“I see,” said Baldwin, and lounged back, glancing at Simon.

The bailiff frowned at the table top as he thought. “Molly,” he said after a moment, “you say Peter Bruther told you he would take you away and make you free when he had the money. He had his own mine, so why didn’t you go there with him?”

“He always said it would be too dangerous, with the Beauscyrs trying to get him back. He was afraid there would be a fight.”

“You knew he had guards from the miners’ camp with him. I don’t understand. We’ve heard that the miners wanted him and the other small tinners who weren’t working for Smyth to leave the moors. Why did they agree to help him and not others? Why should his neighbor, Henry Smalhobbe, be beaten and threatened while Bruther was allowed to stay – and not just that, but was given men to protect him?”

“I don’t know, but that evening, the day when he was killed, he said there wouldn’t be a need for guards any more. He said he could start his new life, free.”

“What did he mean?”

“Something had happened the day before. He had seen Thomas Smyth, but didn’t say what they had talked about. All Peter said was, he’d soon be safe and I’d be able to leave this place and live with him. I’d be safe too, he said.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “And the next day I heard he was dead.” Suddenly her face was animated, and she hissed, “Ask that bastard Smyth what he did! Ask him; he must have killed my Peter!”

She sprang up and walked away, keeping her back to the small group of men huddled round the table. When she finally heard her name called, she glanced round just once, quickly, and saw that they had all gone.

“Hello, Molly,” said George Harang. He leaned back in his chair and grinned up at her wolfishly. “I think I’ll have a pint of ale first. Then I’d like to speak to you – alone.”

There was little talking among the four as they made their way to the great house of Thomas Smyth. At the hall they passed their horses to a groom on hearing that the master of the house was indoors, and soon they were sitting inside, while the bottler poured wine for them. In a moment Thomas Smyth arrived, striding through the door, ever the man of affairs with little time to talk, and too much to do.

“Bailiff, Sir Baldwin. Welcome again. How can I serve you?” he said, dropping into a chair.

Baldwin watched him impassively. Simon was angry that so much information had taken so much searching out; he was convinced that Thomas Smyth knew more than he liked to admit. It must be the miner’s approach to life, he thought, keeping everything to himself until he was sure it could not be used to bribe or threaten someone else to his own advantage. That was why he had not mentioned the men protecting Bruther, Simon was sure. He had seen no advantage to be gained in it. Simon meditatively sipped at his wine, then set the goblet down. “When did you first send men to protect Bruther?”

“What does it matter?” Thomas Smyth’s face still held a smile, but it was less broad than before.

Baldwin could see that the man was close to exhaustion, and he was less self-assured than at their first meeting. “It matters because the bailiff asked you the question,” he said firmly, and was rewarded by a cold stare.

“Why did you put men there in the first place?” Simon said.

“Because I did not want a miner to be taken by the Beauscyrs,” he said. “It would have been embarrassing to have a worker from the stannary taken away.”

“Eight men just for that? And at a time when you were trying to get other men removed from the same area? It was a very generous act. It would have been easier to bring Bruther to your camp – there was no need to send men all the way out there, surely?”

“It didn’t occur to me. Anyway, if I had let him go to the camp, he would have lost his mine – I couldn’t let the Beauscyrs think they had beaten a miner like that.”

Simon studied him. It made no sense, he thought, frowning. He too could see the lines of strain on Smyth’s face, and even as the bailiff spoke, the miner’s hand twisted nervously at a loose thread on his shirt. “But you wanted the men to leave that part of the moors,” he insisted. “You said so yourself. Why look after one person so extravagantly?”

“In God’s name!” The sudden outburst made them all sit up. “Why shouldn’t I look after him? He… He needed help, and I could give it, and that’s all there is to it! For God’s sake forget it and get on with finding the poor soul’s murderer, that’s what matters now!”

“We intend to, Thomas. But to do that we have to understand what sort of man Bruther was, so that we can find who had a reason to kill him. Take you, for example…”

“Me?”

“Yes. You wanted men like him and Smalhobbe off the moors. You had your three men to enforce that, as we well know…” As he spoke, Simon was aware of movement behind him, and Christine Smyth walked in. Thomas Smyth gazed at his wife as she walked to his side and rested a hand on his shoulder. “So why did you not have your men beat him up as well?” Simon persisted. “Why was he free of attack when you proceeded against his neighbors?”

“All I can say is, I had no reason to harm him, and every reason to protect him. I have told you why: because his Manor wanted him back.” He took hold of his wife’s hand.

To Simon they looked a tragic pair, she standing beside her man like a loyal servant, he staring at Simon with the lines of pain and tiredness carving tracks in his face. The bailiff sighed. If the man would not talk, he could not be forced. “Very well. Another point: you were seen riding toward Bruther’s place on the evening he died. “Why?”

The miner’s eyes slitted. “You accuse me of his murder?”

Christine Smyth tightened her grip on her husband’s shoulder. She knew he was depressed for some reason, had been since first hearing of Bruther’s death, but he would not tell her why, and she was scared. Under her palm she could feel the tenseness of his muscles, and she longed to caress him like a child as she felt the breath catch in his throat.

“No, I just want to know why you were there.”

“I wished to speak to him.”

“You already had, the day before. What did you want to talk to him about?”

“That had nothing to do with his murder.”

“Your refusal to answer seems odd in the circumstances.” Simon waited, but the miner held his gaze steadfastly. “Very well. Why did he lose his guards, then?”

“This has nothing to do with Peter’s death, and I’ll not waste time with this nonsense!”

“Well, at least tell us this: what sort of a man was he?”

“He was a strong, vigorous man. What more can I say? He struck me as an independent sort, the kind who would have done well out here, and who would have worked hard.”

“Did you know he was often involved in fighting at the inn?”

“Fighting – Peter? I find it hard to believe.”

“He had a woman there, too. One of the serving girls.” Simon said it carelessly, but he saw the faint sadness in the man’s face.

“I’m not surprised. It was how he was made, looking after others.”

Frowning, Simon glanced up at his wife. “Madam, you were out on the day that this man was killed, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was in Chagford with my daughter. And George Harang.”

“George was with you all the time?”

“Yes. Until we came home.” She could feel the tension tightening her chest like bands of iron round a barrel. “Then he had to go out with my husband to see to the mining.”

“When was that?”

“Early afternoon – when we returned.”

Simon looked at Thomas again. “And when you got back from the camp, was Bruther here? Did you see Bruther that evening?”

“No, no. Peter did not come here that day.”

“He was at the inn that afternoon, according to his girl. He came back this way afterward, to go home. He would have passed your door, and you did not see him?”