The Foxes of Warwick

Chapter Three

Notwithstanding his largely sleepless night, Ralph Delchard made a prompt start the following morning. After an early breakfast with his fellow commissioners, he reclaimed Brother Benedict from the chapel, where the monk still prayed for the soul of the deceased man, then led them out of the castle on foot and into the town. Judicial investigations would not begin until the next day but it was felt important to study the relevant documents beforehand and to familiarise Philippe Trouville with the examining process. During the journey from Winchester both Ralph and Gervase had taken pains to instruct Archdeacon Theobald in what was expected of him and they had no qualms about his ability to discharge his duties fairly and efficiently but Trouville was as yet completely unschooled in the work he had to do. Ralph feared that he would be a less willing pupil than the archdeacon.

‘How long will this take?’ asked Trouville mutinously.

‘As long as is necessary,’ said Ralph.

‘You should have sent the documents on ahead to me so that I could study them in private and prepare myself.’

‘That was not possible, my lord,’ explained Gervase, patting the leather satchel which was slung from his shoulder. ‘These are the only ones we possess. It would have been long and tedious work for a scribe to prepare copies for you and they would, in any case, have been quite incomprehensible on their own. You will need my assistance. I have studied all the returns for this county brought back to the Exchequer at Winchester and will be able to explain to you the irregularities we have come to correct.’

‘Without Gervase we are all lost,’ said Ralph.

‘He is a masterly teacher,’ added Theobald.

‘That remains to be seen,’ muttered Trouville.

They walked on up the hill in the direction of the marketplace and got their first real feel of the town itself. Warwick was larger than Ralph remembered it, a thriving community with upwards of fifteen hundred inhabitants living in a jumbled confusion of streets, lanes and alleyways, which had survived the Norman occupation better than most by dint of offering it no resistance.

Towns like York, Exeter and Chester, already visited by Ralph and Gervase in the course of their work, had bravely offered defiance to the invading army and suffered hideous destruction as a result but Warwick had given a more neutral response and, but for the addition of its castle, the administrative centre of the county, was much the town it had been on the eve of the Conquest.

Shops were already open and tradesmen busy at their work.

The cold weather did not deter customers from visiting the bakers, the brewers, the tailors, the butchers, the grocers and all the others who had their wares on display. Women drew water from a well, boys fought aimlessly, girls played, horses pulled wagons, beggars wandered and dogs roamed in search of scraps. It was a busy, noisy, smelly, typically urban scene. Ralph studied it with interest, Theobald noted each church with a quiet smile and Gervase compared the description of the town which emerged from the returns of the earlier commissioners with what was now before his eyes. Benedict was in his element, hood back to let the wind smack at his bare skull and hand raised in greeting to everyone who looked his way. It was only Philippe Trouville who lacked curiosity and who gazed around instead with sullen indifference.

When they reached the shire hall, the town reeve was waiting to receive them. Ednoth was a tall, thin, rangy man with greying hair and a well-barbered beard. He had an air of competence about him which was offset by an obsequious manner. Shoulders hunched and palms rubbing against each other, he gave them a warm greeting and ushered them straight into the building so that they could feel the benefit of the fire which he had ordered to be lighted there. Trouville was annoyed to find that a Saxon held such an important post in the town and he said nothing to the reeve when he was introduced, but Ralph preferred to judge the man on his merit. He startled the reeve by speaking to him, albeit haltingly, in his native tongue.

‘My letters reached you, then?’ he said.

‘Yes, my lord,’ replied Ednoth. ‘Everything is in readiness.’

‘Not quite.’

‘But I obeyed your commands to the letter. As you see, the table has been set out for you and benches have been provided for those who are summoned before you. Everything else you required is at hand.’

‘Except a certain Martin Reynard.’

‘Ah,’ sighed the other. ‘No, alas.’

