Girl In A Red Tunic (34 page)

     ‘I speak true!’ Sirida hissed.

     ‘—then he is, as I said just now, illegitimate and has no claim on my family.’

     Sirida studied her for some moments, dark eyes narrowed. Then, with a slow nod, she murmured, ‘We shall see. Oh, yes, we shall see.’ Then, as if long-pent venom were abruptly breaking out, she put her face close to Helewise’s and said, ‘You thought you were so fine, didn’t you, the day you wed Ivo Warin? They took you into their home and their heart, those two, father and son, and I was ordered from the house! I, who had borne Benedict a child and who, now that the saintly Blanche was dead, should have been invited to take my place at his side, in his bed and by his hearth as his lawful wife! It should have been I who danced at my wedding feast, and yet I was supplanted by a strip of a girl who was no better than I was!’

     Sirida paused dramatically. Then, as Helewise had known she would, she said softly, ‘No better, Helewise, for I know what was under your beautiful scarlet tunic the day you wed Ivo. You had not waited for the Church’s blessing on your union, had you, any more than I did?’

     Furious protests sprang to Helewise’s lips: you cannot compare your situation with mine! Ivo loved me, wanted from the first to make me his wife! It was love that made my son, not lust!

     But she held back the passionate words.

     For one thing, she wore the habit of a nun and she was Abbess of Hawkenlye; the dignity of her office forbad exchanging heated words with the likes of Sirida as if the pair of them were fishwives in the market. For another thing, could she truly claim that it had in fact been love and not lust that led to Leofgar’s conception? If her memory served her right, it was not easy to say where one left off and the other began.

     Straightening her back, she summoned her dignity and said coolly, ‘I demand that you let me go from here. I must return at once to Hawkenlye and if you insist on keeping me from my duties there, you will be punished.’

     ‘Oh, I’ll be punished, will I?’ Sirida gave an unpleasant laugh. ‘Well, my lady Abbess, I reckon I’ll take that risk. I have not much time left to me on this earth and I am quite determined to see this affair that I have begun through to its finish. I’ll keep you safe here with me while Arthur seeks out your son and dictates the terms of your release.’

     And with that, before Helewise could say another word Sirida spun round and walked swiftly out through the door, taking hold of Arthur’s arm and pulling him with her. Then the door was pushed shut and once more there came the sound of that heavy object being set against it.

     Helewise strode furiously across the floor, once, twice, restraining only with difficulty the urge to shout aloud with frustration and anger. But had she not only a moment ago been reminding herself who she was? She was no longer the carefree child Helewise de Swansford, no longer the wild and lusty girl who had married Ivo Warin. Those identities were far behind her; she wore the habit of obedience and no more was she free to act as impulse dictated.

     Slowly Helewise sank down on the bench. Quieting her breathing, using her will to impose calm on her tumultuous thoughts, she began to pray.

Josse and Gervase de Gifford arrived back in Tonbridge to be greeted by the dismal news that there was no sign of the Abbess nor of Arthur Fitzurse. One of the search parties was still out but all the others had returned and the men were scratching their heads and wondering where to look next.

     Pacing up and down in de Gifford’s hall, Josse felt the frustration of inactivity; making up his mind, he announced to de Gifford that he would ride up to Hawkenlye and see whether any word or clue had arrived at the Abbey to explain where the Abbess had gone. It was a slim hope, he knew, but he did not know the Tonbridge area well enough to be of much help to the search parties and at least riding up to the Abbey was
something
.

     ‘Very well,’ de Gifford agreed. ‘I will come to find you there if there is any news.’

There were no reassuring, optimistic tidings awaiting him at Hawkenlye. Far from it: the nuns looked stunned, as if the unthinkable had happened and they did not know how to cope with it. Sister Euphemia, informed of Josse’s arrival, came to seek him out.

     ‘Where’s he taken her?’ she demanded. ‘And why? What does he want with her, Sir Josse?’

     Josse wondered if it was really necessary to share his suspicions with her; was it not enough for him to have to bear his dreadful thoughts without the infirmarer having to do so too? But then, realising that in the Abbess’s absence Sister Euphemia was one of the most senior nuns, he decided that she had a right to know and so he told her.

     ‘I fear,’ he said gently, ‘that this has to do with the Abbess’s son and the reason for his disappearance. Someone’ – he did not want to use Fitzurse’s name – ‘is attempting to make trouble for the Warin family and I believe that this someone thinks to influence matters by holding the Abbess captive.’

     Sister Euphemia looked horrified. ‘But she—’ Then the fear left her face, to be replaced by anger. ‘If he hurts so much as her little finger, I’ll—’

     ‘He will not hurt her!’ Josse said swiftly. ‘In truth, he will not!’

     He was not sure, in that moment of dread, whether he was reassuring the infirmarer or himself.

     It did not take long for Sister Euphemia’s practical mind to turn from her anxiety to concern for Josse; noticing that he was drooping with fatigue and looked cold and drawn, she suggested that he go across to the Abbess’s room, where she would order a fire to be lit and food and drink to be brought. He was reluctant to accept – it would sit ill on him to be warm, well-fed and comfortable when the Abbess was possibly being deprived of all of these happy states – but in the end he agreed for, as Sister Euphemia wisely remarked, his strength might well be needed soon and he would be of far more use if he were fully restored.

He sat himself in Helewise’s high-backed chair and his mind was filled with thoughts of her. I’ll not stay here, he told himself; I’ll eat, drink, warm myself and rest for a while, then I’ll go out again and I won’t stop till I’ve found her.

