Alys Clare - Girl In A Red Tunic

Full of pity for the two distressed nuns, Josse agreed that it was for the Abbess to order her own comings and goings, and he reassured both sisters that it wasn’t their fault and nobody would hold them to blame.

‘That’s all very well, Sir Josse,’ Sister Martha said after waiting patiently for him to finish. ‘But if she’s not with you, where is she?’

Trying to keep his own fears under tight control, he said, ‘What was the man like, the one who claimed he had come from the sheriff?’

The two nuns looked at each other, then Sister Martha said, ‘Dark sort of aspect to him. Rode a decent horse and although he wore a cheap, thin cloak, I thought I caught a glimpse of a fine tunic beneath it. And there was something else …’ She broke off, frowning as if trying to search for the words to describe a fleeting impression. Then, apparently finding them, said, ‘The man who came for you, Sir Josse, who I sent down to the Vale to find you, he sounded like what he was, if you understand me. This other fellow, he sounded as if he were putting on a voice. Speaking with words he didn’t usually use.’

‘Could he,’ Josse said cautiously, not wanting to lead her, ‘have been just pretending to be a sheriff’s man?’

Sister Martha shot him a quick look. ‘Aye, Sir Josse, he well could. I reckon there was a man of quality hiding under that dirty cloak, or at least a man who habitually puts on the airs of one, and he didn’t much like having to act otherwise.’

A man who habitually puts on airs … Aye, Josse thought. A shrewd assessment of Arthur Fitzurse, if ever I heard one. Wondering what on earth this meant, what Fitzurse could possibly have been trying to do in luring the Abbess away from Hawkenlye, he did his best to reassure the two nuns that it was probably a simple mistake that would soon be cleared up. ‘I’ll go straight back down to Tonbridge,’ he said, taking Horace’s reins back from Sister Martha and swinging up into the saddle, ‘and I’ll have the Abbess back here before you know I’m gone!’

His words sounded cheerful and optimistic. But his last glimpse of the two worried faces as he cantered away suggested they were no more confident of this rapid success than he was.

He went straight to de Gifford’s house. Gervase was still there, or perhaps had been out and returned; he was sitting down to a hasty meal as Josse flung himself into the hall.

‘Arthur Fitzurse has taken the Abbess Helewise,’ he said breathlessly. ‘He went up to Hawkenlye and claimed to be one of your men sent to fetch her down to join us here.’

‘Fitzurse?’ De Gifford was standing up even as he spoke. ‘Why? What does he want of her?’

Josse shook his head impatiently. ‘I cannot begin to guess. Where does he live? Do you know?’

‘He lodges in rooms in the town. A mean sort of place; I should have expected better from the man’s manner.’

Josse heard Sister Martha’s voice again. Aye, it seemed more than one person had gained this impression of Fitzurse: he was a man who had the air of someone of more means than he in fact possessed. In that moment Josse saw the man again as he had first watched him ride into the courtyard of the Old Manor, looking as if he owned the place.

‘We’ll go and look for him,’ de Gifford was saying, reaching for his cloak that he had spread before the fire to warm. ‘Come on!’

Needing no encouragement, Josse followed him. They mounted their horses and hurried off and after a short time were outside the dilapidated building where Fitzurse had his lodgings. To the surprise of neither man, he was not there and neither was the Abbess.

‘Where has he taken her?’ Josse raged as they returned to de Gifford’s house. Trying to keep his voice low, he demanded, ‘ Why has he taken her?’

Reading his anxiety, de Gifford spoke calmly. ‘I will summon all the men at my disposal and set them hunting for her. My men are good,’ he added, eyes on Josse’s, ‘believe me, Josse, they know their way around the dark corners of this town very well and they will not give up until they find her.’

Only a little reassured, Josse watched as de Gifford sent out the summons and, as his men began to arrive, quietly issued his orders. When the last man had gone, he turned to the sheriff and said, ‘What do we do? I cannot just sit here and wait, man, I-’

‘I understand,’ de Gifford said gently. ‘You need to be doing something, and so do I. What do you suggest?’

Josse tried to think what he had been doing before this new and dreadful thing had happened. He’d been desperate to see the Abbess because he wanted to tell her something …

Aye. He knew what it was, and he also knew what he and Gervase must now do. He said — and he was pleased to hear that his voice sounded brisk and decisive and the terrible anxiety didn’t show — ‘We’ll ride out to the Old Manor.’

De Gifford looked surprised. ‘Do you think to find Fitzurse there?’

Josse shrugged; it was possible, he supposed, although he did not see quite why. ‘Maybe. But there’s something else that we must look for.’ And, as they rode out of the courtyard and set off along the road northwards, he explained what it was.

Helewise had been riding along behind the sheriff’s man who had come to fetch her down to Tonbridge for some time before she was sure. As soon as she was, she called out to him, ‘I thought you said we were to join Sir Josse and the sheriff at the sheriff’s house? Is that house not in the town?’

The man turned to her and she caught a glimpse of his sallow-skinned face under the concealing hood. He muttered something about the sheriff living out a way into the country and for a time she had to be content with that.

But her unease grew.

She could not have said why; the man treated her courteously enough and, even if he was bluff of speech and not inclined to talk unless he had to, those things alone were not sufficient to explain her vague fear.

They were deep out in the wilds now, riding along what appeared to be a little-used track that wound along just above the marshy ground that lay on the river’s margins. There were willows and alder and, underfoot, a sort of wiry grass grew in tussocks. Here and there smaller paths — perhaps animal tracks — led off to right and left. The very air smelt wet from the nearness of the water.

She was about to question her guide again but then, pointing forward to what looked like a length of tumbledown hurdle fencing extending from a wildly overgrown bramble hedge, he said gruffly, ‘We’re here. That’s the sheriff’s house up ahead.’

She strained to see but the dwelling was as yet still concealed by the bramble thicket. It could, she thought, be but a single storey, hardly a house for a man such as Gervase de Gifford. And why on earth did he opt to live in such apparent neglect and squalor out here in this moist, misty, damp wilderness?

As if her guide felt that her unspoken question required an answer, he said, in the same low and slightly husky voice, ‘Sheriff has his official residence in the town, see. He likes to get away here whenever he can a’cause of it’s quiet and folk don’t come a-knocking on his door.’

Well, that made sense, Helewise thought. Didn’t it? Gervase de Gifford would very likely be at everyone’s beck and call in the course of his day’s work so why should he not choose to have a house right away from the hurry and bustle of Tonbridge and get away to it when his duties permitted?

Yes, she thought, chewing at her lip, but why has he brought Josse here? Why did Gervase choose this place for our meeting?

Again the man seemed to read her mind, for his next remark gave her the explanation she needed. Turning round in the saddle to look back at her — he was now a short distance ahead — he said, ‘Sheriff’s brought that Sir Josse d’Acquin along here to show him something what some man’s brought him. It’s evidence, they say, and nobody’s to see it as doesn’t have to.’