The Silent Touch of Shadows (41 page)

‘Yes, no doubt about it. Great, isn’t it? So do you think that’s the end of your quest then? Apart from whatever the manor court roll might contain, of course.’

‘I suppose so, although
 
… somehow I don’t think that’s quite it. It doesn’t feel like I’m finished.’ Melissa shook her head with a frown. ‘It’s hard to explain, but something’s still missing. Wish I knew what it was.’

‘Hmm. Well, I’ll let you know as soon as that roll is ready for inspection.’

‘Okay, I’ll try to see if I can find out anything about a place called Langford or any Roger with that surname.’

Melissa found several places of that name, although most of them were prefixed with something like ‘Little’, ‘Upper’ or ‘Lower’. Only one was called Langford on its own – a village in Bedfordshire, but she still couldn’t be sure that was Roger’s birthplace. Most of them had no records before the late sixteenth century, and despite an extensive search through the additional records of various counties, and a trawl through the notes about possible Roger’s she’d made previously, she found no mention of him.

Her despair returned in full force. Was she never to be free of this?

Chapter Thirty-Two

Sibell remained immobile while her brothers were galvanised into action by their father’s ire and hurried to their tasks. The youngest rushed outside, presumably to saddle his own horse before collecting Snowflake on the way out of the stable. How he would manage Roger’s fierce warhorse, Sibell had no idea. The huge animal normally took exception to being handled by anyone not known to him and he would know something was wrong, of that Sibell was sure. It was some time before she heard Edmund set off at a gallop in the opposite direction to Idenhurst. No doubt Snowflake would make his way home eventually, but she didn’t think Edmund intended it to be any time soon.

The others, with Godwin a reluctant participant, wrapped Roger’s lifeless body in a coarse blanket and set off before Sibell had another chance to protest. Not that it mattered. Having at last grasped the fact that nothing would bring Roger back to life, she was past caring what else they did to him for the moment.

‘Be sure to bury him far away,’ her father called after their retreating backs. ‘I don’t want any corpses found anywhere near this manor.’

The word ‘corpse’ roused Sibell from her stupor and she lifted her eyes to stare at her father. ‘Murderer,’ she said quietly, fixing him with a look of hatred she hoped would pierce him to the bone. ‘I’ll see you hang for this, all of you.’

‘Not I, it wasn’t my doing.’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘And how would you accomplish such a thing, anyway? I’ll make sure you never set foot outside these walls again until you leave with your new husband. And never think he’ll listen to your tales of woe. Why should he care? No doubt he’s done worse deeds himself.’

Sibell shivered at the thought. For once she was sure her father was right.

He had obviously had enough of this conversation, because the next thing she knew, he hefted her onto his shoulder, knocking all the air out of her lungs, and set off towards the stairs leading up to her chamber. He threw her down onto her bed, and looked around for something to tie her up with, but this gave her the opportunity to wriggle out of his grasp. She tried to make a run for the stairs.

‘Come back here, you little bitch.’ He was after her in a flash, much faster than she would have thought possible for a man of his girth. He caught her at the bottom of the stairs and pushed her to the floor. A desperate fight ensued, with Sibell using every weapon at her disposal, including a nearby three-legged stool, but he won in the end and used the piece of rope he’d found upstairs to tie her hands behind her back. Breathing heavily, he went to fetch a gag, which he wasted no time in tying into place. Hardly able to breathe, Sibell was left in a heap by the bottom step.

Next, her father began the task of clearing away the evidence of the foul deed committed by his sons. The floor of the hall had only recently been covered with planking and he had great difficulty in mopping up the blood, which had soaked into the grain of the new wood. He wasn’t used to such menial tasks and muttered under his breath all the while about being cursed with idiots for offspring. Sibell laughed behind her gag at his inefficient methods, which didn’t help his temper in the least. Red in the face and heaving with the effort, he finally gave up and covered the spot with rushes. No sooner had he finished, however, than all hell broke loose.

The front door crashed open to admit Sir Gilbert and his
 
men. They came swarming into the room and Sibell saw her father blanch before he apparently recollected that his neighbour couldn’t possibly know what had just occurred at Ashleigh.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ he blustered, before being seized by the throat by Sir Gilbert, who shook him like a terrier with a rat. The smaller man was shoved up hard against the wall and had to stand on tip-toe to avoid being throttled altogether.

‘What
 
… have you done
 
… to my son?’ Sir Gilbert snarled, sparks of hatred shining in his eyes. ‘Where is Roger?’

‘I-I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, my lord,’ Sibell’s father stuttered in a croaky voice. ‘There is no one here but me.’

‘I can see that, you lack-wit. But I have it on good authority that you have murdered my son, and by God I’ll have the truth out of you!’ His grip tightened and he shook the smaller man repeatedly until his teeth rattled.

‘Put me down, I haven’t done anything,’ her father protested, gasping for breath. ‘There’ve been no visitors today.’ He was visibly quaking with fear, but still defiant in what he must have thought of as the sure knowledge there was no evidence against him.

‘Hah! You lie. I have it from the mouth of your own serving woman, Ingirith Waite, my son was here this afternoon, and that he was foully murdered by your sons in this very house. She hastened to Idenhurst to inform me; says she witnessed the deed through a crack in the door. Now tell me where I can find him or I’ll break every bone in your miserable body, so help me God
 
…’ Sir Gilbert was obviously in the grip of intense fury and was breathing hard. The veins on his neck stood out and his face was a blotchy red colour.

