missing for some little while.
Perkin grew aware of the well-dressed stranger sidling towards the knight. As the coroner patted the clerk on the back and
made as though to leave, the stranger reached him and spoke urgently. The knight looked him up and down, glanced round the
jury and witnesses, and then nodded.
Watching them walk away, Perkin frowned. There was something strange here, he could see, but he wasn’t sure what it was. All
he knew was that he was delighted he hadn’t told the coroner anything of his doubts.
It was only later that afternoon, when he heard of the deaths at the little house at Iddesleigh the day before, that he began
to wonder who it was who had arrived to take the coroner away with him.
Late on Tuesday morning Baldwin was aching again when he drew up at the manor at Liddinstone and slowly eased himself from
the saddle. He stood a while, slowly swinging his arm, feeling the pain in his upper breast and wincing as the muscles stretched
and contracted.
‘My love – I was growing worried lest you had fallen,’ Jeanne said.
‘I did not see you there,’ Baldwin said. He passed thereins to the waiting stable boy and only with an effort of will did he avoid reaching up to his shoulder. If he did that,
Jeanne would stop him riding and make his life hell.
‘I came to watch for you,’ she said.
He eyed her suspiciously. There was a lightness to her tone which seemed to belie her words. ‘That is all?’
‘Of course, husband. The air in the hall is a little stale.’
‘I see,’ he said, nodding but unconvinced.
‘And …’
To his secret delight, he saw that she was colouring. If there was something to embarrass her, he would be safe from condemnation
for riding too far. ‘Yes?’
‘Oh … nothing.’
And it
was
nothing, Jeanne told herself. Merely the foolish words of a maid who should know better. Nothing more than that.
It was Emma again.
Baldwin had never liked Jeanne’s companion, and, to be fair, Jeanne could easily have found a more congenial maid. Yet there
was something about Emma’s bovine loyalty which comforted her. Emma was stolid and ugly, heavy, slow, dull-witted and moody,
and yet she plainly adored Jeanne, and for that reason alone it was hard to conceive of sending her away. Unfortunately, Emma
had been very fond of Jeanne’s first husband, and no replacement would ever be able to live up to him in her eyes.
This morning, while Baldwin was off riding, Emma had told Jeanne that Sir Baldwin was looking very ‘done in’, and that Jeanne
should demand that he give up all exercise and betake himself to his bed to rest. Emma had very pronounced views on the efficacy
of rest for all ills, and she felt certain that Jeanne’s husband was in desperate need ofit. However, she could not make any comment without comparing Baldwin to Sir Ralph, and this morning she had spoken unfavourably
about Baldwin’s reluctance to support either of the factions in the country’s politics.
Other men were bold and sought to promote the interests of their lords: some the Lord de Courtenay, some the Lords Despenser
and the king. ‘Because it will come to war, lady, make no mistake!’ Emma had declared, jowls wobbling.
It was hard, when Emma was in such a state, not to study her closely. She was short, but with a large frame, and her breast
was carried like a weapon, projecting far before her. Her eyes were a soft brown, but Baldwin had once said that they held
the bile and spite of a dozen Moors whenever they latched on to him. Jeanne knew what he meant, because Emma’s eyes were shrewd
and calculating. When she fixed a man with her gaze, he would quail. The jut of her warty chin was enough to make a lion whimper.
Jeanne had seen strong market stall holders blench when she fixed them with her sternest look.
When Emma compared Baldwin with her first husband, Jeanne would try to defend him, but in Emma’s eyes it was irrelevant what
the
Perkin grew aware of the well-dressed stranger sidling towards the knight. As the coroner patted the clerk on the back and
made as though to leave, the stranger reached him and spoke urgently. The knight looked him up and down, glanced round the
jury and witnesses, and then nodded.
Watching them walk away, Perkin frowned. There was something strange here, he could see, but he wasn’t sure what it was. All
he knew was that he was delighted he hadn’t told the coroner anything of his doubts.
It was only later that afternoon, when he heard of the deaths at the little house at Iddesleigh the day before, that he began
to wonder who it was who had arrived to take the coroner away with him.
Late on Tuesday morning Baldwin was aching again when he drew up at the manor at Liddinstone and slowly eased himself from
the saddle. He stood a while, slowly swinging his arm, feeling the pain in his upper breast and wincing as the muscles stretched
and contracted.
‘My love – I was growing worried lest you had fallen,’ Jeanne said.
‘I did not see you there,’ Baldwin said. He passed thereins to the waiting stable boy and only with an effort of will did he avoid reaching up to his shoulder. If he did that,
Jeanne would stop him riding and make his life hell.
‘I came to watch for you,’ she said.
He eyed her suspiciously. There was a lightness to her tone which seemed to belie her words. ‘That is all?’
‘Of course, husband. The air in the hall is a little stale.’
‘I see,’ he said, nodding but unconvinced.
‘And …’
To his secret delight, he saw that she was colouring. If there was something to embarrass her, he would be safe from condemnation
for riding too far. ‘Yes?’
‘Oh … nothing.’
And it
was
nothing, Jeanne told herself. Merely the foolish words of a maid who should know better. Nothing more than that.
It was Emma again.
Baldwin had never liked Jeanne’s companion, and, to be fair, Jeanne could easily have found a more congenial maid. Yet there
was something about Emma’s bovine loyalty which comforted her. Emma was stolid and ugly, heavy, slow, dull-witted and moody,
and yet she plainly adored Jeanne, and for that reason alone it was hard to conceive of sending her away. Unfortunately, Emma
had been very fond of Jeanne’s first husband, and no replacement would ever be able to live up to him in her eyes.
This morning, while Baldwin was off riding, Emma had told Jeanne that Sir Baldwin was looking very ‘done in’, and that Jeanne
should demand that he give up all exercise and betake himself to his bed to rest. Emma had very pronounced views on the efficacy
of rest for all ills, and she felt certain that Jeanne’s husband was in desperate need ofit. However, she could not make any comment without comparing Baldwin to Sir Ralph, and this morning she had spoken unfavourably
about Baldwin’s reluctance to support either of the factions in the country’s politics.
Other men were bold and sought to promote the interests of their lords: some the Lord de Courtenay, some the Lords Despenser
and the king. ‘Because it will come to war, lady, make no mistake!’ Emma had declared, jowls wobbling.
It was hard, when Emma was in such a state, not to study her closely. She was short, but with a large frame, and her breast
was carried like a weapon, projecting far before her. Her eyes were a soft brown, but Baldwin had once said that they held
the bile and spite of a dozen Moors whenever they latched on to him. Jeanne knew what he meant, because Emma’s eyes were shrewd
and calculating. When she fixed a man with her gaze, he would quail. The jut of her warty chin was enough to make a lion whimper.
Jeanne had seen strong market stall holders blench when she fixed them with her sternest look.
When Emma compared Baldwin with her first husband, Jeanne would try to defend him, but in Emma’s eyes it was irrelevant what
the
Similar Books
