The Poisoned Serpent (8 page)

For the first time, Elizabeth detected the flicker of an emotion in Hugh de Leon’s eyes. The emotion was relief.

Suddenly Elizabeth was furious. While it was true that she had never wished to marry Hugh de Leon, it was quite another thing for him not to wish to marry her. Ever since she was a child, Elizabeth had had men worshiping at her feet. Hugh’s obvious indifference piqued her vanity.

Perhaps she wouldn’t have minded so much if he hadn’t been so good-looking himself.

He was saying to Lady Sybil, “I fear you are right, my lady. The king will have the wardship of the Lady Elizabeth, and I doubt that he will bestow her upon me.”

He didn’t even have the decency to sound regretful.

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed.
You won’t have a chance to marry me, Lord Hugh, but let us see if I can’t make you sorry about that
, she thought. She drew a long breath to compose herself, and then she smiled.

Elizabeth de Beauté’s smile was dazzling, but the reserve in Hugh de Leon’s expression never changed.

“I will be remaining in Lincoln for the present, my lady,” he said to her. “We may not be betrothed, but I will be glad to serve you in any way that I can.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Elizabeth replied demurely. She fluttered her long eyelashes. “We may not be destined to be husband and wife, but I hope that we may be friends.”

He looked at her, and Elizabeth had the feeling that it was the first time he really saw her.

At last he returned her smile. “I hope so, too, my lady.”

Elizabeth did not like the way that smile made her feel.

“I understand that you are staying with Richard Canville and his father,” she said.

The reserved look descended once more. “Aye.”

“Sir Richard has been very kind to us,” Lady Sybil said.

Elizabeth looked at her hands, which held the tapestry in her lap, and said nothing.

“Richard is a wonderful man,” Hugh said with a tinge of irony. He stood up. “I do not wish to trespass on your time any further, Lady Elizabeth, Lady Sybil.” He bowed slightly. “Please accept my condolences once more and be assured that I, too, am anxious to see the true culprit brought to justice.”

“Thank you for coming to visit me, my lord,” Elizabeth said gently.

He nodded, turned, and was gone.

D
inner at the sheriff’s house that night was braised beef with parsley, onions, and raisins. The food in the house on the Strait had definitely been plain since Gervase’s cook had gone to work for Lady Elizabeth.

Alan, who had already eaten, placed the platter of beef on the table in front of Gervase and stepped to the end of the table, where he could watch all three men and see to their needs.

The Canvilles politely waited for their guest to fill his trencher first. Hugh took a small amount of beef and an even smaller serving of vegetables.

Gervase frowned. “Is that all you are going to eat? Why, that’s not enough food to keep a hound in flesh!”

“I am not very hungry, sir. This will be ample, I assure you,” Hugh replied.

Alan regarded him from under lowered lashes. Lord Hugh was paler than usual, he thought, and his eyes looked shadowed.

“Don’t pester Hugh, Father,” Richard said amiably. “He’s old enough to know how much he wants to eat.”

“Thank you, Richard,” Hugh said.

Alan felt himself tensing. Hugh’s words had been
perfectly pleasant, but something about his voice when he spoke to Richard set the squire’s teeth on edge.

Richard looked troubled.

What is the matter with Lord Hugh?
Alan thought.

He remembered what Richard had told him about how Hugh had always felt himself to be in competition with Richard when they were boys.

But they aren’t boys any longer, and for certain Lord Hugh no longer has to fear that he will be outshone
, Alan thought, remembering the arrow-shooting contest of the morning.

Meanwhile, the conversation at the table had passed to other matters.

“What was the urgent problem that took you away from us this morning?” Richard asked his father.

Gervase sighed wearily. “It was Edgar Harding. Again. The man is a constant bother.”

Richard soaked some gravy up with his white roll. “What did he want this time?”

Gervase leaned back in his chair and looked disgruntled. “He wanted to know why he wasn’t offered one of the market stalls in the Bail.”

Richard finished his well-soaked bread. “Did he bid on a stall?”

“Nay,” Gervase said. “And that is his complaint. He claims he was not made aware that they were for rent.”

“Are you speaking of Edgar Harding of Deerhurst?” Hugh asked.

Alan noticed that he had not touched any of his food.

“Is there any other?” Gervase replied ruefully. “Tell me, Hugh, did he give Ralf as much trouble as he gives me?”

“He was always rather touchy,” Hugh said. His fingers were busily shredding a roll into tiny pieces.

“There is nothing worse than a Saxon with a grudge,” Richard said. “There is nothing you can say or do to convince him that he is not being discriminated against solely because he is a Saxon. The fact that the law may be in the other person’s favor means nothing. You are ruling against him because you are Norman and he is Saxon, and he will not be convinced otherwise.”

Richard’s eyes flicked to his cup, and Alan hastily stepped forward to pour him more wine.

