“Yes.”
The hunter winced, his eyes screwed into thin slits with his distaste at his thought, as if expecting to be told his idea was nonsensical. “Bailiff, I can’t help thinking… well, look, we can’t imagine that it was any normal robber did this to the abbot – it wouldn’t make sense, would it? No, so we’re left with this strange killing, maybe there’s some kind of meaning behind it? Now, it strikes me that it’s the way they kill heretics in France.”
“Yes. Thank God we haven’t sunk so low in England. The king won’t allow the Inquisition into the country.”
“No, but do you think this could be something like that? He was French, from his name.”
“It’s possible, I suppose.” Simon stared bleakly into his drink.
“After all, it’s almost like someone’s trying to make a show out of the death, if you see what I mean.”
The bailiff stared at him. “You’re saying he could have been killed to make some sort of a point?”
Shrugging, the hunter said, “Well, I can’t see any other reason to kill him like that. Can you?”
“No. No, I can’t,” said Simon, frowning thoughtfully at his wife’s back. He shook his head. This was getting him nowhere – he knew nothing about these things. Could Baldwin help? He was only recently back from France.
Then, startled, his eyes focused sharply and he drew a quick breath as his mind considered a new possibility -could Baldwin have been involved somehow? He was recently back from France, he had Edgar as a perpetual shadow, he was a knight – could he have had something to do with the abbot’s death? Had Baldwin and the abbot known each other before?
It was with a small sigh of relief that he remembered the day he had first seen the monks and then mentioned them to the knight at Furnshill. No, of course it could not have been Baldwin, if so he would surely have expressed some interest in the travellers when Simon spoke of them. As the bailiff recalled, the knight had not shown even a passing curiosity, he had dismissed them and gone straight on to talk about his new estates.
Eyes glazing again, his attention wandered around the room until he focused again on his wife. She was clever, he knew, and keen to understand his work. He could see that, even in the way she had asked about this affair just now when Black had seemed to become so despondent, and her questions had made him start thinking again. If she had not… A quick grin suddenly cracked his serious features.
Stirring the pot, Margaret was smiling to herself. It had not taken much, but it had worked – at least Black was thinking again! With a slight feeling of smugness she threw a glance at her husband, and was irritated to see that he was grinning at her with an eyebrow lifted ironically as if he could read her mind. She stared back at him coolly; it was obvious he realised what she had done, but when she turned back to the pot she too was grinning, and had to fight to control a giggle.
“But why should someone have wanted to do that to de Penne?” she heard Black say musingly.
“I don’t know. It’s not as if he was known down here.”
“Same with Brewer. Why would someone kill him?”
“For money, I suppose. And he was hated, Cenred said, by almost all the people in the vill.”
“Well we don’t even really know that Brewer had any money. It was a rumour, but no one ever saw it.”
“So we don’t even know that he was wealthy, or at least we don’t know he kept money at the farm?”
“No.”
Simon raised a hand to his head and rubbed his brow with the back of a fist. “Oh, God. Neither killing makes any sense. Why…”
He was cut off by a loud knocking at the door. Margaret stopped her stirring and the two men sat still and silent, all their eyes turning to the tapestry that covered the entrance from the screens. Simon had to contain the urge to leap up and answer it himself in case it was a message from Tanner, and as he sat his eyes were gleaming with hope. As soon as Hugh came in with a young man, slim and dark, who was stained after riding quickly through the puddles in the lane, his face ruddy from the exertion, Simon slumped back in his seat with a grimace of disgust. This was not one of the men from the posse, he would have remembered his face. As the young man entered, he looked from Black to Simon with confusion in his dark eyes until Simon motioned him forward.
“Sir? Bailiff? I’ve been sent from Sir Baldwin Furnshill. He sends his best wishes and asks if you and your lady could join him this evening at the manor.”
Simon shot a glance at his wife and smiled at the unmistakable signs of hope on her face, forgetting his conversation with the hunter. He feigned disinterest, casually glancing in her direction. “I don’t know. Margaret? Would you like to go?” he asked, his voice showing his unconcern.
She raised an eyebrow and looked at him with an expression of exasperation on her face. He knew only too well that she wanted to meet the new master of Furnshill, she had told him so; especially now she had heard a little about the strange new knight. She ignored her husband and turned to the messenger with a sigh of patient suffering. “Please tell your master that we will be pleased to join him this evening, but do warn him that the bailiff seems a little confused today. It’s probably his age,” she said sweetly, and with a slight shake of her head, as if in disgust with her husband, she turned back to the fire and took the pot from the flames.
Simon smiled to himself. He could think of no other man he would prefer to discuss the abbot’s death with, especially since Baldwin had seemed so interested in the death of the farmer. Could he help with this killing too?
Later, as they rode together from Sandford to Cadbury, leaving Edith with a maid, Margaret turned and saw Hugh was trailing a short distance behind. Turning to Simon, she gave him a look of wary concern. “Simon, do you really think that the murders can’t have been done by the same people? It seems such a strange coincidence that both deaths should have involved fires.”
He grunted noncommittally as he turned his mind back to the mysterious deaths. “The only similarity between the two deaths is in the fact that fire was common to both.”
“Surely that’s enough of a coincidence, isn’t it? When did someone last die from fire?”
“No, that’s not what I meant. If both men died in fires at home, then I could understand it. If both were taken on the road and ransomed, then I could happily say, ”Yes, here’s a coincidence.“” But I can’t. One man seemed to die in his bed, one died at a stake. One was definitely robbed, one may – only may – have been.“
They fell into a thoughtful silence as they jogged along on their horses. Could there be a small band of trail bastons this far south, Simon wondered, one that had started raiding down south of Crediton, had found the Brewer house and killed him and had then gone on and seized the abbot? And then – in a fit of jealousy at the hostage’s wealth, perhaps? – killed him in that senseless manner?
Margaret watched as his hand slowly came up to scratch at his ear, a sure sign of perplexity. His frown would soon disappear, she knew, as a new thought occurred to him, making him lose his glowering concentration as he peered ahead, looking as if he was lost, like an old man confused of his surroundings, until he had worried the thought to death and gone on to the next one. Smiling, she saw the anticipated expression appear and turned her gaze back to the view ahead.
They topped a hill and waited at the top for Hugh, who toiled slowly after them. From here they could see for miles and Simon was happy to rest and stare, forgetting the affair for a moment as he leaned on his saddlebow and breathed in the clean air.
Margaret watched him with a little smile as he sat comfortably on his horse. She was proud of his strength and calmness, and loved him for his gentleness with their daughter, but behind her smile she was worried. She had never seen him as absorbed as he was now with these killings. In the past he had sometimes been forced to get involved with legal matters, when there was a theft in the village, or a land dispute, but generally they had a quiet life together – there were not that many crimes in this part of the world. She was fearful, too, that these killers could strike again, that another person could be killed for no apparent reason. As she thought, though, she suddenly realised that her main fear came from how it would affect him.