Girl In A Red Tunic (12 page)

     ‘No,’ he replied. ‘The knot that bound the rope to the tree branch.’ She frowned, as if she knew that this was significant but had not yet worked out how. Since he was in much the same state, he added, ‘There is much here to puzzle us, my lady.’

     ‘Indeed,’ she agreed. ‘But our first task must be to try to establish the poor man’s identity, since surely someone, expecting his return, must soon miss him and wonder where he is.’

     ‘Aye. I had thought, my lady, of sending word to Tonbridge to ask de Gifford for his help?’

     He turned the suggestion into a question and immediately she nodded. ‘Oh, yes. I could send one of the lay brothers, or ...’ She looked at him enquiringly.

     ‘I should be happy to go,’ he said, picking up her thought. ‘I will set out immediately.’

If Gervase de Gifford were surprised at having to return to Hawkenlye so soon, he gave no indication. As he and Josse rode back up Castle Hill towards the Abbey, Josse did what he could to answer de Gifford’s questions. He had already asked the sheriff whether any man had been reported as missing and de Gifford had said no, not as far as he knew.

     Although neither man had spoken the thought aloud, Josse 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!’

     Josse bowed his head. ‘Forgive me, my lady Abbess, but I would not dream of denying it. That was not what I was about to say.’

     ‘Oh.’ She looked slightly ruffled. ‘Then what were you going to say?’

     He glanced at de Gifford, then back at the Abbess. ‘It is perhaps only to be expected,’ he began, ‘that the assumption will be made that a man found hanging at the end of a rope in an isolated spot has died at his own hand. In many such cases, I believe this is found to be true.’

     ‘But not in this one?’ de Gifford put in.

     ‘No,’ Josse agreed.

     ‘How can you be sure, Sir Josse?’ the Abbess asked.

     ‘Because of two things,’ he replied. ‘Firstly, I discovered a footprint at the base of the oak tree and, when I compared it to the dead man’s boot, it did not match. Neither did it match the footprints of those of the Hawkenlye community who found him, cut him down and brought him here. It’s possible, I accept, that someone else came along before Sister Anne and Sister Phillipa arrived and that this someone made to climb the tree to cut the man down but for some reason thought better of it. Perhaps he heard the sisters approaching and decided to run for it before anyone decided that his presence at the scene pointed to his guilt.’

     ‘You reason logically,’ de Gifford commented. ‘However, my inclination is to think that the footprint at the base of the tree is more likely to have been put there by whoever strung Teb Bell up. What is your second thing?’

     ‘I found a strand of hair entangled in the rope, just below where it was knotted around the branch,’ Josse said. ‘Sister Euphemia and I are agreed in our opinion that it belonged to the dead man.’

     ‘Does that not rather point to his having made the knot himself?’ the Abbess asked.

     ‘Again, it is possible,’ Josse allowed. ‘But I also noticed faint marks on the dead man’s wrists, marks that I believe were made by his having been tied with perhaps the very rope later used to hang him. I may be wide of the mark, but the scene that I see is this. Teb Bell is making his way to Hawkenlye, where he believes he will find news of his brother Walter. He is, let us say, concerned for Walter and he fears some harm may have come to him. Well, perhaps it has. Perhaps Walter has been attacked and killed and perhaps the killer, knowing about Teb, is lying in wait for Walter’s brother to come looking for him. Along comes Teb, perhaps armed with a knife or a stout stick—’

     ‘He usually carried both,’ de Gifford put in.

     ‘Very well! Along comes an armed Teb and the assailant, knowing as well as you, Gervase, about the cudgel and the knife, plays for safety and jumps him from behind. He slings a rope round Teb’s neck – and it’s then that the strands of hair become entwined – and perhaps loops another bit of the rope round Teb’s wrists so as to render him helpless. Then he pulls him across to the oak tree, throws the free end round the branch and, before Teb can do anything to save himself, hauls him off the ground so that he strangles to death. Then the killer climbs the tree and ties the rope in a knot, with the thought in mind that anyone recognising Teb will think what the Abbess just suggested. That Teb Bell hanged himself, perhaps from grief that his brother Walter cannot be found and is presumed dead.’

