The Traitor of St. Giles (29 page)

Nicholas gazed at her. He had never confessed to her that he had stolen his money from the Order. She still believed that he had saved money while he was a Templar, as he had told her. Much of his wealth now was based upon the shrewd investment of his money and hers, but it was all founded upon his theft.

‘What will you do?’ she asked, worried by his anxious but determined mien.

He gave a slow, sad smile. The money he had taken was legally the King’s. If he was discovered, Nicholas knew he would die. ‘I have no idea what I should do, Matilda. No idea at all.’

In the roadway, Felicity saw Andrew and then Nicholas leave the house. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘You have to come with me now and tell your story, if you want to hear what really happened to your brother.’

Avicia nodded, but she was still unsure why they had come. ‘I just don’t understand why we’re here. If, like you say, Andrew Carter is not particularly bothered about his daughter’s murder, what good can it do, me saying that Philip was innocent?’

For answer Felicity led the way over the road to Andrew Carter’s door and knocked.

‘But he’s gone! We just saw him,’ Avicia protested, more confused than ever.

As the door opened and Rose peered out, Felicity pushed the door wide. ‘Tell Mistress Matilda that Felicity would like to speak with her.’ She paused, and an unpleasant smile transformed her features. ‘And if she asks who I am, tell her I’m Felicity the Whore and I know who
really
killed her daughter.’

It was the tapping at the door that woke him from his dreams.

Harlewin was drifting delightfully. With Cecily warm, soft and plump at his side, he saw no need to waken. His eyes opened once, took in the little room, the fire now dead in the hearth, the packed earth floor without even rushes, the chest owned by the miller. The only item of value was this, the miller’s bed, which Harlewin himself had bought for the man and his family. Harlewin wanted a good bed when he came here to sleep with his woman. It was a small price to pay, the fact that the miller and his family slept in it all the time Harlewin wasn’t here. When the Coroner wanted the place, the miller and his brood went and slept in the mill itself.

Closing his eyes, he was annoyed to hear the tapping again. ‘Bugger off!’ he roared.

His bellow made Cecily jump, and before she could properly open her eyes and take in the sight of him, he closed them again with kisses while his hand rested first on her hip and then stroked its way down to her thigh. She moaned and rolled onto her back, and he felt her legs part slightly, just enough, and then snap together as her whole body went tense.

‘Come on, my love,’ he whispered, ‘let’s just—’

‘Christ
bollocking
Jesus!’ she blurted.

He blinked, startled, and gazed down at her. ‘What on earth . . .?’

‘I fell asleep, you fat twerp! My husband!’ she snapped and leaped from the bed grabbing at clothing, pulling her tunic over her head and letting it settle anyhow, before drawing a shift over it. In the chest she kept a change of clothing, and now she went to this and pulled out various dresses and skirts, muttering to herself all the while. ‘God! That I should be so
stupid
! How could I have fallen asleep? I must be a complete fool! He’ll want an explanation this time.’

Harlewin leaned on his arm and watched as she pulled on a skirt and patted it smooth, then a clean shirt, cotte and surcoat. ‘How do I look?’

‘Fine, once your hair is done.’

The miller’s daughter shyly obeyed Cecily’s bellowed command and Harlewin watched while the two worked swiftly to repair the damage of the previous night, and then the red-faced maiden was sent out. Cecily quickly went to his side and patted his cheek.

‘You should have covered yourself. She hardly knew where to look.’

He grinned widely. ‘I thought she knew exactly where to look!’

‘Don’t make the poor girl jealous for things she can’t touch.’

He kissed her.

‘You should be gone.’

‘Yes. You will be careful?’

‘Don’t think of me,’ he said, and his brow creased. ‘You make sure
you’re
safe from that husband of yours.’

Edgar could see that his master was not of a mood to tolerate jesting. He quickly sent Wat away to fetch wine and Petronilla for bread and cold slices of meat: a simple diet to help his master’s head.

Baldwin sat at a bench and sourly eyed the folk about the room. Two men who had drunk more than was usual for them were still snoring near the fire, but most guests had risen earlier when the servants appeared to begin preparing the place for the new day. Lord Hugh had eaten in his chamber, Edgar told Baldwin, and the knight grunted his jealousy. Edgar smiled and left his master to his meal.