“Most Saxons do not have the lands or the wealth that Edgar Harding has,” Hugh said. “His grandfather was one of the few Saxons to whom King William showed favor after he conquered England.”

A memory stirred in Alan’s mind, and he frowned.

Richard noticed. “Is something wrong, Alan?”

“Nay, my lord.” Alan hesitated, then decided that since he had been asked, it might be best to bring it out. “It is just that Edgar Harding was standing next to me on the day that Lord Gilbert entered Lincoln, and he said something that was…well, strange.”

Richard’s big hands cradled his wine cup. “What was that?”

Alan said in a rush, “He called Lord Gilbert a bad name, my lord, and said that he had done injury to him. He said that there would always be bad blood between the de Beauté family and his own.”

“Injury?” Richard said. He glanced at his father. “What injury could Edgar have been speaking of?”

“He must have meant that land dispute,” Gervase said.

Hugh, who had been sitting very still, suddenly shifted in his chair.

“What land dispute?” Richard asked.

Gervase pushed his trencher away from him, signifying that he was finished. He picked up his wine cup.

“A number of years ago there was a lawsuit between the de Beautés and the Hardings over a piece of land that both claimed they owned,” he told his son. “The land in question wasn’t all that prosperous, but the point was that both families were convinced that it belonged to them. The suit went on forever, and the king himself finally ruled on it three years ago. He gave the land to Lord Gilbert.”

Hugh said, “The land had been farmed since before the conquest by dependents of the Hardings, and Edgar swore that it was granted to his ancestor by King William. But Lord Gilbert insisted that it was part of his own honor as de Beauté and took it to law. Stephen ruled in his favor.”

Alan thought that Hugh’s voice sounded strange, as if it were coming from very far away. He looked more closely at the family guest and realized that Hugh was ill.

He had eaten nothing.

Richard did not appear to notice that anything was wrong. “Why rule in de Beauté’s favor if the land had been under Harding stewardship for all those years?” he asked.

“Stephen needed Gilbert much more than he needed Edgar Harding,” Hugh said briefly.

Richard’s lips curled in a rueful smile. “Of course.”

Gervase grunted and said, “I received another interesting piece of news this afternoon.”

“What was that, Father?”

The sheriff folded his hands on the table in front of him. “The Earl of Chester is in Lincolnshire visiting his half brother, William of Roumare.”

The sudden attentiveness of the two young men alerted Alan to the importance of this piece of news.

“That is interesting indeed,” Richard said softly.

Both Richard and his father looked at Hugh.

Hugh said nothing.

Gervase said, “Is there aught we can do to help advance your cause with the king, Hugh? I would much rather have you as the new earl than William of Roumare!”

Hugh’s mouth twitched. “Thank you, sir, but that would mean my marrying Lady Elizabeth, and I have no intention of doing any such thing.”

“Didn’t you meet her today?” Gervase asked incredulously.

“Aye.” Alan noticed that Hugh scarcely moved his head when he looked at Gervase. He seemed to be trying to hold it still.

The sheriff’s tone was a mixture of amazement and exasperation. “Great heavens, lad, is she not the most beautiful girl you have ever laid eyes on?”

“She is beautiful,” Hugh agreed. “I also suspect that she is badly spoiled.”

At that, Richard laughed. “You may be right.”

Gervase said impatiently, “What the devil does that have to do with anything?”

“I didn’t like her,” Hugh said. His words were clipped and his voice still had that faraway quality.

“You don’t have to like her,” the sheriff snapped. “You just have to marry her!”

“Leave Hugh alone, Father,” Richard said softly. “He is looking exhausted.”

Hugh gave his champion a look of icy dislike.

Richard’s eyes crinkled with distress.

Gervase said, “Alan, you may serve the sweet.”

After supper, Hugh surprised the Canvilles by announcing that he was going to spend the night in Ralf’s old town house.

Gervase scowled. “Are you mad, Hugh? It is freezing out and that house has been uninhabited for over a year. Go in the morning if you want to see it, but spend the night here, where you will be warm.”

But Hugh refused to change his mind. He went to his bedroom to collect his sword, and was coming back into the solar when he heard Richard’s squire say, “I will accompany Lord Hugh if you like, my lord. He does not look well.”

Richard’s reply was impatient. “I don’t see why you should have to suffer just because Hugh has taken this ridiculous notion into his head. If he wants to spend the night freezing, let him spend it alone.”

Hugh shut his eyes for a moment. Then, moving with extreme care, he walked into the room and bid his hosts good-night.

Gervase looked annoyed.

Richard looked curious.

Alan looked worried.

It was still early evening when Hugh let himself out of the Canville house and began to make his way through the mostly deserted streets of Lincoln. Carrying an oil lamp that Gervase had provided, he went on foot, leaving Rufus to spend the night in the comfort of the sheriff’s stable.

