Josse, Helewise and Isabelle stood over the dead body. After a swift dash back to Peter’s room to verify Helewise’s dreadful news, Josse had hastened away to the family’s quarters and quietly roused his cousin. Now, watching her as she stood white-faced, repeatedly shaking her head as if to deny what lay before her, Josse wished he could have left her peacefully sleeping.
Helewise took hold of Isabelle’s hand. ‘It is what quite often happens after a bad blow to the head,’ she said, her voice soft and soothing. ‘I have seen it several times. The patient seems to be improving, and is encouraged to resume a normal, active life, and then it is as if some grave injury hidden within the hard bones of the skull asserts itself, the patient falls unconscious and, sad to say, there is nothing anyone can do to save him.’
Watching Isabelle, Josse wasn’t at all sure she’d taken in Helewise’s kind words. She did, however, seem to appreciate the gentle tone and the hand holding hers.
‘I gave him only a modest amount of the preparation,’ she said, not for the first time. ‘Enough dried willow to ease the pain, so that he would sleep, and enough of the soporific to ensure he stayed asleep.’ She gave an anguished cry, stifling it swiftly with her free hand. ‘I have given far more powerful doses in the past with no ill effect!’
‘Helewise is right,’ Josse proclaimed, ‘and I, too, have observed deaths that occur several days after a fall and a blow to the head. You cared for him devotedly, cousin, and there is nothing to feel guilty about.’
‘He’s dead, Josse!’
‘Aye, I know, but through no fault of yours,’ he insisted. Realizing that standing there helpless beside the body was not helping Isabelle to cope with the shock, he said briskly, ‘Now, there is much we must do. The body must be laid out, arrangements must be made to remove it to some private spot within the house, and we must consider how and where he is to be buried.’ He thought swiftly. ‘Fortunately we know who he is, and we must set about discovering where he comes from so that we can inform his family.’
‘He is all alone in the world,’ Helewise whispered. ‘Remember, Josse?’
Isabelle said softly, ‘Do you think he really is Aeleis’s son? Because if he is, we’ll have to seek her out and tell her he’s dead.’
Josse felt they had enough to deal with without the added distress of planning how they would break the news to Aeleis. Ignoring the sudden surge of love for her that rose up in him, he said firmly, ‘The idea that Peter was her son was no more than speculation. It cannot be permitted to affect our efforts to locate his kin, if, indeed, he has any. All we have to go on is his name, and the fact that he was on his way to Lewes, and—’
‘He wasn’t really going to Lewes at all,’ Isabelle said impatiently. ‘He was coming here, to us, and he had Aeleis’s Queen Eleanor with him to prove he was her son.’
Josse sighed; this was getting him nowhere. Forcing a smile, he said, ‘Isabelle, will you attend to the laying-out and the temporary care of the body?’
Isabelle seemed to make an effort. Disengaging her hand from Helewise’s, she squared her shoulders and nodded. ‘I will. I’d better go and wake Editha so she can help me.’
‘I’ll help, if you like,’ Helewise offered. ‘It is still very early, and it’s a pity to disturb Editha when I am already awake.’
Isabelle turned to her. ‘Thank you. Let us do it together.’
‘What will you do, Josse?’ Helewise asked.
Josse had been staring round the room, noting what few possessions had arrived with the dead man. ‘I shall go through his belongings,’ he said, ‘and see if they reveal any clue as to where he came from.’
Peter Southey had travelled light. Apart from his garments – chemise, padded tunic, hose, cloak and boots, all of good quality but showing signs of hard use – he had a leather purse, attached to his belt. It contained money; a substantial sum. Nothing else. He also had a pack, containing a change of personal linen and a spare pair of hose, as well as a soft, sweet-smelling woollen blanket. Josse, a seasoned traveller himself, understood why a man would carry such an item. Blankets supplied by wayside inns – if, indeed, they did supply them – were usually filthy, verminous and hard as a board from too much use and too little washing.