‘I do not blame you, Ednoth, but I can tell you this. Our business in Warwick could have been dispatched much quicker if the fellow had been here to speak on his master’s behalf.’

‘Stop talking in that gibberish!’ demanded Trouville. ‘I cannot understand a single word of it.’

‘No more could I until I married a Saxon wife,’ said Ralph with a grin, lapsing back into Norman French. ‘Since she started to teach me her language I have come to a much better understanding of the people with whom we share this realm.’

Trouville bristled. ‘We do not share it — we rule it.’

‘With the help of obliging local officials like Ednoth here.’

‘He would not hold such a position if the appointment of a town reeve lay in my hands. Only a Norman can be really trusted.’

‘That has not been my experience,’ said Theobald mildly.

‘Nor mine,’ said Gervase, anxious to deflect them from a pointless argument. He handed his satchel to Ralph. ‘Here are the documents. You might care to show the first of them to our new colleague while I have a word with Ednoth.’

‘A wise suggestion,’ agreed Ralph.

‘Especially if you’re going to talk to him in that pigswill of a language called English,’ sneered Trouville. ‘What was it you told us at table last night, Master Bret? Your mother was Saxon, your father a Breton?’

‘That is right,’ joked Ralph, ‘and the stork which brought him into the world was a Celt of Arab origin with Greek blood.’ He winked at Gervase and moved Trouville across to the table. ‘This way, my lord. Back to school.’

Ednoth had listened intently to every word and garnered mixed impressions of the men he had to serve. Gervase wanted to find out how reliable the reeve would be. There was a cringing eagerness about Ednoth but there might be strict limitations on the amount of assistance that he was able to give them. Though he spoke French fluently, the man was more accessible in his own tongue and relaxed visibly when Gervase addressed him in it.

‘We are very grateful to you, Ednoth,’ he began.

‘Thank you.’

‘We will have to lean heavily on your knowledge of the county and its inhabitants. How long have you lived in Warwickshire?’

‘All my life.’

‘So you will be familiar with men such as Thorkell?’

‘Everybody knows Thorkell. He wields great power in the county.’

‘I can see that by the size of his holdings. Our predecessors, the first commissioners to visit you, spoke well of him and I have heard nothing to qualify their judgement.’ He watched the other carefully. ‘What of this man he has recently lost?’

‘Martin Reynard?’

‘How well did you know him?’

‘Quite well, Master Bret,’ said Ednoth, choosing his words with care. ‘I saw more of him when he was in the lord Henry’s household but he left the castle almost a year ago.’

‘Why was that?’

‘Thorkell’s estate reeve died. He needed a replacement.’

‘And the lord Henry was willing to release Martin Reynard?’

‘Apparently.’

‘On what terms did they part?’

‘Amicable ones, as far as I could tell.’

‘It seems odd that he should so readily hand over a valuable member of his household. Compensation must have been involved.’

‘That was between the lord Henry and Thorkell.’

‘Did no rumours reach your ears?’

‘None that I care to repeat,’ said the reeve levelly.

Gervase had a partial answer. Ednoth would divulge no gossip.

He was too conscious of Henry Beaumont’s domination of the town to say anything remotely personal about him and, Gervase suspected, whatever comments he himself made about Henry would soon find their way back to the castle. He changed his tack slightly.

‘What manner of a man is Boio the Blacksmith?’

Ednoth gave a shrug. ‘Big, friendly and hard-working.’

‘Given to violence?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Easily provoked?’

‘Quite the opposite, Master Bret.’

‘The opposite?’

‘Boio puts up with things which would drive other men to strike out. He is a dull-witted fellow, slow of speech, and is mocked for it. Even the children tease him at times. Boio pays no heed. The more they goad him for his lack of brains, the more he grins at them.’

‘He did not grin at Martin Reynard, it seems.’

‘Every man has his breaking point.’

‘You believe that he committed this murder, then?’

‘Yes,’ said Ednoth. ‘Why else would they have arrested him?’

