Chapter Thirty-four

Bundled from the yard into the hall, the rector of Teigh unleashed a feast of unholy verbal protestations as his eyes fell on Mathilda.

John, reverting to his role as head of the household, stood intimidatingly close to Mathilda. Towering over her, she couldn’t help feeling as if she was the one on trial, rather than Richard. ‘You had better be able to explain yourself extremely well, Mistress Twyford. I wish to know why you are besmirching the good name of my most reverend brother. He is, you may be interested to know, the very brother who was responsible for bringing you here to pay off your errant father’s debt and his unworthy defamation of Robert. For that we owe the rector for upholding the family reputation, and therefore should be showing him gratitude not showering him with this suspicion.’

A smug expression passed over the churchman’s face as he listened to his older brother cast suspicion on Mathilda’s allegations.

Seeing the anxious look on Mathilda’s face, Sarah laid a hand on her arm before addressing the head of the household herself, ‘If you please, my Lord, it is the fact that my Lord Richard is responsible for bringing her here that first caused this suspicion to be cast. I truly believe you should hear what the girl has to say.’

John studied his housekeeper’s face for a long time. The entire room seemed to have frozen, poised for the eldest Folville’s reaction at this plea from his most trusted servant.

At last, although evidently not convinced he should bother, John gave a begrudging signal of agreement, and Sarah squeezed Mathilda’s shoulder, ‘Go on, Mathilda; tell my Lord John everything, just as you told me.’

With a glance at Robert’s grave countenance, which was punctuated by a flash of an encouragement to his eyes that Mathilda hoped had really been there, that wasn’t a trick of her imagination, she began to speak.

‘My Lords, as I tried to say earlier, there is guilt with your holy brother, but I do not believe that he wielded the dagger that slew Master Hugo, he merely wished to …’

‘What?’ John was ready to burst with anger, as Richard swaggered away from the dropped hold of his brothers. ‘You, a hostage, had my kin hunting the entire Goscote Hundred, and across into Rutland to Teigh, for a cleric, and have them drag him here to be accused of – what, then?’

Mathilda was gratified to see that as Robert let go of the churchman, he appeared extremely uneasy about doing so, as he deferred to his eldest brother for instruction.

Burying her nerves as deep as she could, Mathilda bunched her fingers into her palms until her nails dug into her skin; the mild pain giving her an odd sort of reassurance. It seemed to be telling her that while she was still alive, she should feel every sensation possible. ‘Please, my Lord, I can explain.’

‘You’d better. For evil, unfounded accusations against a man of God are enough to send you to hell, Mathilda.’

Flinching, Mathilda stood her ground, and began to speak as fast as she could. ‘My Lord, Father Richard did not strike the blow that murdered Master Hugo, but he knows who did, he knows why, and I believe he has used those facts to his advantage.’

Adrenalin pumped through Grace as she re-read the last few lines she’d written. In her haste to get the words down, her handwriting was appalling. Grace smiled as she remembered the course she’d taken in deciphering medieval handwriting. It would probably be the only thing that would help her read through this lot when it came to typing it up. She had just over an hour before she had to pull on her faithful jeans and a T-shirt, and find Daisy for breakfast. Grace pictured her friend in the neighbouring room. It had been her last night as a single woman. Was she still asleep? Or was she lying there awake, a bundle of nervous excitement? It must be a strange feeling, knowing that nights alone would be a rare thing from now on, and that there would be someone to share things with whenever she wanted to.

Shaking her head sharply to dislodge the feeling of loneliness that was trying to nudge its way into her heart, Grace was more determined than ever to bring Mathilda’s tale to an end before breakfast. She wanted to be able to wave Daisy and Marcus off into their combined future with her story complete.

There could be no denying that Father Richard hadn’t expected the girl to say that. He’d been braced to be accused of murder, something he could easily prove he didn’t do. His face darkened, and he began to protest, but not fast enough for his sharp-eared brothers to have missed his split second of surprised hesitation.

Ignoring his younger sibling’s blustered mutterings, John’s eyes narrowed, ‘Go on then, girl; tell us, which gullible fool do you believe to have been taken in by my reverend brother enough to kill for him?’

