Simon Beaufort - Deadly Inheritance

• Название: Deadly Inheritance
• Автор: Simon Beaufort
• Жанр: Исторический детектив

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‘And what was that?’ asked Geoffrey patiently.

Giffard took a shuddering breath. ‘I summoned them from Normandy as soon as I heard about Sibylla. But it will not be long before people realize that Agnes’ husband died last July and Sibylla died less than a month ago.’

Geoffrey had no idea what he was talking about. ‘Who is Sibylla?’

‘Sibylla de Conversano. The Duchess.’ Giffard turned an anguished face to Geoffrey. ‘I fear she was poisoned.’

Geoffrey was bemused by Giffard’s confidences. ‘The Duke of Normandy’s wife? But I heard she died from complications following childbirth.’

‘I have tried to crush the gossip,’ said Giffard. ‘But it is common knowledge that Agnes dallied with the Duke during Sibylla’s confinement.’

‘You think Agnes murdered Sibylla?’ asked Geoffrey, trying to follow what Giffard was saying. ‘So she could continue to frolic with the Duke?’

‘Worse. I think she killed Sibylla – and perhaps my brother, her husband, too – so she could marry the Duke, and rule Normandy with him.’

‘Then you thwarted her,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Agnes is here, and the Duke is in Normandy.’

‘That is not the point,’ snapped Giffard. ‘I fear evil deeds, and Sibylla was a beautiful and intelligent lady. Normandy is a poorer place without her careful hand on the Duke’s shoulder and, if someone did kill her, then a great wrong has been perpetrated.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But it is only a matter of time before our King – whom you serve – invades Normandy. He will be delighted that the Duke no longer has Sibylla at his side.’

‘But it is murder!’ whispered Giffard, turning haunted eyes on Geoffrey. ‘I knew Sibylla, and she was remarkable. I see her in my dreams, and hear her calling to me for vengeance. I need to know the truth: did Agnes and her brat poison Sibylla, or was her death due to tragic illness?’

‘You may not like what you find,’ warned Geoffrey. ‘And what if they did kill her? Will you tell Henry? He admires initiative, and might employ them to do it again.’

Giffard was aghast. ‘How can you say such things?’

‘I am being practical. You want to be told that Agnes and Walter are innocent. But you must accept the possibility that you will learn otherwise. And you should consider what you would do with such knowledge. If you think your dreams are haunted by Sibylla’s cries for vengeance now, imagine what they will be like if you discover your family is responsible.’

‘So, what should I do?’ Giffard’s face was anguished.

‘Marry Agnes to a man who will keep her in a remote manor. Or place her in a convent. You must know some trustworthy abbesses. But we are assuming she is guilty. What evidence is there?’

‘None,’ admitted Giffard. ‘Just the fact that she dallied with the Duke when Sibylla was in confinement, and that Sibylla was conveniently dead a few days before that confinement was due to end. And my brother’s death was very timely, too. He died the very week that this lustful liaison between the Duke and Agnes began.’

‘That is nothing but a set of coincidences – and there is certainly nothing to implicate Walter.’

‘You think I should ignore that my brother might have been murdered by his wife and son?’ cried Giffard. ‘Ignore that, buoyed by their success, they then struck at Sibylla? And ignore that their selfish actions have caused immeasurable damage to Normandy, because its one sane voice is stilled forever?’

Geoffrey accepted his point, but did not think much could be done to rectify such wrongs. ‘I do not see what else you can do.’

Giffard turned on Geoffrey, and the knight saw anger in his eyes. He had never seen the prelate so disturbed. ‘Your brother was killed. Will you look the other way and pretend it did not happen?’

‘No,’ admitted Geoffrey.

‘Nor I. I want the truth, Geoffrey, and I want you to find it.’

Geoffrey did not see how he could oblige, and attempted to convey this to Giffard. Duchess Sibylla had died in Normandy, and he could hardly travel there and start asking questions in the Duke’s household.

‘Then you must make do with who is here,’ argued Giffard. ‘Agnes and Walter did not travel alone – a number of people were in Normandy when Sibylla died, and many of them have come to meet the King. That is how I was able to order Agnes and Walter home without arousing suspicion.’

‘Who?’

‘Eleanor de Bicanofre, for one. She went to be inspected by a Normandy knight as a possible bride, but she is back, so the man obviously did not take her. Her brother Ralph accompanied her. Then there was Abbot Serlo, who had business in Rouen. Also Baderon and his children: Hilde and Hugh. And fitzNorman and his sister Margaret.’

