Simon Beaufort - Deadly Inheritance

‘I cannot see!’ yelled Henry. ‘Which way did you come?’

Isabel took the King’s hand. ‘The wind is blowing from the north, so we must go this way.’

‘How do you know?’ demanded Henry. ‘I cannot see my own feet.’

Isabel did not reply, but pulled both the King and Geoffrey in that direction. The courtiers followed, moving quickly, as Isabel went without hesitation. Then, suddenly, they were in clean air.

Geoffrey sank to the ground in relief, hearing the babble of voices as Henry was recognized, and people hurried forward to assist him. FitzNorman bounded up to Isabel, and there was a catch in his voice when he told her how worried he had been. Baderon went to Hilde, wiping her smoke-stained face with his sleeve. Bale arrived, and rested a shy hand on Geoffrey’s shoulder.

‘The horses are safe,’ he said. ‘But a number of people are missing. If they are still inside the hall or the guest house, they are dead for certain.’

Watching the flames, Geoffrey could only agree. He wanted to make sure that Agnes and Walter had not used the diversion to harm Giffard, but he did not have the energy. He was racked by coughing, and could not seem to suck enough air into his lungs.

‘Drink this,’ Margaret said, kneeling beside him. ‘It will make you feel better.’

It did, but it tasted foul, and he did not like to imagine what was in it. He looked up to see Isabel nearby, standing forlorn.

‘Margaret said you went to look for Ralph,’ he said, coughing again.

‘He was gone when I reached the guest house. He must have been looking for me, and we missed each other in the confusion. My father has gone to tell him I am safe. Can you see him?’

Geoffrey spotted Ralph some distance away, clearly uninterested in his former lover.

‘Do you know where the fire started?’ Geoffrey asked to avoid answering.

‘Not in the kitchens, or the guest house would have burnt before the manor, and it was the other way around,’ replied Margaret, grateful for the change of subject, for her niece’s sake. ‘The hall is relatively undamaged, but the rooms above it are burnt out. That means the fire must have started in one of them. I assume it was not yours?’

Geoffrey recalled the flames at the door. ‘No, but it was not far away. I supposed it was a carelessly tended hearth – fires spread quickly in wooden houses with thatched roofs.’

‘Our servants are careful,’ countered Margaret firmly. ‘None would have left a badly banked fire. This blaze was started deliberately.’

Geoffrey tried to think clearly. ‘If it started where you say, then it was not an attack on the King – he was in the guest house.’

Margaret grimaced. ‘No one will harm the King – not when so many of us have just arrived from Normandy. If Henry dies, then England will go to the Duke, and no one wants him , when Belleme is sure to follow, bringing violence and bloodshed. No, Geoffrey, this fire was set for another reason.’

Geoffrey rubbed his head and tried to remember who had been sleeping where. ‘You, Isabel and fitzNorman were in the room at the far end of the corridor – the farthest chamber from mine.’

Margaret made a dismissive gesture. ‘We have no reason to destroy our own home. And you and Giffard did not do it, either – neither of you would burn innocent people alive. That leaves the three rooms in the middle. One was occupied by Agnes Giffard and her son.’

Geoffrey recalled what he had overheard Agnes say, and wondered whether she and Walter had set the blaze to be rid of a meddlesome kinsman. ‘They may be the guilty party,’ he conceded.

Margaret nodded. ‘Giffard thinks they are killers, and anyone with a brain can see why: Agnes’ husband and her lover’s wife both dead at convenient times. Walter probably helped her. He is a stupid, malleable boy.’

Isabel’s head was cocked to one side as she scanned the babbling voices for the one that was most important to her, but she was paying attention to the discussion nonetheless. ‘Then perhaps Giffard did set the fire, to dispense some divine justice.’

‘Giffard was drunk,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Besides, I was with him. I would have seen him.’

‘Not necessarily – I put a sleeping draught in your milk,’ said Isabel. She sensed Geoffrey’s shock and turned defensive. ‘Only a light one, just enough to make sure you rested properly.’

‘Why?’ demanded Geoffrey. He recalled how heavily he had been asleep when Bale had woken him. He was lucky his squire had not shared the milk, or all three of them would have perished.

Isabel flinched at the anger in his voice. ‘Because you slept so poorly the night before. I wanted to help.’

‘One of those three middle rooms was occupied by Baderon’s knights,’ said Margaret, to bring the subject back to the fire and save Isabel from further recrimination. ‘Baderon himself was in the guest house, but Seguin and Lambert may have followed his orders.’

‘Why?’ asked Geoffrey tiredly. ‘Who would he want to harm?’

‘My brother?’ suggested Margaret. ‘Baderon would gain, no matter what the outcome. Either my brother dies, which means Baderon is the only powerful lord in the region, or my brother survives – to be in trouble for almost incinerating the King. Baderon may also have wanted you dead, so he could take Goodrich.’

‘The last of those three rooms was occupied by Hilde and the women from Bicanofre,’ said Geoffrey, thinking Baderon was not the kind of man to set a house alight just to inherit a small manor. He was not stupid.

‘I doubt Hilde set the fire, considering she risked her life to save others,’ said Margaret. ‘But I have not seen Eleanor or Douce since the fuss began.’

Geoffrey recalled the figure in the red cloak, but then remembered that it had stopped for an embrace with a woman. He glanced around, but could not see Eleanor, although that meant nothing. People had scattered into small groups and she could have been anywhere.

‘Eleanor may have started the fire to rid herself of Hugh,’ Margaret went on. ‘He follows her everywhere, and must be tiresome.’

‘He loves her,’ said Isabel. ‘But why would she bother with a fire, when she has other skills at her disposal? She is a witch, after all.’

‘A witch ?’ asked Geoffrey uncertainly.

Isabel nodded. ‘She could be a great healer, but she dislikes helping people. You were lucky she did not poison you when she removed those splinters. Why do you think I came so quickly after she told me what she had done? I wanted to counter any evil she might have managed.’

‘Why would Eleanor want to harm me?’

‘You forgot to send the cart – and witches can be vindictive. But more importantly, her father would like her to marry you, and she does not want to.’

‘Few women do,’ said Geoffrey, thinking that Isabel, Margaret and Corwenna had already refused him, while Hilde was not keen, either.

‘Eleanor communes with the Devil,’ Isabel went on. ‘Why do you think toads and bats seek out her company, and ravens do her bidding?’

‘Oh, really, Isabel!’ Geoffrey said, his weariness making his tone a bit sharp. ‘That is nonsense!’

She gripped his hand. ‘It is not, and you would be a fool to ignore it.’

Geoffrey sat for some time, trying to summon the energy to move. Next to him, Isabel and Margaret fell silent, and soon Hilde came to join them, her brother at her side. Hugh curled into a ball and promptly went to sleep.

‘Have you seen Ralph?’ Isabel asked her.

‘Just moments ago, cursing the grooms in the stables,’ Hilde responded.

Isabel jumped to her feet, but did not get far before fitzNorman intercepted her. They exchanged words and, reluctantly, he turned to walk with her towards the horses.