‘My lord, Mistress Sibell
 
…’ One of Sir Gilbert’s men had been trying to attract his attention to her sorry plight and finally managed to get a word in edge-wise. Gilbert rushed over and knelt by her side.

‘Sibell, my dear
 
…’ He untied the gag, then ordered one of his men to fetch her some water.

‘I’m
 
… all right. Just
 
… see to my father. Make him
 
… pay. Roger, he
 
… I
 
… my brothers
 
…’ She couldn’t continue. Her throat seized up and her entire body was shaking with the reaction to the shock.

Gilbert needed no further bidding and after asking one of his men to keep an eye on Sibell, he returned to question her father further.

‘Where have your despicable offspring taken him? And why did they kill him in the first place, hmm? What had he ever done to you?’ Each question was punctuated by a heavy blow to the solar plexus, and Sibell’s father gasped for air, like a landed fish. ‘Tell me, you scum.’

The smaller man only shook his head.

‘Roger came here with honourable intentions. He didn’t deserve to be treated badly, let alone killed. Why? Why did you do it? Was a son of mine not good enough for you this time? You must needs throw in your lot with the likes of Sir Fulke?’

The beating continued in time with each question. Blows rained over her father: to the stomach, the face, the nose. Sibell flinched as a sickening crunch told her his nose had been broken, but still the man remained stubbornly silent. She realised then that no amount of threats would make him admit what his sons had done. Safe in the knowledge they were by now far away, he knew the only way to save them was to keep quiet.

He held out against his assailants, despite a severe beating, and in the end Sir Gilbert was cheated of his revenge. Her father’s heart, already abused by years of good living, gave up its fight. With a horrible gurgling noise, he slid to the floor clutching his chest, his features twisted in agony. ‘Go
 
… to
 
… hell,’ he gasped, before collapsing completely. Sir Gilbert looked at the contorted face without a trace of compassion, then turned away in disgust.

‘Search this house, men, and bring anyone you find to me,’ Sir Gilbert ordered. ‘There must be someone here who knows where they’ve taken Roger.’

The search produced only a cook, a kitchen maid and a young boy, all quaking in their shoes. All the other servants were working out in the fields, helping with the harvest. Gilbert gave up on them and returned to question Sibell, who had watched everything in mounting despair.

‘Can you tell me what happened, my dear?’ he asked gently. He stared at the huge bruise on her swollen jaw and reached out to cup her cheek. Sibell rubbed her wrists and answered with difficulty, tears flowing freely down her pale cheeks.

‘Y-yes. My brothers, well, three of them
 
… killed Roger, my lord. I-I couldn’t stop them. I tried to help, but Henry
 
…’ She shook her head, unable to go on. She glanced over towards her father, who was lying on the floor. On unsteady legs she stood up and walked over to look down on him, nudging him with her foot. ‘Is he really dead?’

‘Yes, I’m sorry.’

‘I’m not.’ She aimed a vicious kick at the corpulent body and swore at him. ‘It was all his fault, even if he didn’t actually commit the deed. May he rot in hell.’

Sir Gilbert came and put his hands on her shoulders and shook her slightly to stop the rising hysteria. ‘Sibell, I need your help. Where do you think they might have taken Roger? I want to find his body so we can give him a decent burial. Someone will pay for this, I swear, and locating him might lead us to their trail.’

Sibell looked into his blue eyes, eyes the same colour as Roger’s, and saw the deep sadness in their depths. This reminder of what she had lost proved too much for her, and she threw herself onto his broad chest in a storm of weeping, unable to control herself. He said nothing, just held her close, stroking her back in a soothing motion.

Finally, she calmed slightly, and managed to speak. ‘I don’t think you’ll find him. I didn’t see which way they went. My brothers will be long gone by now and they’ll make sure they have left no tracks.’

‘Be that as it may, I have to try.’ Sir Gilbert was still grimly determined. ‘Will you be all right on your own here for a while? I’ll send someone to fetch Maude to you.’

‘Yes. Go, Sir Gilbert. Find him if you can.’

But she knew in her heart that he never would.

The storm broke without warning just after lunchtime, and claps of thunder shook the foundations of the house with frightening regularity. Melissa huddled in front of the fire in the sitting room, cradling a mug of tea. A storm was brewing inside her too, but there was no one around to help. She knew the time had come for her to face this particular tempest. Alone.

Dorothy had gone to visit a friend for the afternoon, taking Russ with her, and the two girls were at Ashleigh Cottage playing with a new Playstation game Amy had been given for her birthday a few days earlier. Melissa was glad, but scared at the same time. The feeling of foreboding had come back with a vengeance, and last night her sleep had been broken by nightmares again and again. As usual she remembered very little, there were only snatches of conversation and snap-shots of horrendous images. A tremor slithered up her spine.

The rain-soaked world outside the windows was dark and gloomy, and the dim interior of the sitting room was lit only by the light from the fire. The flames cast eerie shadows onto the walls, where they danced sinuously in an uneven rhythm. Concentrating on the white-hot, glowing cave in the heart of the fire, Melissa took a fortifying sip of sweet tea, then tried to clear her mind. She narrowed her eyes and stared at the precise spot by the fire where Roger had appeared once before, willing him to return.

‘Roger, if you’re here, please show yourself.’ The command sounded pitiful, and she almost laughed at herself, but this was no laughing matter. She needed to end this now, if she was to have any chance of happiness herself, and she was sure the key to the mystery was in this room. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.