Simon spurred his horse and they rode on over a wide verge to the house itself. The sun had disappeared behind the moor before them, and the day had taken on the dingy hues of twilight. In this aspect the house took on an alarming appearance: dark and menacing.
Baldwin had to remind himself that it was Simon, not he, who was prone to superstitious fears, but as they trotted towards the buildings he felt a powerful sense of sadness which was almost palpable about this house of mourning.
Chapter Four
The serving girl covered her face again as soon as the priest left the chapel, and she went back to the security of her kitchen. Shoulders heaving, she crossed to the little three-legged stool near the fire, and collapsed on it in a fit of powerless misery.
‘Petronilla? Come on, foolish chit, this’ll never do!’ Daniel, the household’s steward, patted her shoulder. Her paroxysms of grief began to fade, and he fetched her a pint of wine, holding it under her nose until she wiped her eyes one last time, and looked up at him with bleary-eyed gratitude. ‘Come on, drink up. You can’t go to serve your mistress looking like this. You don’t want to make her feel even worse, do you?’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but it was, was…’
‘I know. We all loved him. He was kind and generous. The squire can never be replaced for us, Petronilla. He can’t be.’
She saw that his eyes were becoming misty too. Daniel, she recalled, had been a footsoldier alongside the old squire in many battles in France and Wales, and suddenly she realised that he was trying to cope with his own grief while ensuring that all the servants of the hall performed their duties. His courage in the face of his own loss was enough to make her feel almost ashamed.
‘Daniel, I am so sorry, I never thought about you.’
He replied with an unsteady smile, but then gave a loud sniff and glanced through the open door. ‘Don’t worry about me, dear. I am old enough to have buried almost all my friends and, although I don’t like it, I’m at least used to it. Save your sympathy for the squire’s widow. And for his son,’ he added heavily, with an emphasis that made the girl look up.
‘Herbert? Why do you sound so sad when you mention him, Daniel?’
‘Because he’s the squire now, girl. He has the full weight of the manor resting on his young shoulders, whether he wishes it or no. And there are many who’d like to deprive him of his inheritance.’
With this gloomy observation, he saw Simon and Baldwin entering the yard. Muttering a curse, he shouted for grooms and ran out. Had he looked back, he would have seen Petronilla’s eyes fill with tears again.
She bit her lip as she placed a hand on her belly, touching the new life beginning there, before sobbing afresh.
Baldwin and Simon dropped thankfully from their horses, rubbing sore buttocks and stretching their aching thighs. It was a relief to see the steward hurrying towards them.
Daniel was a tall, cadaverous man with thinning, grizzled hair. His eyes were dark and shrewd, with laughter-lines to prove that he was a happy enough fellow normally, but today their gleam was muted in deference to the occasion.
‘Bailiff, I am glad to see you again. If you and Sir Baldwin would follow me?’ They were led over the threshold into the screens. Here Daniel stood aside and motioned them into the hall.
Simon was struck by the cheerful atmosphere. If he had not known that they were met here to bury a man, he would have thought a celebration was in full flow. There was a thick crowd, all well-to-do, standing away from the great fireplace, talking loudly, all grasping drinking cups. As he entered, the noise was deafening.
He glanced over the group, but it was the woman he noticed almost immediately.
She sat on a small chair at the fireside, a sombre young boy whom Simon took to be the heir standing near to hand, his head downcast. Lady Katharine of Throwleigh was a slender woman in her middle twenties, tall and elegant in her green velvet and linen coif. She watched the men as they entered with an intense stillness.
Where she sat the room was in comparative darkness. The candles and sconces were all set away from the fire, and here the only light came from the burning logs themselves. When Simon was some few feet from her, he could see the immensity of her despair and sadness in her drawn features and red-rimmed grey eyes. The boy didn’t raise his head to look at the guests; he appeared to be absorbed in his own private misery. Behind him, almost hidden in the shadows, was a quiet maidservant, but Simon had no interest in her. He had eyes only for the lady of the house.
He bowed, offering his respects on his own behalf as well as his master, the Warden of the Stannaries. Baldwin stepped to his side and bowed in his turn.
‘My Lady. I have come, as you asked, to witness the funeral of your husband, not only so that I can pay my own respects to him, but also in order that I can represent the Sheriff, for your husband was a good and loyal subject to the King’s father. I can only say how deeply sorry I am.’
‘Thank you, Sir Baldwin. It is kind of you to come, and I am grateful to you for your words.’ She was stiffly formal, but her voice, although hoarse with crying, was warm, and her manner courteous as she thanked him and Simon. ‘Of course I remember your last visit, Bailiff.’
‘Yes, my Lady,’ smiled Simon. I helped your husband with the peat-cutters.‘
It was a common enough dispute on the moors, and boringly familiar to Simon. A group of men had wandered onto Squire Roger’s land, cutting turves for their fires, and when he had demanded that they should stop, they said they were miners. A tin miner had the right to fuel for his workings, but these men were nothing to do with the mines, and Simon had evicted them.
‘My husband was always grateful to you for your help,’ she said, and suddenly her eyes brimmed with tears, and Simon had to lean forward to catch her words. ‘He would have been pleased that you had time enough to come and make your farewell, Bailiff.’
A short while afterwards, Lady Katharine pleaded a headache and left her guests to go up to her room, calling her maidservant Anney to join her. The men in the hall appeared to think that her departure was a signal for merry-making, calling for more wine or ale, one or two demanding food, and many shouting for ‘Petronilla!’
Soon she came in, a tall, attractive, fair-haired girl of some twenty summers. It was obvious that she, like her mistress, was deeply sorrowful. Although she served those who called to her, as soon as she could she put her tray down and went to the young boy, putting her arms around him.
Baldwin cocked an eye at his friend, and the two took their place by the fire, a little away from the others, where they could talk without interruption. They weren’t to be left alone for long, however.
A priest entered and, noticing the young servant, he called to her. She regretfully left the child, who slipped out through the door to the solar. The priest spoke to the maidservant quietly, and she took on a still more sombre mien before hurrying out in her turn. When she had gone, the cleric gazed distastefully at the rowdier of the guests, before crossing the room to Baldwin and Simon.
‘Bailiff? Surely I remember you from when you were last here?’
‘Of course, Brother Stephen,’ Simon said, raising a smile as the cleric joined them.
Baldwin was struck not only by the man’s strong, flat-sounding accent, but also by his effeminacy. He was tall and slim, with an oval face of pale complexion, and curiously full and fleshy lips. His looks would have suited a woman, and Baldwin was reminded of some of the rumours about the clergy, which suggested that priests were often caught in compromising situations with women. There were always stories in circulation of how priests broke their vows. At least, Baldwin thought privately, women would be safe from this man!