Kate Sedley - The Wicked Winter

I said quietly, 'I think you will find, Mistress, that in this instance Sir Hugh was not lying; that he did indeed believe you responsible for Lady Cederwell's murder and was trying to protect you. After discovering his wife's body, he returned to the house and said nothing either of what he had found or of having seen Hamon. The longer the body lay undiscovered, the less chance there was of any blame being attached to you or your messenger. The fact that such an accusation was extremely unlikely to be brought against you, that in the prevailing circumstances his wife's fall would most probably be considered an accident, did not occur to him, so anxious was he to ensure your safety.'

She gave me a sharp glance and then her rather heavy features lifted with the beginnings of a smile. Just for a moment, I could see the handsome young girl she had once been, when Sir Hugh had first fallen in love with her and she, foolishly and wantonly, had denied her heart and married his friend.

'How can you be sure of that?' she asked scornfully, willing me nonetheless to produce a reason.

'Because, Mistress, I think I know who killed Lady Cederwell, and why. However, for now you'll simply have to take my word for that. But if I'm right, Sir Hugh's actions allow of no other explanation. Whether or not you can forgive him for imagining you capable of murder is another matter, and one you'll have to decide for yourself.'

The half-smile deepened. 'I thought him guilty of the same crime, so we must beg pardon of one another. I don't doubt we shall each offer and receive forgiveness.' She sat silent for a moment or two, contemplating a suddenly much rosier future than any she had foreseen for many years past. But then her expression sobered. 'You are certain that you have stumbled on the truth?'

If I resented the word 'stumbled', I was careful not to show it. I nodded reassuringly, but then reminded her that she had not yet answered my original question.

'I have forgotten what it was,' she confessed, stating at me with a puzzled frown, as though suddenly becoming aware to whom she had been speaking, unburdening her innermost thoughts and fears. She gave her head another shake as if to make sure that she had not dreamed the whole.

'I asked who are your nearest neighbours to Lynom Hall. I know you have none to the north along the Woodspring road, for I've walked that way myself. But to the south, now! Is there a farm or homestead easily accessible from the main track?'

It was plain that she would dearly have loved to know the reason behind my question, but after struggling for several seconds with the temptation to demand an answer, she said merely, 'There is indeed a farm some three to three-and-ahalf miles south-west of the Hall, land which belongs to a good yeoman named John Armstrong. Is that what you wish to know?'

'Is the farm moated? Or do its buildings lie open to the road?'

The widow pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to picture a holding which she must have passed many times in her life, but of which she had taken little particular notice. It so often happens that the most familiar objects are the least regarded.

'It is moated,' she said at last, 'but I think… No, no, I'm sure that there are at least two outhouses which stand beyond the pale, on open ground. They lie southerly again from the main enclosure.'

I gave a brief bow. 'I thank your ladyship.' She rose to her feet, eyeing me severely, and smoothed down the skirt of her gown.

'I'm not her ladyship yet as you're very well aware. You're a plausible rascal who knows how to make himself agreeable, especially to women. But even so, how you've managed to get me to open up my heart to you, I've no idea.' She sighed.

'If I were only twenty years younger… but no, I'm too old for those kind of thoughts. Get along before I embarrass you and do anything I shall later regret. I must find Sir Hugh. Have I your permission to repeat our conversation to him?' I hesitated, then nodded. 'But I should be grateful if you would tell no one else for now. Keep what has passed between us to your two selves until I am ready.'

'Very well. I shall ensure Sir Hugh's silence. What other proof are you seeking?'

'I am going to speak once more to Father Godyer. After that, I shall have to make up my mind whether to speak or hold my peace. I would not accuse any person unless I were sure of making my accusation stick.'

The chaplain was looking even healthier than when I had seen him earlier. He was still, as Ethelwynne had complained, in bed, but his face was less pinched, and his more vigorous speech suggested that he might be able to resume his duties within the next few days.

'You're feeling much better than this morning,' I said, and he nodded, smiling. He shifted his legs to one side of the pallet so that I could once again sit on the opposite edge.

'Much better, God be praised, and no worse for seeing you a second time. A man gets very bored tucked away up here with no one to talk to.' He sighed. 'But there! I have no right to complain. I am of little importance to anyone in the household now that my lady has gone.' Tears welled up and trickled down his cheeks. 'I came here with her from Campden, and had known and loved her as a girl.'

'Indeed, you've already told me so,' I answered heartily. 'And a very interesting story it is, Father. How could you not love her when you knew all that she had suffered in her youth? Of the terrible experience which had warped her mind.'

His head reared up at that. 'Who said her mind was warped? Not I, Chapman! That's your interpretation of my words, and a very wrong one! She bore even that adversity as she bore all the rest, with an unshakeable belief in God.'

'I beg your pardon,' I said. 'Perhaps I expressed myself badly. Yet to know that her attacker escaped the full rigour of the law must surely have embittered her beyond reason.'

'There you go again!' he exclaimed angrily. 'Trying to make out that she was on the fringe of madness.'

'Wasn't she? Forgive me, Father, but surely a pretty young woman should have wanted more from life than prayer and meditation.'

'It is obvious that you have never perused the lives of the saints,' the priest chided me austerely. 'Saint Leocadia, Saint Lucy, Saint Eulalia, all were young women willing to sacrifice life itself for their faith. Do you suggest that they, too, were insane?' I shook my head meekly and he continued, 'They never saw their persecutors brought to justice, either, and at least my darling girl knew what had befallen her despoiler. She came herself to look upon his mangled body when it was carried back to her father's house.'

'A young girl could calmly gaze upon a man with his head crushed in? Father, even someone as partial as you must admit that there is something not… not quite… quite normal in such an action.'

He shifted his legs once more to the middle of the bed, leaned back against his pillows and closed his eyes, indicating that our conversation was at an end. I did not move immediately, however, but sat observing that pallid face and narrow skull, wondering what was going on inside it. There was now no doubt in my mind that Father Godyer had loved Jeanette Empryngham with a carnal as well as a spiritual love, but he had suppressed it, convincing himself that it was a paternal affection he entertained for her. Had Gerard Empryngham, I wondered, suspected the priest's true feelings?

I stood up, 'I shall be leaving here tomorrow,' I said. 'The snow is beginning to melt and the roads should be passable again.'

He made no answer until I was almost out of the door.

Then he demanded, 'Well? Have you got what you came for?'

'I… I just came to see how you were,' I stuttered, surprised by his unexpected shrewdness.

The priest snorted with disbelief. 'So I thought at first.'