Alys Clare - The Enchanter's Forest

‘Primevere can tell you nothing,’ Melusine stated flatly. ‘She knows no more than I do, which is that Florian went off to Merlin’s Tomb, he stayed away longer than usual and then we were told that his body had been found in the forest.’

‘I see. Nevertheless I should still like to speak to the lady myself. Sometimes a seemingly irrelevant question can bring to someone’s mind some fact that they had quite forgotten about until prompted, and I have known such small facts become the key that unlocks the mystery.’

‘My daughter is sick in bed and can see nobody,’ Melusine said. She put up a hand to tuck a thin strand of hair under her cap and Josse was surprised to note that the hand trembled. ‘She is in no state to answer questions, relevant or not.’

‘She was perfectly well yesterday,’ Josse remarked.

Melusine turned on him. ‘Yes, so she was, till you and those tactless nuns came bothering her!’ she cried. ‘Questions, questions, and she a widow of only a week!’

‘But-’ Josse began, stung to angry protest at hearing the Abbess, the infirmarer and Sister Caliste slandered with the word tactless when their delicate and kindly offers of sympathy and help had been anything but. With an effort he restrained himself.

‘The Hawkenlye sisters would indeed be most unhappy to learn that their visit had caused your daughter distress,’ Gervase said smoothly. ‘I am sure that was not their intention, for they are good women and work with all the goodness in their hearts for the benefit of others.’

Melusine gave a sniff. ‘They mean well, I grant you.’ Then, as if wanting instantly to shore up what might have been seen as a gap in her defences, she added, ‘But you still can’t see Primevere. She. .’ She hesitated. ‘She is an unchaperoned widow now and I must take every care for her good name.’

Josse’s fury almost spilled out of him at this thinly veiled insult; as if he or Gervase would take advantage of a sick and recently bereaved young woman! It was preposterous.

‘We would not dream of intruding on her,’ Gervase said smoothly. ‘However, the fact remains that I must speak to her, sooner or later, so I shall ask you please to send word to me in Tonbridge when she is ready to see me.’

Josse thought he saw a tiny glint in Melusine’s dark eyes and he was quite sure that some of the tension seemed to go out of her. Smiling now, she said, ‘Of course. And I am sorry, both of you’ — she turned so as to include Josse in her benevolence — ‘that you have had a wasted journey. I would offer you refreshments but, alas, I am preoccupied with the care of my daughter.’

‘We would not dream of putting you to the trouble,’ Gervase assured her. ‘We will leave you both in peace and I look forward to meeting your daughter soon.’

‘Just as soon as she is well again,’ Melusine agreed.

She saw them to the door and they were aware of her watching them as they mounted and rode away. She was still there, dark eyes following their departure, as they rounded the bend and rode out of her sight.

As if she must be absolutely sure that they had really gone.

On the way over to Ranulf’s house — Gervase had been given directions before leaving Tonbridge — Josse told him what little the Abbess had discovered about Florian, his background, his family and his wife.

‘His horse has not turned up?’ Gervase asked.

‘No.’

‘Someone’s lucky day, to apprehend a man with the intention of stealing his money only to discover that he rides a first-class horse into the bargain.’

‘Perhaps the killer knew that already,’ Josse suggested.

‘You do not go along with the opinion that a passing thief was responsible for the crime?’

Josse shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’ Then he told Gervase of his discussion that morning with the Abbess and, when he had finished, Gervase gave him a very intent look.

‘You believe that Ranulf is the father of the child that Primevere carries?’

‘It seems likely.’

‘And do you then extend the crimes laid at this man’s door and suggest he murdered Florian?’

‘It is a grave accusation, I know that well enough,’ Josse replied. ‘But aye, I feel we ought to keep it in mind when we speak to Ranulf.’

Gervase was frowing. ‘So let us postulate,’ he began slowly, ‘that it happened like this. The lady Primevere, wed to a boastful youth who exaggerated his means, tires of his pretty face and turns him out of her bed. Then along comes a handsome neighbour, a mature man who has recently lost his wife, and she recognises in him everything that she thought to find in young Florian.’

‘Is it not possible that he came along before he lost his wife?’ Josse suggested.

‘Ah, so now you would lay the murder of his wife at Ranulf’s hands as well!’ Gervase exclaimed. He shot him a warning glance. ‘Have a care, Josse.’

‘It was you who told me there were some who said Ranulf did not rush to his wife’s aid when he might have done!’ Josse snapped back. ‘I merely point out that the time scale is relevant.’

‘Yes, of course you’re right,’ Gervase admitted. ‘It’s just that I find myself reluctant to throw such dangerous accusations around in the open. Great harm can be done by the spreading of malicious gossip,’ he added primly.

Josse made a show of looking all around him. ‘Well, I’m not proposing to go spreading it,’ he said. ‘There’s nobody to hear us here except our horses, and fortunately neither yours nor mine has the gift of speech.’

Gervase gave a short laugh. ‘No. Sorry, Josse.’

‘Hmm.’

When finally they rode up to the imposing manor house that was the dwelling of Ranulf of Crowbergh, it was to be met by another calm and peaceful scene in which every living thing appeared to have sought rest in the shade. Gervase called out and a boy came scurrying into the courtyard from what appeared to be the stables, a structure that ran along in a block joining the front wall of the yard to the house. Again Gervase gave his and Josse’s names and, as they both dismounted, asked to speak to the lad’s master.

The boy stared from one to the other and said, ‘He’s not here.’

‘I see.’ Gervase frowned. ‘Do you know when he will be back?’

‘He’s gone away,’ the boy said. ‘He’s taking some horses over to his estate in France.’

Josse nodded. He had been told how the Conqueror had brought heavy horses to England in order to interbreed them with the lighter native horses; Ranulf, presumably, was doing the same thing by taking his English horses out to France. English stock was highly thought of nowadays, having been improved over the years by the introduction of those wonderful, fast and beautiful Arab horses that the Crusaders brought home. He thought, with a silent apology to good old Horace, just how much he would love such a mount.

Gervase nudged him quite hard in the ribs. ‘When did your master leave?’ he demanded. Josse brought his attention back to the present and waited for the answer.

The lad frowned ferociously and pursed up his mouth in an aid to concentration. ‘Yesterday,’ he finally said. ‘It were late in the afternoon but well before sunset. He were aiming to sail on the evening tide.’

Alert now and probably thinking along the same lines as Gervase, Josse calculated rapidly. Ranulf had left them at the edge of the forest and as soon as they were out of sight he must have raced home, collected his horses and set off immediately for the coast. But why had he not mentioned that he was leaving? Under the circumstances, it was good of him to have spared the time to escort the Hawkenlye party to view the tomb and-

But suddenly Josse knew why Ranulf had not said he was about to depart for France; because it hadn’t been planned. And he also knew just when Ranulf had decided to go and he thought he knew why.