‘The evidence against him is far from conclusive.’

‘That is not what I have heard.’

‘Boio has pleaded his innocence.’

But the reeve would not be drawn into a comment and Gervase saw that it would be in vain to press for one. Ednoth believed what he was told by Henry Beaumont. That constituted truth to him. Gervase paused for a few moments then fired a last question at him.

‘Is the blacksmith married?’

‘Bless you — no!’ said the other with a high-pitched laugh. ‘No woman would ever look at a man like that except to poke fun at him. Boio is a great, big, black, ugly creature who goes dumb in the presence of a woman. They frighten him and he terrifies them.

He will never take a wife. Boio was born to live alone.’

‘And to die alone, it seems,’ murmured Gervase.

‘Married?’ Ednoth laughed again. ‘You would not ask such a question if you had ever seen Boio. Wait until you meet him!’

The blacksmith was totally bewildered. A night without food or water in a dark, dank cell had left him cold and hungry. Sleep had been fitful. His head still ached from the blow he received during his arrest, though the blood had stopped oozing out and had dried in his hair and beard. Boio was in severe discomfort. Wrists manacled and ankles fettered, he sat in the corner of the dungeon on fetid straw. The one small window, high in the wall, admitted the wind freely but kept out all but the merest beams of light.

When he tried to adjust his position, the manacles bit into his flesh but the irony of the fact that he had made them himself was lost on him. All he knew was that they were far too tight for his thick wrists.

The sound of approaching feet made him stir hopefully. Had they come to release him or, at the very least, to feed him? He stared at the heavy door as he heard its bolts being drawn back.

A key was then inserted into the lock and the door swung open to allow three men to enter the cell. The guard came first, checking to see that the prisoner was still secured before motioning his companions forward.

‘Dear God!’ exclaimed Henry Beaumont, inhaling the reek. ‘He stinks to high heaven.’

‘He befouled himself, my lord,’ said the guard. ‘Shall we throw some buckets of water over him?’

‘No, no, I will begin the interrogation.’

Boio understood none of the words he heard but the expressions on the men’s faces were eloquent enough. He cowered under Henry’s stern gaze, but rallied a little when the third man came close and he recognised him as Ansgot, the ancient priest, a friend, one who might actually speak up for him. But Ansgot was not there to defend Boio, simply to act as an interpreter between him and Henry Beaumont. The old man, short and stooping, with a straggly grey beard and mottled skin, wore an expression that was midway between sorrow and accusation. He clearly believed that the blacksmith had committed murder. Boio could look for no help from him.

Conducted through Ansgot, the interrogation was painfully slow.

‘Why did you murder Martin Reynard?’

‘I did not murder him,’ said Boio, each word a labour in itself.

‘You do understand what murder is? It is killing someone unlawfully with the intention of doing so.’

‘I am no murderer, Father Ansgot.’

‘You had an argument with Martin Reynard?’

‘Did I?’ The blacksmith seemed genuinely surprised.

‘People overheard you. We have witnesses.’

‘Oh.’

‘What did you argue about?’

‘I can’t remember, Father Ansgot.’

‘Did you threaten him?’

‘Who?’

‘Martin Reynard. Did you say that you would hit him?’

‘No!’

‘One of the witnesses claims that you did.’

‘When was this?’

‘Some days ago. When you had the argument.’

‘I don’t think I said I would hit him.’

‘What did you say, Boio?’

‘Who knows, Father Ansgot? It was a long time ago.’

‘The start of this week, that is all.’

‘I can’t remember that far back.’

‘Try, Boio.’

‘My mind …’ said the other helplessly, tapping his head.

Henry needed no translation. Enraged by the tardiness of the examination, he tried to speed things up with a more direct approach.

‘Tell him to confess!’ he ordered. ‘Or I’ll burn the truth out of him with hot irons! Make him confess!’

