‘He said there was to be a party,’ she said, nodding her head towards the man. ‘He told me I would meet you, lord, and he said it was a surprise.’ She stopped, and it seemed to the man, watching her back, that her shoulders drooped a little.
The lord must have noticed, too. ‘Would you like to go home?’ he said gently.
Her head shot up. ‘May I?’ Then, as if she remembered her manners: ‘I mean, after the party, of course.’
‘Of course,’ the lord echoed. He leaned towards her. ‘Tomorrow I shall take you back to Hawkenlye Abbey,’ he announced.
‘But my grandmother-’ The girl bit off the rest of whatever she was going to say. If she had been about to point out again that her grandmother was no longer abbess of Hawkenlye, she must have thought better of it. Perhaps, the man reflected, she had decided that being taken to the abbey was as good an offer as she was going to get and she had better accept it. ‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said instead. ‘That would be most convenient.’
‘Good,’ the lord said. Then, his eyes dancing with light as if he were contemplating some wonderful event: ‘Good!’ He clapped his hands, yelled to the others that they could come back and told them to bring the food with them.
The remainder of the evening had passed in a blur. Everyone had drunk a lot, and the shouting and the singing had all resonated inside the man’s head, competing with the voices that alternately cajoled, threatened and, very occasionally, praised him.
The others made him the butt of their mocking jokes, and it had hurt him. He had done all this, conceived his brilliant plan, to stop them treating him like an idiot. He had truly believed that bringing the girl would please his lord so much that the lord would turn to him, thank him and announce that he was to be advanced to the post of one of the lord’s close guard. That would have shown them, all of them, for at long last he would have been in his rightful place at his lord’s side.
Where he, of all men, surely belonged. Even if nobody ever seemed to remember it.
It was late now, and everybody was sleeping. The girl had been accorded a corner to herself, and the lord had made sure that she was snug and comfortable. He had commanded that the men respect her privacy, and the man knew that nobody would dare to disobey. The girl was safe now.
Somehow, despite the fact that his plan had gone so badly awry, he could not help being glad about that. It had never been his intention to hurt her. He’d just had to use her as a means to an end, in much the same way that people used him.
Tomorrow they were taking her back to the abbey. The lord had seemed very pleased about that. The man tried to think why. He was quite good at thinking, or at least he was when the voices gave him a bit of peace. They were quiet now — perhaps, like the others, they, too, were asleep — and the man frowned as he thought about why the lord might be happy to go to the abbey.
An image began to firm in his mind. It was misty and vague at first, but then it solidified and he knew what he was seeing. Of course.
A slow smile spread across his face. He drew up his cloak, made himself comfortable and very soon, against all his expectations, he fell asleep.
Helewise woke very early the next morning, worrying about Rosamund and trying to puzzle out whether the death of this Hugh de Brionne could be connected with the girl’s disappearance. She got up quietly — Tiphaine was still asleep — and built up the fire in the hearth. She knelt beside it to say a heartfelt prayer for her granddaughter’s safety: ‘Please, dear Lord, let her be waking in warmth and safety this morning. Let her find her way back to we who love her.’
She prayed for a little longer, then stood up and, with quick, decisive movements, put water on to heat and set about making the breakfast porridge. The Lord could not bring Rosamund home by himself, and it was up to Helewise to do whatever she could to help. She did not know quite why, but she had the growing conviction that she must tell Josse the dead man’s name as soon as she could. She ate her bowl of hot food standing up, swallowing it so fast that she burned her throat. Then she shook Tiphaine gently, told her where she was going and set off.
The morning was still young as she strode along. In the weak sunlight the grass by the track was glistening with frost; the first frost of the autumn. Hurry, she told herself. She increased her pace.
By the time she reached the House in the Woods, she was out of breath and glowing. She ran up the steps and opened the door, finding Josse and Geoffroi eating at the big table by the hearth. Ignoring their surprised expressions, she said, ‘The dead man’s name was Hugh de Brionne. Tiphaine overheard my son Leofgar identify him last night.’ She pulled up a bench and sat down on it, only then realizing that she felt quite exhausted.
Josse was staring at her, repeating the name under his breath. ‘Hugh de Brionne. Aye, I know the family. His father Felix and I both saw service with King Richard.’ He narrowed his eyes, clearly concentrating hard. ‘Aye, now that I know the man’s identity, I can see that he did indeed look a little like his father, although his face was badly-’ Belatedly, he recalled his son’s presence. ‘Er, his face had suffered some wounds, and so I did not see the resemblance yesterday.’
‘It is easier to detect similarity between two people when you are looking out for it,’ she said. ‘You had no idea who the dead man was.’
He gave her an affectionate smile. ‘Kind of you to say so,’ he murmured. Then, speaking so softly that he merely mouthed the question: ‘Has Meggie turned up?’
She shook her head. So Meggie was not here at the house either…
Josse had turned to Geoffroi, who was listening wide-eyed to the conversation about the dead man. ‘Son,’ he said, ‘I have to go to speak to Gervase. Somebody must go to inform the dead man’s parents what has happened and, since I know Felix de Brionne, I think it ought to be me.’
Geoffroi nodded. ‘Can I come too?’
Josse put his arm round his son’s shoulders. ‘You could,’ he said, ‘but, if you are willing, I have a much more important job for you.’
Geoffroi’s expression brightened. ‘What is it?’ he asked eagerly.
‘Son, Helewise has to get back to the hut, and neither Ninian nor Meggie has yet returned. I need someone here who can come and find me if anything happens, and, since Will, Ella, Tilly and Gus all have a full day’s work ahead of them, the obvious person to ask is you.’
For a moment Helewise thought the boy would see through the ruse. Josse was right: the house of a mother and father being informed of their son’s death was no place for anyone who did not have to be there, especially one of such tender years as Geoffroi. The boy’s expression was at first doubtful, but then, as he thought about the suggestion, his face cleared. ‘I’ll ride like the wind and by the most secret ways,’ he said excitedly. ‘I’ll-’
Gently, Josse stopped the eager flow of words. ‘If you need me, go to the abbey. I will leave word there of where I am bound.’
Geoffroi looked at him solemnly. ‘I will.’
Josse reached over to embrace him briefly then, with a glance at Helewise, led the way out of the hall. ‘I’ll go and get Alfred,’ he said as they hurried across the courtyard. ‘Will you ride with me?’
‘As far as the path to the hut, yes,’ she replied.
He looked at her. ‘You still will not come to the abbey?’
She shook her head. ‘No, Josse. Abbess Caliste has quite enough to cope with in these dreadful times without her predecessor turning up uninvited.’
‘Very well.’
Will was busy in the stable block and swiftly helped Josse prepare his horse. ‘I’m going first to Hawkenlye, Will,’ Josse told him, ‘and then on from there. I don’t know how long I shall be.’
Will nodded. ‘Gus and I will take care of the place in your absence,’ he said.
Josse got into the saddle and reached down his hand to Helewise, pulling her up so that she sat in front of him, sideways across the horse’s withers. Then he kicked Alfred and they set off across the forest.