It was not a long walk, but to Hugh it seemed endless. The headache had intensified all through supper, and now it stabbed with white-hot pain behind his left eye and up into his forehead. His stomach was unsteady, and even though he had eaten virtually no supper, he knew he was going to be sick.

He had not had a headache in over two months and was beginning to hope that he was finished with them.

He clenched his teeth and shut his left eye, and kept on through the cold, dark streets, trying not to move his head. Finally he arrived in front of a familiar door.

He had never intended to return to this house, but he simply could not bear the thought of exposing his vulnerability to Richard. And there was no other place he could go.

The town house was locked, but Hugh had brought Ralf’s keys with him. He removed the big key ring from his belt and fumbled around with his distorted vision, trying to determine which key was the right one. At last one of the keys slid into the lock and he was able to turn it and open the door.

He stepped into the hall, noting that the cold felt even more bitter indoors than it had outside. The rooms smelled the way they used to when the family returned from a visit to Keal and the house had been closed up for some months.

It was pitch dark inside, the oil lamp casting just enough light for him to make his way through the house.

The pain in Hugh’s head was agonizing. He had had headaches like this before, and he knew there was nothing to be done but to wait it out.

Walking unsteadily, he reached the narrow stairs and went up to the second floor. Blindly, instinctively, he stumbled toward his old bedroom and pushed open the door.

Hugh went immediately toward the washbasin, which was still in the same place where it had always been. He put his lamp down on the table, bent over the basin, thick with dust, and began to retch.

The violence of his nausea made the headache even more excruciating. When finally he was finished, Hugh left the basin where it was and shuffled toward the bed.

His old wool blankets were still on it. Hugh crawled in between the icy sheets and pulled the blankets up over him. The pain stabbed on, and he began to shiver with cold.

He gritted his teeth and prepared to endure.

Towards dawn the pain let up, and Hugh fell into an exhausted sleep. He awoke hours later, shivering and stiff with cold, but his head was clear. The window shutters were closed and locked, and his bedroom was dark. The room smelled of vomit.

Hugh got out of bed and went to the window to open the shutters. It was sunny outside, midmorning, and the breeze that streamed in through the open window was warmer and cleaner than the reeking frigid air in the bedroom.

Hugh stood for a moment, inhaling deeply. Then, slowly, he turned and looked at the small room revealed by the streaming sunlight.

His old bedroom. His one-time refuge.

He remembered the first night he had spent in this house. He remembered how Adela had tucked him into this very bed and bent to kiss him good-night.

Never fret, my lamb. I won’t let any more harm befall you
.

He could almost hear her voice echoing in the emptiness of the room.

Moving stiffly from the cold, Hugh went out onto the landing. For a long moment, he stood in front of the closed door that was next to his. Then, with a movement that was almost violent, he shoved it open.

The shutters were closed in here, too, the only light
being that which seeped in between the shutters and the window.

For a long moment, Hugh looked at the big bed that Ralf and Adela had shared and in which Adela had died.

Then he shut the door and almost ran down the stairs.

The solar was much smaller than the one in Gervase’s house. There was no fireplace, only a central hearth with smoke holes along the top of the wall.

Three chairs were arranged around the hearth. After Adela had died, Hugh and Ralf had left her chair in its usual place.

Slowly Hugh walked to the hearth and sat in the chair that once had belonged to Ralf. He ran his hands up and down the wooden arms. He shut his eyes, as if trying to feel his foster father’s presence.

He heard Ralf’s voice inside his head, heard him saying the words he had so often tried to impress upon Hugh.

Patience, son. That is your one great flaw—you have no patience. Not everyone is as clever as you are. You must give people time to find their own way to the conclusion you have already reached
.

The room was bitterly cold and chillingly empty. Adela and Ralf were gone.

Hugh bent his head and cried.

That same morning, Lady Elizabeth de Beauté went, as usual, to the ten o’clock mass in the Minster. As she was returning to the castle to break her fast, she and Lady Sybil were intercepted by Richard Canville.

“Lady Elizabeth,” the young knight said with a courteous bow. “Lady Sybil. Have you been to mass? May I escort you back to the castle?”

“Thank you, Sir Richard,” Lady Sybil said. “That is kind of you.”

Richard fell into step with the two women as they continued to walk across the Bail. Several men of the castle guard rode past them. They saluted Richard and looked surreptitiously at Elizabeth, who appeared not to notice.

“So, my lady,” Richard said to Elizabeth after the men had ridden by, “did you finally get to meet Lincoln’s most famous foundling?” There was a trace of amusement in his voice.

Elizabeth glanced up at Richard, who topped her by a full head. “That I did, Sir Richard,” she replied demurely. “He came to call upon me yesterday afternoon.”