Ansgot shuddered at the content of the message but he relayed it faithfully to Boio. The blacksmith shook his head in blank dismay.

‘I am innocent, Father Ansgot. I give you my word.’

‘Confess, Boio. It is the only thing to do.’

‘Bring me a Bible. I will swear on that.’

‘Confront him with the witness!’ hissed Henry.

‘Which one, my lord?’ asked Ansgot, slipping back into French.

‘The man who saw him in the forest. Tax him with that.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ said the priest, turning back to the prisoner.

‘There is no point in denying it, Boio. It will be the worse for you if you do. On the morning of the murder a witness saw you leaving the part of the forest where the dead body was found.’

‘But I was not there.’

‘He swears that you were.’

Boio looked hunted. ‘When was this?’

‘Two days ago. Shortly after dawn.’

‘Two days …?’ He was more confused than ever.

‘Try to remember, Boio,’ said the priest with the slowness of speech he would have used with a child. ‘Not yesterday but the day before. Do you understand? The day before yesterday you went into the forest and killed Martin Reynard?’ Boio shook his head violently. ‘You were seen by a witness. What were you doing in the forest?’

‘It was not me, Father Ansgot.’

‘It was, Boio. Just after dawn. Two days ago.’

The blacksmith’s face was contorted with the effort of memory.

Henry was irked by the delay but Ansgot held up a hand to ask for his patience, confident that they would get an answer out of the prisoner in time. As Boio grappled uncertainly with his immediate past, sweat began to pour out of his forehead and his eyes watered. Then, with the elation of someone who has just located treasure, he gave a grin of triumph and held up both hands in excitement.

‘I remember, I remember!’

‘What is the idiot saying?’ demanded Henry.

‘Let me hear him out, my lord,’ said Ansgot.

‘I remember. Two days ago. I did not leave my forge. A man called at dawn. His donkey had cast a shoe and I made a new one for him. That was it, the stranger came with his donkey. He stayed for an hour or more. I was not in the forest that morning. I was with the man. He will vouch for me. He will tell you. I am innocent.’

‘Who was this man?’

‘What?’

‘Tell us his name.’

Boio gaped. ‘I do not know his name.’

‘Who was he? Where was he going?’

‘He was a stranger.’

‘We need to find him, Boio, if he is to confirm your story.’

‘The man with the donkey came to my forge.’

‘Then where is he now?’

Boio looked utterly demoralised and lapsed into a despairing silence. When Henry heard what the prisoner had been saying, he was furious and aimed a vicious kick at him.

‘It is a damnable lie!’ he howled. ‘There was no stranger at the forge that morning. This villain was in the forest, squeezing Martin Reynard to death. I’ll not hear any more of this.’ He turned to the guard. ‘Get this animal cleaned up before I come again so that he does not offend my nostrils. The funeral will be held this afternoon. That will put me in the right mood for a proper interrogation. Warn him, Ansgot,’ he said, pointing at the priest.

‘Warn this vile cur! When I return to this cell, the only interpreter I will bring is a branding iron!’

Philippe Trouville surprised them all. Expecting him to be an awkward pupil, they found him alert and responsive, willing to learn and able quickly to absorb what he was taught. Ralph Delchard helped with the instruction but it was Gervase Bret who took charge, guiding the new commissioner through the documents relating to the first dispute with which they would deal and explaining the background to it. With the twin gifts of clarity and brevity, Gervase baptised Trouville into his role and, at the same time, further educated Archdeacon Theobald and Brother Benedict, both of whom plied him with intelligent questions throughout.

Seated at the table, the five of them worked happily together and Ralph came to see why Trouville had been chosen to join them. He was not the boorish soldier he had at first appeared but a man with an agile mind and a grasp of Latin which was firm. Gervase had no need to translate the words for him in the way that he did for Ralph. At one point, Trouville was so caught up in his studies that he actually conversed with Theobald for a few sentences in Latin. Ralph found himself wondering in what language he had proposed to the lady Marguerite or whether — the idea caused him private amusement — she had proposed to him by the simple means of issuing an edict.

