‘As a matter of fact,’ I retorted, equally sharp, ‘I could have sworn that it was you who made love to me.’
We had reached the stables by this time and I left her outside while I assured myself that our horses — Richard’s and mine — were being looked after. I need not have worried, of course. Lady Claypole’s servants might be an odd-looking bunch, but they knew their jobs well enough. I rejoined my companion and began walking back towards the house.
‘Do you still suspect Uncle Robert of murder?’ Juliette asked, pointedly ignoring our previous subject of conversation and once again tucking her hand into the crook of my elbow.
‘I don’t suppose we shall ever know the truth about the death of Isabella Linkinhorne,’ I answered snappishly. ‘There are two other suspects besides Master Moresby, and I doubt if after all these years anything can be proved against any of them.’ I didn’t mention that one of those other two men was now sitting with our hostess. I didn’t think it necessary.
There was silence for a moment, then the pressure of my companion’s fingers brought me to a standstill. Her face was troubled.
‘My uncle didn’t, it seems, tell you the whole truth, Roger. He admitted as much to me when we were discussing the matter after you had left.’
‘What is the whole truth, then?’ I asked, resisting a sudden urge to kiss her.
‘That day — the day he waited for this woman here, at Hambrook Manor — he did, apparently, leave the house on one occasion and ride towards Westbury to look for her.’
‘Lady Claypole didn’t mention that when I asked her. She confirmed that Master Moresby remained with her and Sir Peter throughout.’
Juliette shrugged. ‘Perhaps she’s forgotten, or else she didn’t know. It’s so long ago.’ I wondered how many more times I would hear variations of that phrase. ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘Uncle Robert confessed to me that he saw Isabella talking to another man near the village. He didn’t know who it was, didn’t recognize him, but I imagine from what he said — my uncle that is — that there was something about the pair that gave him pause. And there was something else, too, that suddenly made him doubt Isabella’s intentions towards himself. A silly thing, so trivial that in the end he dismissed it and rode back here without approaching the couple, convincing himself that Isabella had merely met a friend, an acquaintance, while on her way to him, to whom she had stopped to speak.’
‘Why did Master Moresby not approach Mistress Linkinhorne?’
Juliette smiled faintly. ‘Exactly what I asked Uncle Robert myself.’
‘And? What was his answer?’
‘That she had an uncertain temper and would have accused him of spying on her. My feeling is that he was a little afraid of her. He was most certainly afraid of losing her.’
‘Except that he never had her,’ I replied grimly. ‘No one did.’
My companion sighed. ‘I think he knows that now. I think it’s that knowledge that has made him ill in recent days.’
‘I’m sorry to have been the cause of his sickness. Perhaps, after all, the past is better left alone.’
‘It’s not really your fault.’ She put up a hand and lightly brushed my cheek. ‘Your Mayor, I think you told me, is the searcher after truth.’
I caught the errant hand in mine and held it fast to prevent any further assaults on my strength of purpose.
‘What was this other thing your uncle noticed about Isabella? This something that suddenly made him doubt her intentions towards him? Something so trivial, you said, that he later dismissed it as absurd.’
‘Oh, that.’ Juliette made no attempt to free her hand. ‘Now, what was it? What did Uncle Robert say?’ She considered for a moment, her fingers clinging to mine, prolonging the moment, her thoughts plainly not on what she was saying. Then she seemed to make an effort to pull herself together. ‘Yes, I remember. It seems that while my uncle was watching, the wind — it was, apparently, a very wet and windy day — the wind tore at Isabella’s cloak and he caught a glimpse of the dress she was wearing underneath. He recognized it as an old one, he said, somewhat patched and darned, which she wore simply for riding. It occurred to him that she would have been decked out in her finery if she was going to run away with him. There! He said it was a trivial reason to doubt her, and of course it was. For my own part, I feel sure his suspicions arose more from the way in which she and the man were talking together. He recognized an intimacy that he didn’t wish to believe in.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’ I asked abruptly. ‘You didn’t have to, and you must see that your uncle having lied to me makes him more of a suspect than he was.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t really know. But by your own admission there are two other men who have incurred your suspicion. It seems only fair to you and to them that you should know the exact truth.’ She added, suddenly anxious, ‘You don’t really believe Uncle Robert could have murdered this woman, do you?’
I sighed, looking down into the troubled brown eyes. ‘I don’t know what to believe,’ I admitted. Foolishly, and almost without being aware of my action, I stooped and kissed her gently between the eyes. Next moment, she had raised herself on tiptoe, both arms clasped about my neck, and returned my kiss full on the lips.
Badly shaken, I released myself and stepped back a pace. She grimaced and echoed my sigh.
‘Still the married man, Roger?’ she asked.
I nodded. ‘I … I think we’d better go in.’
She made no demur, merely giving me a saucy grin that, nevertheless, struck me as a little lopsided. But she behaved herself impeccably throughout supper and afterwards, when, in order to while away the time until the hour for bed, we played some games of chance and hazard; although with Lady Claypole presiding over the boards and counters, there was small opportunity for even the slightest dalliance on Juliette’s part. Or on mine.
Richard and I took our leave of both ladies before we retired for the night, saying that we should rise betimes and be gone from Hambrook Manor no doubt before they were up and about. Our hostess bore the news well and said that she would give instructions to her Steward to see that we were fed before we left. Juliette blew me a kiss when she thought no one else was looking and, aloud, begged me to visit her if I ever again found myself in Gloucester. I promised to do so, secretly vowing to give the town a wide berth in future. Whether or not my resolution would hold good, only time would tell.
Richard and I had been allotted a handsome chamber at the front of the house with a wide, comfortable bed for our slumbers. We were both dog-tired and wasted no time in idle chatter, simply stripping off our clothes and tumbling between the sheets with no other conversation than the mutually expressed hope that the other didn’t snore. But we were both asleep within minutes. At least, I know I was.
My rest, however, was disturbed by dreams. Most had no shape or sequence, being merely a muddle of things that had happened to me over the past few weeks. But then, suddenly, the general confusion resolved itself into a scene where I was standing above the great gorge, on the very edge of Saint Vincent’s rocks, teetering on the brink and striving to keep my balance. I could see no one, hear nothing — all around me was an eerie silence, devoid even of birdsong — but uneasily aware that I was not alone. Then, with a clarity that made me start, the hermit’s voice said in my ear, ‘Red stockings! I ask you! With that gown!’
I plunged forward, but not into the treacherous water of the River Avon far below me. As is the fashion with dreams, the scene had changed abruptly to the ruined Linkinhorne house, and I was falling from the smoke-blackened stairs into the riot of vegetation forcing its way up towards the expanse of sky visible through the long-since vanished roof. The iron, copper-banded chest lay on its side on the ground, the contents already spilling out without any help from me or my cudgel. Hercules appeared and I could see that he was barking frantically, except that he was making no sound …