They were silent a while as they meandered among the trees, but soon their aimless wandering brought them to the great stews where the Abbey’s fish were kept. Here they followed its banks.
The sunlight reflected from the water onto her face, and her features became dappled with the golden light as they walked, always changing as they passed from reeds to places where lilies floated. All had their own effect on her face, and to Baldwin she was almost painfully beautiful.
“My lady, I…”
“Sir Baldwin…”
Both paused, then their expressions lightened, and after a few moments’ polite invitations on either side to continue, Baldwin yielded to Jeanne’s repeated pleas.
It was not easy. He avoided her gaze, staring at the river in search of inspiration. “My lady, I have enjoyed your company over the last few days, the more so since you appear not to have been averse to mine.”
“Have I been so forward?”
“No, Jeanne, not at all!” he declared hotly, then grimaced as he saw her face. “And now you make me look a fool. Perhaps I am wrong, and should not…”
“Sir Baldwin,” she said, and touched his arm lightly.
“Forgive me. I am sometimes too frivolous. Please, carry on.”
He gave her a doubtful look, then took a deep breath. “Jeanne, I have only a small estate, but it is good and provides well. My lands extend from Cadbury down to Crediton, with farms and mills spread all over. My house is a large place, with good rooms, and is warm in winter and cool in summer. My lady, I think the whole is empty. The land is to me a desert, the mills are broken, and the house a ruin, because when I look at you, I see what is missing. There!” He sighed heavily. “I have said it, and can say no more. Do you look on me as an utter idiot, or could I hope that you feel even remotely the same?”
Jeanne stood and stared away from him toward the trees at the opposite bank. “Baldwin, you do me a great honor. No,” as he began to interrupt, “let me finish. You do me as great an honor as any man could do a lady, and the fact that I know you to be an honest and decent knight means much to me. I feel more…privileged that you should offer me this than I would if an earl did.”
“But you must refuse me,” he said.
“For now, yes. Baldwin, don’t look at me like that. I am a widow, with a life just ended. Oh, I know the Abbot would like me to be wed again, not because he begrudges me the manor or the living, but because he is fearful for my safety, a poor woman on her own up at Liddinstone.” She gave a little laugh. “But I can manage Liddinstone as well as my husband ever did.”
“So why do you refuse me?”
“I do not refuse you, Sir Baldwin, but consider: how long have you been alone? All your life, and now, over the space of a couple of days you have decided that I am a suitable wife for you. That is most generous, and I feel the honor of it, but I am new to being alone, and in truth, I am enjoying it. Why should I immediately seal a new contract? At the least I think I deserve time to consider your proposal.”
He gazed at the ground testily. This was a new situation for him; he was unsure how to continue. An outright rejection he could have coped with; a straightforward acceptance would have been preferable-although he candidly admitted to himself that it would have been almost as daunting-but this nebulous “maybe” was confusing.
“So, lady, if you do not refuse me, but do not say ‘yes,’ what must I do to persuade you to agree to my offer?”
“Sir Baldwin, you asked me whether I should like to see Furnshill. Perhaps you could invite me to visit you with the bailiff and his wife when they next stay with you. And then-who knows? Perhaps I will say yes.”
It was with a light heart that David Holcroft walked into the room over the gatehouse to the Abbey. His duties as a port-reeve were almost at an end, his wife’s moodiness was explained at last, the murders had been solved, and the weather was excellent. Life felt good.
His clerk was there already, and Holcroft seated himself in the chair with his small sack jingling merrily, bellowing, “Come on, then!” Soon the men were sidling in. He had already seen to the mounted ones, they had all been paid at the stables where they were resting before making their way home. Now there were only the watchmen on foot.
He dropped the leather bag on the table-top, and as the clerk read out the amounts, he carefully counted out the pennies and slid them across the table. A man would walk up on hearing his name, and David would have the coins ready as soon as the hand was held out. It took no time at all, but today there was a long and pregnant pause.
It was when the men from Denbury appeared.
Holcroft sat back and stared, dumbfounded. There was not one who did not have a bad bruise, a broken nose, or a bandage round his head. All stood in glowering discomfort as the other watchmen tried to restrain their amusement. Holcroft was not so reserved. He sat back on his seat, his hands behind his head as he took in the immensely pleasing sight. The chagrin on the face of Long Jack was emphasized by the large black eye that had almost closed it, giving the man the appearance of a furious one-eyed owl. “We want our money.”
“Not made as much as usual? I didn’t think you’d need these few miserable pennies,” Holcroft said happily.
The watchman snarled incoherently, and Holcroft felt his smile broaden. All of a sudden his day was looking better and better.
“Where’s our money, then?”
Holcroft came upright and slowly counted out each coin, but before he slid them over, he gave the men a speculative look. “Tell me, before I give you this lot-when did this happen to you?”
“On St. Rumon’s Day. The crowd went mad, beating us with our own belts and such.”
“You deserved it, I daresay,” Holcroft said dismissively.
“That’s not fair! We did our job for you, kept things quiet, all orderly, like you wanted.”
“But you are all in a mess.” Holcroft looked Long Jack up and down, then nodded at the clerk. “They’re each amerced two pennies per day since the attack. We can’t have watchmen in our town looking like this.”
“You can’t do that!” Long Jack growled.
“Can’t I? You can demand justice from the Abbot, if you want, but if you do, I’ll bring out three men who’ll swear that you have all been forcing honest traders to pay you for not damaging their businesses. You want that?” Long Jack eyed him with something of the expression of a horse watching a frenzied terrier-there was contempt for so small a creature, but also nervousness in the face of such suicidal recklessness.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Take your money and be grateful. And next year, don’t return: you won’t be wanted. I will inform the Abbot that you have all been getting into fights this fair. He won’t want you back.”
He dealt with the rest of the men with the smile never leaving his lips. Afterward, he took a quart of ale with the clerk, before bidding him a cheery farewell and setting off for his home. All was well with his world. The pressure of the fair was waning, and he could feel the load of his work lightening, and there was a new child to look forward to. It was a contented Holcroft who stepped out through the wicketgate into the street.
Simon sat on his horse with his leg crooked over the beast’s withers as he read the paper.
“What is it, Simon?” the Abbot asked.
Simon passed him the paper. “Only another farmer complaining that a tinner has infringed his lands and refused to pay compensation after letting his sheep run free. He claims three have been eaten by wolves.”
“Is it true, do you think?”
“No! I’ve no doubt that when I get there to find out the details, there’ll be several lamb pelts hanging up to dry as evidence, but this is just one of the normal complaints one receives every month. The moors are constant only in the amount of paperwork and litigation they produce.”