Squire Throwleigh’s Heir

Chapter Twenty-One

The mourners stood in a huddle at the church porch, united by their sense of guilt, as if their unintentional witnessing of the sudden lunacy of the lady of the manor conferred some form of complicity upon them. Jeanne and Margaret had gone to Katharine and sent Thomas packing into the churchyard. Now he stood in a corner at some distance from everyone else, staring out over the fields towards the manor house itself, lost in thought.

That look of hatred on his sister-in-law’s face had shaken him to the core. Her features had been twisted with emotion so that she was almost unrecognisable. The recollection made him shudder.

He felt the weight of people’s eyes on him, and their silent wonder. No one could have missed Katharine’s words. In the secret fastness of his mind, he cursed her, the bitch, for denouncing him like that before all the others.

‘Thomas?’

‘Oh, it’s you,’ the fat man spat. ‘I should’ve guessed you’d want to question me again, Sir Baldwin. I suppose you want to accuse me of Herbert’s murder now, is that right?’

‘Hardly. I wanted to make quite sure that you were all right,’ Baldwin said gently. ‘It must have been a great shock.’

Thomas gave him a searching look. The knight did have all quietly compassionate look about him. Feeling slightly mollified, the other gave a grunt. ‘What does it matter? I am perfectly fine. The stupid bitch doesn’t realise what a help I have been to her, but there’s nothing new in a woman not appreciating a man’s assistance.’

‘Do you have any idea why she should have made such an accusation?’ Baldwin probed. ‘She had been fine until just now – why should she suddenly turn on you like that?’

‘Damned woman. I wish I knew,’ Thomas sighed. ‘God’s blood! Why did she have to have her fit in there – in public? The rumour of it will be all over Throwleigh and up as far as Oakhampton by morning, for God’s sake. Christ’s bones! It’ll be all the news in Exeter by tomorrow night. What have I done to deserve this?’

‘She must have heard something from someone,’ said Simon. He had walked up quietly while the two were talking. ‘Somebody must have made some allegation about you. Why else should she come out with this?’

‘You could be right, Simon,’ Baldwin said, and threw a glance over his shoulder at the crowd waiting near the door. Most of them were the people from the procession from the house: van Relenghes and Godfrey, Daniel, the four labourers who had acted as pall-bearers, and some of the poor who had been hoping for money. ‘But when could they have spoken to her?’

Thomas sneered. ‘Those two were alone with her almost all morning, and most of the afternoon. No doubt it suits Sir James to slander me to her, the bastard! I’ll get even with him, somehow. I don’t care how long it takes me, but I’ll make him regret saying things about me behind my back.’

‘What could he have said?’ Baldwin asked mildly.

Thomas shot him a look. ‘Never you mind, Sir Baldwin! Just remember this, that slimy bastard is after one thing, and one thing only: her! He says he was a friend of my brother’s, yet none of the people here ever heard Roger mention him.’

‘You think he is an impostor?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Did you see him up on the moors when Herbert was killed?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake! Why must you keep asking me about that!’ Thomas cried, thrusting his arms out on either side as if in despair. Then, as though accepting that the knight had little choice after the display in the church: ‘Oh, very well – what do you want to know?’

‘Was van Relenghes out on the moor when you were up there and saw Edmund ride by?’

‘Yes. I passed him when I was on my way out. He was there on horseback with that damned guard of his.’

‘Where were you going?’

‘I had seen Stephen walking off that way and I was looking for him,’ Thomas lied. He didn’t dare admit to the true reason for his journey out to the moor that day, not after the display in the church. ‘I wanted to ask him some questions. He was always my brother’s secretary and clerk, and after Roger’s death I had been looking into his affairs to help my sister-in-law. There were some matters I wanted to check up on – things Daniel had been involved with.’

‘What sort of things?’ Simon asked.

‘The man has been a trusted servant for many years, and I am sure he is honest, but some monies appear to have been mislaid. Daniel is the steward, and he was given the cash, according to the manor’s beadle, but the cash seems to have disappeared. I wanted to ask Stephen about it.’ Thomas shrugged, hoping they would swallow the story.

‘A difficult question to ask such a longstanding servant,’ Baldwin agreed, ignoring the obvious lie.

Simon nodded thoughtfully. ‘But we’ve heard from Edmund that you were attacking the ferns. What were you doing?’

Thomas’s face reddened and he forgot to dissemble. ‘I’ll tell you what I was doing! I was looking for the little bastard who’d lobbed a stone at me. I’d missed Stephen, and gave a good day to the Fleming and his man as I passed them, but nothing more than that, nothing more than common politeness required. Anyway, I rode as far as the road to Throwleigh, and decided to take that way back so as to avoid meeting the Fleming again. And, since I hadn’t seen Stephen on the top road, I thought he might have walked back towards the church, but I had only gone a matter of a few yards when someone shot a stone at me and hit my arse. When Edmund saw me, I was trying to find the little sod.’

‘Do you know what van Relenghes and his man were doing up there?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Oh, I think they were merely getting a breath of air.’ His face took on a shrewd, keen expression. ‘Why – do you think they might have had something to do with Herbert’s death, then?’

