“Well, Mistress Cecily, I am afraid you may not. It is not permitted.”
“I know the rules well enough. Relations can go through your doors.”
“Yes, mothers and sisters may.” Ralph saw with relief that they had almost returned to the gate of the hospital. Soon he would be able to leave this woman behind and return to his work. Her next words halted him in his tracks.
“What about wives?”
He gaped. She raised an eyebrow and cocked her head.
“I…but this is quite impossible!” he stammered.
“Am I so undesirable, Brother?” she murmured.
“You intentionally misinterpret my thoughts, Mistress! It is still not possible for you to enter.”
“But why? I thought that the wife of a man could not be separated from him.”
He sighed. That was the drift of the law as it related to normal men and women, it was true, but a leper’s wife was different. The leper, once consigned to his doom, had been declared dead. His will had been executed on his entrance to the leper house.
“If you were married to him,” he tried to explain, “you are now legally his widow. You can have no claim on him, just as he can have no hold on you. You should find yourself a new man, someone who’s untainted.”
“Brother, I love him. Who are you to tell me I should leave him alone now? He is sick, and I can comfort him better than any other.”
“But you have no rights with him any more. He is no longer your husband.”
“Brother,” she said coldly, and turned to face him. He could see the anger bubbling beneath her calm exterior. “He is my husband. Your church married us before God, and here, before God, I affirm my love for him. If he is to be nursed until his death, I, his wife, shall be at his side. I demand the right to join him in your hospital.”
Jack watched the two argue with disgust. It was appalling! That a young woman, perfectly healthy and attractive, and wealthy enough as well, could actually want to go and stay with the perverts and sinners in the hospital was grossly offensive. A good, normal girl like Cecily should want to spend her time with strong, rich men. The smith couldn’t quite consider himself a suitable mate for her, as the gulf in their status was too broad, but he was clear in his own mind that he was significantly better for her than any leper.
He marched back to the town. His abhorrence of what he had heard lent speed to his feet. It was only as he came to the eastern outskirts that he slowed, an idea striking him with sudden force.
It was impossible that any woman could want to sleep with a leper. Such a thing was ridiculous, and yet here in Crediton, two women, both of them attractive enough, appeared to want to do just that. Jack knew he wasn’t stupid: there must be some reason why these two wanted to go into the hospital. Love he could discount. He couldn’t believe that any woman could of her own free will choose a diseased and defiled creature like a leper as the focus of her love. There must be another reason.
The lepers themselves must be practicing some form of black art on the women of the town. 24
S imon took the hill from Crediton at a canter, Baldwin and Edgar at his side. It was a relief to be leaving the town behind them, and this was the first time in his life Simon had ever been glad to leave the town he knew so well.
He found himself considering this. The town itself hadn’t changed that much, he thought. He had left it some four years ago when he was given the job of bailiff of Lydford Castle, and before then he had always looked on Crediton as a bustling large town, infinitely bigger than Sandford, the small village where he was born, but still somehow comforting. Yet now he was pleased to be leaving it.
In part, he thought, it had something to do with his growing used to the space of Dartmoor. The rolling moorland held a fascination for him. It looked as though it had been blighted in some powerful battle between God and the Devil, with its withered bushes, the curious trees by the stream called Wistman’s Wood, where the oaks grew stunted, none of them reaching a height of more than a few feet. And then there were the swamplands, from where issued the awful cries of ponies and sheep as they struggled to free themselves from being sucked into the mire. It gave an impression of strength, of barren power, such as he had never felt before.
In contrast, Crediton now made him feel a little claustrophobic. It was so busy always, with people rushing about trying to make a living. On the moors, a few men fought with the ground to make it yield up its riches, digging and smelting the tin and the lead, or cutting the peat, but their numbers were so small compared with Crediton that when he rode out he could imagine himself alone, with no other man for miles around. On the moors it was possible to ride for hours and see no one. In Crediton a man could not avoid other people.
But it was more than simply this, he told himself. Crediton felt as if it had changed. The senseless murder of Godfrey had poisoned his feelings about the town more than he would have expected.
Simon Puttock had seen enough dead men to know that he was not simply struck by the unfairness of a man losing his life, nor by the apparent pointlessness of Godfrey’s end. No, it was more the fact that no one appeared to mourn Godfrey. His daughter, although she demonstrated the dutiful sadness of a child for her father’s death, was withholding things-of that Simon now had no doubt. The man’s servant, Putthe, who should have been loyal even to death, had also kept things to himself. In fact, the only person who appeared to regret his loss was that strange woman Martha Coffyn, and she was only the man’s mistress in an adulterous relationship.
“Thinking it all through again?” Baldwin asked.
“Was it that obvious?”
“Only when you sighed so loud! Godfrey’s passing would not seem to have caused anyone a great deal of pain, would it?”
“That’s just what I was thinking. The only real affection for him came from Coffyn’s wife, and that’s hardly a suitable love. I suppose it’s hard to say it, but would anyone be happy to know that the only mourner at his funeral would be a slut?”
Baldwin threw him a curious look. “Probably not, but I suppose I’d be more glad to have even one whore regret my passing than no one at all.”
“I expect you’re right,” Simon agreed. “All I can say is, I thank God that I have a wife and daughter to mourn me when I pass.”
“Yes, you are lucky.”
“Baldwin, I’m sorry. I know you crave the company of a wife.”
The knight gave a dry grin. “There is no harm in being proud of your wife, Simon. Any man could be proud of a woman like Margaret. And the same is true for Edith. She is a daughter any man would be pleased to call his own.”
“Yes. I am fortunate,” said Simon complacently. Then he pursed his lips and whistled, low and mournfully.
“All right, Simon. What is it?”
“What do you mean?” the bailiff asked.
“Why have you adopted that innocent demeanor? Why are you whistling like a slow wind soughing through the trees? In short, spit it out, whatever it is!”
“Baldwin, I really don’t know what you’re on about. All I was thinking was, what a pleasant woman Jeanne de Liddinstone is.”
“Oh, good God!”
“She’s good at sewing, too,” Simon mused, casting an approving eye over the knight’s new tunic.
“Hmm. Yes, she was most kind to make it for me,” said Baldwin, unconsciously fingering the embroidery at his neck.
“In fact, I should think you are a very lucky man,” Simon said judiciously.
“Simon…” Baldwin paused. It was hard to broach such a topic even with his closest friend, especially when he knew his servant was listening to every word. But Edgar had been his servant for so many years, it would have been unthinkable to send him away, and he knew in his heart of hearts he could trust Simon completely. “Simon, what would you do in my position?”
“Me? I’d marry her tomorrow. If you really love her, I mean, and certainly your expression when she appears seems to bear out that construction. Anyway, her lands are good, she’s beautiful, and her needlework is excellent.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“Oh well, if you’re asking the best way to propose…”
“Simon, do you intend to be the most exasperating man alive, or is it just a skill you were born with? I mean, how in God’s name can I get rid of that damned gorgon who masquerades as a maid? What can I do about Emma?”
“Ah, now there you have me. I’ve never had that specific problem before myself. I’ll tell you who you should ask about her, though, and that is Meg.”
“Your wife?”