He found Queen Eleanor on the floor beside Peter’s bed. Reverently he picked her up, brushed off a piece of fluff and returned her to the little leather bag on its thong around Peter’s neck. ‘She’s back with you now, safe and sound,’ he whispered, bending down low over the dead man. ‘She’ll go with you to your grave.’
Then, sensing that his presence in the small room was impeding the women in their sad work, he left.
He was in no mood for company and, to his relief, he found the Old Hall deserted apart from two or three servants coming in and out, seeing to the fire and preparing the board for the first meal of the day. He stood for a moment, undecided. Then suddenly he knew what he must do. Hurrying on across the hall, he went through the arch into the family’s quarters and strode through the maze of passages, open spaces and interconnecting rooms until he reached Uncle Hugh’s chamber.
He had gone to seek him out yesterday, angry and upset because nobody seemed to be able or willing to tell him what had become of Aeleis. But, yesterday, he had been frustrated because first Hugh was sound asleep and then, once he woke, his mind was wandering and he thought Josse was his father.
I shall do better today, Josse vowed, pausing in the doorway. It is very early still, and he will be fresh from his night’s sleep.
I will have some answers.
He straightened his tunic, drew a deep breath and went on into the room.
To his relief, Uncle Hugh was sitting up in bed, eyes bright and alert, looking expectantly towards the door as if the very thing he wanted was someone to come in and entertain him with a good, long conversation. One of the household had already been in to tend him: his sparse hair lay smooth on his scalp, and his cheeks were still slightly damp from shaving. The room was adequately warm, and a tray beside the bed held an empty mug and a wooden platter bare but for some crumbs and a hard rind of cheese.
‘Good morning, Uncle!’ Josse greeted him. ‘You’re looking well.’
‘Yes, my boy, and I feel well, too.’ Hugh smiled cheerfully. ‘Today is going to be a good day, for the sun is out and presently we shall all go outside and enjoy the fresh air.’ Ah, thought Josse. Should he break it to the old man that snow lay on the ground, and nobody would be venturing out unless they had no choice?
But Hugh was still speaking. ‘You’re up early – something on your mind, is there? A question you want to ask?’
There seemed no point in denying it. ‘Aye.’
‘Ask away!’ Uncle Hugh hummed a few notes of an old folk melody.
‘I want to talk to you about Aeleis.’
The humming stopped in mid-tune. Hugh’s happy smile vanished and his fingers began to play with the sheet. ‘Aeleis,’ he echoed in a whisper.
‘I’m sorry if it pains you to think of her,’ Josse hurried on, ‘but it’s important that we find out where she is, and what’s become of her.’
Hugh’s eyes shot to meet his. ‘Why?’ he demanded. There was a definite touch of ice in his voice.
‘Something’s happened.’ It sounded inadequate, but Josse wasn’t ready yet to explain about Peter Southey and the chess piece. ‘You heard a rumour concerning her, didn’t you? One of your friends told you about the exploits of a beautiful woman at court, and you thought it was Aeleis. You—’
‘She wouldn’t listen!’ Hugh burst out, so loudly that the words seemed to bounce off the stone walls. ‘I told her, over and over again, that she should marry again, and Lothar Wellstone would have been a good match, for he was steady and wise and would have curtailed all her nonsense! He’d have reined her in, all right, and that was what she needed, a hard, firm hand. She needed a husband, and children, and she made it perfectly obvious she wanted a man in her bed, and that’s precisely why God gave us marriage, to satisfy those urges that otherwise turn us into animals, although, in heaven’s name, I never expected to find a woman who would demonstrate such base needs, and my own daughter at that.’
Embarrassed, for in his right mind Hugh would never have given vent to such a furious, frank tirade, Josse stared down at the floor.