A productive morning left them in a satisfied mood and their pleasure was increased by the arrival of the food, which Ednoth had arranged to be served to them. Benedict refused to touch anything more than bread and water but Theobald had a more liberal appetite and ate with relish. He and the scribe then fell into a long discussion about the importance of the reforms of Pope Gregory. Now that Trouville had become almost sociable, Ralph sought to find out more about him.

He began with what Gervase recognised as an arrant lie.

‘I am glad that you brought the lady Marguerite with you,’ he said.

‘Are you?’ grunted Trouville through a mouthful of cold chicken.

‘Her conversation lit up the table last night.’

‘Oh, yes. Marguerite can certainly talk.’

‘How long have you been married, my lord?’

‘Little above a year.’

‘Then you are still enjoying the first fruits of the experience.’

‘Am I?’

‘You should know.’

‘It is not something I have ever thought about.’

‘The lady Marguerite is a remarkable woman.’

‘That is certainly true,’ said the other without enthusiasm.

‘From where does your wife hail?’ asked Gervase.

‘Falaise.’

‘The King’s own birthplace!’

‘Yes,’ said Trouville, ‘though Marguerite has a more distinguished lineage. She was conceived within the legitimate bounds of marriage. We too easily forget that the King of England and Duke of Normandy was once derided as William the Bastard.’

‘And still is by his enemies,’ noted Ralph with a chuckle.

‘How did you meet the lady Marguerite?’ fished Gervase.

‘I am not here to give an account of my life,’ said Trouville with a show of irritation. ‘When people see a beautiful young woman married to an older man, they are bound to speculate and I know that is what you have both been doing. But I happen to believe in privacy. How and why my wife and I met and married is our own affair and I will not let it become the tittle-tattle of an idle moment.’

‘Of course not, my lord,’ said Ralph.

Gervase nodded. ‘I apologise if my question was intrusive.’

‘Let us hear no more on the subject,’ said Trouville, swallowing his chicken and washing it down with a sip of wine. ‘Did you hear what the lord Henry said when we passed him on the stair this morning?’

‘What was that?’ asked Ralph.

‘He has promised to hold a banquet for us.’

‘That is good news. When?’

‘When this murder investigation has been completed.’

‘In the lord Henry’s mind, it already has,’ observed Gervase drily. ‘He believes that he has the guilty man behind bars. Trial and sentence will soon follow.’

‘Excellent!’ said Trouville. ‘Then we can celebrate the hanging with a banquet. It will give us a chance to get to know the lord Henry better and to make the acquaintance of his brother.’

‘Robert Beaumont?’

‘Yes, the Count of Meulan himself. He and the lord Henry are both members of the King’s council. We will be rubbing shoulders with two men who know the very nerves of state.’ He gave a complacent smile. ‘It will actually make the effort of getting here worthwhile.’

‘The pleasure of my company does that, surely?’ said Ralph jocularly. ‘That is what tore Gervase away from his young bride.

Admit it, Gervase. Even the temptations of the marital couch could not compete with the joy of working alongside me again.

True or false?’

‘Do you really need to ask?’ said Gervase wryly.

‘Where I go, you go. A true partnership.’

‘Do not let Alys hear you saying that. Nor your own dear wife.

They would both contend that a loving marriage is the only true partnership.’ He pushed his platter aside and stood up. ‘I am inclined to agree.’

‘Where are you going?’ asked Ralph.

‘Back to the castle. We have finished all we have to do here.’

‘Thanks to the speed with which our new commissioner adapted to his work. I had thought it might take the whole day but we are through in less than half the time.’ Trouville did not acknowledge the compliment.

‘That is why I wish to take the documents back to my chamber.’

‘To study them further?’