‘And more important than that,’ Eustace added, keeping his eyes trained on Richard, ‘tell us why you think that happened.’

Mathilda had been all ready to blurt out a name and then run out of the hall as quickly as she could, sure that the room would erupt into a thunder of denial and threats of recrimination the second her accusation was made. It seemed though, that in her fear she’d forgotten the basis of the assembled brothers’ motives for crime. Yes, they were violent, but they were only violent to those deemed deserving of such treatment.

Lines from one of her favourite ballads came to her. ‘Robyn loved Oure dere Lady: For dout of dydly synne, Wolde he never do compani harme. That any woman was in.’ ¹⁷

Robyn and his men may have terrorised the rich and avaricious, but their devotion to Our Lady meant it would go against their principles to harm a woman. Mathilda hoped that was a principle Robert and his family upheld as well. When it came to the reverend, however, she rather doubted it. Something about the countenance of the man, let alone the way he spoke and acted, made her skin positively creep.

‘It was the dagger in my cell that made me suspicious of the rector, my Lord.’

Mathilda was about to continue, but the reverend Folville had seen his chance, and pounced upon it.

‘If anyone in this cursed hall would do me the justice of listening to me instead of that chit, I can tell you exactly why this child is hell bent on pointing the finger at me. She wishes to cover up her own guilt. For it was, without doubt, Mathilda Twyford herself who thrust the dagger into the chest of Master Hugo, and left him to bleed to death like a suckling pig.’

‘What?’ Mathilda opened her mouth for further words to come, but none did, for John had sprung forward and placed a gloved hand over her mouth.

‘Your manners seem to be sadly lacking when it comes to listening to a man of the cloth, girl. You will allow us to hear him out.’

Mathilda had expected the rector to try and switch the blame to her, but she hadn’t thought he’d jump in so fast. A new level of fear landed on her flesh, covering her in a cold clammy sweat. Why hadn’t she started by naming the guilty party and working backwards from there? Foolish!

Striding towards John, Robert, with an expression on his face that could have withered the crops in the fields, said, ‘I would consider it a great personal favour if you would remove your hand from Mathilda’s mouth, brother.’

Again the tension in the air thickened as all eyes moved away from Richard to John and from John to Robert, as the eldest brother spoke with insincere calm, ‘Can you assure me that your waif will remain quiet and give our reverend brother time to tell his side of the story before she utters another word in accusation?’

Robert placed his hand over John’s and pointedly lowered it from Mathilda’s lips. ‘I can if you can assure me that, after Richard has spoken, Mathilda will be allowed to tell her side of the tale?’

John paused for longer this time. ‘Agreed, but she must tell the truth, and be able to prove her words.’ The elder brother paused again, before adding, ‘On the surety of your place in this family?’

Sarah gasped, and looked at Mathilda, her eyes pleading with her to keep her lips closed whatever lies were about to be said.

Robert took over the questioning, his face etched with a menace his reverend sibling was either blissfully unaware of, or was simply ignoring, ‘And what was Mistress Twyford’s motive for murdering a man she doesn’t know?’

‘Surely it is obvious, dear Robert? Jealousy.’

Mathilda was struggling to remain silent, but the warning glance of Sarah kept her mute despite the injustice of the words she knew she was about to hear.

Taking a draft from his ale, Eustace sat himself on the nearest chair and put his feet up on the table, as if to prepare himself for the forthcoming charade, asking lazily, ‘Jealous of what?’

‘Master Hugo, of course.’ Sneering out his words with relish, Father Richard then played his trump card, ‘The leatherworker’s ungodly affection for our dear Robert is well known. His very existence is a threat to young Mathilda, who has obviously set her sights far above her station at our family. Pointlessly of course, as dear Robert will never take more than a token wife.’

The dagger was drawn from Robert’s side in a flash of mesmerising silver before the final word of the churchman’s sentence had been uttered, and although John swiftly placed a warning palm on his shoulder, Robert didn’t move the blade from the rector’s throat. ‘Go on then, cleric; carry on speaking your poison while you can.’

‘You place a blade at my throat? You, who bring disgrace upon this family!’

Eustace’s eyes turned to John, who said, ‘Lower the knife, Robert, but keep it to hand. Now, Richard, tell your tale quickly before all our patience snaps.’

