Michael JECKS - A Moorland Hanging

Climbing on to his horse, Simon took up the reins and wheeled to face the east. Baldwin sprang up, and seeing the bailiff’s quick glance, followed his gaze. At the top of the hill, east of them on the road, a rider was approaching. By the time Hugh had managed to clamber on to his mount it was clear that it was Alicia.

“Good afternoon,” Baldwin said pleasantly as she drew near. “Been far?”

She laughed, happy after her exercise, her face warm and flushed. “Almost as far as Chagford.” She patted her mare’s neck.

The knight moved forward and studied her horse. It was a small chestnut, almost a pony in size, but strong-looking, with firm, solid legs and a heavy neck. “How old is she?”

“Meg? She’s just over three.”

“Tell me if you ever have a foal from her; she looks like a good, sturdy animal. Ideal for this land, I imagine.”

Simon joined them. She gave him a coquettish glance and tilted her head. “Are you here to interrogate me, bailiff?” she teased. “I don’t know if I can be any help to you, but maybe you should force me to tell what I know.”

“I don’t think I need question you too hard,” he said, without returning her smile. “We have already discussed this matter with your father.” For all the good it did us, he added to himself.

Baldwin could guess at the reason for his friend’s sourness. “Tell me, Alicia,” he said smoothly. “You were in Chagford with your mother on the day Peter Bruther died. You didn’t see him at all on that day, did you?”

Her face froze and her hand stopped its patting. “Me? No, I didn’t see him in town. We weren’t there for long, though, we were back here in the early afternoon.”

Trying to relax her, Baldwin smiled, and she did as well, but tentatively, unsure of his next move. “Do you often ride out so far?” he asked.

“To Chagford? Sometimes, not very often.”

“It could be dangerous, surely? There are a lot of men out here who would like to hold the daughter of Thomas Smyth.”

“How do you mean, Sir Baldwin?” she asked innocently, and Simon turned away to hide his broad grin.

The knight’s sudden discomfort made his voice harsh. “I think you know full well, Alicia. In the same way as your friend Sir Robert Beauscyr, I imagine.” It was her turn to blush – not from shame but from a kind of youthful pride – and Baldwin nodded seriously. “You should be careful. There are many different types of wolf on moors like these.”

He was thinking of what they had heard of Smalhobbe as he said this, but she misunderstood. “Oh, but that’s ridiculous! Robert isn’t like that. I don’t care what Father has told you, to me he’s always kind and gentle. I just don’t believe…” She broke off, and her hand twitched, as if wanting to grab back the words before they could reach the knight.

“What don’t you believe, Alicia?” he asked softly, but she shook her head firmly.

“Please forget what I have said. It is unimportant.”

“No, I am afraid it is not. You see, if we are to make sure that it was not Sir Robert, there are certain things we need to know. For example, at present we don’t even know where he was on the day Bruther was murdered. Now, he admits he was on the moors, but will not give us any way of checking it. It is almost as if he thinks he might get somebody into trouble if he says where he was.”

Her eyes would not meet his. She sat perfectly still, gazing at the view, and her voice was small. “You can’t really think he was involved in the murder, can you? He’s such a calm, even-tempered man.”

“Whoever murdered Bruther was probably a very calm man,” said Baldwin. “You have to be calm to take someone by the neck and strangle the life from him, holding him from behind until he stops thrashing and his death-throes are done.”

She winced. “Is that how he died? I hadn’t realized.” After a moment her head lifted and she met his gaze with resolution. “Very well, I will answer your questions.”

“You saw Sir Robert that day?”

“Yes. He was in Chagford when we got there, and I saw him. Mother didn’t, and she didn’t see me go to him. He had been drinking, and was very unhappy because of my father demanding money. I told him I would try to speak to Father and get the ransom reduced. He wanted to talk to me, but Mother was calling and I had to go, so I agreed to meet him later, out at Longaford Tor. We… we have met there before.”

“I see. So you went there in the afternoon and saw him?”

“It was evening by then, getting close to dark, but yes, and he was fine. The drink had worn off. I hadn’t managed to speak to Father yet, though. As soon as Mother and I had got back from Chagford, he went out – he’d only been waiting for George to return. There was some sort of trouble at the mine, apparently. I was going to try to talk to him later. I spent the afternoon with Mother. Later, when she went up to rest, I slipped off to the Tor to see Robert, and was with him in the early evening. When I came home, Father was back and talking with Sir William, so I was too late. Sir William had already paid the money.”

Simon interrupted. “What did your father think of you seeing Sir Robert?”

“I love Sir Robert… and I will marry him.” Alicia tossed her head haughtily. “Just because Father is not happy with his family is not my concern.”

“Marry him?”

“Yes. We agreed yesterday.”

So that was the reason for the youth’s evident pleasure the previous evening. Baldwin smiled. “You have made him very happy. But tell me: on that night, did you see your father arrive?”

“No.”

“Or see Bruther at the hall?”

“Bruther? Why – was he here?”

He studied her face, but could discern no falsehood.

“Where did you go with Sir Robert?”

“West, then south. When it got late we came to the road and back to the hall.”

Simon quickly butted in, “So you went down to the two bridges?”

“Yes,” she said, turning to him in surprise. “Yes, we were there.”

“Did you get there just as it became dark? Did you see two men on horses?”

She nodded. “Yes, but they had left the road before we got to them. They went north, up toward Wistman’s Wood.”

Simon and Baldwin exchanged a look: the two riders were undoubtedly Samuel Hankyn and Ronald Taverner. “That answers one question, anyway,” said Baldwin, recalling his certainty that Sir Robert had been there. This girl was the other rider seen by Samuel, then.

“But it leaves one unanswered,” said Simon, and faced the girl again, who was staring from one to the other inquisitively. “Alicia, where were you just before that? Had you gone there by road?”

“Yes, like I said, we stuck to the road. There was no point going off it, and anyway, we wouldn’t. Not after dark, not in the moors. It’s too dangerous – you can’t see the bogs and mires. Why?”

“Did you see another rider?”

“No, only the two. Why?”

Riding back from the hall, Simon was silent and preoccupied. They were no nearer discovering who had killed Bruther; all they could come up with were conflicting testimonies. The mystery of the two riders seen by Samuel was answered… but rather than clearing up the mystery it merely served to highlight how poor was their understanding of the matter. Thomas Smyth had been to see Bruther the day before his death but refused to say why; John Beauscyr had been out and refused to say where; Sir Robert could have killed Bruther before he met Alicia.

“Back to Beauscyr, Simon?”

His friend’s calm voice broke into his depressed silence, and he grunted agreement. They were almost at the lane to their left which led down past Adam Coyt’s farm to the Manor, and now the sun was getting lower and the wind felt bitter and chill. Baldwin pulled his cloak tighter round his shoulders.