Alys Clare - Girl In A Red Tunic

He paused as if collecting his thoughts and then said, ‘It may be nothing but I can’t stop thinking about it, which is why I’ve come. One of my more sharp-witted officers overheard a conversation yesterday in the tavern in Tonbridge. It was between two men, one of whom is a ruffian well known to my officer, which was why my man was listening in to what the fellow had to say. The ruffian’s companion was a different class of man altogether — better dressed, well spoken, obviously of more substantial means than the other.’ He frowned as if still doubting whether he should be wasting her time telling her this.

‘Do go on,’ she prompted. ‘You believe that what your officer overheard concerns us here at Hawkenlye?’

‘Perhaps.’ He gave her a wry grin. ‘The two men spoke of a missing person — a man, apparently a friend or possibly a relation of the ruffian. The well-dressed man was telling him not to worry and that the missing man would turn up. The ruffian said no, he wasn’t satisfied with that, he was going up the hill ’ — here he caught her eye to make sure she appreciated the significance of the words he had emphasised and she nodded that she did — ‘to see if he , by which presumably he meant the absent ruffian, had gone where they reckoned he’d been heading.’

‘I see,’ she said, working it out as she spoke. ‘Two men are trying to find a third, who has apparently come up here to Hawkenlye.’

‘Not necessarily,’ de Gifford said quickly. ‘Other roads lead uphill out of Tonbridge, although I grant you that it’s usually the Abbey that people of the town are referring to when they say up the hill.’

‘Yes.’ She was still thinking hard. ‘What I don’t understand is why you felt the necessity to warn us that the ruffian’s friend, or whatever he is, was coming here. Do you think he is dangerous?’

De Gifford studied her. ‘I mentioned that the ruffian in the tavern was known to my officer.’

‘Yes.’

‘He is also known to me, and so is his usual companion. If it is he who is missing and is the man to whom the other two referred, he’s called Walter Bell and he is the ruffian’s brother.’ De Gifford’s clear green eyes met hers and he added softly, ‘Walter Bell is the more violent of the brothers. He has committed murder, although circumstances were such that he was never put on trial for it. Had he been, I should have done my utmost to see that he hanged.’

She felt a chilly finger of fear creep up her back. ‘And Walter Bell may be on his way to Hawkenlye,’ she whispered.

‘Yes, my lady. Of course, he may not be, but I felt it only right to warn you.’

‘Yes, I understand, and I’m grateful. What should we do?’

He hesitated. ‘Well, it’s difficult because we have no idea why Walter Bell would come to the Abbey. It could simply be that he’s sick, or reckons it would be the best place for a free meal.’

‘Not a very substantial one,’ she remarked. De Gifford’s practical and undramatic reasoning was helping her to regain her composure.

‘Or on the other hand,’ he was saying, ‘perhaps when Bell’s brother said he was coming to Hawkenlye because that was where they reckoned he’d gone, the he in fact meant someone else.’

Something in his tone warned her and, fearful again, she said, ‘Who might that be?’

‘My lady, please do not look so alarmed, for this is but conjecture, but my officer said that Bell’s brother seemed to be furiously angry. It did just occur to me whether the he whom he might or might not be following up here to Hawkenlye could be not his brother but the person whom he holds responsible for his brother’s disappearance.’

He said it is but conjecture, she reminded herself as she waited for her rapid heartbeat to slow a little. Then she said, as calmly as she could, ‘As you are aware, the Abbey is full of people at present. How can we possibly hope to isolate which of them is in danger from this man Bell?’

‘His name’s Teb,’ de Gifford supplied. ‘A nickname, presumably, but it is how he is known.’

‘Teb,’ she repeated. ‘Teb Bell. Is there any point in asking around, do you think? To see if mention of the name raises a response in anyone here?’

De Gifford shrugged. ‘Possibly, my lady. It can surely do no harm, and we might be able to warn the man whom Teb Bell is after, if I have reasoned correctly and this whole miserable tale has not caused you needless anxiety.’

‘Better safe than sorry,’ she said stoutly.

He smiled briefly. Then, looking at her with what looked like a slightly awkward expression, he said, ‘Er — I’m wondering, my lady Abbess, if it might be a wise precaution to ask Sir Josse d’Acquin to come over to Hawkenlye, just until this business is cleared up.’

Now it was her turn to smile and hers was more wholehearted than his. ‘No need,’ she said happily, ‘I’m pleased to say that he’s already here. You have but to wait until he returns from this morning’s second mercy visit, and then you will be able to talk to him yourself and tell him all that you have just told me.’

Josse returned and was briefed by de Gifford. Having as he did such favourable memories of the sheriff and trusting that the man was not causing a fuss about nothing, Josse agreed that they should begin asking all the people currently making use of the Abbey’s various services if the name Teb — or, come to that, Walter — Bell meant anything to them. In particular, whether it brought fear into their eyes. Leofgar and Brother Saul offered to help, and Saul said he would enrol the assistance of some of the other lay brothers; there were, after all, an awful lot of people to ask …

But in the end they had got no further than interviewing the first dozen or so pilgrims down in the Vale before they were overtaken by events.

Two nuns, Sister Anne and Sister Phillipa, were on their way back from the tiny hamlet of Fernthe, accompanied by Brother Erse, the Abbey’s carpenter, and a young lay brother called Peter. They had met with a slight accident when almost within sight of the Abbey; Peter had tripped on a tree root and sprained his ankle. Erse had been of the opinion that, with the support of his stout shoulder, the lad would be up to hopping back to the Abbey if they gave it a while for the pain to subside but, not wanting the nuns to take a chill while they waited around in the cold, he urged them to hasten on to Hawkenlye. It had seemed unlikely that they would meet with any mishap so close to the Abbey’s walls, especially as their baskets were empty and no longer a target for hungry thieves, but if they did, Erse told them ‘to holler as loud as you can and I’ll come running’.

They did as he suggested, as confident as he that nothing unexpected would happen.

But it did. They rounded a curve of the track that ran along beside the Great Forest and walked straight into a body hanging by a rope from the branch of an oak tree. Sister Phillipa had the presence of mind to try to lift the man and take the weight off his neck; a good idea but in fact quite pointless since he had been dead for some time. Poor Sister Anne’s terrified screams echoed not only back to Erse, who dumped Peter on the ground and, habit flying up round his thighs, raced to help; they also echoed faintly in the cloisters of Hawkenlye Abbey, where people looked up in alarm and wondered what on earth had happened now.

It would not be very long before at least some of them found out.

Josse and Brother Saul were first on the scene. They had been speaking to a young family who had just arrived at Hawkenlye and they had run the distance from the Abbey gates up to the forest fringe with the speed of anxiety; Sister Anne had a scream to equal the last trump. Leofgar, who had been in the stables trying to get some of the icy, caked mud off Horace and his own horse, raced after them. Everyone had been too busy to notice, but Leofgar looked if anything even more tense than when he and his little family had arrived.