Geoffrey’s head was spinning. ‘All these people went to Normandy?’

‘Will you help me?’ asked Giffard desperately. ‘If you do not, I shall have to do it myself, but I do not know how.’

‘I cannot – I have no authority to interrogate these people. Besides, I must investigate my own brother’s death, and I cannot ask too many questions. Some of the people you mentioned are on my list of suspects for his death, too.’

‘All I want to know is whether Walter had a hand in Sibylla’s death,’ said Giffard. ‘I believe Agnes is guilty, but I need to know about him. He will come of age soon and, although Earl of Buckingham is not the richest title, he may use it to become powerful. I do not want him to be another Belleme.’

‘He will not,’ said Geoffrey, not believing Walter to have the strength of personality to become a despot.

‘I must know,’ insisted Giffard, almost tearful. ‘How can I be consecrated when my conscience is troubled by such dark family affairs?’

The two men stared at the throng in the yard below. Agnes moved away from fitzNorman and smiled at Baderon, who bowed. Walter followed her closely, watching with a face Geoffrey found difficult to read. Had he encouraged Agnes to poison the Duchess? Geoffrey thought about the boy’s clumsy Italian and confident swagger. He was certainly imbued with a sense of his own importance, and might well believe himself a cunning manipulator.

‘I did not sleep last night,’ said Giffard eventually. ‘I should rest, or I might doze off during an audience with the King. We shall talk again this evening.’

While Giffard slept, Geoffrey paced. He longed to be out riding, but was loath to quit the room, as he was almost certain to meet someone who wanted to fight him, marry him or demand a favour. He sent Bale for ale, and the squire returned with Isabel in tow. She sat in the window and talked about her father in terms that did not coincide with Geoffrey’s impressions.

‘You do not believe me.’ She was whispering, so as not to disturb the dozing Bishop. ‘I can tell.’

‘I do not know him well enough to say,’ he replied honestly. ‘I am sure he has his virtues.’

‘He has not forced me into a marriage that would make me unhappy. Nor Margaret. She is a wealthy widow, and it would be advantageous to use her, but he stays his hand. You should consider her, though – she is better than the others on offer. Hilde would bully you, Douce is stupid, Corwenna would flay you with her tongue and Eleanor . . . well, you know about Eleanor.’

‘She is poor,’ said Geoffrey.

‘Well, there is that, but I was thinking about her other drawbacks.’ Isabel gave a deep, sad sigh. ‘If Ralph continues to refuse me, I shall ask Abbot Serlo to make me a nun.’

‘Give yourself time before you take such a drastic step,’ advised Geoffrey, thinking Ralph was a fool to be put off such a dignified and generous bride. ‘Convents are not pleasant for those there for the wrong reasons.’

They both looked up as Margaret tapped on the door. ‘Your father wants you, Isabel,’ she murmured. ‘Do not linger or he will jump to the wrong conclusion.’

Geoffrey wondered what conclusion that might be. That Isabel had made her choice regarding husbands, and it was not Ralph? That Geoffrey had taken over where Henry had left off, and was having another go at impregnating a fitzNorman? Obediently, Isabel slipped away, leaving Geoffrey with Margaret.

‘I am sorry I did not warn you that the King had arrived,’ Margaret whispered. ‘My first thought when I saw him was that you would want to escape, but there was no time. He was not expected so soon, and his arrival threw everyone into confusion. He asked who was here, and your name was mentioned before I could tell my brother to leave it out.’

‘You would have misled the King on my account?’

She smiled. ‘You are transpiring to be a good friend – you are gentle with Isabel, for a start. I understand she told you about her misguided attempt to save Ralph.’

‘It is a pity you were not here to stop her,’ remarked Geoffrey.

Margaret agreed. ‘I was appalled when she told me. The pity is that it was all for nothing: she lost the child anyway.’

They were silent for a while, with only Giffard’s deep breathing accompanying their thoughts.

‘Your bishop sleeps well,’ remarked Margaret.

‘He has a clear conscience. He spent last night in prayer.’

‘If only his family were like him. His nephew is a stupid peacock who thinks only of fine clothes, while his sister-in-law seems determined to bed every man she meets.’

‘You speak very bluntly.’ Geoffrey was interested in Margaret’s astute insights. ‘I understand she is a recent widow.’

‘Last July. Then she set her sights on the Duke, and she was not pleased to be dragged away by Bishop Giffard’s summons.’

‘I thought the Duke was in love with Sibylla. Why would he be interested in Agnes?’