‘No,’ said Gervase. ‘To put them in a safe place before I go to church this afternoon for the service.’

‘Service?’ Ralph was puzzled. ‘What service?’

‘The funeral of Martin Reynard.’

‘But you never even knew the man.’

‘That is why I am going. To find out more about him.’

Though she would never confess it to her husband, Golde had ambivalent feelings about accompanying him on his travels. While she hated to be apart from him and had no relish for the idea of being left alone in their manor house for any length of time, she was always slightly afraid that she might be a hindrance, distracting him from his work and making him the target for adverse comment. Many Norman barons had taken Saxon wives but usually because there was a substantial dowry involved. That was not the case with them. Ralph had married solely for love and, though his wife was the daughter of a thegn, her father had been dispossessed of his estates and long dead by the time they met. Bold and confident to the outward eye, Golde did have private moments of doubt about her role, anxious to support her husband to the full but fearful that her presence might diminish him in the opinion of his peers.

Such thoughts surfaced again as she made her way to the hall in response to the invitation from the lady Adela. Certain that her hostess would pose no problem, she was less persuaded that the lady Marguerite or her companion, Heloise, would sustain the pleasantness they had risen to on the previous night. It had patently cost some effort. Yet Golde could not hide away from them and she was mindful of what her husband had said to her about acting as another pair of eyes for him. That was the way she could best help Ralph and to be of practical value would remove the faint sense of guilt which lurked at the very back of her mind.

When she went down to the hall Golde was disconcerted to find Marguerite already there, seated beside the fire with Adela and talking familiarly with her as if they were old and dear friends.

While Adela gave the newcomer a welcoming smile, Marguerite looked peeved, as if a private conversation had been disturbed, and the token greeting which came from her mouth was contradicted by the resentful glare in her eyes. Golde was waved to a seat by her hostess, close enough to the flames to feel their warm and restorative lick. There was no sign of Heloise but at the far end of the hall were three musicians who provided sweet background melodies.

‘Did you sleep well?’ asked Adela.

‘Extremely well, my lady,’ said Golde. ‘I was very tired.’

‘I never sleep when we travel,’ complained Marguerite. ‘My mind is restless in novel surroundings. Yet I refused to be left behind at home when Philippe was given this assignment by the King. A loyal wife should be at her husband’s side.’

‘Golde is a perfect example of that,’ observed Adela.

‘Of what?’ challenged Marguerite.

‘Wifely loyalty.’

‘Perhaps she is only here to ensure her husband’s fidelity.’

‘That is not true at all,’ said Golde defensively.

‘I would not blame you if it were. It is the duty of a wife to remain vigilant. Marriage vows are sometimes forgotten when a man is far away from home and the lord Ralph would not be the first husband to develop a wandering eye.’ She gave a brittle laugh. ‘It was the main reason why I made the effort to come here with Philippe. So that I could keep him firmly on the marital leash.’

‘There is no need for that, surely?’ said Adela.

‘Why not?’

‘He would never go astray when he has such a beautiful wife.’

‘Is that what you think, my lady?’

‘Yes. Your husband adores you.’

‘He adored his first wife — until he met me.’

‘What happened to her?’ asked Golde.

‘It does not matter,’ said Marguerite dismissively. ‘That is all in the past now. The point is that a husband who errs once can just as readily err again. Especially if he was reared as a soldier and so accustomed to take his pleasures where he finds them.’

‘You are very cynical about men, my lady.’

‘I simply recognise them for what they are, Golde.’

‘Well, I do not recognise my own husband from your description.’

‘No more do I,’ said Adela tolerantly. ‘It is true that men will pursue their pleasures when they have the chance but those pleasures need not involve another woman. Other delights rate higher in the minds of some men. It is so with Henry, I know, and with his brother, Robert. Their greatest pleasure lies in hunting and hawking.’ She turned to Golde. ‘What of the lord Ralph?’