     ‘A clever murderer,’ de Gifford said slowly.

     The Abbess did not look convinced. ‘Sir Josse, could that not still be what really happened – that Teb Bell took his own life – despite the two contrary indications that you describe to us?’

     ‘No, my lady.’ He looked sadly at her, wishing in that moment that he could agree and say yes, suicide
was
the more likely verdict. ‘For there is one more thing. You saw the body, did you not?’

     ‘You know I did,’ she said, her voice barely audible. ‘You and I stood together beside his cot after Sister Euphemia had prepared him for us.’

     ‘And did you observe his neck?’

     ‘I – yes. There were the marks of the rope.’ She lowered her eyes. ‘It was quite dreadful.’

     ‘Aye, and I’m sorry to make you see those images again.’ Had de Gifford not been present, he might have gone to stand by her side and given her a brief, reassuring touch on the shoulder. ‘But there is a reason for my insensitivity,’ he plunged on, making himself ignore her distress.

     ‘And that is?’ She spoke from behind the hand that momentarily covered her mouth.

     ‘I implied just now that a man who is hanged by being hauled off his feet by the rope around his neck will, in all probability, strangle to death. If, however, that man climbs to a height and then flings himself off it, the rope round his throat will probably break his neck.’

     There was silence in the room. Then de Gifford said, ‘I take it that the branch was sufficiently high but that there was no broken neck?’

     ‘The branch was high enough, aye,’ Josse said heavily. ‘And no, as far as I am able to tell, Teb Bell’s neck wasn’t broken.’

     De Gifford gave a sigh. Then he said, ‘It is as you fear, Josse. We are looking for a murderer.’

     Josse turned to him. ‘Aye. And, unless we find or hear word of Walter Bell alive and well, it may prove to be the case that this unknown murderer has killed more than once.’

Chapter 7

Gervase de Gifford requested a second look at the dead body; he did not say so but Helewise guessed that the wished to verify for himself what Josse had said about the rope marks on the wrists and the neck not having been broken. He was gone for some time – Josse went with him – but then she heard the sound of their boots in the cloister outside her room and called out to them to come in.

     ‘I have seen all I need to see, my lady Abbess,’ de Gifford said. ‘It is as Josse described and I shall be able to give evidence as to the manner of death, should the man’s killer be apprehended.’

     ‘And do you think that he will be?’ she asked.

     He gave a faint shrug, elegant, as were all his movements. ‘I cannot say. At present, with so little information to help us that we do not have even so much as a starting point, I have my doubts.’

     She was about to comment on that but Josse forestalled her. ‘Would it not be an idea to look for the missing brother?’

     ‘For Walter.’ De Gifford glanced at him. ‘Yes, Josse, I’ve already thought of that. As you will recall, I came up to the Abbey to warn the community that Walter Bell might be on his way here. But this was not the only place I was searching for him. My men are asking after him in other areas too.’

     A thought had struck Helewise and, as soon as de Gifford had finished speaking, she expressed it. ‘Have you surmised any valid reason why Walter Bell should have wanted to visit the Abbey?’ she asked him. ‘I do not recall that we discussed that aspect in any great depth before.’

     ‘Indeed not, my lady, and as to his purpose here, I can still only guess.’

     ‘Was the man sick?’ Josse demanded. ‘Injured, perhaps?’

     ‘We wondered, but if that was his reason for coming then for sure he did not arrive,’ she said quickly, ‘for there is no man who resembles the dead brother at present being treated in the infirmary.’

     ‘Aye, and no pilgrim who bears the Bell features down in the Vale,’ Josse agreed.

     ‘In which case,’ de Gifford said slowly, ‘we must conclude that either Walter Bell did not get to Hawkenlye – perhaps was not even making for here in the first place – or that he is here but does not wish us to know that he is.’