‘I tried and I tried,’ Hugh was mumbling, a tear hanging on the lashes of his right eye. ‘But she wouldn’t listen.’ He looked at Josse, but it was as if he saw right through him, and Josse knew the remarks were not intended for his ears. ‘I know my daughter, you see,’ Hugh said softly. ‘She’s always been far too fond of sex and as an unmarried woman – yes, even as a widow – she’d just go on giving rise to the most vicious gossip, carrying on like she did!’ He stopped, panting, his lips wet with spittle.
‘Didn’t the rumour mention one particular name?’ Josse asked. He was disgusted with himself for preying on the old man’s confusion. But he had no choice. Aeleis must be found, and Uncle Hugh held the only key. ‘An important man – a nobleman, perhaps – with whom she attended a court Christmas at Windsor?’
Hugh looked at him vaguely. ‘Eh?’
‘The rumour you heard, Uncle; the tale about Aeleis that upset you so much.’ He forced himself to speak calmly and patiently. ‘What was the man’s name?’
‘What? His name? No, No, I don’t know any name. If I once did, it’s gone now.’
‘Was it Southey?’
‘Southey.’ Uncle Hugh frowned. His lips moved, as if he was repeating the name silently. ‘No. It wasn’t Southey. It was some foreign-sounding name – Norman, like as not.’ Josse waited, not daring to prompt or interrupt. ‘De Chanticleer?’ Hugh ventured. ‘De Chamois?’ He shook his head. ‘De something, anyway.’ He smiled, like a child who believes he has successfully repeated his lesson and can now relax.
‘And what did you hear about this man and Aeleis?’ Josse asked softly.
‘Rumours, how I hate rumours!’ Hugh burst out suddenly. ‘Even when people deserve to be talked about because they refuse to behave with the decency they should, still the world is too quick to judge and too harsh in its condemnation.’ He fixed Josse with a hard stare. ‘De Chamois wasn’t a bad lad, although if you’d listened to all the stories about him after it happened, you’d have taken him for the devil incarnate,’ he said.
De Chamois. Josse memorized the name. ‘What happened, Uncle Hugh?’ Josse prompted.
Hugh waved a hand. ‘Oh, he refused to obey, like so many of the young these days. Like my Aeleis, you know.’ He seemed to have forgotten they’d just been talking about her. ‘She wouldn’t marry where she was told to, either. Mind you,’ he leaned forward confidingly, ‘we all had a bit of sympathy for him, and he was a very handsome fellow, everyone agreed.’
‘Why did you sympathize?’ Josse asked.
‘Because of what they were all saying!’ Hugh exclaimed peevishly, as if Josse should have realized. ‘Everyone was gossiping because it was scandalous, the way they were carrying on, and he wouldn’t listen, either, another one who thought he knew better than those older and wiser, and he went his own way, and then she got her heart broken, that poor young girl, although she wasn’t as young as she made out, not by a long chalk, and then William … William …’ Abruptly the old man’s face crumpled into confusion, and he stared at Josse in helpless appeal. ‘William Crowburgh, do you mean?’ he asked.
‘No, Uncle,’ Josse said gently. ‘We were speaking of Aeleis, and you were trying to remember the name of the man who took her to the court Christmas.’
‘William Crowburgh was never at court.’ Hugh shook his head decisively. ‘His father Harold was my friend, you know, and his boy William had a son, and he – he—’ Once again, the puzzled frown creased his brows.
Josse sighed in frustration. Was it worth one more try to bring his uncle’s rambling thoughts back to Aeleis? ‘We urgently need to find out whether Aeleis remarried,’ he began, ‘and it would be extremely helpful if you could—’
But Hugh’s wandering mind was now far away. ‘Young Herbert went over to pay his respects, you know,’ he said, once again lowering his voice as if he feared people were listening. ‘They’d been boys together, he and William, and, for all that they’d seen very little of each other for many years, nevertheless Herbert felt it right to go over there and express his condolences. Now the little lad’s here, and Herbert has a wife, and …’ His words trailed to a stop. ‘He’s married her, you know.’
