Michael JECKS - A Moorland Hanging

“Alicia? But why? She was…”

“She knows Robert Beauscyr, that’s all.”

“Very well, but I’m sure she’ll be of little help. Anyway, I’ll not let her see the whelp in future.”

“And last, I want to know at what time you saw Sir William on the night Bruther died.”

“He was here when we arrived back,” Smyth said, glancing at the bottler. “You! When did he get here?”

The bottler’s head snapped round. He was an old man, too thin to be healthy, his sandy hair going pale as it grayed. “He arrived here in daylight, sir. I brought him in here to wait and he stood in the middle of the room, shouting every few minutes for more wine. I had to keep coming back with fresh jugs for him.”

Smyth nodded contemptuously. “He looked drunk when we returned.”

“Where were you earlier?” Simon asked.

“We had spent most of the day with our men, checking on their work and how well the blowing-house was working. It’s very new still, and I’ve been worried that it might not be functioning properly, so we were there for much of the time. We got back after Sir William and sat to eat immediately – though he was not hungry. I think the thought of sharing our food would have hurt his pride too much.”

“I know what he was doing here.”

“He told you?” Smyth was surprised.

“He didn’t like it, but yes. I assume he agreed to your terms?”

“Yes,” Thomas said tightly, “although he wanted to pay less than I asked and I was forced to point out how much trouble it would save him. In the end he accepted.”

“And when he left, what sort of mood was he in?”

“I won’t pretend that he was happy, bailiff. But he seemed to realize that he had little choice.”

“I see.” Sipping his wine, Simon said, “What do you think of Robert Beauscyr?”

“A hothead. He’s so keen on his studies, he never thinks about his actions,” said Thomas dismissively. “Today shows that. Any other man would have thought through the attack better and been gone before the men there were awake, but oh no, he had to ride in noisily and make such a row that they all awoke. And then it had to go to a fight if he wanted to get away. Sheer stupidity.”

“Would you have said that of him before today?”

“How do you mean? Oh, I suppose…” The miner reflected a moment. “No, probably not. I’d have thought he would be one of the more sensible of the landowners in the area because of his learning. No, you’re right. He acted out of character today. Usually he’s happy enough to accommodate the miners.”

“What about John?”

“Ah, bailiff. Now you are asking me about someone I cannot understand. Young John is a hard man, I’m sure of that. I don’t like or trust him, he always looks like something else is going on in his head when he speaks. He resents his brother as the heir to the estate. Not just from jealousy – I think he honestly believes he would be the better master. He might have been, too. When he has a mind, he can charm the larks from the skies, and he certainly has the diplomatist’s skill of lying while seeming to be honest.”

“Robert Beauscyr could have wanted to capture Bruther and take him back to the estate; if the man refused, he could have killed him. He had a motive to murder, to remove an embarrassment to his Manor and punish someone he saw as merely a runaway, but I know of no motive for John to kill. Do you?”

“John?” Frowning with concentration, Thomas looked deep into the fire. “No, there’s none I can see. He’s been away too long to have been insulted by Bruther, and he doesn’t strike me as the sort of lad to want to help his brother overmuch.”

“Who else could have wanted to see Peter Bruther dead, do you think?”

The old man gave him a helpless glance. “I don’t know, bailiff. There’s nobody could have wanted to hurt him, as far as I know.”

“What do you know of Bruther?” Simon was beginning to feel desperate. “Where did he come from?”

“He was son to Martha Bruther, a widow in Shallow Barton, a small vill out on the outskirts of Widecombe. Her husband was old Arthur Bruther, who had died before Peter was born, and she brought the lad up on her own.” He hesitated. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kill him.”

There was a quietness about him which Simon found curious. For a powerful man, who must surely have been a hard taskmaster to so many of his miners, to feel so sympathetic to the dead man was unusual, especially when Bruther was living out on a parcel of land in which Smyth had an interest. The bailiff found himself wondering whether this was a show put on for his benefit. Thomas Smyth was more than capable of acting sadness, he was sure. The miner silently refilled his goblet and drank deeply, staring into the distance.

Baldwin leaned forward. “Do you think he was involved in something illegal? Stealing cattle, for example? Could he have been killed for a theft?”

“No!” The emphatic denial made the knight’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “I would have heard about it if he was, I’m sure. I look after a lot of men out here, and I try to make sure they all keep to the law. Otherwise I’d have the bailiff visiting me every other week.”

The knight nodded, but his eyes remained fixed on the miner as Simon said, “I don’t think there’s anything else we need to know from you. If you do think of anything, I want to hear it as soon as possible. Now, I need to see your daughter. I must ask her about that night as well.”

“But she won’t have seen or heard anything – she was here all the time.”

“Maybe, but anything is possible. And I want to know more about Robert Beauscyr. She can help me there too.”

With a bad grace, Thomas Smyth motioned tersely to George Harang, who left the room and came back very quickly with the girl. Baldwin smiled. The speed of her entry and her red face made it clear that she had been listening at the door.

Studying Alicia, Baldwin found it easy to understand why Robert Beauscyr could be interested in her. She had breeding – from her mother, no doubt. It showed in the way she walked. Her face, without the heaviness which showed in Christine’s features, was high-browed and smooth-skinned, while her eyes were large and wide-spaced. Alicia moved slowly to her father’s side once more and stood defiantly with her chin up as if expecting judgment.

Simon began to question her. He had no wish to cause her upset. His own daughter would someday be like this girl, teetering on the edge of adulthood – and hoping to fall over the brink very soon. “On the night that Peter Bruther died, my dear, we know your father had Sir William Beauscyr come to visit. Where were you that afternoon and evening?”

Glancing quickly at her father, Alicia said, “I went out with Mother to Chagford in the morning, but we were back here by mid-afternoon. When my father sat down in the hall with Sir William, we left the men and went to the solar.”

“And you stayed there all night? You saw no one?”

“No.”

“I see. In that case, we can move on. Robert Beauscyr: he’s a friend of yours?”

She stood a little straighter now, like a haughty queen. “He and I have known each other since we were born.”

“Tell me, then: how would you describe his temper?”

“Robert’s temper? Oh, mild. He is always calm and polite. It’s rare for him to raise his voice, and when he does it’s only after a lot of provocation. Of course, he’s very brave as well. He may not have spent his strength in wars far away that mean little to us down here, but he would always defend anyone who needed help.”

Baldwin rubbed at his brow as he listened, sighing inwardly. That was the trouble with asking young people about their peers, he thought. Either they were the embodiment of all evil or perfect heroes. There hardly ever seemed to be a middle ground. If one thing could be gleaned from her answers to Simon’s careful questions, it was that she was fond of the youth. He exchanged a swift glance with the bailiff, who gave a nod.