Kate Sedley - The Three Kings of Cologne

I said as much to Dick Manifold, but he told me not to be such a fool: it was the way of the world. This I knew already. But injustice was something I found difficult to reconcile myself to with any degree of equanimity. However, I said no more on the subject and we rode on in silence. I wondered if Richard were thinking of Isabella, remembering his meetings with her, here on the uplands, desolate in winter but beautiful, as now, in late spring with the trees and shrubs of burgeoning green.

Hambrook Manor eventually came into view as we trotted over a rise and began to descend a slight declivity set with brakes of foaming hawthorn blossom. Another brief canter and we were approaching the outer gate, where the porter let us in without demur, obviously impressed by Richard’s air of authority and his badge of office. We were handed over to the Steward, who gave me a leery glance, but again put no rub in our way, merely remarking that he would ascertain if his mistress would be pleased to receive us.

He returned within a very few minutes and bade us both follow him to my lady’s solar. As we mounted the shallow flight of stairs leading to this room, Richard hissed in my ear, ‘Leave the talking to me. Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.’

I felt my gorge rising and made no answer, but my anger was short-lived. As we entered the solar, it became apparent that Lady Claypole was not alone. At the sight of me, Juliette Gerrish rose to her feet and, ignoring Richard, came towards me, holding out both her hands.

‘Roger!’ she exclaimed, smiling broadly. ‘How very unexpected, but how very nice to see you again.’

‘Your visit to my uncle reminded him of obligations to an old friend,’ Juliette said. ‘It made him feel guilty that he had allowed so much time to elapse without seeking word of someone he once knew so well. But as he himself has been sick again these past few days, he requested me to come and obtain news of Lady Claypole for him.’ She smiled that engaging smile of hers. ‘So here I am.’

Lady Claypole had admitted frankly to her possession of the collapsing bed — her husband, the late Sir Peter, had brought it back with him after a tour to the Rhineland and remoter parts of Europe, further east, towards Muscovy — but apart from some pranks played on very close friends soon after his return (which, of course, she hadn’t approved of) the bed had never been used, as far as she knew. What had happened to me, she insisted, was totally unaccountable; a servant must have accidentally touched a hidden switch, or perhaps the mechanism was now so old and rusty that it had set itself off. Whatever the reason, my unfortunate experience had nothing to do with her, nor, intentionally, with any member of her household, I could be certain of that. However, it accounted for my hitherto inexplicable nocturnal flight, and she tendered me her heartfelt apologies.

I have no idea if Richard believed her or not. I know I didn’t. But he had achieved the object of his mission — to let our reluctant hostess know that Authority knew of the bed’s existence — without any need to search the house or unpleasantness of any kind. Indeed, we had both been invited to stay to supper with my lady and to remain for the night.

‘And you can be sure that this time your bed will not try to swallow you,’ Lady Claypole had added with a thin-lipped smile that seemed to me to cost her something of an effort. But maybe I was mistaken. ‘And,’ she added, addressing me in particular, ‘Mistress Gerrish has also agreed to give me her company until tomorrow. She still has a lot to tell me about my old friend, Robert.’

But Lady Claypole’s anxiety to hear news of Master Moresby was not great enough to keep Juliette beside her while she talked to Richard Manifold. And her simpering looks when she spoke to him made me realize, with a sudden stab of jealousy, that he was in fact a handsomer man than I ever gave him credit for. Our hostess plainly found him more attractive than she found me. (But, I consoled myself, he was somewhat nearer to her in age.)

‘I’ll see that the horses have been stabled,’ I offered, and left the house, only to be followed almost immediately by Juliette.

She grinned a little ruefully at the wary expression on my face.

‘It’s all right, Roger,’ she said, linking an arm through one of mine. ‘I promise I won’t seduce you again.’ And it was then she told me how she came to be at Hambrook Manor. ‘My uncle confessed the whole thing to me,’ she finished. ‘The reason you went to see him was not simply to apprise him of the death of a woman he had once loved, but because you suspected that he might have been her killer.’ She added, suddenly sharp and withdrawing her hand from my arm, ‘I’m not so sure I’d have let you make love to me if I’d known you thought my uncle capable of murder.’

‘As a matter of fact,’ I retorted, equally sharp, ‘I could have sworn that it was you who made love to me.’

We had reached the stables by this time and I left her outside while I assured myself that our horses — Richard’s and mine — were being looked after. I need not have worried, of course. Lady Claypole’s servants might be an odd-looking bunch, but they knew their jobs well enough. I rejoined my companion and began walking back towards the house.

‘Do you still suspect Uncle Robert of murder?’ Juliette asked, pointedly ignoring our previous subject of conversation and once again tucking her hand into the crook of my elbow.

‘I don’t suppose we shall ever know the truth about the death of Isabella Linkinhorne,’ I answered snappishly. ‘There are two other suspects besides Master Moresby, and I doubt if after all these years anything can be proved against any of them.’ I didn’t mention that one of those other two men was now sitting with our hostess. I didn’t think it necessary.

There was silence for a moment, then the pressure of my companion’s fingers brought me to a standstill. Her face was troubled.

‘My uncle didn’t, it seems, tell you the whole truth, Roger. He admitted as much to me when we were discussing the matter after you had left.’

‘What is the whole truth, then?’ I asked, resisting a sudden urge to kiss her.

‘That day — the day he waited for this woman here, at Hambrook Manor — he did, apparently, leave the house on one occasion and ride towards Westbury to look for her.’

‘Lady Claypole didn’t mention that when I asked her. She confirmed that Master Moresby remained with her and Sir Peter throughout.’

Juliette shrugged. ‘Perhaps she’s forgotten, or else she didn’t know. It’s so long ago.’ I wondered how many more times I would hear variations of that phrase. ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘Uncle Robert confessed to me that he saw Isabella talking to another man near the village. He didn’t know who it was, didn’t recognize him, but I imagine from what he said — my uncle that is — that there was something about the pair that gave him pause. And there was something else, too, that suddenly made him doubt Isabella’s intentions towards himself. A silly thing, so trivial that in the end he dismissed it and rode back here without approaching the couple, convincing himself that Isabella had merely met a friend, an acquaintance, while on her way to him, to whom she had stopped to speak.’

‘Why did Master Moresby not approach Mistress Linkinhorne?’

Juliette smiled faintly. ‘Exactly what I asked Uncle Robert myself.’

‘And? What was his answer?’

‘That she had an uncertain temper and would have accused him of spying on her. My feeling is that he was a little afraid of her. He was most certainly afraid of losing her.’

‘Except that he never had her,’ I replied grimly. ‘No one did.’