‘Cyrille, yes, I know,’ Josse agreed. ‘Olivar’s mother, and William Crowburgh’s widow.’
Hugh looked at him uncomprehendingly. ‘I don’t trust her,’ he muttered, just as he had done before. ‘She—’ Then, sharply, ‘She’s here?’ A sudden light of hope flared in the tired old eyes.
‘Aye, she’s here,’ Josse said, forcing a smile. He couldn’t think why his uncle seemed so excited by the news of Cyrille’s presence, especially when the old man had just reiterated his mistrust of her. ‘I’m sure she’ll come and sit with you, if you’d like that.’ He wasn’t sure at all.
But Hugh’s thoughts had fractured again. Now, his face working with distress, he was muttering incoherently to himself. ‘We should go outside, while the sun’s out,’ he said suddenly, glaring at Josse. ‘Get them to saddle my horse, Herbert, for I have to see to this and try to sort it out, for it’s all a muddle and I don’t understand.’ He threw off the covers and struggled to get out of bed, skinny old legs waving around as if he was feeling for his slippers.
Gently but firmly, Josse pushed him back, rearranging the sheet and the blankets and tucking the old man in. ‘Don’t go out now, Uncle Hugh,’ he said calmly. ‘It’s very cold. The sunshine is misleading.’
Hugh looked trustingly up at him. ‘Shall I go later?’
His heart wrung with pity, Josse took the old man’s hands in his. ‘Aye, Uncle, if you think you should.’
‘I have to put it right,’ Hugh said, but with less conviction now. ‘I have to – have to—’ He yawned. Then, briefly alert once more, he said angrily, ‘They don’t know, you see! Only I know, and I can’t seem to sort it all out in my mind.’ He shook his head in frustration.
Josse stroked the frail old hand. ‘Have a sleep,’ he advised. ‘I’ll leave you for now, and come back later when you’ve rested.’
‘Will you?’ Hugh looked up anxiously at him. ‘Will you help me? It has to be sorted out, you see, because it’s not right, and nobody realizes.’
‘Of course I’ll help you.’ Josse watched as the eyes slowly closed. Hugh’s breathing slowed and calmed, and presently his mouth dropped open and he began to snore softly.
Josse got up and tiptoed across to the door. Just as he was about to close it behind him, he heard his uncle say quite clearly, ‘Martyr.’
Deep in thought, Josse wandered back through the family quarters. There were one or two indications that people were stirring, but he hurried on past outside, not being ready yet to talk to anybody, and especially not to break the news of poor Peter’s death and deal with the inevitable questions that would follow. Approaching the archway through to the Old Hall, he noticed that the door out to the courtyard stood ajar.
The sun was rising, and the first of its rays shining through a gap in the clouds made long shadows across the open space. Suddenly desperate for fresh air, he went outside and down the steps.
Ah, but it was good to be out of doors!
He walked over to the main gates, but nobody had yet drawn back the heavy oak bars that fastened them, and he was loath to disturb the regular routine of the household by doing so himself. Hearing sounds from the stables over to the right of the gates – somebody was whistling – he went to investigate.
The stables, like everything else at Southfire Hall, clearly demonstrated that this was a well-run establishment. There was a row of stalls over to the right, where a pair of stable lads were just finishing the morning mucking-out. There were sounds of quiet munching as perhaps half a dozen horses tore at their hay. One of the lads looked up and wished Josse a cheery good day.
The whistler turned out to be Garth; Josse found his uncle’s head groom in the end stall, grooming a chestnut gelding with big eyes set beneath a broad forehead. Down its face ran a narrow, pale stripe, which, merging with the star on its brow, gave the impression of a roughly-formed cross.
‘Good day, Garth,’ Josse greeted him.
Both man and horse turned interested faces towards him. ‘Morning, sir,’ Garth responded. ‘I’ve already seen to your horse, and your lady’s, if you were requiring them?’
