Alys Clare - The Tavern in the Morning

‘Very well.’ He gave her an intent look. ‘But only on condition that you kick me out when you’ve had enough.’

‘I promise.’ Smiling, she closed her eyes. ‘Now, proceed.’

She listened as he told her what had happened in the inn at Tonbridge. Of the dead man, Peter Ely, of Josse’s own discovery of the pie poisoned with wolfs bane, of Tilly and the swapped plates. Despite the gruesome details, she found she enjoyed listening to him; he told a tale well, in an orderly manner and with sufficient details for her to imagine the scenes he was describing. Reflecting on how pleasant it was to have a visitor bringing tidings of the great world beyond the walls of Hawkenlye, it was a few moments before she realised he had stopped speaking.

She opened her eyes, to find him bending over her. ‘Sorry,’ he said, instantly backing away. ‘I thought you might have nodded off.’

‘In the midst of such a narrative?’ She smiled up at him. ‘Heaven forbid!’ He grinned back, apparently relieved by her response. ‘So, what now?’ she wondered aloud. ‘If I were in your position, I should return to Peter Ely’s family and question them as to whether or not the dead man had any dealings with a man of the handsome stranger’s description. At first sight, that is the obvious solution, that the two were somehow in league and the stranger wanted to silence his accomplice.’

Josse said, ‘Exactly what I did do, Abbess! But to no avail, I’m afraid.’

‘Why? What happened?’

He gave a brief snort of laughter. ‘I got them all out of that hovel of theirs, standing in a line blinking in the sunshine, and I said, did Peter know anybody from noble circles? Well, that was silly, to start with, since none of them had a clue what I meant, so I narrowed it down a bit and said, did he know a handsome man with shiny dark hair, well-dressed in expensive clothes? I managed to get a detailed description from little Tilly, who, I conclude, has more than a crush on the man, so I was able to add that he wore tan leather boots, a dark-red tunic and a heavy cloak bordered with braid.’

‘And what did they say?’

This time Josse laughed aloud. ‘Nothing. They stood before me staring at me with their mouths open and their eyes popping, like a row of sheep hearing angels sing. I tell you, Abbess, I was in some doubt that they’d taken in a word I said.’

‘Did they say any thing?’

‘After what seemed an age, the woman — Peter Ely’s wife — announced, “’E din’ mix with gentry.” Then the three of them turned round and shuffled back inside. I did call out to let me know if any strangers came calling, and that I could be reached at the inn. But I doubt if they took any notice.’ He sighed.

‘Hm.’ She was thinking. ‘I don’t believe I can offer you any suggestions, Sir Josse. Although one thing does strike me.’

‘What?’ he said eagerly.

‘Oh, don’t set any store by it,’ she replied, ‘it’s only a very small point.’

‘Let me have it anyway,’ he encouraged. ‘I’m at my wits’ end!’

‘I doubt that very much,’ she said, ‘Very well. What occurred to me was that this stranger did nothing to disguise himself. Quite the opposite, it appears, since he wore good clothes, which he must have known would stand out in the tap room of the inn, and, by your account, he flirted quite openly with the little maid.’

‘We don’t know he did that,’ Josse said. ‘We only have Tilly’s side of the story. And, Abbess, she’s not a girl I would flirt with.’

‘Nevertheless, he spent the evening in the tap room, with the evening’s company, appearing as himself. Yes?’

‘Ye-es,’ Josse said cautiously.

‘So I conclude that he wasn’t there for any nefarious purpose. His visit to Tonbridge was innocent, and therefore he didn’t care who saw him.’

‘Because, if he had come on secret business, the last place he’d have gone would be the inn! Yes, Abbess, you’re quite right!’

‘Might he have been a guest of the Clare family?’ she suggested. ‘His sort of people, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I would.’ Josse frowned again. ‘But if he were, then why eat his supper at the inn?’

‘Did he put up there for the night?’

Josse shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Mistress Anne says that the dead man was her only guest that night.’ He smiled briefly. ‘Although guest is hardly the word, under the circumstances.’

‘Does anybody know where the stranger went, on leaving the inn?’

‘No.’

‘Might he have returned to Tonbridge Castle?’

Josse folded his arms across his broad chest, tapping the fingers of one hand against the opposite upper arm. ‘Yes, I suppose so. But it doesn’t sound very likely, does it? A nobleman — if we may surmise that from descriptions of his dress and his manner — comes to visit friends, leaves them to take his supper at the local inn, which, for all that it’s a decent one, is still an inn, then, having tucked away his meal, goes back to beg a bed from his hosts.’ He shook his head. ‘Doesn’t accord with anything I’ve ever heard.’

‘Nor I, I have to agree.’ Helewise struggled to sit up.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Josse demanded instantly.

‘Nowhere!’ she protested. ‘I merely need a change of position.’

‘Hmm.’ He eyed her suspiciously, as if half expecting her to filch the ledger off the table and return to her accounts. Then: ‘We are right, aren’t we, Abbess, in assuming the handsome stranger must have been the intended victim?’

‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m sure we are.’ It was pleasant, she thought, to be we again. A satisfying challenge, once more to unite her wits with his over this new conundrum. ‘And I do think that there is only one logical next step, Sir Josse. To find out the identity of the stranger, and what he was doing in Tonbridge that someone else didn’t want him to do.’

‘Aye,’ Josse said heavily. ‘I agree. For all that I don’t relish the task, I agree.’

‘Can there have been so many handsome strangers in town recently?’ she asked. ‘You do, after all, have a good description.’

He grinned at her. ‘Abbess, do you ever visit Tonbridge?’ She shook her head. ‘Well, I fear you have a somewhat inaccurate picture of the place.’

‘It used to be a quiet little town,’ she mused, ‘the castle guarding the river crossing, and-’

‘Aye. The river crossing,’ he interrupted. ‘And what crosses the river?’

‘The road, of course.’

‘Aye. The road from London to the coast. Abbess, traffic has increased, I imagine, since last you were there. To our present disadvantage, since that traffic includes, in with the merchants, the pilgrims and the local travellers, any number of richly-dressed strangers, handsome or otherwise.’

‘Oh.’

‘Don’t sound so woebegone!’ He seemed to rally, unfolding his arms and straightening up. ‘It’s a starting point, at least. Better than nothing. And I shall set off immediately and begin making enquiries.’

‘Such fervour,’ she murmured.

He was looking at her, his expression softening. ‘May I report progress to you in a day or two?’

‘I should be most upset if you didn’t.’

‘And you’ll promise to rest? Get someone else to see to those accounts?’

‘I will.’ Someone, she thought tiredly, who could add up a column of figures better than she could at the moment.

He opened the door. ‘Do you wish me to send anyone in to see to you? Fetch you a drink, or something to eat?’

The thought of food made her feel slightly sick. ‘No, nothing, thank you.’

‘Then I’ll tell Sister Euphemia you’re resting,’ he said, easing his way out. ‘Sleep well!’