Coming into the hall, he saw the innkeeper bustling, moving men from the fire and making space for Baldwin and the frozen servant. Simon could see that the knight had a look of perplexed concern, while Hugh merely wore his usual glower. But there was no mistaking the pain on his face as the beat began to thaw him, the warmth sinking into his flesh like stabs from needle-sharp darts of pure agony.

Sitting near his servant, the bailiff contemplated him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll live. I’ve been worse,” Hugh grunted.

The innkeeper returned with jugs of heated wine, setting them beside the fire to keep hot, and nodded to Hugh while pouring a mugful. To Simon he looked like a leech trying out a new quack remedy, watching intently while the servant took a gulp, then leaning forward to top up the mug before standing and walking off to see to another customer.

Baldwin took another mug, then sat with his head down, staring at the hearth, sipping every now and again at his drink like a merchant testing a new batch of wine. When Simon glanced over at him, he was surprised to see that the knight had stiffened, his eyes gazing into the distance.

“What is it?”

“I was just thinking…” He broke off as the innkeeper came back and stood near Hugh, watching him carefully as if to see whether his medicine would work or not. “Ah. I was about to call for you. Tell me, has Greencliff been ill recently?”

“Harry? No.” His eyes flitted to Hugh, clearly comparing the strong and healthy farmer with this weak-seeming servant. “He’s been fine.”

“Oh. And his friend? Stephen de la Forte? Has he been unwell?”

The man’s face was baffled as he shook his head.

“Trying to find out if Greencliff or de la Forte might have needed to go to Kyteler for something?” asked Simon with amusement as the innkeeper hurried off to serve another customer.

“It was worth a try!” said the knight. He shrugged. “But it’s no help again. Greencliff was there the day Kyteler died. He was in the lane after Oatway saw the old woman. Some other woman might have been there too, after Oatway. Apparently Greencliff was very annoyed with the old woman that afternoon, so he may have seen her, though we don’t know why. He may have had a chance to get to her.”

“But de la Forte said…”

“That they were together all afternoon? That’s true.”

“He would, wouldn’t he?” said Hugh glumly.

Simon glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“They’re close friends, aren’t they? Maybe this de la Forte knows Greencliff has done it and wants to protect him. So he told you he was with Greencliff all afternoon when he wasn’t.”

Baldwin grunted assent. “It would make sense.”

“I don’t know,” said Simon thoughtfully.

“The only other people who had a real reason to kill Kyteler were the Oatways,” Hugh continued doggedly.

“But if Kyteler was still alive after she’d been there…” Baldwin began, and was interrupted by Simon.

“Was she? We don’t know that. Grisel Oatway could have killed her. We don’t know for sure that any other person saw the witch alive afterwards. If they did, we haven’t spoken to them!”

“Witch!” muttered the knight with a brief display of disgust, then took another sip at his drink. “All right, so we cannot be certain that Oatway did not kill her. Likewise we cannot be sure that Greencliff didn’t. There appears to be another person involved somehow as well, this strange woman in a grey cloak. Oatway saw her, so did Jennie Miller. Sarah Cottey didn’t mention her, though. Who could she be?”

“There is the other side, don’t forget.” Simon gulped wine, then leaned back and sighed contentedly as he felt it heat a simmering trail in his body. “Why was she carried away from her house up to Greencliffs field?”

“Maybe Grisel Oatway admitted to her husband that she had killed their neighbour and he carried the body away to hide the fact that they’d done it?” said Baldwin.

Hugh looked up. “That’s daft,” he said flatly. Baldwin was so surprised at the contemptuous comment he could not respond, but simply stared at the servant, who suddenly seemed to realise what he had said. Flushing an embarrassed red, he quickly carried on, “What I mean is, sir, that they’re not young, the Oatways. If they were going to hide the body, why would they take it so far away? They’d dump it nearer, somewhere they knew, somewhere they knew other people wouldn’t go…”

“He’s right,” said Simon frowning. “If they had done it, they would hardly carry it so far. And, if they were trying to keep it all hidden, they wouldn’t have left the Kyteler house with blood everywhere, would they?”

The knight mused. “That’s an interesting thought. But the only conclusion must be that it’s even more likely that it was Greencliff. The body was close to his house – maybe he was intending to go and hide it somewhere he knew, but Cottey interrupted his plans? It’s possible.”

“Yes. The only reason for thinking he must be innocent was the fact that Stephen de la Forte gave him an alibi, but from what Jennie Miller said, that wasn’t true,” Simon said. “Which means he must have been lying to protect his friend.”

Chapter Twelve

In the middle of the afternoon they left Wefford and began to make their way back to the manor house at Furnshill. They had to take the journey slowly, for Hugh’s sake, but now even Baldwin did not grudge the servant his speed. It was too clear that the man was in pain.

They were home again by three, and when they arrived, Simon insisted that Hugh stay before the fire for the rest of the day, an order with which the man appeared to be well satisfied. It was the small grin of gratitude that showed the bailiff just how poorly his servant was feeling. Usually he would have expected a grimace and complaint even for such a welcome command.

Leaving him staring at the flames with a blanket over his shoulders, Simon took Margaret outside to where Baldwin stood contemplating his view. Turning, the knight pointed to the house with his chin. “How is he?”

Margaret shrugged. “He seems all right, but he’ll need to stay indoors for a while. He got very cold.”

“It was my fault,” said Simon. “I should have waited while he got his clothes, but I thought he was making excuses to avoid coming with us to Crediton.”

“It’s easy to forget how cold it is in winter,” his wife agreed. “But make sure in future that he’s got his cloak and jacket if you’re taking him with you.”

He nodded grim-faced, feeling the implied rebuke. She was right. The winter here, so close to Dartmoor, was always brutal, as he knew well. To change the subject, he said, “Did Hugh tell you what we have learned today?”

From the look on his face she knew he felt the blame for Hugh’s illness. That was only right, she thought. If they had not been quick once they realised how badly chilled Hugh was, the man could have died. Although he was the son of a moors farmer, and had himself spent much of his youth out in all weather looking after the farm’s flock of sheep, he was not indestructible. The weather here was so cold as to stop a man’s mind. It was foolish not to take the correct precautions when there was time. Now, though, there was no reason to make her husband feel any worse. As she gave a brief nod and listened to him explain about the conversation with Jennie Miller, she studied his features with frowning concentration.

“So you have three real suspects, then,” she said at last.

“Grisel Oatway, Greencliff and his woman, you mean?” said Simon.

“No, Oatway sounds as though she only really bore the old woman a grudge,” she said, frowning. “If she wanted Kyteler dead, she sounds shrewd enough to have persuaded the villagers that her neighbour was a witch, and let them do her work for her; let the mob lynch her. She doesn’t sound like she’s a killer herself.” She shot a sharp glance at Baldwin.