‘Thank you, but not for now,’ Josse replied. He was staring at the chestnut gelding which, he noticed, had two white feet, the left fore and the right hind. ‘That’s a fine animal.’
‘He is that,’ Garth agreed, running a hand the length of the horse’s gracefully-arched neck, beneath the long pale ginger mane. ‘He’ll be ready directly, too, and pretty much recovered from his hurts, if his master’s ready to ride him again. Though they’ll have to take it nice and easy, the pair of them, to begin with.’
‘This is Peter Southey’s horse? The man who had the fall?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Josse looked into the horse’s deep, dark eye, and the horse looked right back. It gave a quiet whicker. You know, don’t you? Josse said silently, then wondered why on earth he’d had such a fanciful thought.
‘I’m sorry to have to tell you, but Peter Southey is dead,’ he said to Garth.
‘Is he? Ah, now, that’s a pity,’ Garth said. He sighed, once more stroking the gelding’s neck. ‘Not that it’s any great surprise, since that was a nasty fall.’ He reached inside his tunic, pulling out a small, wrinkled apple which he fed to the horse. Over the loud sounds of crunching, he murmured to it, ‘We’ll have to get you back where you came from, won’t we, my beauty?’
Back where you came from …
‘Do you recognize the horse, Garth?’ Josse demanded.
‘Well, not this chestnut specifically,’ Garth admitted, ‘but I reckon I know right enough who sired him.’
‘Go on.’
‘There’s a fine old knight lives over northwards a step. Well, he’s probably dead long since, so it’ll be his son now, or maybe even his grandson. Anyway, they’ve got a place up on the downs, where it’s good horse country. The old knight went on crusade, and, like many another, took a fancy to those strong little horses the Saracens ride, or so they tell me. Brought a stallion home with him, he did – way back in my grandsire’s day, this was – and bred from it, putting it to one of his brood mares. Started a line of strong, neat, clever, handsome horses exactly like this one.’ He pushed back the gelding’s bright forelock, and the horse’s ears pricked with interest. He turned his nose towards Garth, snuffling inside his jerkin in search of more titbits.
‘You’re sure?’ Josse said.
‘Certain,’ Garth replied. ‘This horse came from Sir Godfrey Hellingsham’s stables, or I’m a Saracen myself.’
‘And is it far to this place?’
Garth considered. ‘It’s the other side of Henshaw, over on the north side of the downs and along a little valley. Normally I’d say it’s a morning’s ride. Given the present conditions, however, you’d have to allow a deal longer.’
‘Thank you, Garth.’ He slapped the old man’s shoulder. ‘I may be needing my horse after all.’
Helewise and Isabelle had shut the door of Peter’s room for privacy. Now, with quiet and respectful efficiency, they set about their task.
‘His wounds had begun to heal,’ Helewise said softly, as carefully she wiped the dead man’s face and tidied his hair. ‘You nursed him well, Isabelle, for there is no sign of infection on his body.’
Isabelle carried on with her sponging of the long legs, now stripped bare. ‘He was a good patient,’ she replied. ‘Did as he was told, which is more than most men do.’
Helewise smiled.
They carried on with their work, neither speaking, and a peaceful, thoughtful calm spread through the little room. It was quite unusual, Helewise reflected, to feel such a sense of peace in the presence of the very recently dead. She remembered Josse’s phrase, the spirit of the house. Was that what this was, then? The house’s cherishing, protective spirit, doing its work?
If so, then this was, just as Josse maintained, a rare house indeed …
Bathing the dead man’s mouth and chin, she noticed something. ‘He was eager for the medicine you prepared for him,’ she said with a sad smile, glancing up at Isabelle. ‘Look, there’s a little cut on his lower lip, where he must have banged the cup against it in his haste to drink the contents.’
Isabelle came over to stand beside her, peering at the body. She leaned closer. ‘And a tiny bruise on his chin, look, just below the cut.’ She straightened up. ‘I was careless,’ she said, her expression distressed.
