‘And then the knight in the priory died,’ Simon agreed. ‘I wonder whether Jordan had a hand in that too?’
Baldwin nodded grimly. ‘Let us try Jordan himself, or his friend Reginald. Perhaps one or the other could be persuaded to speak the truth and confess.’
‘Which do you want to speak to first?’
‘The man Reginald lives near St Nicholas’s Priory, so I’m told,’ Baldwin said. ‘From all we have heard, Jordan le Bolle appears to be the stronger of the two. Let us start with this Reginald and see what we may learn. Then we should go to meet Jordan, but perhaps it would be as well to take men with us. He owns a gambling den, it seems he has a brothel and panders to protect his women, and he even dares to set men to defraud the cathedral, as well as setting the cathedral against the friars. He sounds like a man who could be dangerous. Perhaps we should speak to Sir Peregrine before we confront him.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Agnes was furious. The idea that she might be simply cast out again … she had looked after the children, she had helped her sister move back into the house, she had done all she might to assist them, and yet as soon as Master Coroner with the shifty eyes appeared, she was unwanted again. It was sickening. She could scarcely control her fury as she slammed the door behind her and made her way along the street. The ungracious, miserable sow! How dare she simply wave her out, as though Agnes was little better than a maid!
She dodged a vast pile of horse droppings, and stopped just beyond, breathing heavily. Here she was at the top of the lane, and could gaze back down.
The river gleamed in the distance, reflecting the sun as it headed westwards over the road to Crediton, and the hills encircling Exeter seemed to shine, the sun shimmering on the few leaves remaining on the trees that smothered them, the reds and golds glistening. Autumn leaves, she thought, and suddenly the tears that had been stemmed so long burst from her.
It was unfair, so terribly unfair. Her sister had won Daniel when Agnes had wanted to have him, and now she was taking Sir Peregrine from under Agnes’s nose as well. It was terrible.
She sobbed. Autumn leaves, so beautiful, and then they fell and nothing remained, their beauty lost for ever. She was like them: her beauty was fading, and she was still without a husband. All she could manage was a lover, and he was already married. She was nothing more than a distraction for him. Nothing else. He couldn’t leave his wife. The Church wouldn’t allow him.
Turning back, she went to Gwen’s house. The idea of talking to a friend was now very appealing. She wiped her sleeve over her face. There was nothing else she could do. Her mind was numbed with misery, and her body was exhausted. She needed sympathy.
Gwen was sitting in her little parlour as Agnes entered.
‘Maid, you look terrible,’ Gwen said. She stood compassionately, her face twisted, and then a shot of pain went through her breast and she had to sit again suddenly. ‘Oh! That was a bad one.’
‘Gwen, are you all right?’
‘I’m fine. How are you? I thought you would be staying with your sister tonight.’
‘Oh, Gwen. I feel so stupid. So lonely. I wish …’
Gwen smiled soothingly. She knew what Agnes wanted more than anything else. It was obvious the way she behaved around men. ‘You’ll soon have a man of your own, maid.’
‘Every man I look to, Juliana wins his heart.’
‘You are thinking of a particular man?’
‘No! No. Well, I admired that Coroner. He’s very attractive, I think,’ she said with a faint desperation in her voice. She scuffed the floor with a toe.
‘Juliana’s not after your man, maid. She isn’t interested — look,’ Gwen laughed, warming to her theme, ‘people have been talking about her to me. Oh, ever since Jordan went visiting at her house, people’ve said she was having an affair. Some said she killed Daniel to clear the way, but there’s nothing in that. What, do you think your sister would commit adultery? She wouldn’t think of it. And they’d have to do away with his wife, too, if they wanted freedom.’
‘Gwen?’ Agnes asked. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Jordan’s wife. They’d have to kill her too if they wanted to marry. All I’m saying is, she’s got nothing to do with anything like that. She’s too loyal to have had a part in Daniel’s death. She’d find it impossible to consider taking Jordan. But the rumours were all over the place — and it’s worse since he came here, I dare say. People can’t mind their business, but have to poke their noses in other folks’ affairs. No, I’d bet you’re safe. She’s too bound up in grief still, anyway. If you’re looking at that Coroner, you’re safe.’
‘She’s been seeing Jordan?’
‘There’s enough saw him go to her house when Daniel was out. But I think it was something else, not because he wanted her to part her legs for him. Don’t worry. Maid? What’s the matter?’
She saw Agnes stare at her, retreating from the room, slowly shaking her head as though in horror. All at once Gwen realized that Agnes had not meant what Gwen had thought. She tried to rise, but a fresh pain stabbed at her breast, and she gasped in agony, a hand to her side, sinking back on her stool. She watched Agnes turn and fly from the house, but she could do nothing, not even shout. The pain was too strong.
There was no point even thinking of going to the priory. It would be shut up for the night before long, and the Prior would be easier to speak to in the morning. Instead, Baldwin led the way to Reginald’s house, a large property up the lane that led past the Priory of St Nicholas.
The bailiff was impressed. He had seen many like this down at Dartmouth, imposing places built to enhance the status of the owner as much as provide a space in which to live. This was rather magnificent. It had a broad front, with a bridge to the front door that stood over a basement area like a drawbridge over a moat. It gave the impression of a house that was strong and defensible.
Entering, Simon and Baldwin were brought to a pleasant hall. Sitting in a comfortable-looking chair was a man dressed in fur-trimmed robes and a warm-looking cap, while at his side was a startlingly attractive blonde woman, similarly clothed. As Simon walked in, he thought to himself that they appeared the ideal couple. The man was plainly a successful merchant, while his wife was the perfect adornment for him, a cool beauty with the calmness of a woman who possessed her own intelligence.
And then he approached more closely and he saw the flaws in both.
The man was sad, careworn and grim-faced. The woman was shrewish, with fine-chiselled features that were sharp and almost cruel-looking. Glancing back at Reginald, Simon thought he could see why he looked so solemn and beleaguered. The happiness had been sucked from him by this woman, Simon reckoned, and he found his sympathy going all to the man.
‘Lordings, how may I help you?’ Reginald asked. ‘I have wine — would you like me to serve you with a little?’
Baldwin was still at the stoup by the door. He crossed himself with pensive deliberation, then walked over the floor to stand in front of Reginald. Standing and studying the man with a small frown on his face, he shook his head, then glanced at the man’s wife. ‘I would question your husband, lady. Would you leave us alone for a while?’
‘Why? Should I be ashamed of him?’
‘You should ask him that,’ Baldwin replied mildly.
‘I will stay.’
Reg licked his lips. He called for his bottler and demanded a good goblet of wine for himself, and when it arrived he drank heavily, smacking his lips appreciatively. ‘A good one that. Cost me a fortune, but worth every penny. What’s this all about?’
Baldwin frowned at the ground, and Simon rested his hand on his sword hilt. ‘We have a problem,’ he said.
‘Can I help you with it?’ Reg asked, surprised. He rather liked the look of this bailiff. The man looked like a moorman, with his rugged, leathery skin and dark eyes. He had the appearance of the sort of fellow Reg would like to share a drink with.