Simon Beaufort - Deadly Inheritance

Geoffrey was bemused by Bale. He was brave and seemed honest, which made him a refreshing change from Durand. However, his fascination with pointed implements was sinister. He wondered if he ever would feel comfortable with the man, and tried to move away – but to no avail, as Mistress Helbye was wedged too firmly on his other side. He hoped no one could see them.

Bale, meanwhile, was gazing at Douce, who was dressed in a blue kirtle that fell in tidy folds to the ground. ‘You see her?’ he asked in a hoarse whisper. ‘Mistress Helbye says she is the woman you will wed.’

Geoffrey raised his eyebrows, but Helbye’s wife did not seem at all disconcerted that her confidences had been so baldly betrayed. ‘Wulfric brought her here today, so she can get a good look at you,’ she said. ‘I heard them talking earlier. She was due to meet you at Dene, but the fire started before you could be introduced.’

‘Ralph would never allow his sister to marry me.’

‘Ralph is not lord of Bicanofre,’ said Helbye’s wife dismissively. ‘Wulfric is, and he wants you for Douce, so he is here to point you out to her. She is slow in the wits, you see, and will need to be told which man to allure, or she may go after the wrong one.’

‘She will do,’ said Bale, assessing Douce critically. ‘She has fine hips for breeding and strong bones. A little long in the face, perhaps, but good teeth.’

‘The poor woman is not a horse,’ said Geoffrey, indignant on her behalf. Realizing that he could not hide forever, he struggled into the open and the family immediately sailed towards him.

‘Now is your chance to size her up,’ whispered Helbye’s wife helpfully. ‘Before Joan and Wulfric settle matters without you.’

The man who stepped forward to bow to Geoffrey wore clothes that were well cut, but too small, giving the impression that they had been hauled from storage especially for the occasion. Next to him, Ralph scowled. When Geoffrey studied Douce properly, he saw that Bale’s equine terminology was not misplaced. She had a long face with widely spaced eyes, large teeth and heavy lips.

‘I am Wulfric de Bicanofre, and this is my son, Ralph,’ Wulfric said gushingly.

‘Ralph and I have already met,’ replied Geoffrey.

Ralph looked away. Wulfric ignored the hostility between them, and his smile became simpering. ‘And this is my daughter Douce. She is twenty years old, has a dowry and is a virgin.’

Geoffrey glanced at Douce, to see whether she was chagrined by her father’s outrageous words, but she merely continued to beam in a way that made him wonder whether she was an idiot.

‘We are looking for a good match,’ said Ralph, lest his father’s words had been too subtle. ‘ He thinks one will be found in Goodrich.’ The expression on his face made it clear that he did not concur.

‘A union between Bicanofre and Goodrich would be excellent for both manors,’ enthused Wulfric. ‘We hope you will look favourably on us. You are said to be more pleasant than your brothers, and a Jerosolimitanus , too. Douce would be honoured to accept you.’

‘What do you say, Douce?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Are you as keen to secure a husband as your family is?’

‘Of course she is,’ said Wulfric, while Douce continued to smile and nod. ‘A more demure soul you will never meet. She will make any man happy with her gentle manners. Nor is she the kind to object to you seeking pleasure elsewhere on occasion, if you take my meaning.’

‘But I would kill any man who used her badly, Jerosolimitanus or not,’ snarled Ralph.

‘We brought her here today, rather than attending our own church, so you could have a look at her,’ said Wulfric, stamping on his son’s foot to shut him up. ‘Then, if Joan mentions Douce, you will know who she is talking about.’

‘We are to have singers with balls tonight,’ announced Douce loudly.

‘Musicians and jugglers,’ explained Wulfric hastily, seeing Geoffrey’s confusion. ‘Bicanofre is a small manor compared to Goodrich, but we have offered your guests an evening of entertainment. I hope you will come. Douce will be there.’

‘What about Eleanor?’ Geoffrey asked. ‘Have you seen her since-’

‘You are interested in Eleanor?’ pounced Wulfric. ‘I had no idea anyone would take her! But, if you are willing, then of course we can reach an agreement.’

‘That is not what I meant,’ objected Geoffrey. He glanced at Douce, to see if she was offended, but she wore the same stupid smile, and he suspected that she was not following the conversation at all. ‘I was going to ask whether you had you seen her since the fire.’

‘She is missing.’ Wulfric sounded more annoyed than concerned. ‘But she likes to wander in the forest, and I am told her red cloak was seen flitting in the trees after the fire was out.’

‘Enough of this,’ blurted Ralph unpleasantly. ‘My father wants to know your decision about Douce. Will you consider her? I do not want to waste time if you have already decided against us.’

Geoffrey felt sorry for Douce. He ignored Ralph and offered to escort her to where a servant was waiting with their horses, bringing about a triumphant beam on her father’s face.

‘Is it far to Bicanofre?’ Geoffrey asked, flailing around for polite conversation.

‘Bicanofre,’ she said brightly. ‘It is a village.’

‘I know,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I asked how far it is from Goodrich.’

‘My brother Ralph has a green cloak with silver thread,’ burbled Douce happily. ‘And our cat had fifty kittens last week. Or was it five? I can never remember numbers.’

‘I see,’ said Geoffrey. He was relieved when they reached the horses and a servant stepped forward to help her into her saddle.