Helewise watched her. ‘You did your best,’ she said. ‘You did not spare yourself in your care of him.’
‘I had help,’ Isabelle muttered.
‘Yes, perhaps, but you took the main burden, even though you do more work in this house than all the other women put together.’
‘Jenna does her share,’ Isabelle protested. ‘Editha does what she can, and Philomena has her hands full with those energetic daughters of hers, and Emma quietly helps wherever she’s most needed.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Helewise hesitated. ‘I wasn’t really referring to them.’
‘Oh.’ Isabelle raised her eyebrows. ‘I see.’
Then, with a faint smile, she resumed her work.
Josse found Helewise in their room, where she was taking a little time to collect herself before going to join the family in the Old Hall.
He took her in his arms. ‘Was it bad?’ he asked gently.
She nodded. ‘He was just a young man, Josse, with the most fulfilling and rewarding years of his life before him, and we all thought he was getting better.’ Her voice broke on a sob.
He wiped the tears from her face. ‘Aye, I know,’ he said. ‘It’s hard, and I have no comforting words to offer you.’
They stood for some moments, standing close. Then he said, ‘I’m going to ride over to see Sir Godfrey Hellingsham.’
Her head shot up. ‘Who?’
‘According to Garth, Peter Southey’s horse came from his stables, and it’s more than likely he can direct me to Peter’s home and his kin.’
‘So we have decided not to believe Peter when he said he is all alone in the world?’ she responded, raising an ironic eyebrow. ‘I don’t want you to go riding off, Josse! The weather is bad and the road conditions will be frightful!’
‘It is milder this morning,’ he replied. ‘I have already been outside, and there has been no more snow. The clouds will clear and the sun will break through soon,’ he added optimistically.
‘But what do you hope to achieve, even given that this Sir Godfrey recognizes the horse and reveals the identity of the man who bought it from him?’ Helewise said anxiously. ‘He’ll just say “Peter Southey”, and we already know that.’
‘He will be able to tell me where Peter came from,’ Josse said, fighting his impatience. ‘Then I’ll go there, and, even if what we guess is right and Aeleis is—’
‘We know she’s dead!’ Helewise cried. ‘Peter had no-one to love and miss him!’
‘Perhaps he was lying!’ Josse exclaimed angrily. ‘Perhaps there was some reason he wanted to conceal his relationship to her, and deny her very existence!’ He made a sound of exasperation. ‘But even if it’s true and Aeleis is dead, she and Peter must have lived somewhere,’ he went on more calmly. ‘There will be servants, neighbours, distant acquaintances, some cleric of the parish – oh, I don’t know, but I refuse to believe there isn’t one single person on earth who can tell us why he sought us out.’
All at once, the fierce angry protest left her. She slumped against him, pressing her face to his chest. ‘Let’s not fight, Josse,’ she muttered. ‘I know you’re only doing what you feel you must, but I worry about you.’
He smiled, knowing she wouldn’t see. ‘Aye, I know.’
Her face still muffled, she said, ‘If you insist on going, then I’ll come with you.’
‘No, you won’t,’ he said firmly.
She raised her head. She had, he noticed with dismay, her determined expression. ‘Neither you nor anyone else should ride out alone in this weather,’ she said. ‘It is foolhardy.’
She had a point, he had to concede. ‘Then I’ll ask Young Herbert to accompany me.’
She gave a snort. ‘And you think Cyrille will allow that?’
‘Well, I suppose I could ask Henry …’
‘No, you can’t. Isabelle just told me he’s heading down to the coast this morning, now that the weather’s warmed up a little, to arrange the delivery of some more supplies.’
Josse held her at arm’s length, staring into her eyes. ‘Somebody else evidently believes it’s safe to travel today,’ he observed. Before she could think of a suitably repressive response, he went on, ‘I’m going to ask Herbert, anyway. I’ll tell Isabelle where I’m going and why, and that I’d welcome Herbert’s company so the two of us can get to know each other better.’ He grinned. ‘That ought to do it.’
