guessed that de Gifford was wondering the same thing that was occupying him: whether the dead man could be the absent Walter Bell. Arriving at Hawkenlye, they gave their horses into the care of Sister Martha and then went straight across to the infirmary.
The corpse lay alone on its cot behind the curtain; Sister Beata stood just outside the recess, as if to ensure that the idly curious should not be allowed to approach. Seeing Josse and de Gifford, she parted the curtains for them and stood back to let them enter the recess. Josse smiled his thanks and the sheriff paused to speak a few muttered words; it sounded, Josse thought, as if he were commending the care with which the dead were treated by the infirmary nuns, for Sister Beata gave a little bob of a bow and whispered that it was ever the Abbess’s and the infirmarer’s wish that due respect be given. Then, appreciating that he was keen to proceed, she stepped back and let the curtain fall behind the two men, leaving them alone with the corpse.
Josse observed de Gifford studying the dead face. After a moment he said, ‘Is it Walter Bell?’
The sheriff looked up and his green eyes were clouded with doubt. Then, unconsciously echoing Josse’e earlier remark, he said, ‘There’s a mystery here.’ Speaking softly so that nobody but Josse would hear, he went on, ‘It’s not Walter, it’s his brother Teb.’
Josse and de Gifford went next to report to the Abbess and Josse listened as, with admirable brevity of which the Abbess seemed to approve, de Gifford outlined what he had just discovered.
‘Yet it was Teb whom you suspected was coming to Hawkenlye to search for his brother Walter, the one who is missing?’ she asked.
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘Are the brothers similar in appearance?’ Josse asked.
The Abbess nodded. ‘That was to have been my next question.’
‘You are both wondering, I would guess,’ said de Gifford, ‘whether my officer mistook Teb for Walter and it was in fact Teb who was missing and Walter who was looking for him.’
‘Aye,’ Josse replied.
‘There was a strong resemblance between them, yes, and I wish it were that simple.’ De Gifford gave a sigh and ruffled his hair vigorously as if trying to stir his brains into action. ‘But it was Teb in the tavern. My man was in no doubt of it.’
‘And you trust your man.’ Josse made sure that there was no note of enquiry in his voice; he was in any case quite sure that de Gifford would not use men whose judgement he questioned.
‘I do,’ de Gifford agreed.
‘Teb Bell is dead, then,’ the Abbess summarised, ‘and Walter, we must assume, is still missing.’ She looked intently at de Gifford. ‘Were the brothers close, would you say?’
‘Close?’ De Gifford thought for a moment. ‘Their lives were lived closely, my lady, for, as I told you, they were engaged in the same villainy and as far as I know they shared the same miserable hovel of a dwelling. But if I am correct in thinking that you are asking whether there was affection between them, then I can only say that, although I may malign them, I would doubt it. May I know why you ask the question?’
She shrugged and, to Josse’s eye, appeared suddenly diffident. ‘It seems that I am following a fruitless path but I wondered if the dead man – Teb – could have discovered that his brother had in fact died and had taken his own life because the loss was too great to bear.’
‘But, my lady, he—’ Josse began.
She misinterpreted his protest. Turning to him, diffidence changing smoothly to righteous indignation, she said, ‘Sir Josse, deep love is not the prerogative of the wealthy, the honest and the educated. Despite what the sheriff says about the Bell brothers, it is perfectly possible for a poor man, even for a thief or a murderer, to love his brother!’
The corpse lay alone on its cot behind the curtain; Sister Beata stood just outside the recess, as if to ensure that the idly curious should not be allowed to approach. Seeing Josse and de Gifford, she parted the curtains for them and stood back to let them enter the recess. Josse smiled his thanks and the sheriff paused to speak a few muttered words; it sounded, Josse thought, as if he were commending the care with which the dead were treated by the infirmary nuns, for Sister Beata gave a little bob of a bow and whispered that it was ever the Abbess’s and the infirmarer’s wish that due respect be given. Then, appreciating that he was keen to proceed, she stepped back and let the curtain fall behind the two men, leaving them alone with the corpse.
Josse observed de Gifford studying the dead face. After a moment he said, ‘Is it Walter Bell?’
The sheriff looked up and his green eyes were clouded with doubt. Then, unconsciously echoing Josse’e earlier remark, he said, ‘There’s a mystery here.’ Speaking softly so that nobody but Josse would hear, he went on, ‘It’s not Walter, it’s his brother Teb.’
Josse and de Gifford went next to report to the Abbess and Josse listened as, with admirable brevity of which the Abbess seemed to approve, de Gifford outlined what he had just discovered.
‘Yet it was Teb whom you suspected was coming to Hawkenlye to search for his brother Walter, the one who is missing?’ she asked.
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘Are the brothers similar in appearance?’ Josse asked.
The Abbess nodded. ‘That was to have been my next question.’
‘You are both wondering, I would guess,’ said de Gifford, ‘whether my officer mistook Teb for Walter and it was in fact Teb who was missing and Walter who was looking for him.’
‘Aye,’ Josse replied.
‘There was a strong resemblance between them, yes, and I wish it were that simple.’ De Gifford gave a sigh and ruffled his hair vigorously as if trying to stir his brains into action. ‘But it was Teb in the tavern. My man was in no doubt of it.’
‘And you trust your man.’ Josse made sure that there was no note of enquiry in his voice; he was in any case quite sure that de Gifford would not use men whose judgement he questioned.
‘I do,’ de Gifford agreed.
‘Teb Bell is dead, then,’ the Abbess summarised, ‘and Walter, we must assume, is still missing.’ She looked intently at de Gifford. ‘Were the brothers close, would you say?’
‘Close?’ De Gifford thought for a moment. ‘Their lives were lived closely, my lady, for, as I told you, they were engaged in the same villainy and as far as I know they shared the same miserable hovel of a dwelling. But if I am correct in thinking that you are asking whether there was affection between them, then I can only say that, although I may malign them, I would doubt it. May I know why you ask the question?’
She shrugged and, to Josse’s eye, appeared suddenly diffident. ‘It seems that I am following a fruitless path but I wondered if the dead man – Teb – could have discovered that his brother had in fact died and had taken his own life because the loss was too great to bear.’
‘But, my lady, he—’ Josse began.
She misinterpreted his protest. Turning to him, diffidence changing smoothly to righteous indignation, she said, ‘Sir Josse, deep love is not the prerogative of the wealthy, the honest and the educated. Despite what the sheriff says about the Bell brothers, it is perfectly possible for a poor man, even for a thief or a murderer, to love his brother!’
Similar Books
