Edild was not alone. Hrype sat beside her and, seated on a stool with his back to me, I recognized Sir Alain de Villequier. On hearing me come in he stood up, turned and gave me a brief bow. Amazed — it was so extraordinary for a man of his stature to bow his head to someone like me — I managed to stammer out a polite greeting.
The reason for his courteous gesture became apparent as soon as he spoke: ‘You have been looking after Lady Claude, Lassair, and I have no doubt that you have eased her pain. I thank you.’ He hesitated, and I sensed there was more he wanted to say.
‘I was pleased to be able to help her,’ I replied. Then I added, ‘She is troubled, sir. The violence of these two deaths has deeply disturbed her.’ Especially, I could have added, since she was already so distressed. That distress, however, was caused by having to give up her vocation and instead marry this man, and since it would have been tactless to say so, I didn’t.
‘I cannot reach her,’ Sir Alain burst out. ‘We are shortly to be man and wife and, for all that it suits us and our kin that this union be brought about, still there are other considerations.’ He paused. ‘I would have her happy,’ he said simply.
And you wish to be happy yourself, I thought. It was understandable — who did not seek earthly happiness, no matter how unreachable it sometimes seemed? — and I did not think the less of him. ‘I believe,’ I said, ‘that her mind may be easier once Ida’s killer has been found.’
He nodded, slowly sinking back on to his stool. I went to crouch beside my aunt, who met my eyes briefly. I thought I read warning in her eyes. I resolved to keep my peace and let the rest of them speak.
‘We have been discussing the death of Derman,’ Hrype said after a moment. ‘Sir Alain has seen the body, which Edild has prepared for burial.’ I had noticed as soon as I had come inside that Derman was gone. I looked at Hrype, raising my eyebrows in enquiry. ‘He is in the crypt beneath the church,’ he murmured. ‘He will be buried tomorrow.’
‘Sir Alain suggests that the death might well have been accidental,’ Edild said, her tone giving nothing away. ‘He observed marks on Derman’s shins — ’ I noticed she did not say that we had also remarked on them — ‘and proposes that Derman tripped, caught the edge of the causeway planks across his shins and, as he fell into the water, hit his head on one of the supporting posts.’
I opened my mouth to protest — there had been many more than one blow! — but Edild’s eyes flashed an urgent message, and I kept silent. Swiftly, another thought blasted inside my mind: Why was Sir Alain so eager to attribute the death to an accident?
The answer came hard on the heels of the question: Because he killed Ida and Derman saw him do it, so Derman, too, had to die.
I lowered my head, hoping that Sir Alain had not seen the shock in my face as realization dawned. My mind was in a frenzy. Hrype must have picked it up, for I felt his hand reach out and take hold of mine. His was cool, and he began to stroke my fingers with his, the rhythm fast at first but gradually slowing. I felt my racing heartbeat begin to slow too, and soon I felt in control of myself. Gently, I disengaged my hand, turning to give him a quick smile of thanks.
I said, my voice quite calm, ‘Lady Claude will be very pleased to hear that Derman was not the victim of another murder. She did not know Derman, so will not grieve for his death. Perhaps she will be able to put the matter from her mind now.’
Sir Alain’s swift nod of agreement suggested that he hoped so too. He started to say something, but I did not hear; it had just occurred to me that if indeed he had killed Derman and had decided to adjudge the death an accident, then it surely meant he would not accuse Zarina of murdering her brother.
My thoughts were whirling once more. Was Sir Alain guilty? If he was, then it meant my liking and admiration for him were unwarranted, that my instincts were wrong, so badly wrong that I could barely bring myself to believe it. If he had killed Derman, then why was I so sure that there was something very dark that Zarina was keeping from me? Were my instincts about her wrong as well?
I wanted to talk to Hrype and Edild. I desperately wanted Sir Alain to go and, clamping down on the wild confusion in my head, I turned all my thoughts to willing him away. Quite soon I had my reward; relieved that all my powers hadn’t abruptly deserted me, I stood up as he rose to leave and wished him a polite farewell.
Hrype stood in the doorway and presently said, ‘He’s gone. Heading for Lakehall, I should think, to visit Lady Claude.’
Edild was busy preparing food and I went to help her. ‘Derman didn’t die like he said,’ I said quietly. ‘It’s quite impossible, and I can’t think how Sir Alain hoped to convince us. We’re healers!’ I added resentfully. ‘Does he think so poorly of us as to believe we cannot tell one accidental blow from many savage and deliberate ones?’
‘Hush,’ Edild said mildly. ‘Use your energy setting out the bowls and the mugs.’
Hrype closed the door and went back to his seat by the hearth. ‘Now there is nothing to prevent Haward and Zarina’s marriage,’ he remarked.
Amid all the other emotions, I felt a stab of pure joy. But swiftly it was obscured; my brother might very well be marrying a murderess. .
I looked at Edild and at Hrype. Both appeared serene, although I knew from long experience that they were very skilled at not allowing their emotions to show. If they were anything but happy at this prospect, they were concealing it very well.
The food was ready: Edild must have been as hungry as I was, for she had set out a simple but very generous meal. The bread was fresh, and the cheese tangy, and straight away the three of us began to eat.
Up at Lakehall, Alain de Villequier tried to comfort the woman who was so soon to be his wife. He had arrived to find her sitting stiff and straight-backed, barely responding to Lady Emma’s attempts at conversation. Her face was a deathly white mask, her small eyes sunk deep in her head. She was dressed in her usual black, the veil drawn forward so that it all but covered the starched white that so tightly framed her face. She smelled slightly unpleasant, although the odour was masked by a more wholesome perfume. Sniffing discreetly, he thought he smelt lavender and rosemary.
Of course, he thought. The healer girl was here.
It was late by the time he succeeded in reassuring Claude — if, indeed, he had, and her apparent quiescence was not just a pretence — and Lady Emma persuaded him to stay to supper and accept a bed for the night. Claude forced herself to sit at table for the evening meal, although Alain wished she had not. The sight of her pushing food around her plate and nibbling at the tiniest mouthfuls was singularly irritating, although he told himself repeatedly not to be so hard on her. The meal proceeded on through several courses — Alain could well appreciate why Lord Gilbert was the size he was — and finally, as the last platters were cleared away, Claude stood up and announced she was going to bed. Alain felt relief race through him.
What am I to do? he wondered. She is soon to be my wife and, although I try, I cannot truly make myself like her, never mind love her.
He sat twirling the stem of his wine goblet, listening to Lord Gilbert and Lady Emma’s voices beside him, quietly discussing some small domestic matter. Did they love each other? He believed they did. He wondered if love had been there from the start; like him and Claude, their marriage had been arranged to suit their families and not themselves. Would love grow similarly between himself and Claude? He hoped so, but in his heart he had his doubts. The trouble is, he reflected, I know what love can be.