Holding himself as though shamefully affronted, the rector ignored all those present except for John. ‘As I was saying, the girl wishes to up her family status. The removal of her only rival for Robert’s affections is motive enough, and yet the girl is cleverer than that. She had a secondary plan. By implicating me in Hugo’s death, she also took the opportunity to remove one of us, and therefore increasing her would-be husband’s share of the family coffers. Greed. Jealousy and greed, John. I’ve seen it many times in the parish, I’m sad to say. Those believing themselves better than they are will go to any means to improve their standing.’ The clergyman shook his head as he spoke, as if he was constantly surprised by the folly of his fellow humans.

Mathilda’s lungs felt heavy. She’d barely taken a breath as he’d spoken. Surely the brothers wouldn’t believe that? It was ludicrous, especially the last bit. Although people did kill to improve their position, there was no physical way she could have got to Twyford. She had been here all the time – locked in a cell no less!

‘I myself saw the dagger by the Twyford girl’s feet in the cell. Where, I should remind you, she’d been thrown for repeated insolence. A dangerous game to play indeed, especially as her help and good behaviour relates to how soon the debt her family owes is paid off. A fine example of how little she thinks of her father and brothers.’

Robert’s hand gripped his dagger handle tighter as Mathilda bit her lips so hard together to prevent her protests that she was close to drawing blood. There was no way she was going to rise to the bait. She could imagine all too well how thrilled the rector would be to see Robert thrown from the family manor.

‘Where did she get a dagger from?’ Eustace spoke as if he was relishing the show he was watching. ‘You yourself ensured the girl was weapon free when she was ushered here, and you are the one who escorted her to the cell on her arrival. Are you saying you were lacking in your duties?’

Mathilda relaxed her jaw a fraction. Was she imagining it, or was Eustace actually enjoying this? She’d certainly got the impression earlier that he had no trouble in imaging Richard having organised Master Hugo’s death. On the other hand, the rector was his brother …

‘It is hardly difficult to pick up a dagger in this house, brother! She could easily have secreted such a small weapon within the folds or sleeves of her clothing.’

‘And what know you of women’s clothing, Father?’

Eustace’s dig caused Walter to grunt derisively, as the gloating rector barbed his reply with heavy implication, ‘I imagine I know as little as dear Robert does.’

It was a snide comment too far. Robert moved so fast he was a blur. The clatter of the nearest chair hitting the floor ricocheted around the stone hall as Father Richard found himself lifted off his feet and banged against the table with such force that Eustace had his flagon knocked from his hand. ‘Enough! I’ve lived with your evil whispering long enough. No more.’

Keeping the flat of his dagger free hand pressed against the rector’s chest, pinning him against the table, Robert addressed John. ‘I believe you should let Mathilda speak now, my Lord. You have heard our reverend brother. His version of events has more holes than a broken fishing net.’ Instead John, rather than ask Mathilda to speak, turned to Sarah. ‘You have been in charge of the girl while she has been here?’

‘Yes my Lord. She has been a great help to me. I admit I wasn’t sure of her at first, but she has earned my respect.’

‘John, you can’t take the word of a servant over …’

The lord of the manor put up a hand to stem Richard’s protests.

‘And in your opinion, Sarah, is it even remotely possible that Mathilda could have laid her hands on a dagger and escaped from this household for long enough to kill Hugo, or even arrange for another to do the deed. Has she appeared in any blood-soaked clothes? Had a weapon in her possession? Did this dagger in the cell even exist?’

Sarah glanced at Mathilda, before confirming that there had been no time in which Mathilda could have committed such a crime. The only time she had been separated from the girl was when she was being escorted to and from Derby market and the woods by Robert, when she delivered the messages to Nicholas Coterel.

Licking her lips, Sarah nodded towards Robert as she went on, ‘My Lord Robert gave Mathilda a dagger to keep on her during her first trip to see Coterel.’

‘You see! She did have a weapon.’

The reverend’s cry resulted in Robert pushing him even further up the table so his feet where dangling off the floor, hissing through clenched teeth, ‘Sarah has not yet finished speaking. She held her tongue as you uttered your lies, now you listen to some truth for once in your miserable life.’

