June Francis - The Unconventional Maiden

‘Do you think Sir Gawain will move us from Pater Noster Row?’

‘I imagine that he has that in mind,’ said Beth. ‘With a murderer on the loose, no doubt he would consider it a sensible move.’ Even as she spoke, Beth caught sight of Gawain coming towards them. She frowned, her emotions in a tangle, and thought how strange it was that in such a short time she was able to recognise his form and his stride from a distance. She determined not to dwell on the kiss he had forced on her or how much she had liked it.

She waited until he drew closer before calling, ‘Good even, Sir Gawain. Did you find anything?’

‘Aye. Tom found the dagger. Somehow it must have been knocked from the table and landed in a patch of tall grass in a corner.’ Gawain gazed down at her and wondered if she was still angry inside because he had kissed her. ‘Your man, Sam, thinks he might have seen it in some nobleman’s house whilst delivering books. He can’t remember his name. He suggested that you look through the account book and read the names out to him, so that hopefully it will jog his memory.’

Beth felt a stir of excitement. ‘And if it can be proved that person was also here at the time of my father’s murder, then we have our killer.’

‘That is certainly a strong possibility,’ agreed Gawain. ‘In the meantime I must speak with Monsieur Le Brun and intend visiting Calais early tomorrow morning. I will return in time for your father’s burial.’

‘May I come with you?’ asked Beth. ‘I would like to see him.’

Gawain hesitated, then agreed.

The rest of the evening passed without further incident and although Beth slept only fitfully, towards the dawn she finally fell into a deep sleep.

When at last she did wake, Jane told her that Sir Gawain had given orders that she was not to be disturbed and had set off for Calais with Tom Crabtree, leaving Sam to keep a watch out for any sign of trouble. She was annoyed at being left behind, but soon decided there was little point in feeling that way. After a breakfast of bread and ham, she took paper and quill and ink and began to write down all that happened in the last twenty-four hours.

By the time she had finished the sun was climbing high in the sky and Gawain had returned.

One look at his face told Beth that something momentous had occurred. ‘What is wrong?’ she asked, starting to her feet.

‘Monsieur Le Brun has been murdered,’ said Gawain grimly.

Beth felt the blood rush to her head and collapsed on the ground.

Gawain cursed himself for his thoughtlessness and went down on one knee, placing his arms beneath her and lifting her up. He sat down with her on his lap and glanced at Jane, who had put down her mending and stood up. ‘Don’t stand there like a stock,’ he roared. ‘Fetch some wine.’

Jane hurried to do his bidding while Gawain tried to rouse Beth by patting her cheek and calling her name. He needed her to be strong when he was feeling aroused by simply holding her on his lap. He was annoyed with himself; he should not be feeling like this about her.

Beth’s eyelids fluttered open and she gazed up into his face. Realising that she was sitting in her guardian’s lap, she sat bolt upright. ‘Put me down at once!’ she ordered.

‘There is no need to panic,’ he said roughly, wishing she would keep still and hoping she was unaware of his arousal.

‘You—you did say that Monsieur Le Brun had been murdered?’ She swallowed a lump in her throat and, despite her earlier demand that he release her, clung to his doublet.

‘Aye, it was completely unexpected.’ His expression was serious. It appeared that perhaps after all they had a religious maniac on the loose. He could think of no other reason why the French master printer should have been killed, but one of his sons had told him that he had been providing Master Llewellyn with information about the teachings of the heretic Martin Luther for more than a year now, so maybe that was reason enough for a lunatic.

Beth’s eyes filled with tears. ‘He was such a kind, harmless old man,’ she whispered.

‘I’m going to get you on a ship to England today,’ said Gawain. ‘Whilst in Calais, I spoke to the master mariner of a vessel that is sailing this evening.’

‘Good,’ said Beth, relieved. ‘I will be glad to leave this place.’

Before she could say any more Jane brought the wine. Gawain took the cup from her and held it to Beth’s lips. She drank, but, despite feeling light-headed, as soon as she had drained the cup she insisted on getting to her feet. Gawain wasted no time in helping her up and then ordered the men to make ready the horses and to pack the tents, bedding and baggage in a wagon.

Beth and Gawain conversed little on the journey to Calais. She could not deny that she would have been more anxious if it were not for his presence. Yet she knew she could not depend on him to keep her safe once she arrived home, despite his promise to her father. He had a wife and children and she would not have him risk his life for her. One thing was for certain—the death of Monsieur Le Brun proved that her father must have had something to do with the printing of religious information coming out of Europe. She still could not believe that Jonathan was involved. Yet if he had not been, then why had he been killed? Could it have been purely because he was his father’s son? If so, that meant her life really could be in danger, too.

Gawain stood at the side of the ship, gazing towards the port of Smallhythe, positioned on the bank of the River Rother where his boatyard, amongst others, was situated. Raventon Hall lay further inland up a hilly road that led to the town of Tenderden and beyond to the Wealden forests, nestling between fields where sheep grazed. He felt a swell of emotion, glad to be back despite the difficult situation he found himself in. If it were not for his concern for his daughters and the hope of having news of them, he would have sailed for London first to visit Beth’s father’s lawyer before going home. He needed to get her off his hands before he succumbed to temptation again. She held an attraction for him that went beyond mere physical beauty that he found baffling. She was self-opinionated, stubborn and had no mind as to how a lady should behave. But she was also well-read and clever and he could see her attempting to best him at every turn, especially when it came to choosing her a husband or deciding what to do with her father’s business.

Of course, he could send her to London by road with her servants and his own man, Tom, but would she be safe? It all depended on the murderer’s motives and whether he was a dangerous fanatic or a person of intelligence and cunning. He came to the decision that for now Beth would be safer at Raventon than in London. He would place her in the care of his Aunt Catherine, who hopefully knew better than to discuss her nephew’s most private affairs with anyone. He didn’t want Beth knowing what had been happening between him and Mary.

‘Do you have your own boat, Sir Gawain?’ asked a voice at his shoulder.

He turned and stared down at his ward’s sombre wind-flushed face. ‘Aye. Why do you ask?’

‘Because I am wondering if you will be taking me to London in it rather than continue there in this ship.’ Beth had also been wondering what he had meant when he’d said that she did not know what was between him and his wife. Perhaps she was not the wife he had desired or maybe he loved her and she did not love him?

‘Certainly not today,’ he answered.

She hesitated. ‘Of course, you will be hoping that your wife and children are home now. Surely that is all the more reason for me to leave you to enjoy their company. I and my servants could travel by road if you will lend us horses.’