Simon Beaufort - Deadly Inheritance
‘It started at your end of the corridor, not near Giffard and me. In fact, I suspect it began in Isabel’s room.’
‘How did you guess that?’ asked Eleanor, startled.
‘Because Isabel started it. I imagine Agnes told her to.’
Eleanor gave a wry smile. ‘You are right: Agnes wanted the fire, and when her drawings at the Angel Springs did not work, she adopted another approach. She encouraged Isabel to start it, lest she herself was caught.’
‘I suppose she contrived some nonsense about Ralph realizing his true feelings if Isabel were in danger – and poor Isabel was desperate enough to believe it. Meanwhile, Agnes would be rid of Giffard, who is keeping her from the Duke.’
‘You are right in every detail. Nasty, is it not?’
‘So why did you not expose them? Several servants died – and it very nearly claimed the King and Isabel herself.’
‘Agnes made me promise to say nothing. I agreed because I did not think Isabel would have the courage to go through with it anyway, and also because Agnes agreed to stop trying to learn the identity of my lover if I complied. By the time I realized Isabel had not set a little fire but a raging inferno, it was too late. And the irony is that the whole ghastly business achieved none of its objectives.’
Geoffrey recalled seeing Agnes at the Angel Springs after the fire, doubtless destroying evidence of her involvement. The plan had failed spectacularly: Isabel had lost her house and several servants, Ralph had discovered an attraction to Agnes, and Giffard had escaped.
‘It is a pity you have seen me,’ said Eleanor eventually. ‘It was more convenient for people to assume I died in the fire.’
‘Leave your veil in the rubble, then,’ Geoffrey suggested. ‘You are never seen without it, so it may convince them.’
‘But you know I am alive.’
‘I will never reveal your secret.’ Geoffrey studied her pretty face uneasily. ‘You do not want me to drip my blood on chicken entrails to prove my sincerity, do you?’
Eleanor laughed. ‘Do not be ridiculous! I do not have a chicken to hand, and it would be a terrible waste to kill one when I know you are a man of your word. To repay your understanding, at first light I shall lead you to your castle by a quicker route than you would find on your own. Until then, keep yourself warm by the fire.’
Despite sharing the hut with a witch, Geoffrey was so fatigued, he soon fell asleep. He woke at one point to find himself alone, but Eleanor glided back in and shot him a mysterious smile. He was ready to leave long before dawn and fretted impatiently until she deemed it light enough to travel. He urged her to move as fast as possible, sitting her on the pony and running behind it in his desire to reach Goodrich. They parted south of the castle, he to follow the main road to his home, and she to head west to her lover. She slid off the horse and gave it a pat.
‘Be careful, Geoffrey. You have a turbulent time ahead. Do not be fooled by fair eyes filled with tears, and remember that women are just as ruthless as men. And do not forget the Black Knife, either. Get rid of it as soon as you can. Do you still have the amulet I gave you?’
Geoffrey fingered the bundle around his neck, his thoughts on Joan, Roger and the others.
‘All is well at Goodrich,’ she said kindly, seeing his concern. ‘The wind is from the north, and we would smell smoke if it were burning. You will find your home still standing. And thank you for agreeing to be discreet – you have earned a friend.’
‘So have you,’ said Geoffrey.
Eleanor laughed, and Geoffrey was glad she would no longer wear her veil, thinking hers was a face that should be seen. ‘But I mean it, Geoffrey. If you ever have need of a witch, just leave two sticks tied together by the well at Llangarron, and I will come.’
They parted, and when Geoffrey glanced behind him, Eleanor was already lost among the trees. He doubted he would ever see her again, suspecting he was unlikely to need the services of a witch. He urged the pony into a gallop, wanting to be home as soon as he could. He was reassured when he was challenged by one of the patrols he had organized, and soon found himself trotting into the bailey.
Roger rushed to meet him, sombre-faced and anxious, Olivier and Joan behind. Joan looked angry, and Geoffrey suspected his absence had given her an uneasy night.
‘Where is Giffard?’ he asked as they approached.
‘In the hall,’ snapped Joan. ‘Where have you been? You promised you would return by dusk, and we were worried.’
‘Where is Dun?’ cried Olivier. ‘If you traded him for this beast, you have been cheated.’
‘Corwenna shot him,’ said Geoffrey sadly. ‘I am sorry, Olivier. God knows where I will find the funds to replace him.’
‘Do not worry about that,’ said Roger, while Olivier gaped at Geoffrey in dismay. ‘We shall loot Baderon’s estates when this is over, and then you will have enough.’