Simon chewed happily on an old mutton bone he had found in the kitchen and took a pint of ale, smacking his lips and giving a loud grunt of appreciation as he finished.

‘Have you no feeling of queasiness when you think of what you ate last night?’ Baldwin asked.

‘It was good food, wasn’t it?’ Simon said happily.

At Baldwin’s side Jeanne snorted. ‘I’m surprised you can remember it, the way you sank so many pots of wine.’

‘It was good wine!’ Simon protested defensively. ‘Baldwin liked it too. Why shouldn’t a fellow take a little wine with his food? A man has to drink!’

‘Man has to breathe; fishes need to drink,’ Jeanne noted caustically.

‘I find both help,’ Simon said cheerfully. ‘Do you want that fat?’

Baldwin winced as Simon stabbed the thick, yellow pork fat that he had left at the edge of his trencher. Simon studied it closely: it was crisp and burned at the outside, and he beamed as he put it in his mouth. ‘Ah, good, that!’

‘Shall we go?’ Baldwin said, standing.

‘Nothing more to eat?’ Simon asked hopefully.

Baldwin looked at him.

Matilda remained in her chair when the two girls were shown in, and waved an imperious hand to halt them some few feet from her.

Avicia felt overawed by this woman, who wore on the fingers of one hand more wealth than Avicia could ever hope to earn. The house itself was magnificent, as she would have expected. Large, imposing, with a multitude of small decorative works carved into the beams and lintels, she could only gawp around her in awe. It was far finer than the Shermans’ place.

The lady herself was different. She was the picture of depression. Looking into her eyes Avicia could see her own misery reflected. One woman mourning the loss of her daughter, the other the loss of her brother; both had lost their own flesh.

‘Is this some sort of a joke, Felicity?’ Matilda said at last. ‘You bring me the sister of the man who murdered my daughter on the pretence that I might learn something?’

‘The wrong man was killed,’ Felicity said flatly.

‘I am supposed to take your word for it?’ Matilda sneered.

‘Your husband had me thrown from the house. Do you know why?’

‘You were a nuisance. He told me you were sleeping with the men in the yard. A common whore!’

‘I am now. I had no choice when your fine husband threw me from here. But when I lived here, I had only one lover: your fine husband.’

‘Rubbish!
Rose!
’ Matilda shouted. ‘These women wish to leave.’

Felicity turned to the pale girl. ‘Oh, it’s Rose now, is it? He’s been after you, hasn’t he?’

Rose coloured, and her head dropped in shame.

Matilda opened her mouth to offer a snide comment, when something in the maid’s demeanour caught her attention. ‘What do you mean? Rose? Are you all right?’

Felicity turned back to face her. ‘Can’t you see it yet? Your husband always picks the best of the maids, the youngest, the most impressionable, the most appealing, and takes them. Haven’t you realised? Are you
blind
?’ She stepped towards the seated woman and held out her hands in appeal. ‘Andrew Carter, your husband, forces any maid in the house who takes his fancy to share his bed. That’s what he did with me, and by the time he was finished with me, what else could I do? He ruined me.’

‘Well? And what of it?’ Matilda said proudly. ‘He is a man, and we women all know what men are like. But he is also my husband and the head of my family, and as such I owe him my loyalty. Perhaps he does sleep with my maids – well, he wouldn’t be the first man to do that – and if he does, there’s little harm in it.’

‘ “Little harm!” ’ Felicity repeated with disbelief. ‘Look at
me
! He made me what I now have become, a used woman, a whore, a common stale – you call this
nothing
? He has taken my life. I could have been happy, could have married a good man and raised my own daughters . . .’

‘You still might – if you can find a man who can forgive you your sinfulness.’

‘It is not my sins but
his
that need forgiveness. Do you remember how long ago your husband made me leave?’

Matilda shrugged. ‘Years.’

‘Yes. Six years ago. That was when he threw me over for his new lover.’

‘What has this to do with me? Are you merely boasting to upset me?’ Rising, Matilda made as if to walk from the room.

‘It was six years ago he took your daughter for the first time.’