     But he was exhausted. The simple meal that he was served combined with the warmth and he relaxed in the throne-like chair, propping his elbow on one of the arm rests and resting his head on his hand. In no time he was fast asleep.

It was dark when he woke abruptly from his deep sleep and for a few moments he could not remember where he was. Then the sound that had wakened him came again: someone was tapping on the door. Then he felt the hard chair beneath him and, stretching out his hand, knocked over the wine cup on the table. There was a candle on the table somewhere – he passed his hands to and fro until he found it – and, taking it to the brazier, he put the wick to a faintly glowing ember and, blowing the ember to a small flame, lit the candle.

     Then, standing up straight and hoping he did not look like a man suddenly roused from a slumber he should not have taken, he called out, ‘Come in!’

     For a moment nothing happened. Then the door opened very slowly and quietly and a cloaked and hooded shape slid through the narrow gap and into the room, carefully closing the door again.

     ‘Who are you?’ Josse demanded, for some reason picking up the figure’s soft-footed and furtive manner and speaking not much above a whisper.

     The figure put back the hood.

     It was Leofgar.

     Hastening to put down the candle and take the young man’s hands – they were very cold – Josse said, ‘Leofgar! What are you doing here? Did anyone see you come in?’

     Answering the second question first, Leofgar said, ‘No, I made sure that I was not spotted; my black cloak and the darkness helped, and the good sisters were not expecting me.’

     ‘But why have you come?’

     Leofgar rubbed his hands over his jaw and Josse studied him. He looked as tired as Josse felt and his face was pale. Then the young man said, ‘I have been to the Old Manor. Wilfrid told me that you and de Gifford were there, hunting for something. I knew you had gone to search through the table and I realise that you did not find anything. He said – Wilfrid said you were both very anxious – there was a dread about you, he said, and I just—’ He stopped, apparently unable to go on.

     ‘You just had to know what is happening,’ Josse finished for him. ‘And so you come here and, instead of finding your mother sitting in her usual place, you find me. Aye, Leofgar,’ – he sighed deeply – ‘she is not here.’ Taking a breath and looking the younger man straight in the eyes, he said quietly, ‘It appears that Arthur Fitzurse has taken her captive. Gervase de Gifford’s men are even now searching for her but so far without success.’

     Leofgar’s white face had paled yet more. He tried to speak, swallowed and then said quite calmly, ‘If he harms her I will kill him.’

     You’ll have to beat me to it, Josse thought. Aloud he said, ‘We must not speak of harm, Leofgar. There is no reason to suspect that he intends to mistreat her or indeed wishes her any harm.’

     ‘Then why,’ Leofgar said with cold logic, ‘has he taken her?’

     ‘I do not know,’ Josse said gently.

     ‘Where
is
she?’ Leofgar said, although it seemed to Josse that he spoke more to himself. ‘What does Fitzurse want with us? With her?’

     ‘I believe,’ Josse said carefully, ‘and indeed it is the opinion of your mother, that this all has to do with your family’s past. That, whatever it is that Fitzurse was trying to find at the Old Manor, it is likely that it concerns a claim that the man believes he has on the Warin family. He—’

     ‘Fitzurse,’ Leofgar cried suddenly, interrupting him. ‘Son of the bear. Why did I not remark it before? The bear is the traditional device of my forefathers.’

     ‘Aye, lad, I know,’ Josse murmured. Not wanting to elucidate – it was a matter of extreme delicacy – he simply said, ‘So, now you have it.’

     Leofgar nodded slowly. ‘Fitzurse claims to be a bastard son of – of whom, Josse? Of my father?’

     ‘I could not say,’ Josse answered. ‘Your mother – well, I do not know what she thinks of this suggestion for she has not discussed it with me. Not that she should!’ he added hastily. It was, after all, he reflected, far too personal.

     ‘My father loved my mother greatly,’ Leofgar said. ‘I was but a child of six when he died but I understood well enough that he had eyes for no woman but her.’

     ‘He would have begotten Arthur years before he met your mother,’ Josse pointed out gently. ‘If it proves to be he who fathered the man, then it will not detract in any way from your father’s love and loyalty to your mother.’

     ‘No, I see that,’ Leofgar said slowly. ‘Yet—’ He shrugged. ‘It is not easy, Sir Josse, for a grown man to face the possibility that he may have a half-brother whose existence he has never even dreamed of, and who is a rogue into the bargain.’

     ‘Do not forget that it
is
but a possibility,’ Josse urged him. ‘There is a tale yet to be told here, and we should make no assumptions yet.’

     ‘Good advice,’ Leofgar said. ‘I will—’ Again he broke off, as if struck by a sudden thought.

     ‘What is it?’ Josse demanded.

     Leofgar frowned. ‘Something you said keeps coming back into my head.’

     ‘What?’

     ‘You made a remark about all this being to do with my family’s past.’ He was wrapping himself in his cloak again as he spoke. ‘If you are right – and I confess that I think you are – then there may be something that I can do to help. Wait here, Sir Josse, I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

     ‘Help in what way? Where are you going?’

     But Josse found he was speaking to empty air; Leofgar had hurried out through the door and, when Josse looked out and along the cloister, was already racing for the gates.

     There was nothing to do but obey Leofgar’s order and wait for his return. Closing the door, Josse went back to the Abbess’s chair and sat down again.

He did not know how Leofgar was getting into the Abbey; the first time he appeared, he had presented himself alone at the door of Helewise’s room, and this suggested to Josse that he had not entered via the gates for, had he done so, then Sister Ursel or one of the other nuns would probably have escorted him across the courtyard and along the cloister. Or perhaps even then it had been late, and the good sisters all abed.