‘Agnes has a way that makes men helpless. She smiles and they flock to carry out her every whim. I am fond of the Duke, but he is like wet clay in her hands.’

‘I imagine she is looking for another husband, now that her first is dead,’ probed Geoffrey. ‘Would the Duke be interested?’

Margaret gave a mirthless laugh. ‘He will never marry her, no matter how able she is in the adulterer’s bed. He does not have the time, for a start, what with all his wars and troubles.’

‘You may know that,’ said Geoffrey. ‘But does she?’

Margaret regarded him with surprise. ‘I did not think you were the kind of man to gossip.’

‘I am not,’ said Geoffrey. He glanced at Giffard, resenting being obliged to be. ‘Not usually.’

‘I suppose Agnes might make you a suitable wife,’ said Margaret, misunderstanding him. ‘She is beautiful, although you would be hard-pressed to keep a clean marriage bed. Perhaps she is looking for a husband. She is not stupid, and perhaps she has realized the Duke will never have her. There is, after all, a tale that says he suspects Agnes of sending Sibylla to an early grave.’

Geoffrey looked out the window. ‘Do you think Sibylla was poisoned? And Agnes is the culprit?’

‘There have been whispers to that effect. However, while I am unfamiliar with poisons, there was no retching or violent sickness during her demise. Sibylla slipped quietly away, in view of a roomful of people.’

‘Did Agnes give the Duchess anything to eat or drink?’

‘Just one thing,’ said Margaret. ‘A dish of dried yellow plums – about a week before she died.’

Geoffrey wandered into the yard, eventually leaning over a gate to stare at the pigs, while thinking about the Duchess and wondering how Giffard expected him to assess whether Agnes and Walter were responsible when the crime – if there was a crime – had happened so far away. He looked up as someone came towards him. It was Baderon.

‘This is hardly a conducive spot for repose,’ said the Lord of Monmouth, eyeing the pigs in distaste. ‘Most men would be watching horses – or, if they want to attract female company, newborn lambs. But perhaps that is why you chose pigs: you want solitude?’

‘I did not think about it,’ replied Geoffrey.

‘I will come to the point,’ said Baderon, standing closer and lowering his voice. ‘Goodrich and its estates are small, but they command the ford over the Wye. You do not need me to tell you that the alliance your family will forge when you marry is important to the security of the area.’

‘No,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘I do not need you to tell me that.’

Baderon pursed his lips. ‘The King wants peace. Therefore, I must want it, too, and I am willing to offer Hilde and a large dowry to secure it. She is a fine woman and will bear strong sons. I find haggling distasteful – as must you – but we have no choice. Your brother was prepared to listen.’

‘Was he?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘I thought he wanted Isabel.’

Baderon nodded. ‘But he and I had other irons in the fire.’

Geoffrey was intrigued. ‘What irons?’

But Baderon was not to be drawn. ‘They are irrelevant now. Will you consider my offer?’

‘Will Hilde?’

‘She is a practical woman.’

‘Do you have land in Normandy?’ asked Geoffrey, wanting to bring the subject around to Giffard’s problem, and to ask Baderon what he knew about Agnes and the Duchess.

Baderon scratched his head. ‘Well, there is a manor near Rouen you could have, I suppose, but I am not sure it would be worth your trouble. Normandy is unsettled, and you would find yourself obliged to be there more than it warrants.’

Geoffrey laughed, amused that his attempt to change the subject had led Baderon to think he was angling for a better bargain. ‘I was not asking for land – I barely know how to manage what I have. I wondered whether you were in Normandy when the Duchess died.’

Baderon was transparently relieved that Geoffrey’s enquiry was only about distant politics. ‘It was a dreadful day when Sibylla passed away. She was sensible and courageous.’

‘How did she die?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘I heard it was a sickness following the birth of her son.’

‘Her physicians say so, but there is a rumour she was poisoned. Yet such tales always circulate when a good person dies young.’

‘I have heard the Duke had a mistress,’ said Geoffrey, heartily cursing Giffard for making him assume the role of gossip. ‘Could she have harmed Sibylla?’

‘Agnes?’ asked Baderon, startled. ‘I would not think so. She was all care and concern when the Duchess took a turn for the worse. She even ordered dried plums, at great expense, to tempt Sibylla’s appetite and make her stronger. I doubt Agnes would have harmed Sibylla. But we are moving away from my original question: will you consider my offer of Hilde?’

‘I will mention it to Joan,’ hedged Geoffrey.