The Merchant's Partner (28 page)

“that you should find out for yourself, madam.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was your lover.”

Simon wriggled in his seat. He had no desire to be here for this. He glanced at the door in mute appeal, but no one entered, and he dared not interrupt them himself. Cringing back, he tried to make himself as small as possible.

“That was before,” she said calmly.

Baldwin spoke dryly. “What, before you realized you were about to become a widow and could have your choice of the men—or should I say knights?—of the area, madam? Before you thought you could do better for yourself? Before you thought it would be pleasant to own a man with a title in preference to a mere merchant whom you had always feared and disliked?”

“That is hardly fair,” she said, giving a slightly nervous smile. Baldwin did not smile back.

“Isn't it? I think it probably is. When did you decide on me? Was that some time ago too? Or was it a snap decision, like choosing to take a local farmer as your lover? It must have been funny until you got pregnant. That was the one thing that surprised me. Why were you so upset about being pregnant? Why should a married woman be so fearful that she is prepared to go to a woman reputed to be a witch to force the child to miscarry before her husband can find out?”

“I thought it would be wrong to bring up a child as his own when it might not be,” she said with a hint of defiance.

“I doubt that, I doubt it a great deal. I think it was because you knew that he could not have children. Oh, yes,” he carried on as her face colored, “Walter de la Forte knew about that too. He told us. Tell me, though: when did you choose me? Was it when you saw my house here and realized how large my estates were? Or was it before, when you first saw me and thought I might be more enjoyable than a mere farmer?”

“I don't have to listen to this!” she said, standing and glaring at him angrily, the light reflecting from her eyes in green glints of cold fury.

To Simon, it seemed that the knight stared at her for a moment as if trying to remember something, perhaps how he had felt when he had first seen her and been so enamoured of the beautiful green-eyed Gascon lady. “No,” he said softly, “you can go whenever you want, can't you? Do whatever you want. You are wealthy now, and have money and lands. Well, go then. I wish you well.”

As his friend turned back to his fire, Simon thought he saw doubt in the woman's eyes, but then her rage took her over and she flounced from the room. Soon her voice could be heard outside, shrilly calling for her horse and servant, then shrieking when she felt that she was being thwarted.

“I think that you have probably just had a very lucky escape!” said Simon meditatively, but when he glanced over at him, the bailiff caught a fleeting glimpse of the deep sadness that passed over the knight's face.

The door opened and Margaret walked in, a tray with wine and minted water in her hands. “Have you seen Angelina Trevellyn?” she asked in bewilderment. “She's demanding her horse, and when I suggested she might be better to wait here the night and leave in the
morning, I thought she was going to launch herself at me in her rage! What have you said to upset her? Baldwin, why what is it?”

But even as she set the tray down and leaned toward him with a compassionate frown on her face, even as he tried to smile, he found he could not. And only by blinking could he stop the tears that suddenly threatened.

W
hen they had been back in their drafty castle for almost two months after the murders, Simon and Margaret received a letter from Baldwin. Of course, Margaret could not read or write, but Simon had been fortunate enough to have been schooled by the priests at Crediton when he was young, and he and the educated knight often exchanged letters when they had the opportunity.

“What does he have to say?” she asked, not bothering to rise as she once had done. Before, the novelty had made her look at the indecipherable characters over his shoulder, but now that he had been bailiff for a little over a year, she was well used to seeing missives arrive, and the event was not such as would make her leave her plate of food. Funny, she thought vaguely, that being pregnant can make one so hungry all the time.

“It confirms that young Stephen de la Forte is dead. Apparently he went to the gallows well enough, but he took his time dying and the executioner had to help. Anyway, it seems that Greencliff has announced in church that he is to wed Sarah Cottey. Baldwin thinks
it's a good idea, even old Sam is happy with it. He'll be grateful for an extra hand, and Greencliff is a good strong lad.”

“Anything else?”

“His manor is ahead of itself already, and he's looking forward to a good harvest at last.” His face frowned suddenly, and he leaned forward.

“What is it?”

Glancing up, she saw a smile spread over his face.

“Angelina Trevellyn,” he said. “She's decided to return to Gascony, apparently. And Baldwin has made some comments about her that I don't think I should relay to you! It's enough to say that he seems relieved to see her go. What he does say is that she was somehow embarrassed. It seems that some men took to heckling her in the street. Apparently, news of her affair with Greencliff got around the village, and spread further afield. Baldwin thinks it might have been Jennie Miller.”

“That's not very funny. It's not very chivalrous to treat a woman like that.”

“No, but it seems that the result was her choosing to leave, so it had a good outcome. It seems to have made quite a stir in the area. Anyway, he goes on to say that there's a widow over at Crediton that Peter Clifford is trying to get Baldwin interested in, who appears to be very suitable.”

“How suitable? Do stop grinning like that!”

“She is known to be generous with her alms and supports Peter's little hospital, so she seems quite sensible and kindly.”

“And?”

“And she's older than Baldwin, uglier than his mastiff, and he's begging us to invite him here for a holiday to escape her clutches as soon as possible!”

“Tell him I look forward to seeing him soon,” Margaret sighed. “It'll be good to see him again. But tell him to come here in the summer. It's too cold in the winter! Oh, and ask him if he wants to bring this lady with him. After all, he might find things very boring here otherwise!”