Bernard Knight - Fear in the Forest

He became more uneasy the nearer he came to the Bush. It was over a week now since he had been with Nesta in her room upstairs in the inn. Usually, their lovemaking was carefree and enthusiastic, sometimes even boisterous. Dour as John was to the outside world, alone with the Welsh woman he was a changed man — tender, sensual and happy.

So it was with grave concern that he pondered what had happened over this past week or two. Once again, he tortured himself with thoughts of Nesta being involved with another lover, but somehow the signs of that were lacking. He wondered with dread whether she was ill or sickening for something, though she looked healthy enough. As he stooped to enter the low door of the inn, his resolve hardened to find out what was going on. A coward in the face of embarrassing emotions, he steeled himself to confront Nesta head on tonight. For once, fortune favoured him as he saw her standing at the back of the low room, watching Edwin hammering a wooden spigot into a fresh cask of ale. There were relatively few patrons sitting around and he grabbed his mistress by the hand and pulled her towards the back door.

‘We’re going for a little walk, madam,’ he said firmly, leading her into the yard behind. As she turned a surprised face towards the suddenly masterful coroner, he saw that they were not alone, as one of the cook-maids was coming out of the kitchen shed and a customer was relieving himself against the fence behind the brew-house.

‘This way, then,’ he snapped, turning sharply to avoid an audience. He opened the wicket gate that led out on to the waste ground alongside the inn, and with an arm now around her shoulders walked Nesta towards the junction of Idle Lane and Priest Street.

‘What are you doing, John? I’ve got a tavern to run!’ she protested.

‘The Bush can look after itself for half an hour. I want to talk to you.’

The Welsh woman must have had an inkling of what was to come, for she went along meekly as they walked silently down the steep street towards the city walls near the river. At the south-west corner, a new gate had been cut through in recent years, to reach the quay-side where smaller ships lay beached on the mud outside the warehouses.

John led Nesta over to some casks and crates awaiting shipment, where there was no one within earshot. He sat her on a large bale of wool wrapped in sacking and stood in front of her, his hands on her shoulders.

‘Something is concerning you, my love. You may as well tell me what it is, first as last.’

As Nesta looked up at him, her eyes brimmed over with tears. She shook her head and looked away, rubbing her face with the sleeve of her working gown.

‘Tell me!’ he commanded, his voice almost harsh from fear of what he might be about to hear.

Nesta swung her face back towards him, her eyelids red and glistening. She sniffed back her tears, then leant forwards, her head against his wide sword-belt.

‘I think I may be with child, John. I’m so sorry!’

‘Sorry? Why should you be sorry, for God’s sake?’ he bellowed.

After sixteen years of marriage to Matilda, never once had she conceived — though in truth he had been absent for most of that time and for the past few years they had never lain together.

He pushed her gently away so that he could look down at her face, his own expression being a mixture of wonderment and anxiety.

‘Are you sure, dear woman?’

She shrugged slightly. ‘Not sure, but something tells me that I am. My monthly curse has never been that regular since I miscarried when Meredydd was alive, so it’s difficult to tell.’

He pulled her back tightly against him and bent to kiss the top of her head.

‘Have you been to see a good-wife who knows about these matters?’

‘Not yet — but I will, very soon.’

De Wolfe eased himself away and then sat down alongside her on the bale, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

‘This is no reason for tears, Nesta,’ he said gently. ‘If it really is true, then I will be glad and proud to acknowledge myself as the father.’

Nesta burst into tears, sobs this time, rather than just moist eyes. John jerked her shoulder helplessly, completely adrift with a weeping woman.

‘Don’t be sad, my love, please! Why are you crying? I said I’ll be joyful about becoming a father.’

The Welsh woman shook her head desperately. ‘I’ve brought you nothing but trouble, John. You’re a high official, a knight and a Norman gentleman — and what am I? A lowly ale-wife.’

‘That be damned. Half the Norman gentleman I know have several families — both sides of the blanket, as they say. Even my poisonous brother-in-law has got two bastards by different mothers. And they are just the ones that we know about!’

Nesta refused to be comforted and continued to sob against his side.

‘Matilda … she’ll make your life a misery if this comes to light, as it surely must. In this damned city no one can keep a secret longer than a candle burns.’

John gave one of his rumbles, deep in his throat. ‘Matilda will be a problem, I’ll admit. But she’ll just have to accept it and be damned to her.’

They sat quietly for a moment. Realisation began to seep into his mind and for all his bold promises to Nesta he started to see a rough road ahead — mainly because of his wife, who would use this to make his life a torment.

But, pragmatic as always, the coroner decided to face the problem one step at a time — and the first was to make sure that Nesta’s suspicions were correct.

‘Do you know of a reliable midwife who can confirm what you think?’ he asked. ‘There is that formidable nun out in Polsloe Priory who seems a fount of knowledge in these matters.’

Sniffing away the remnants of her tears, Nesta sat up straighter on the bale.

‘No need to go that far, John. The mother of one of my maids lives in Rack Lane and has a good reputation as a lying-in nurse. I’ll see her tomorrow.’

She rose to her feet and looked up at the concerned face of her lover.

‘I must go back now, John. Life doesn’t stop for things like this.’

She sounded so sad that his heart ached.

‘Are you not just a little glad of it?’ he asked gently.

She smiled wanly at him. ‘Part of me is, John. But I will cause you so much trouble.’

Slowly they walked back towards Idle Lane, as de Wolfe tried to get his mind around the anticipation of this unexpected and profound change in his life — becoming a father.

That evening was to be full of unexpected events for John, as when he arrived back at Martin’s Lane he discovered that his brother-in-law had invited himself for supper.

Though usually such a visit would have been received sourly by de Wolfe, he was rather glad of a distraction this particular evening. After having had such potentially momentous news from Nesta, a meal alone with Matilda would have been more of a strain than usual, as her gimlet eyes and shrewd mind may well have suspected that her husband had something new to hide from her. As it was, the patronising comments that were Richard’s usual form of conversation could be used as a cover for his own sullen silence, for Matilda was well aware of John’s dislike of and contempt for her brother.

‘And how are all the corpses today, Crowner?’ began de Revelle, in his bantering, sarcastic manner.

‘One dead bottler, so far,’ muttered de Wolfe, with a scowl that suggested that he would be happy if Richard were to be the next. ‘But you must have heard about that, being the guardian of the King’s peace in this county!’

He tried to match his brother-in-law’s sarcasm, but it washed over their guest like a bucket of water on a goose.

‘I heard nothing of it. I leave such minor matters to the constables.’