‘She is a good lass,’ said Wulfric, winking at Geoffrey. ‘You will never have any trouble from her – not like some of the others you could choose. Hilde is manly, Margaret is dead and Corwenna would kill you on your wedding night.’ He took the reins of his daughter’s horse and led her away.

‘I did as you asked, Father,’ Geoffrey heard her say. ‘I did not answer any questions I did not understand and I kept the discussion to pleasant, normal things.’

‘And Isabel?’ asked Geoffrey of Ralph, aware that Wulfric’s list had not included the fair, grieving figure. ‘What about her?’

‘She needs to do penance for her sin with your brother,’ said Ralph contemptuously.

‘She needs you,’ said Geoffrey, fighting the impulse to say he could not imagine why. ‘She grieves for Margaret, and has been asking for you.’

‘I no longer know her,’ said Ralph coldly. ‘And we will not speak of this matter again.’

‘God’s teeth!’ swore Geoffrey, as Bale and Helbye’s wife came to stand next to him to watch the Bicanofre contingent ride away. ‘That man is asking for my sword in his unfeeling heart.’

‘Isabel is better off without him,’ said Helbye’s wife. ‘Love is double-edged; it brings misery as well as happiness. People should try to avoid it, because it is such a gamble.’

‘I was in love once,’ said Bale. ‘But she said she would only marry me if I agreed never to bring a blade into the house. So I turned her down.’

‘What did you think of Douce?’ asked Helbye’s wife in the silence that followed.

‘She is half out of her wits.’

‘More than half,’ agreed Bale. ‘But that will not matter if she begets you children – and she will.’

‘What makes you so sure?’

‘She has already produced a couple, which is why her father wants her settled,’ replied Bale. ‘He will not want her worn out before she can produce legitimate ones.’

‘He said she was a virgin,’ objected Geoffrey.

‘Perhaps he thinks you will not know the difference. Well? What did you think of her? Helbye’s wife says she is the best of the batch. Now Margaret is dead and Isabel wants to take the veil, there is only Hilde, Corwenna and Douce left.’

‘Well, there is Eleanor,’ said Helbye’s wife. ‘I doubt she is dead. But you must not accept her, not if she was the last woman on God’s Earth.’ She folded her arms.

‘Why?’ said Geoffrey, understanding that he was expected to ask.

‘Her suitability,’ said Helbye’s wife, while Geoffrey thought that if insanity and pre-marital pregnancies did not make a woman unsuitable, then he could not imagine what Eleanor had done. But Helbye’s wife had had enough gossip, and moved away. Meanwhile, Geoffrey remembered why he had gone to the church in the first place.

‘Father Adrian!’ he called. ‘I want to talk to you.’

‘No,’ said Father Adrian in alarm. ‘Not about your brother, and not about any of those women Mistress Helbye has been telling you about, either. Joan will have her own views, and I will not interfere.’

‘It is about the dagger Joan gave you.’

‘She said I could sell it, to provide alms for the poor. So I took it to Rosse two days ago. A silversmith gave me three shillings for it. Why? Did you want it back?’

‘Three shillings is a good price,’ said Bale. ‘Did you tell this silversmith it was a Black Knife?’

Father Adrian looked furtive. ‘He did not ask. Besides, it had lain under my altar for months, so it was clean. The merchant would not have given me three shillings if I had told him its history. People can be superstitious.’

‘Including you,’ said Geoffrey, ‘if you felt it needed three months in a church before it was fit for sale.’

‘That is different,’ replied Father Adrian primly. ‘That is religion .’

Geoffrey was not sure where the line lay, but he wanted answers, not a debate. ‘How many people knew the dagger was there?’

‘The whole village,’ replied Father Adrian. ‘I asked people to pray for its purification, so it would raise money for the poor.’ He looked smug. ‘It worked: three shillings is a fine sum.’

‘Have you done business with this silversmith before?’ asked Geoffrey, wondering how it had gone from the Rosse craftsman to Jervil. Perhaps the groom had been uncomfortable stealing from a church but was not squeamish about robbing a merchant.

Father Adrian shook his head. ‘It is not every day I have valuable knives to sell. I thought I might have to break it up – sell him the silver hilt and prise the emerald out to sell to a jeweller. But he agreed to take the whole thing.’

‘ An emerald ?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘But they are green.’

Father Adrian nodded patiently. ‘It was a green stone.’

‘Joan said it was red.’ And the King had mentioned a ruby in the knife Jervil had given to Baderon – and Geoffrey was sure that he knew his precious jewels.

‘It was green,’ said Father Adrian firmly. ‘She cannot have looked properly.’

But Geoffrey knew Joan would have been familiar with what she possessed.

‘It was covered in blood,’ said Bale keenly. ‘There was a great wound in Henry’s stomach. Right here.’ He indicated a point just below his ribs. ‘And it was deep. I shoved my finger in it to see.’

‘Bale!’ exclaimed Father Adrian, aghast. He glanced nervously at Geoffrey, who was not in a position to be squeamish, since he had poked fingers in wounds to assess their depths himself. Father Adrian hurriedly changed the subject. ‘It was an emerald, Geoffrey. And there was not enough blood to make a green stone red. I will give you the three shillings, if you want to buy it back, although the poor will suffer . . .’