‘If we win,’ said Geoffrey soberly. ‘There are at least five hundred men in Baderon’s camp. We are heavily outnumbered.’
‘Rubbish!’ said Roger with characteristic optimism. ‘Baderon and his rabble will not defeat two Jerosolimitani!’
There was a lot to do, and Geoffrey was busy for much of the morning strengthening the defences and checking the deployment of archers. He was grateful for Roger’s company, and found Olivier surprisingly helpful, too. His brother-in-law’s extensive theoretical knowledge made him an excellent strategist – he was just not very good at actual fighting.
There was a brief respite for the midday meal, which Geoffrey ate while inspecting a cache of ancient weapons Joan had discovered in a cellar. Some were usable, but most were not. Then, suddenly, everything was done that could be, and there was nothing left to do but wait. Waiting was the part Geoffrey hated, so he decided to go in search of Isabel, who had remained at Goodrich with her father, because Dene’s garrison had been disbanded following the fire. No one had imagined fitzNorman would need his soldiers within a week, and the old veteran had been appalled to find a war bubbling and him powerless to prevent or join it.
Isabel smiled when Geoffrey spoke her name, although there was unhappy resignation in her face. He glanced across the hall and saw Ralph and Agnes in a nearby corner. Isabel knew they were together, and the horrible truth was finally becoming clear.
‘He will never love me, will he?’ she asked.
‘No,’ replied Geoffrey honestly. ‘I am sorry.’
She fumbled for his hand, wanting him to sit next to her, but sensed his reluctance.
‘What is wrong?’ she asked. ‘What have I done?’
‘Agnes urged you to start the fire, because she said Ralph’s anger would melt if he thought you were in danger. It might have worked, had there been any warmth in his heart, but there is not.’
‘No,’ Isabel sighed, not denying the accusation. ‘There is not. I see now that he thinks only about himself and does not care for me. I suspect he never did.’
‘Is that why you killed Margaret?’ he asked softly. ‘Because she told you the truth?’
Isabel gaped at Geoffrey, then forced a laugh. ‘Has this battle unhinged your wits? Wait here, and I shall fetch a draught that is good for fevered minds.’ She started to rise, but Geoffrey stopped her.
‘Margaret told you on the night of the fire that Ralph did not care about you, but you did not believe her. In outraged fury, your killed her.’
Isabel was appalled. ‘But Margaret died because she witnessed Jervil’s murder. You said so yourself.’
‘I was wrong. It was the other way round: someone killed Jervil after you strangled Margaret, probably in the hope that you would be blamed for both deaths.’
‘But I am blind, Sir Geoffrey,’ said Isabel earnestly. ‘How could I kill anyone?’
‘We were all blind that night. It was dark and there was smoke everywhere. Margaret could no more see you than you could see her. She told you about Ralph, and you grabbed her throat. But you squeezed harder than you had intended, and she died. She was not young and fit like you.’
‘This is nonsense,’ said Isabel. ‘I shall tell my father about these ridiculous accusations.’
‘He already knows,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Perhaps he saw something – or heard you and Margaret arguing – but he knows. Why do you think he threatened to kill me if I investigated? He even claimed Margaret was having an affair with Jervil, just so I would ask no more questions.’
Isabel’s pale blue eyes filled with tears. ‘He did that?’
‘In order to protect you, he was prepared to let people think his beloved sister slept with servants. It also explains what he said when you asked him to fetch Ralph and he refused. He said, “He thinks you have Margaret. If only he knew.” I did not understand what he meant at the time, because it did not occur to me that you would kill her.’
‘It was an accident,’ said Isabel, starting to cry. ‘She said Ralph did not care for me, and that he ran away when he knew I needed him. I could not bear it – not when servants had died and the house lay in ruins. Agnes promised to douse the fire before it did any real damage, but it took hold so quickly.’
Geoffrey doubted Agnes had intended anything of the kind – at least not until the flames had reached the room where Giffard lay in his drugged stupor. But, of course, Giffard was not the only one who had been drugged.
‘You added a sleeping draught to the honeyed milk you gave me,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But I do not think you wanted me to burn. I think you did it because I had been restless the previous night, and you did not want me to catch you with your tinderbox.’
Isabel’s head drooped, confirming his theory. ‘What will you do? I will hang if you tell the sheriff.’
Geoffrey did not know. Both Isabel and Agnes would end up kicking empty air at the gibbet if any of what he had learnt ever came to light.
‘I told you once that I would sooner become a nun than marry anyone but Ralph,’ said Isabel weakly. ‘It is still true. I will ride to Gloucester today and ask Serlo to find me a remote convent.’