Baldwin refrained from commenting, but thanked Thomas just as the chattering of the people before the porch was suddenly stilled.

Lady Katharine came out, assisted by Jeanne and Margaret. The crowd was struck dumb by her tragic appearance. Quietly the congregation parted to allow her to pass, and the three women moved down the line, Katharine with her head bowed, stumbling slightly as if she was unconscious of the lumps and bumps in the path. Margaret caught Simon’s eye as the bailiff moved forward to assist, and gave him a faint shake of her head. He remained where he was, grateful to be relieved of the duty of aiding the woman in her grief – and wondering what could have ignited her misery. He could only assume that seeing her son’s little body on the hearse had made her reason falter.

Van Relenghes and his man strode along behind as if prepared to guard Lady Katharine from any importunate guests.

One man did not hold back. As the three women passed, Daniel, the steward of Squire Roger’s household for many years before Lady Katharine had arrived, stepped forward, and ignoring Margaret and Jeanne’s quick frowns, he took his lady’s arm. She glanced up at him once, and then seemed almost to melt into his embrace, grateful for a face she could recognise even through her misery.

Simon felt the pain of her suffering, but knew he could do nothing to help her. He glanced at his friend, but Baldwin wasn’t watching Lady Katharine. As she passed by, his attention was fixed with a terrible concentration on the face of the Fleming.

James van Relenghes was watching Daniel with an expression of deep animosity, almost as if he was preparing to draw his knife and strike the steward down there and then.

Simon’s eyes went automatically to Daniel and his lady. With his arm about her shoulder, holding her hand in his, resolutely keeping his attention fixed on the road before him and ignoring all about them, Daniel helped Lady Katharine back towards the manor.

Hugh upended his pot and held it out to Petronilla, belching softly. ‘Thanks,’ he said gruffly.

Petronilla chuckled to herself. She was comfortable in his company. Hugh was the sort of man she liked, strong and stolid, not the kind who would try to take liberties either, she thought with an angry toss of her head as she recalled that damned Nicholas. If he tried those tricks again, she would teach him a lesson he would never forget.

‘It’s good ale,’ Hugh said, giving her an approving nod. ‘Did you make it yourself?’

‘Yes. I help with the brewing.’

‘You do it well.’

She smiled, and at that moment Wat returned, happily announcing that the cows were all milked and the milk was in the dairy with the maid in charge.

‘What have you been doing all that for?’ Hugh asked.

‘To help me,’ Petronilla told him, and filled a good-sized pot with ale, handing it to the boy.

‘Thanks,’ he said, sitting and taking a goodly gulp. ‘Ah! That’s better.’

‘Don’t go drinking too much tonight,’ Hugh grumbled. ‘You know what strong ale does to you.’

‘Oh, I’m all right usually. It’s only when I have a bit too much…’

‘You always have a bit too much – and then you snore and puke,’ Hugh said.

‘Well, after all he’s done for me today, I don’t mind,’ Petronilla said with decision. ‘He can sleep in here if he wishes, and if he’s sick, I will clean up after him.’

‘Don’t encourage him,’ said Hugh. ‘He could vomit in his sleep and choke.’

‘Well, you could stay here with him, Hugh.’

Petronilla was content with Hugh’s company. Not because she felt any lust towards him – if anything, she felt the opposite but she did understand him, and the fact that he seemed happy to sit with her in the buttery was a comfort. The pair found that they had quite a bit in common. She had been raised in Moretonhampstead, while he hailed from Drewsteignton; she had been daughter to a gooseherd, he was the son of a shepherd; she had been taken on by her master, Squire Roger, when she was sixteen, he by his first master when he was only fifteen.

It would be good to have Hugh sleeping here in the buttery – and if it caused talk, she didn’t mind. Not now – in fact, it could be a useful diversion for gossipers.

Wat held out his empty cup hopefully, and Petronilla refilled it. The lad was feeling on top of the world. This manor was very different from Sir Baldwin’s household, but he liked the people here. Especially Petronilla. She was kind towards him, and he was aware of a moderately amorous attraction. To an extent, he was jealous of Hugh, who could sit back and listen while she prattled. Wat wanted her to talk to him, and it was to gain her attention that he cleared his throat and said, ‘What were you doing up on the moors, Petronilla? Had you fallen over?’

She flushed. ‘Fallen? Why, no, Wat. Why should you think that?’

‘Because your hands were all dirty with mud. I just thought you must have tripped.’

Petronilla shot him a look, but the boy’s face was innocence itself. Making a comment about the slipperiness of the moors, she added in an undertone to Hugh: ‘The truth is, I had to get away for a while,’ and told him about Nicholas’s advances.

‘So what did he actually say to you?’ Hugh asked, his brow wrinkled with concentration.

‘He offered me a coin to sleep with him. And put his hand here,’ she said, touching her right breast.

‘If he tries it again, you tell me or my master. We’ll protect you. That foreign bastard can’t go around assuming Devon girls are the same as his over there,’ said Hugh stoutly.

‘Thank you, Hugh,’ she said gratefully, and tears sprang into her eyes again. It was so consoling to be able to share her problem with someone who would actually exert himself on her behalf to help and protect her.

Unlike her lover.