‘
NO!
’ Matilda gasped. She fell back into her chair, a hand flying to her mouth. There was a seething motion to the room. She was sure that the walls were moving as if about to tumble down, but she couldn’t look at them; her attention was fixed upon the woman before her. ‘No,’ she said again, and this time she shook her head in denial.

‘He raped me, then went on to Joan. That was why he had her installed in the servants’ quarters, so she wouldn’t be missed from your chamber when he called her.’

‘No. He couldn’t . . . He wouldn’t . . .’

‘He took her every night, and when she found her own lover, a man who adored her, your husband grew scared. He didn’t want her to tell her man what he had been doing to her all those years. She may only have been his step-daughter, but the Church frowns upon a man who takes advantage in that way. He is still guilty of incest.’

Matilda swallowed. There was a feeling of weakness in her legs and she couldn’t trust them to support her if she were to try to stand. Her heart was pounding painfully as if it would soon break free from her breast. There was a thick sensation in her throat as though a ball had lodged there, and her head spun. It felt as if she were whirling around, weightless and formless.

‘And not only the Church would want to see him punished. Can you imagine how Joan’s husband would feel if he heard later that his bride was already deflowered, and by her own father? He would want his revenge.’

‘Air . . . It is so hot . . . Open the shutters,’ Matilda wheezed. It felt as though there was an iron band about her breast, slowly squeezing the air from her lungs.

Felicity sent the maid for wine, walked to the window and opened the shutter wide. By the time she was done, Rose was back, bringing Clarice with her.

As soon as she saw her mistress, panting and gasping, she threw a bitter look in Felicity’s direction. ‘Couldn’t you have saved her from this? What good will it do to ruin her life now?’

Felicity watched as Clarice took a little wine in a bowl and used it to dab Matilda’s temples, murmuring all the while, ‘Come now, mistress. Don’t worry what the whore says. She will soon leave us and you can go and rest, and then we’ll—’

Thrusting her arm aside, Matilda stared into her face. ‘Is it true?’

‘What, mistress?’ Clarice asked, but Matilda read the answer in her frightened eyes.

Felicity walked to Rose’s side. ‘Don’t ask me, don’t ask Clarice: ask Rose. Ask her when your husband first started taking an interest in her. When did he first demand she should join him in his bed?’

‘Rose, come here!’ Matilda said.

The girl stepped forward slowly, reluctantly, her head hanging so low her chin almost touched on her breast.

‘Tell me, Rose. Has he told you to join him in his room?’

‘Mistress, I never wanted to!’ Rose burst out. ‘He just can’t keep his hands off me, not since your Joan died. Since then he’s wanted me almost every night, and when I tried to refuse, he told me to look at what happened to girls who turned him down.’

‘What did he mean by that?’ Matilda asked quietly.

‘He meant I’d become a whore like Felicity or . . .’

‘Or die like Joan,’ Felicity finished for her.

Harlewin leaned against the doorpost while he settled his tunic and tugged his surcoat over his shoulders more snugly. Ramming his hat upon his head he idly kicked a pebble, then sauntered slowly to the mill. He tossed a coin to the grinning miller, said, ‘Keep your mouth shut about it,’ and wandered round to the back of the place where his horse was already saddled and bridled by the miller’s boy. Reaching into his purse Harlewin found another coin and flipped it to the lad before checking that the harness was as he liked it, the saddle tight enough, the bridle properly placed.

All done, he stood on a chair and hoisted himself into the saddle, taking up the reins and setting off homewards.

The mill was close to the road here, and it took him little time to climb up the incline to the thoroughfare, where he turned off towards Tiverton, whistling happily. He felt replete. Cecily Sherman was a perfect lover: she wanted a lot in a short time, but then she would be content to leave Harlewin alone for several days while her husband’s doubts died down. Harlewin grinned. Sherman was plainly a fool. He trusted her when he shouldn’t, and then accepted her excuses at face value. A complete cuckold!

Taking the shorter lane to Tiverton rather than following the trail round to the north, he felt the oppressive nature of the woods about him. The trees here were tall and threatening on either side, their lower trunks hidden by the tangle of weeds, brambles and bracken that clogged the ground here. Here the boughs were so close together that the sun could scarcely break through and the air was perpetually chill. Although an occasional breath of air soughed through the branches, it could only be discerned by the rustle as of dried paper as leaves moved against one another.