‘Very well,’ said Geoffrey, not wanting to be responsible for a hanging. ‘But you cannot leave now: it is too dangerous.’
‘But I must,’ said Isabel tearfully. ‘It pains me to be here. I can hear them laughing together, like lovers. I would rather be gone, to reflect on the harm love can bring. I have little to pack; most of my belongings were lost in the fire. I will leave within the hour. My father will escort me.’
Geoffrey saw that he would be unable to dissuade her and did not try. A short while later, he met fitzNorman, who was ready to leave. He looked old and tired, the fire gone from his eyes.
‘Not even Baderon’s mercenaries will attack a man and his blind daughter on a pilgrimage to Gloucester Abbey,’ said fitzNorman when Geoffrey suggested he should delay their departure until the looming battle was over. ‘But will you wait until tomorrow before telling anyone what you know? By then, Isabel will be safe.’
‘What will you do?’
‘I will see Isabel settled, and then return to Dene. I shall survive, although I am not sure you will. You could come with us and save yourself. I hear Baderon has an army of five hundred, and Goodrich cannot hold out against such numbers.’
‘Time is passing, and you should leave,’ said Geoffrey, ignoring the older man’s suggestion. He was already having second thoughts about allowing a killer to go free.
He watched them ride away, before seeking Roger in the battlements. While talking, he fingered the charm around his neck, and found himself wondering if he had enough time to find an old oak draped with mistletoe. On a whim, he decided to collect the Black Knife, but to his horror, found it had gone. He sat back on his heels, wondering who might have taken it.
He was still thinking when Durand burst into the room, flopped on to the bed and began a litany of complaints about Joan assigning him to a group to defend the well. A man of his status and wealth should be exempt from such duties, he said.
‘The Black Knife has gone,’ Geoffrey interrupted.
Durand gaped at him, before turning recriminatory. ‘I told you to get rid of it, and now someone else will die. Why did you not take it to Rosse, instead of attempting to parley with men determined to fight?’
‘Who else knew it was here?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Other than you?’
‘The whole castle,’ replied Durand. ‘Roger found it while he was browsing through your possessions this morning and took it downstairs to quiz Joan about it. She made him put it back, but everyone knows where he got it from.’
‘Damn!’ muttered Geoffrey. He had forgotten Roger’s disagreeable habit of rifling through Geoffrey’s belongings to assess what was valuable. ‘We must get it back before-’
He was interrupted by a series of shouts. Assuming they were under attack, he raced down the stairs and tore across the bailey. But the soldiers were not looking outside the castle, they were looking within. Geoffrey’s dog had found something concealed behind several water butts. Pleased with itself, it wagged its tail and pushed its nose against what looked to be a leg. When Geoffrey pulled the dog away, he saw Ralph. The heir to Bicanofre had been stabbed in the chest.
‘There is your Black Knife,’ said Durand, peering over the knight’s shoulder. ‘And it does not require a great deal to work out who murdered him!’
‘No,’ agreed Geoffrey. He thought about Eleanor’s warning: Do not be fooled by fair eyes filled with tears. He should have paid more heed to what was very good advice.
‘Is there any point in going after Isabel?’ asked Durand doubtfully. ‘She will be halfway to Shropshire by now, where she plans to live with a distant cousin.’
‘Gloucester,’ corrected Geoffrey. ‘She is going to join a convent.’
‘She told me York,’ countered Joan.
‘FitzNorman told me it was Normandy,’ said Olivier. ‘Or perhaps Anjou.’
Geoffrey shook his head in disgust.
The following morning, after a night in which every sound made him start into wakefulness, Geoffrey’s head was still heavy with regret over Isabel’s deceit. To make amends for his failure in one case, he determined to succeed in another, and decided to resolve the question of Sibylla’s death once and for all. He thought he could do it, armed as he was with Eleanor’s words, what he had read in Elgiva’s book and his own suspicions.
He secured Roger’s help, asking him to occupy Agnes and Walter. The big knight promptly gave Walter a lesson in swordplay, demonstrating to his alarmed mother that the boy had been exceedingly poorly trained.
Meanwhile, Geoffrey shut himself inside the chamber where the pair had slept and began a close inspection of their luggage. It was not long before he found what he was looking for: a small, heavy box with an Italian label brazenly claiming its contents to be mandrake. Inside were several dried fruits and a list of suggestions for their use, also in Italian. Geoffrey read it, then rubbed his chin. He understood the instructions perfectly, but was equally sure Agnes and Walter had not. He went in search of Giffard.
