An Excellent Mystery (14 page)

“You
saw them ride for Wherwell?” demanded Reginald, frowning heavily at every
complexity that arose to baulk him. “She went with him freely, content?”

“Yes,
my lord, fresh and early in the morning they went. A fine morning, too. She
said farewell to us, and we watched them out of sight.”

No
need to doubt it. Only four miles from her goal, and yet she had never reached
it. And only one man could know what had become of her in that short distance.

Reginald
waved them away irritably. What more could they tell him? To the best of their
knowledge she had gone where she had meant to go, and all was well with her.
But as the three made for the hall door, glad to be off to their beds, Nicholas
said suddenly: “Wait!” And to his host: Two more questions, if I may ask them?”

“Do
so, freely.”

“Was
it the lady herself who told you it was her wish to go on with only Heriet, and
ordered you to remain in Andover and wait for him?”

“No,”
said the spokesman, after a moment’s thought, “it was Adam told us.”

“And
they set out in the early morning, you said. At what hour did Heriet return?”

“Not
until twilight, sir. It was getting dark when he came. Because of that we stayed
the night over, to make an early start for home next day.”

“There
was another question I might have added,” said Nicholas, when he was alone with
his host, and the hall door stood open on the deepening dusk and quiet of the
yard, “but I doubt he would have seen to his own horse, and after a night’s
rest there’d be no way of judging how far it had been ridden. But see how the
time testifies — three or four miles to Wherwell, and he would have had no call
to linger, once he had brought her there. Yet he was the whole day away, twelve
hours or more. What was he about all that time? Yet he’s said to have been her
devoted slave from infancy.”

“It
got him credit with my father, who also doted,” said Reginald sourly. “I knew
little of him. But there he is at the heart of this, and who else is there? He
alone rode with her that last day. And came back here with his fellows, letting
it be seen all had gone well, and the matter was finished. But between Andover
and Wherwell my sister vanishes. And a month or so later, when our overlord,
Earl Waleran, from whom we hold three manors, sends asking for men, who should
be first to offer himself but this same man? Why so ready to seize on a way of
leaving here? For fear questions should yet be asked, some day? Something untoward
come to light, and start the hunt?”

“Would
he have come back at all,” wondered Nicholas, “if he had done her harm or any
way betrayed her?”

“If
he had wit enough, yes, and wit enough he surely had, for see how he has
succeeded! If he had failed to return with the others, there would have been a
hue and cry at once. They would have started it before ever they left Andover.
As it is, three years are gone without a word or a shadow of doubt, and where
is Heriet now?”

He
had fastened on the notion now, tearing it with his teeth, savouring the inner
rage he felt at any such thing being dared against his house. It was for that
he would want revenge, if ever it came to the proof, not for Julian’s own
injuries. And yet Nicholas could not but tread the same way with him. Who else
was there, to have wiped out the very image and memory of that girl committed
to his care? Two had ridden from Andover, one had returned. The other was gone
from the face of the earth, vanished into air. It was hard to go on believing
that she would ever be seen again.

A
servant brought in a lamp, and refilled the pitcher of ale on the table. The
lady kept her chamber with her children, and left the men to confer without interruption.
The night came down almost suddenly, in the brief customary breeze that came
with this hour.

“She
is dead!” said Reginald abruptly, and spread a large hand flat on the table.

“No,
that’s not certain. And why should he do such a thing? He lost his security
here, for he dared not stay, once the chance of leaving offered. What was there
to gain that would outweigh that? Is a man-at-arms in Waleran of Meulan’s
service better off than your trusted people here? I think not!”

“Service
for half a year? If he stayed longer it was from choice, half a year was all
that was demanded. And as for what he had to gain — and by God, he was the only
one of the four who could have known the worth of it — my sister had three
hundred silver marks in her saddle-bags, besides a list of valuables meant for
her convent. I cannot recite you the whole tally off hand, but they’re listed
somewhere in the manor books, the clerk can lay hands on the record. I know
there was a pair of silver candle-holders. And such jewels as she had from her
mother she also took in gift, having no further use for them herself in this
world. Enough to tempt a man — even if he had to buy in a confederate to put a
better face on the deed.”

And
it could be so! A woman carrying her dowry with her, with a father and
household satisfied of her well-being at home, and no one to wonder at her
silence… But no, that could not be right, Nicholas caught himself up hopefully,
not if she had already sent word of her coming ahead to Wherwell. Surely a girl
intending to take the veil must advance her plea and be sure of acceptance
before venturing on the journey south. But if she had done so, then there would
have been wonder at her failure to arrive, and rapid enquiry, and the prioress,
had there ever been letters or a courier from Julian Cruce, would have known
and remembered the name. No, she could not have bargained beforehand. She had
taken her dowry and simply gone to knock on the door and ask admittance. He had
not the experience in such matters to know if that was very unusual, nor the
cynicism to reflect that it would hardly be refused if the portion brought was
large enough.

“This
man Heriet will have to be found,” said Nicholas, making up his mind. “If he’s
still serving with Waleran of Meulan, then I may be able to find him. Waleran
is the king’s man. If not, he’ll be far to seek, but what other choice have we?
He’s native in this shire, is he? If he has kin, they’ll be here?”

“He’s
second son to a free tenant at Harpecote. Why, what are you thinking?”

“That
you’d best have your clerk make two copies of the list of what your sister took
with her when she left. The money can’t be traced and known, but it may be the
valuables can. Have him describe them fully if he can. Plate meant for church
use may turn up on sale or be noted somewhere, so may gems. I’ll have the list
circulated round Winchester — if the bishop’s well rid of his empress he may
know now where his interest lies! — and try to find Adam Heriet among Meulan’s
companies, or get word when and how he left them. You do as much here, where if
he has kin he may some day visit. Can you think of anything better? Or anything
more we can undertake?”