‘Given the choice, he would prefer to lead a quiet life at home, my lady, but he is too often called upon by the King. I think that he will be grateful when this Great Survey is finally completed and he can retire from royal service altogether.’

‘What will he do then?’ said Marguerite.

‘Enjoy domestic life.’

‘Is that all?’ said the other waspishly.

‘No, my lady,’ said Golde. ‘He will probably become more involved in the administration of his estates as well. It irks Ralph that he has to neglect his own holdings in order to deal with problems concerning the property of others.’

‘But does he have no ambition higher than that, Golde?’

‘Ambition?’

‘Only a dull man would settle for what you have described.’

‘My husband is far from dull, I assure you.’

‘And he has already achieved his major ambition in marrying you,’ said Adela with a kind smile. ‘One only has to see the two of you together to realise that.’

Marguerite clicked her tongue. ‘I thought the lord Ralph had more spirit in him. That is the impression he gives.’

‘It is not a false one,’ said Golde, stung by her criticism. ‘He has more spirit than any man I have ever met.’

‘Then why do you rein it in?’

‘That is not what Golde does, I am sure,’ said Adela, trying to soften the tone of the discussion. ‘She makes her husband happy.

What more can he ask of her?’

‘A lot, my lady.’

‘Go on,’ said Golde, caught on the raw but disguising it. ‘Please instruct us.’

‘I have no wish to cause offence,’ said Marguerite offensively,

‘but I think that you should take a closer look at yourself. Are you holding your husband back or helping him to advance? The answer, I fear, is all too apparent. You have robbed him of his sense of purpose.’

‘Surely not,’ said Adela.

‘Let her finish, my lady,’ said Golde, controlling her anger.

There was no stopping Marguerite now. ‘The lord Ralph should be looking to improve himself,’ she argued, ‘not to dwindle into obscurity on his estates. He should try to cut a figure. That is what he must have been doing at one time or the King would not have employed him in such a prestigious post. Ralph Delchard was evidently a coming man. But it seems as if marriage has taken all the bite out of him.’

It seems to have had the opposite effect on you, thought Golde but drew back from expressing the thought aloud out of deference to her hostess. Adela wanted no disharmony between her guests.

Golde therefore retained her composure. Apart from anything else, it was the best way to annoy Marguerite, who was trying to wound her pride enough to elicit an intemperate response from her. Failing to achieve it, Marguerite shed her measured politeness and became condescending.

‘What form does your married life take?’ she asked. ‘Do you divide your time between adorning the home and making ale for your husband? Do you set yourself no higher targets?’

‘This conversation is taking an unfortunate turn,’ warned Adela.

‘I apologise, my lady,’ said Marguerite with a demure bow of the head. ‘I did not mean to upset you with my comments but I believe that honesty is the only possible basis for friendship.’

‘Honesty can sometimes be hurtful.’

‘I have not been hurt,’ said Golde bravely. ‘If the lady Marguerite wishes to lecture me on wifely duties, I would be glad to learn from her. She is obviously succeeding where I have failed.’

‘You have not failed,’ insisted Adela.

‘Let me hear what she has to say.’

‘Simply this,’ said Marguerite evenly. ‘Drive your husband on to the very limit of his capabilities. Harness his ambitions and, if he has none, supply them. Wealth and position are everything in this world and he will achieve neither if you drag him back. I did not marry Philippe Trouville in order to waste my life in domesticity. He is destined for advancement and I will ensure that he receives it. With me at his back,’ she boasted with a glance at Golde, ‘his rise will be irresistible. It is only a matter of time before I am the wife of the Sheriff of Northamptonshire.

And I promise you that his progress will not end there.’

There was such a glint of naked ambition in her eyes and such a patronising note in her face that Golde could not resist a quiet rejoinder.

‘I see that you married out of infatuation, my lady.’

Marguerite glared poisonously but Adela gave a quiet smile.

The musicians struck up a fresh tune.