Once through, Simon rode for the house at a loping speed, half canter, half trot, without even glancing behind to see if the others were following. Indeed, he was not sure that they were until he drew up to the little tower that housed the main door and heard the chuckling of his friend. Even Edgar seemed amused, but when the bailiffs glowering countenance shot towards him, the servant appeared to be busily concentrating on the parcel tied behind him on the saddle. Even so, Simon was sure he caught a brief, dry chortle as he turned away.

After hammering on the door, Simon turned and glared at the white landscape. To his disgust, it began to snow again, a thin and fine drizzle of particles as fine but as dry and stolid as ash. It was like watching a rain of flour.

“We had better be quick,” said Baldwin as he approached, his eyes cast upward at the leaden sky. “If this gets worse, and it looks as if it might, we could get stuck here for days.”

Simon grunted, but just then he heard the latch being pulled, and they turned to see a young servant girl. “Ah, good. We’re here to see your master, is he…?” He paused as the girl started, a fist rising to her mouth as she stared at him from terrified eyes. “What is it, girl?”

“The master, sir. He’s disappeared. We don’t know where he is!”

She led the way inside. The stone-flagged screens beyond the door were long, reaching all the way to the other side of the house where another door gave out to the stable area and outbuildings. To their left were three doors, and when Simon peered in, he could see that the first led to the buttery. The others must lead to the pantry and kitchen. On the right were the two doors to the hall itself.

Entering, Simon was awed by the magnificence of the great room. It was vast for a family home, nearly as big as the hall in Tiverton castle, with a high ceiling above and stone pillars supporting it, very like the church at Crediton. Benches and tables lined the walls, leaving a central aisle to the dais. Simon could not help but study the rich-looking tapestries on the walls and the immense fireplace. It roared with massive logs that in his own house would have had to have been shortened and split. Glancing round, he saw that behind him the screens had a rail at the top, and to one side there was a staircase for musicians, so that the master and his lady could hear singing and playing while they sat to eat.

Clearly, this was a house where the old traditions still held sway. On the dais at the far end, the master’s table stood, with platters and mugs spread over its surface. The family still ate in the hall with their servants and friends, then, not like so many masters and the ladies who went to eat alone in their solar behind the dais.

But as he and Baldwin marched across the floor, Edgar striding respectfully behind, it was not the hall itself that commanded their attention, but the solitary figure sitting alone on the chair just before the dais. The slim figure of a young woman dressed in blue.

This was the first time that Baldwin had met the lady, and he studied her at first with a calm and studied indifference, noting her dress and deportment. She could only be in her early twenties. Her hair was deepest black, shining blue as the light caught it, and was hung over each shoulder in braids as thick as her wrists. The heavy tunic looked as though it must be woollen, and had four decorative gilt clasps at the breast. But it was not her clothing that caught his eye, it was her. She was almost painfully beautiful.

The face was an oval with high and elegant cheekbones, above which her green eyes slanted slightly down to her nose. The eyebrows were matching bows of black. Her nose was thin and straight and under the delicate nostrils was a voluptuous mouth whose lips pouted invitingly. Slim and elegant, confident and proud, she sat with her hands upon the arms of the chair and appeared to be subjecting them to a close scrutiny.

She rose languorously as they walked towards her, as if weary from lack of sleep, then turned to her servant, who hesitantly explained who they were. Baldwin watched her carefully as the maid spoke, but apart from a swift glance from her splendid green eyes, he could not see any particular reaction to the news that the Keeper of the King’s Peace had arrived. Was it his imagination, or were the eyes a little red-rimmed?

“Gentlemen, you are welcome. Please be seated at the fire and accept our hospitality.” Her voice was soft and low, and the gentle motion with her hand towards the flame was so graceful and ingenuous that he found himself turn to the hearth as if all will had left him. And he rather liked the sensation.

Walking slowly, he followed Simon to a trestle by the fire, and stood waiting for her to join them. Closer to her now, he could see that she had a smooth skin, tinted a warm dusky colour. As she sat he could not help but float his eyes over her figure, from the slender neck to the swelling of her breasts under her tunic, and on down to the narrowness of her waist and widening of her hips. He brought his eyes back to her face as quickly as he could, but he could see in her measuring gaze that she had noticed his inspection, although not apparently with displeasure. Her mouth twitched, as if she was close to smiling at him. But then her face turned inquiringly to Simon.

He began hesitantly, staring at his lap. “Madam, I am sorry to have arrived like this, it must be difficult for you. Your maid said that your husband is missing.”

“Yes,” she said, and sighed. “He left the house late last night, and when we awoke this morning, he was gone.”

“His horse…?”

“In the stables. That is what is so surprising…” Her voice trailed off as she frowned at the fire.

Baldwin said, “Has he ever disappeared like this before?”

“No. Never in the five years I have been married to him, never has he done this before.”

“Has anything happened recently to make him go?”

She hesitated a little, then flashed him a quick look, which he could not fathom. “No.”

Simon coughed and sighed. “It may be lucky that he has gone for now,” he said, shooting a nervous glance at Baldwin as if looking for confirmation that this was the right time to broach the subject. The knight gave a slight shrug of indifference. “Madam, we came here to speak to you, not your husband.”

“Me?” Her surprise appeared genuine. “But why?”

“Madam…” He broke off again, looking to Baldwin for support. “This is very difficult…”

Baldwin smiled at her as he leaned forward, his eyes intense. “Mrs. Trevellyn. I am sorry to have to ask this, but we are investigating the murder of Agatha Kyteler.” He was sure that she startled at the name. “And we must know what you were doing at her house on the day she died.”

“At her house?” She seemed to be considering whether to deny having been there, so to prevent her lying, Baldwin quickly interrupted.

“Yes, madam. You were seen at the lane going towards the old woman’s house, you were seen trying to hide. You are a little too distinctive to be able to hide from the people of the village.” She inclined her head to this, as if accepting it as a compliment and, to Baldwin’s annoyance, he was not sure that he had not intended it to be. “Your horse was seen there too. With Harold Greencliff.”

“Ah! It seems that you know I was there anyway.”

“Yes, madam. But we don’t yet know why. That is what we would like you to tell us now.”

She held his gaze, and there was defiance there. “I was there to buy a potion. I had felt ill for some days. I saw her on Saturday to ask for this potion, and she told me to return when she had been able to collect the right elements to make it. That was Tuesday.” ‘Why did you hide?“ asked Simon, his face frowning.

“Hide?”

“Yes. When people came along the lane, you hid in the trees. Why?”