ Baldwin said and bowed. ‘I am sorry to have asked you to recall these sad events, my Lady.’

‘It was necessary.’

‘Yes.’ Baldwin walked to the door, but before he left the room, he turned to face her once more. ‘When did your brother leave the Templars?’

A hand went to her throat and she staggered back as if struck. ‘My brother? He . . . He was no Templar. What makes you say that?’

‘Nothing, my Lady. Just a guess,’ Baldwin said suavely, and left.

Baldwin and Simon were up at the battlements once more, peering over at the dreadful sheer fall down to the river.

‘Nicholas was a Templar, you think?’ Simon asked at last. His friend’s comment had surprised him as much as Matilda Carter.

‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said. ‘But for now, I want to concentrate on William the Small. I am convinced that he died because of his master, for some reason.’

‘You think the same man killed him as murdered Sir Gilbert?’

‘I don’t know. What if Sir Gilbert was carrying something? A secret that could help him take Lord Hugh to the Despensers’ side, for example. His servant might have heard of it. There are several men who might wish to silence someone like that.’

‘I think it’s most likely that Carter and Lovecok killed Sir Gilbert. There were two of them there. Maybe they killed him in the dark and only later realised they’d got the wrong man; then William came along. They left him alone, but killed him later to silence him.’

‘Why didn’t they kill William at the same time as his master, then?’ Baldwin asked, turning to walk back to the yard itself where Jeanne waited. ‘Why leave him for so long, giving him ample time to blab to all who wished to listen? No, I can’t think that’s right.’

‘By the same token,’ Simon pointed, ‘why should you think that someone else was involved? I see no reason to think anyone else was there. It was probably a mistake in the dark, maybe followed by an attempt at blackmail by William.’

Baldwin shook his head. The more he thought about it the more certain he grew. ‘There is nothing for certain,’ he said, ‘but I tend to the view that Sir Gilbert knew something or carried something that could be useful to someone else, or might possibly be harmful to the alliance against the Despensers. An ambassador will always bring something – a letter, information, money . . . I reckon he was killed for it – and I think William found out about it.’

‘And was killed after being tortured for his secret?’

‘It would make sense,’ Baldwin said. ‘Murdered to keep his mouth shut and tossed over the wall like a sack of manure.’

‘We should question all the servants and men-at-arms in the place,’ Simon said, looking about him gloomily, considering how many men lived within the castle’s walls.

‘Yes, but not yet. It is more important to find out who killed Sir Gilbert, and why. When we know what it was he had, we can see whether it would justify two murders. Then we may discover whether the two deaths were connected or not.’

Toker watched them stride to the hall’s entrance, a wave of cold anger breaking over him. Why were these two men still thinking about the shitty sailorman? Small was dead. It was none of their business who did it or why. Why did they insist on investigating things that were none of their business?