Simon Beaufort - Deadly Inheritance

‘Agnes has a way that makes men helpless. She smiles and they flock to carry out her every whim. I am fond of the Duke, but he is like wet clay in her hands.’

‘I imagine she is looking for another husband, now that her first is dead,’ probed Geoffrey. ‘Would the Duke be interested?’

Margaret gave a mirthless laugh. ‘He will never marry her , no matter how able she is in the adulterer’s bed. He does not have the time, for a start, what with all his wars and troubles.’

‘You may know that,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But does she?’

Margaret regarded him with surprise. ‘I did not think you were the kind of man to gossip.’

‘I am not,’ said Geoffrey. He glanced at Giffard, resenting being obliged to be. ‘Not usually.’

‘I suppose Agnes might make you a suitable wife,’ said Margaret, misunderstanding him. ‘She is beautiful, although you would be hard-pressed to keep a clean marriage bed. Perhaps she is looking for a husband. She is not stupid, and perhaps she has realized the Duke will never have her. There is, after all, a tale that says he suspects Agnes of sending Sibylla to an early grave.’

Geoffrey looked out the window. ‘Do you think Sibylla was poisoned? And Agnes is the culprit?’

‘There have been whispers to that effect. However, while I am unfamiliar with poisons, there was no retching or violent sickness during her demise. Sibylla slipped quietly away, in view of a roomful of people.’

‘Did Agnes give the Duchess anything to eat or drink?’

‘Just one thing,’ said Margaret. ‘A dish of dried yellow plums – about a week before she died.’

Geoffrey wandered into the yard, eventually leaning over a gate to stare at the pigs, while thinking about the Duchess and wondering how Giffard expected him to assess whether Agnes and Walter were responsible when the crime – if there was a crime – had happened so far away. He looked up as someone came towards him. It was Baderon.

‘This is hardly a conducive spot for repose,’ said the Lord of Monmouth, eyeing the pigs in distaste. ‘Most men would be watching horses – or, if they want to attract female company, newborn lambs. But perhaps that is why you chose pigs: you want solitude?’

‘I did not think about it,’ replied Geoffrey.

‘I will come to the point,’ said Baderon, standing closer and lowering his voice. ‘Goodrich and its estates are small, but they command the ford over the Wye. You do not need me to tell you that the alliance your family will forge when you marry is important to the security of the area.’

‘No,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘I do not need you to tell me that.’

Baderon pursed his lips. ‘The King wants peace. Therefore, I must want it, too, and I am willing to offer Hilde and a large dowry to secure it. She is a fine woman and will bear strong sons. I find haggling distasteful – as must you – but we have no choice. Your brother was prepared to listen.’

‘Was he?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘I thought he wanted Isabel.’

Baderon nodded. ‘But he and I had other irons in the fire.’

Geoffrey was intrigued. ‘What irons?’

But Baderon was not to be drawn. ‘They are irrelevant now. Will you consider my offer?’

‘Will Hilde?’

‘She is a practical woman.’

‘Do you have land in Normandy?’ asked Geoffrey, wanting to bring the subject around to Giffard’s problem, and to ask Baderon what he knew about Agnes and the Duchess.

Baderon scratched his head. ‘Well, there is a manor near Rouen you could have, I suppose, but I am not sure it would be worth your trouble. Normandy is unsettled, and you would find yourself obliged to be there more than it warrants.’

Geoffrey laughed, amused that his attempt to change the subject had led Baderon to think he was angling for a better bargain. ‘I was not asking for land – I barely know how to manage what I have. I wondered whether you were in Normandy when the Duchess died.’

Baderon was transparently relieved that Geoffrey’s enquiry was only about distant politics. ‘It was a dreadful day when Sibylla passed away. She was sensible and courageous.’

‘How did she die?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘I heard it was a sickness following the birth of her son.’

‘Her physicians say so, but there is a rumour she was poisoned. Yet such tales always circulate when a good person dies young.’

‘I have heard the Duke had a mistress,’ said Geoffrey, heartily cursing Giffard for making him assume the role of gossip. ‘Could she have harmed Sibylla?’

‘Agnes?’ asked Baderon, startled. ‘I would not think so. She was all care and concern when the Duchess took a turn for the worse. She even ordered dried plums, at great expense, to tempt Sibylla’s appetite and make her stronger. I doubt Agnes would have harmed Sibylla. But we are moving away from my original question: will you consider my offer of Hilde?’

‘I will mention it to Joan,’ hedged Geoffrey.

Baderon smiled and patted his shoulder. ‘That is all I ask.’

He moved away, leaving Geoffrey contemplating, while absently staring at the pigs. Margaret thought the dried plums were sinister, while Baderon proffered an innocent interpretation. When he glanced away from his porcine companions, he saw Eleanor emerging from the kitchen, her veil and gloves in place. She carried a pot.

‘How are you?’ she asked. ‘Did you manage to sleep after I removed those splinters?’

He nodded. ‘And you?’

‘I rest during the day, when I have the room to myself. Can I test this ointment on you? I need to know whether you can detect a warming sensation, or whether it needs to be stronger. As I said last night, I am not good with medicines. My talents lie in other directions.’

‘What is it?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘Nothing that will do you any harm. Hold out your arm.’

Geoffrey tucked both hands in his surcoat. ‘My mother told me never to accept potions from strange women.’

‘You think I am strange, do you?’ Eleanor laughed. ‘Well, perhaps you are right: everyone else seems to think so, too. However, I devised this salve for the pigs. There is something wrong with them, and I do not like seeing animals suffer.’

‘Then test it on them.’

‘Yes,’ she said caustically. ‘But they will not tell me whether they feel a tingling sensation that means it is working, will they?’

‘Try it on yourself. Surely, you are the best one to judge its potency?’

‘I have an aversion to mandrake root. It makes my skin blister.’

He regarded her uneasily. ‘ Mandrake root ? I thought that was poisonous.’

‘Only when applied improperly. That is why I use so little, and why I need a person to tell me if there is warmth. I may have been too careful, and the pigs will not have any benefit.’

‘A simple wash would do them more good than potions. Or a clean sty.’

He left Eleanor looking for another victim, and was crossing the crowded hall when he met Durand. The clerk was wearing yet another outfit, this one a glorious deep red, cut so closely that it looked to be part of his skin. Geoffrey would never have worn such a revealing costume, especially if he had Durand’s paunch.

‘The King is here,’ said Durand, dancing a jig that had Seguin and Lambert gaping in astonishment. ‘My rescue is at hand. You cannot imagine how I yearn to be back in Westminster.’

Geoffrey was grateful he would not be the one to break the news of the sojourn with Giffard, and sincerely hoped Henry would not disclose the idea’s origin. ‘Have you considered Normandy? Its turbulence gives it much potential for a man who enjoys intrigue.’

Durand nodded. ‘I have, but it is safer here.’ He leant close to Geoffrey, who resisted the urge to move away when he was treated to a waft of flower water. ‘I hear tales of terrible happenings. And some of them include women you have been talking to.’