There was something else. Knowing she would understand, he added quietly, ‘Look after Olivar. I hope we’ll be back by tonight, but if not …’
She did understand. She whispered, ‘Of course I will.’
A short time later, Josse and Isabelle went to seek out Herbert, eating by himself at one end of the board in the Old Hall. ‘Josse needs you to ride out with him today,’ Isabelle told her son. She explained about Garth having recognized Peter Southey’s horse, and the hope that they would in this way be able to trace where Peter had come from.
‘I’m sorry to hear he’s dead, Mother,’ Herbert said. ‘You didn’t spare yourself in your care of him, and it’s sad it should end like this.’
‘Sad for Peter, in particular,’ Isabelle said tartly, although Josse noticed that Henry’s words – and the kindness with which he had spoken them – had softened her tense expression.
‘Of course I’ll go with you, Josse,’ Herbert said, getting to his feet and brushing crumbs off his tunic. ‘I’ll fetch my heavy cloak, and I’ll be ready to leave as soon as you want to go.’
Josse and Isabelle watched him hurry off. Josse wondered if the alacrity with which he’d agreed to the outing suggested he welcomed an excuse to get out of the claustrophobic atmosphere in the house. If so, Josse admitted honestly to himself, then I’m the first to agree with him.
Very soon, Herbert was back. He carried a thick, fur-lined cloak interlined with padded wool, and he had put on a stout pair of boots. But he no longer looked as cheerful as he had a little while ago: Cyrille was trotting along behind him, and it was clear she wasn’t happy.
‘Good morning, Cyrille,’ Isabelle greeted her. ‘It is unusual to see you at this hour. I hope all the activity didn’t disturb you?’
‘I was told of that poor young man’s unfortunate demise,’ Cyrille said, ‘and, naturally, I found it impossible to sleep after that.’
‘Naturally,’ Isabelle echoed faintly.
‘And now my husband tells me that he has to go out on some ill-conceived expedition to try to trace where our late guest came from,’ she went on, glancing at Josse with narrowed eyes and an icy expression, as if she knew full well who to blame for this idiotic enterprise. ‘And all because you failed to take my advice,’ she finished, turning back to Isabelle, a note of triumph in her voice.
Josse, watching intently, hoped Cyrille wasn’t going to say, I told you so …
She very nearly did: ‘I warned you, Isabelle, did I not,’ she went on, ‘that the mixing of pain-relieving herbs with those that promote sleep is a delicate matter, and one perhaps best left to the hands of a skilled practitioner.’ She gave a smug little nod, which said, as clearly as words, I would not have made such an error.
Isabelle said nothing. She simply stood there, facing Cyrille, her unblinking eyes fixed on her until eventually Cyrille was forced to look away. ‘Oh, well, you must all do as you see fit,’ she said, with an attempt at nonchalance. ‘If anybody needs me, I shall be in my chamber.’
Isabelle shot a furious look at the plump little figure hurrying off down the hall. Watching her, Josse was quite surprised she overcame the temptation to give her daughter-in-law a good kick to hasten her on her way.
Josse and Herbert were setting off. Herbert had brightened up again as soon as they were out of doors, and now looked decidedly cheerful. He knew the way to Henshaw, and was confident that they would find Sir Godfrey’s stables without difficulty; his was, it appeared, a well-known name in the vicinity.
As the two of them rode out through the gates, Helewise stood at the top of the steps watching. Josse turned round once, and she gave him a wave and an encouraging smile. She went on standing there until they were out of sight.
She prayed for them. Putting her whole heart in the quietly muttered words, she begged that they would uncover the information they sought and return, swiftly and safely, to Southfire.
For she had a premonition: although she did not know where or how, or to whom, she was utterly certain that something awful was going to happen.