Carefully Sarah continued, ‘The knife was safely hidden under her cot on her return, awaiting the chance to be given back to my Lord Robert. It wasn’t long after that that Mathilda was falsely accused of poor behaviour at the market when selling wares for Master Hugo, and was placed back in the cell. There was no dagger on her when she went in. I put her in the cell myself. There was, however, a dagger there when I took her food and drink. The girl had fallen asleep while she was in there. During that time, the dagger was placed by her feet. I can only assume that whoever had placed it there had searched her quarters and found it.’

John stared shrewdly at Richard. ‘I believe you were at the manor that day. Did you check on our captive, by any chance, and add a little something to her cell?’

‘As God is my witness, I did not! The housekeeper is bound to stick up for the girl. We all know she’d do anything to protect her favourite, and find a wife for her precious Robert.’

Ignoring the fresh outburst from the man pinned to the table, John refrained from mentioning that he thought God had more sense that to bear witness to his malevolent brother, asking, ‘what did you do with the dagger once you’d found it, Sarah?’

‘I hid it in the kitchen, and then later returned it to my Lord Robert.’

‘I see.’ John sounded solemnly. ‘I think it is time we heard more from Mathilda. However, I feel it prudent to remind you, girl, that you are not a guest here, you are a hostage.’ John closed his eyes for a moment as if to collect his thoughts before saying, ‘You were telling us that there was a dagger in your cell when you woke up, but not beforehand. That was what alerted you to thinking that Father Richard was involved in this matter. Yes?’

Swallowing to lubricate some moisture back into her fear-dried throat, Mathilda nodded, ‘That’s right, my Lord. As Sarah said, I was in the cell when Master Hugo’s body was discovered and …’

‘So what! You could have stuck him hours before then; we don’t know the hour of the crime, just the hour of the body’s discovery!’ The withering glare that Robert gave the rector silenced the clergyman’s new interruption.

Mathilda couldn’t help noticing that which each fresh protest of his innocence, Richard was losing his red-faced flush of angry bravado. He was beginning to look pale. That meant he was getting rattled. Perhaps he was afraid she could prove he’d committed a crime after all.

Robert smiled kindly in Mathilda’s direction, ‘Go on, it’s all right.’

‘Thank you, my Lord.’ Mathilda wiped her perspiring palms down the front of her dress. ‘As Sarah said, the dagger was the one that my Lord Robert had lent me, but I hadn’t seen it since I stowed it under my cot until I awoke in the cell.’

‘And you believe that was the dagger that killed Master Hugo?’

‘No my Lord, I think that is what everyone was meant to think, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it is a very similar weapon to the one used. You all wear daggers, and although I haven’t been here long, I have noticed that they all look very similar. Not only that, but if they were made locally, then many other people could also own similar weapons.’

Eustace pulled his dagger from his side and held it up to Mathilda, ‘They were a gift. We received one each when we came of age. Most of us have other daggers we favour, and keep these just for show. I rather like to keep mine handy; it has a useful short blade for hooking stones from my horse’s hooves, opening stubborn doors, and such. They are more a tool than a weapon really.’

‘But they could be used to kill, my Lord.’

The single stone in the hilt of Eustace’s dagger shone red in the firelight. ‘Indeed they could.’ He turned to Robert, ‘Where is your dagger now?’

‘Wrapped in an old tunic at the bottom of the chest at the foot of my bed.’

John nodded, ‘Sarah, fetch Robert’s dagger from its hiding place, please.’

As Sarah left the hall, the expectant eyes of all the men fell upon Mathilda. ‘When I learnt that Master Hugo had been stabbed while I was under lock and key it seemed too much of a coincidence for there to be no connection. I’d only recently been introduced to Master Hugo, he’d lied about me, I’d learnt that the Coterel family were suspicious of him, and a dagger had been put in my prison all within a very short period of time.

‘It wasn’t until I found out that it was Father Richard’s idea to use me as a hostage to meet my father’s debt that I began to wonder if he could be involved, although I didn’t understand why.’

‘But now you do?’ The hall had become very tense. John spoke barely above a whisper. The fire had died down, and apart from the intermittent crackle as the logs snagged against the low flames, all that could be heard was the hush of suspense.