Reginald
heaved himself up from the table, making the flame of the lamp gutter. A big,
black-avised, affronted man, with a face grimly set. “That’s well reasoned, and
we’ll do it. Tomorrow I’ll have him copy the items — he’s a finicky little
fellow who has everything at his finger-ends — and I’ll ride with you to
Shrewsbury and see Hugh Beringar, and have this matter in train before the
day’s out. If this or any villain has done murder and robbery against my house,
I want justice and I want restitution.”

Nicholas
rose with his host, and went to the bed prepared for him so weary that he could
not fail to sleep. So did he want justice. But what was justice in this matter?
He planned and thought as one following a trail, he must pursue it with all his
powers, having nothing else left to attempt, but he could not and would not
believe in it. What he wanted above everything else in the world was a breath
of some fresh breeze, blowing from another quarter, suggesting that she was not
dead, that all this coil of suspicion and cupidity and treachery was false, a
mere appearance, to be blown away when the morning came. But the morning came,
and nothing was new, and nothing changed.

Thus
two who had only one quest in common, and nothing besides to make them allies,
rode together back into Shrewsbury, armed with two well-scripted copies of the
valuables and money Julian Cruce had carried with her as her dowry on entering
the cloister.

Hugh
had come down from the town to dine with Abbot Radulfus, and acquaint him with
the latest developments in the political tangle that was England. The flight of
the empress back into her western stronghold, the scattering of a great part of
her forces, and the capture of Earl Robert of Gloucester, without whom she was
impotent, must transform the whole pattern of events, though its first effect
was to freeze them from any action at all. The abbot might not have any
interest in factional strife, but he was entitled to the mitre and a place in
the great council of the country, and the welfare of people and church was very
much his business. They had conferred a long time over the abbot’s
well-furnished table, and it was mid-afternoon when Hugh came looking for
Cadfael in the herb-garden.

“You’ll
have heard? The word that Nicholas Harnage brought me yesterday? He said he had
come here first, to his lord. Robert of Gloucester is penned up in Rochester a
prisoner, and everything has halted while both sides think on what comes next —
we, how best to make use of him, they, how to survive without him.” Hugh sat
down on the stone bench in the shade, and spread his booted feet comfortably.
“Now comes the argument. And she had better order the king loosed from his
chains, or Robert may find himself tethered, too.”

“I
doubt if she’ll see it so,” said Cadfael, pausing to lean on his hoe and pluck
out a wisp of weed from between his neat, aromatic beds. “More than ever,
Stephen is her only weapon now. She’ll try to exact the highest possible price
for him, her brother will scarcely be enough to satisfy her.”

Hugh
laughed. “Robert himself takes the same line, by young Hamage’s account. He refuses
to consider an exchange for the king, says he’s no fair match for a monarch,
and to balance it fitly we must turn loose all the rearguard that were taken
with him, to make up Stephen’s weight in the scale. But wait a while! If the
empress argues in the same way now, within a month wiser men will have shown
her she can do nothing, nothing at all, without Robert. London will never let
her enter again, much less get within reach of the crown, and for all she has
Stephen in a dungeon, he is still king.”

“It’s
Robert they’ll have trouble persuading,” Cadfael reasoned.

“Even
he will have to see the truth in the end. If she is to continue her fight, it
can only be with Robert beside her. They’ll convince him. Reluctant as they all
may be to loose their hold on him, we shall have Stephen back before the year’s
end.”

They
were still there together in the garden when Nicholas and Reginald Cruce,
having enquired in vain for Hugh at the castle, as they entered the town, and
again at Hugh’s house by Saint Mary’s church, as they passed through, followed
the directions given by his porter, and came purposefully hunting for him at
the abbey. At the sound of their boots on the gravel, and the sight of them
rounding the box hedge, Hugh rose alertly to meet them.

“You’re
back in good time. What news?” And to the second man he said, eyeing him with
interest: “I have not enjoyed your acquaintance until now, sir, but you are
surely the lord of Lai. Nicholas here has told me how things stood at Wherwell.
You’re welcome to whatever service I can offer. And what now?”

“My
lord sheriff,” said Cruce loudly and firmly, as one accustomed to setting the
pace for others to follow, “in the matter of my sister there’s ground for
suspicion of robbery and murder, and I want justice.”

“So
do all decent men, and so do I. Sit down here, and let me hear what grounds you
have for such suspicions, and where the finger points. I grant you the matter
looks ugly enough. Let me know what you’ve found at home to add to it.”

It
was over-hot in the afternoon sun, and even in shirtsleeves Cruce was sweating
freely. They moved back into the shade, and there sat down together, and
Cadfael, hospitable in his own domain, and by no means inclined to be ousted
from it in the middle of his work, went instead to bring a pitcher of wine from
his workshop, and beakers for their use. He served them and went aside, but not
so far that he did not hear what passed. All that had gone before he already
knew, and on certain points his curiosity was already pricked into wakefulness,
and foresaw circumstances in which he might yet be needed. His patient fretted
over the girl, and could not afford further fraying away of what little flesh
he had. Cadfael clove to his fellow-crusader in a solidarity of shared
experience and mutual respect. One of those few, like Guimar de Massard, who
came clean and chivalrous out of a very deformed and marred holy war. And
however gradually, dying of it. Whatever concerned his welfare, body or soul,
Cadfael wanted to know.

“My
lord,” said Nicholas earnestly, “you’ll remember all I told you of the men of
my lord Cruce’s household who escorted his sister to Wherwell. Three of the
four we have questioned at Lai, and I am sure they have told us truth. But the
fourth… and he the only one who accompanied her on the last day of her journey,
the last few miles — he is no longer there, and him we must find.”