‘Though why he should have wanted to do away with Master Champernowne, who was to be his brother-in-law, I’m sure I can’t fathom. But Beric Gifford’s proved himself to be an evil man. I’m sure he never showed any signs of it when he was young. A happy-go-lucky youth, I always thought him. A touch arrogant, maybe, considering he was so feckless and forever on his beam ends. But then, that’s normal for those who don’t have to earn their daily bread, and live on expectations from others. They’ve never heard the old rhyme, I suppose, “When Adam delved and Eve span, who was then the gentleman?”.’
The woodland had now closed about us again as my new friend and I, followed by the pigs, still rootling and snuffling at the base of every promising tree-trunk, slowly progressed along the narrow path leading to the main track. I said, ‘I can’t imagine why the Sheriff’s officer didn’t immediately name Beric Gifford as the culprit as soon as the murder was discovered. It seems obvious to me. Instead, he allowed himself to be cozened by Mistress Gifford into believing that Jack Golightly was to blame, simply because the man is known to have a grudge against all Champernownes.’
‘Oh, I’m acquainted with that officer,’ the swineherd sneered. ‘He’s called Guy Warren. He’s a bit of a simpleton, easily persuadable, especially by a good-looking woman. And Berenice Gifford has always been that. Strong-willed, too. Used to protect the boy when they were young. Sometimes you’d have thought she was his mother, not his sister, although she was only two years the elder.’
‘Do you know the family well?’
He shook his greying head. ‘No. I’m swineherd to the Champernownes, like my father and grandfather before me.’ He yelled at the largest and fattest of the pigs, who had turned aside, deep into the trees, and was determinedly digging at the base of an oak, using both snout and feet. ‘Drat the animal. Come on, Jupiter! You can come back later and find whatever it is you think you’re looking for.’ He added, ‘My goody’s none too clever, so today I’m going home to see how she is.’
‘Nothing serious, God willing?’
‘No.’ He lowered his voice confidentially. ‘Women’s troubles. But your news’ll have her on her feet again, mark my words! A murder! And the victim a kinsman of the master’s! I’ll be very surprised if she doesn’t find that she can walk into Modbury as soon as we’ve eaten. She’ll want to visit her sister and find out what’s happening … Jupiter!’ He turned to yell once more at the recalcitrant pig, who, unnoticed by my companion, had now been joined by the other two. Cursing roundly, the swineherd went after his charges and, with much flailing of his arms and liberal use of his stick, drove the three animals out of the undergrowth and back on to the path. ‘Dratted, obstinate creatures,’ he complained, when he had again caught up with me. ‘Vicious, too. Never get on the wrong side of a pig. If they don’t like you, they’ll attack you. They’re partial to human flesh.’
I nodded and the conversation began to flag. ‘Your wife has kinfolk in Modbury, then,’ I said idly, in order to fill the breach.
‘Only the one sister and her daughter. Eulalia and Constance Trim.’
The latter name stirred a chord of memory. Where had I heard it mentioned, and recently? Constance Trim. Constance … Ah! Now I had it! The fisherman’s wife had told me that Berenice Gifford’s former maid had been called Constance Trim. I turned to glance at my companion.
‘I’ve heard tell of your niece,’ I said. ‘She was employed at Valletort Manor, but quit to return to Modbury, to look after and support her widowed mother.’
The swineherd snorted as loudly as any of his pigs. ‘Whoever told you that isn’t in possession of the true facts, that’s all I can say. Eulalia’s more than capable of taking care of herself. No, Constance didn’t leave Mistress Gifford’s service of her own free will. She was told to go. And for no good reason that she knew of, other than to bring that Katherine Glover into the house.’
Chapter Eighteen
Shortly after imparting this interesting piece of information, the swineherd bade me farewell and proceeded, together with his animals, along a tributary path that, he said, led to his cottage and his ailing wife.
‘I hope you find your goody well on the road to recovery,’ I shouted at his retreating back, and he raised a hand to show that he had heard me. But he was too much occupied with his pigs to spare more of his attention. They were all soon lost to view amongst the trees, and I continued onwards for the remaining two hundred yards or so before emerging on to the main track to Modbury.
I suddenly realized that for the last quarter of an hour I had forgotten about Beric Gifford and his pursuit of me, and I paused, glancing around warily, my heart beginning to thump against my ribs.
He was no figment of my imagination. Those legs and feet, encased in their long leather boots, that I had glimpsed through the opening of the tree-tent, had been real enough. Beric had followed me from Valletort Manor, with what fell purpose in mind I could only hazard a guess; but I was convinced that I had been saved from a violent confrontation solely because of my encounter with the swineherd. Beric must have been ahead of us at that point, but our voices, raised in conversation, would have given him ample warning of our approach, and he could easily have stepped aside into the shelter of the trees. The question remained, had he decided to tail the pair of us and bide his time until the swineherd and I parted company? Or had he given up and returned, balked of his prey, to Valletort Manor?
Somehow, knowing Beric’s ruthlessness, the ease with which he killed for seemingly very little reason, and the enjoyment that he appeared to derive from it, I thought the former option the more likely of the two; and fear slithered across my skin like water as I took stock of my present situation. I was not far from safety. If memory served me aright, this belt of woodland would soon give way to open ground; the heath and meadows used by the people of Modbury to graze their sheep and cattle. But I was not yet clear of the trees, and although they were beginning to thin, there was still sufficient cover from which Beric could launch a surprise assault. But then again, he would have no need of cover if he were invisible.
I moved slowly forward, my cudgel at the ready, but it was impossible to guard both front and rear, however many times I swung around in circles. Finally, I backed up against an ancient, broad-trunked oak, dropped my pack to the ground and waited. And once more, from somewhere not too far away, came a sound like the snapping of a twig, but whether from the opposite side of the track or from my own, it was difficult to judge. All I could say for certain was that I was once more gripped by that sense of an all-pervasive evil, and the conviction that Beric must be very close at hand. I braced myself for an assault.
The thudding of horses’ hoofs and the jingle of harness made me glance to the right as a small, sombrely dressed cavalcade appeared around a bend in the path, a bullish, thick-necked man, arrayed all in black, riding at its head. It needed no one to tell me that this must be Sir Walter Champernowne, apprised of his son’s death and now on his way to Valletort Manor. This surely meant that the Sheriff’s officer — Guy Warren, the swineherd had called him — must have informed Bartholomew’s parents of his murder and of the identity of his suspected killer. And they, in their turn, had probably raised the hue and cry after Jack Golightly. I had to find out as soon as I could what was happening.
Without further ado, I shouldered my pack and left the shelter of my oak, pushing forward, past Sir Walter and his retinue of household officers who, as I expected, did not deign to acknowledge anyone so lowly as myself. A pedlar and one, moreover, on foot, would have been beneath their notice even if they had not had weightier matters on their minds. And by the time that all sight and sound of the horsemen had dwindled and died away, I had, by dint of rapid walking, managed to leave the woods behind. Almost at once, the feeling of impending danger, of evil, of menace, lifted as I stepped from shadow into sunlight; and as I neared Modbury, my spirits insensibly rose as well.