Edward Marston - The Foxes of Warwick

‘We do not know, my lord bishop.’

‘I think we do, Reginald.’

‘Do we?’

‘He is called Satan.’

Golde was pleased to be invited to join the lady Adela in her private apartment and relieved to discover that Marguerite was not there.

‘Confined to her chamber with a headache,’ said Adela.

‘I am sorry to hear that, my lady.’

‘The lord Philippe is with her at the moment.’

‘I see.’

‘She will soon recover, I am sure. Meanwhile, you and I have time for private conference, Golde. We can get to know each other properly.’

‘Nothing would please me more,’ said Golde warmly. ‘It is not always easy to have a conversation in the lady Marguerite’s presence.’

‘That was tactfully put.’

‘She is a forceful lady.’

‘Have you ever considered why?’

They were seated either side of the fire in Adela’s apartment in the keep, a small, neat, comfortable chamber with rich hangings on the walls. While she talked, Adela worked quietly at a tapestry which was stretched on a frame in front of her. When Golde hesitated, her companion looked up with a quizzical smile.

‘No, my lady,’ said Golde. ‘I have not considered why because I felt that it was too apparent. The lady Marguerite has a strong personality. It is in her nature to thrust herself forward. I imagined that she inherited her characteristics.’

‘That is what I imagined at first.’

‘But not now?’

‘No, Golde.’ She studied her visitor’s face. ‘I can see that you have not yet heard what transpired after you left the table last night.’

‘Nothing has been said to me.’

‘Then I will tell you. I know that I am not speaking out of turn here for the lord Ralph will surely have been told by now and he would not keep the intelligence from you.’

‘What intelligence?’

‘When you quit the table,’ explained the other, ‘only four of us remained. One of which was Heloise, who grew surprisingly talkative in the absence of her mistress, though always discreet in her comments until the confession unwittingly slipped out.’

‘Confession?’

‘Archdeacon Theobald drew it from her.’

‘What did Heloise say?’

‘That the lord Philippe’s first wife died by her own hand.’

‘Oh, my lady!’ exclaimed Golde. ‘That is terrible! Poor woman!

She must have been driven beyond reason to commit such an act. Did Heloise give any details?’

‘No, Golde. Nor did we seek any. We were too shaken by the revelation to pursue the matter. Archbishop Theobald was mortified that he had unthinkingly brought the matter into the light. It is a private tragedy which, I am sure, the family prefers to keep to itself.’

‘How did Heloise react?’

‘With horror when she realised what she had said.’

‘I can understand it.’

‘She rushed off at once,’ said Adela. ‘I am certain she will have confided in her mistress and that that is probably the reason why the lady Marguerite declined to join us. She feels … vulnerable.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘And embarrassed.’

‘So must Heloise. Eaten up with remorse.’

‘That is why I felt you should be told sooner rather than later.

So that you would comprehend their behaviour. We must treat the lord Philippe and his wife as if we knew nothing at all of this.’

‘Of course.’

‘It was an unfortunate lapse on Heloise’s part.’

‘She will be harshly reprimanded by her mistress.’

‘Not as harshly as by herself,’ noted the other. ‘But let us put her aside. We do not know the circumstances of this dreadful event but one thing is certain: when suicide strikes a family, those left behind suffer agonies of guilt which are insupportable.’

She plied her needle for a few moments. ‘That is why I asked about the lady Marguerite.’

Golde pondered. ‘You think she was … implicated in some way?’

‘Did she not hint as much to us?’

‘When?’

‘When the three of us sat together in the hall.’

‘Why, yes,’ said Golde, recalling the exchange. ‘You said that her husband would never go astray because he adored his wife. And the lady Marguerite replied that he adored his first wife until …’

‘Until he met her .’

‘Then she may be involved.’

‘Not in the way we think,’ said Adela quickly, ‘and we must be careful not to sit in judgement when we know so little. When the lady Marguerite met her future husband she may not have been aware that he was married. Why should she, brought up in Normandy? Nor do I mean to impugn the integrity of the lord Philippe. He strikes me as an honest man and the death of his first wife may not have been prompted in any way by his actions.

But I am bound to wonder this,’ she concluded. ‘What does his ebullience and her force of character signify? Is it merely a shield behind which both of them hide?’

‘A shield?’

‘A show of bravado almost.’

‘To conceal their inner torment?’

‘If that is what it is, Golde.’

‘I do not know, my lady.’

‘What else could it be?’

‘In the case of the lord Philippe, I could not hazard a guess.’

‘And the lady Marguerite?’

‘There may be a much simpler explanation.’

‘What is that?’

‘She has a foul temper.’

Marguerite was perched on the stool in an attitude of cold indifference. The fire which lit up their chamber did nothing to melt her ire. Philippe Trouville watched her in silence, marvelling at her beauty as if seeing her for the first time, pulsing with joy that he had taken her as his wife yet feeling, at the same time, both rejected and inadequate. He was standing very close to the woman he loved yet she seemed miles away. Wanting to reach out to touch her, he felt powerless to do so. Marguerite was exuding displeasure from every pore. She was quite unattainable.

The silence became longer and more painful. He shuffled his feet. The bell for sext began to chime in the distance. It prompted him to take a small step forward and clear his throat.

‘Marguerite,’ he whispered.

‘Are you still here?’

‘I have to go back to the shire hall.’

‘Then go — I do not want you here.’

‘We must talk.’

‘We have talked interminably.’

‘I am sorry about what I said last night.’

‘It is what Heloise said which concerns me more.’

‘You surely cannot blame that on me.’

‘I can, Philippe.’ She turned to face him. ‘Indirectly.’

‘How could I have stopped Heloise?’

‘Think, you stupid man!’

‘I will not be spoken to like that!’ he said, reddening.

‘Then do not provoke me.’

‘How am I at fault?’

‘An ugly family secret cannot be divulged when it does not exist.’

‘It does not, Marguerite. Any longer.’

‘Have you so soon shrugged it off?’

‘No!’

‘I did not think even you were that callous.’

‘There is no need to insult me.’

‘I thought you might take it as a compliment.’

‘Marguerite!’

‘Do not bellow so.’

‘I am your husband!’

‘Will I ever be allowed to forget that?’

‘It gives me certain rights. Legal and moral rights.’

‘Rights have to be earned,’ she said, standing up with eyes blazing. ‘Remember who I am, Philippe. And what I am. You are not talking to your first wife now.’

Trouville’s exasperation made the veins in his temple stand out and deepened the hue in his cheeks. He battled to hold on to his anger. He was in a dilemma. Expected at the shire hall by his colleagues, he felt that his place was with his wife, trying to achieve, if not a reconciliation, at least a degree of calm between them. There had been arguments with Marguerite before and he found it easier to permit her an occasional victory in order to prevent a war of attrition. But they had never seemed quite so far apart as at that moment and it galled him that he was unable to do anything about it.