Page 44 of Lord of the Forest

“How would you know? You were not there. I nursed the man, and I say it was poison. A woman’s weapon. Was it you who gave Lancelot his ‘just desserts’?”

“Hector. His name is Hector. And I did no such thing. You can prove naught.”

There was some underhanded business here—the woman’s defensive stance, her pallor, the way she’d dropped her basket and was twisting her hands together, spoke of guilt.

The news of Lancelot’s poisoning had come as a shock, but the confidence with which she’d denied he could have been poisoned suggested she knew something.

But how could Clemence get Mistress Wentworth to talk? What would Lancelot do? Tie her up, hoist her over his shoulder and throw her in some dungeon until she confessed? Chain her to a bucket and dunk her in the nearest well?

Fury at the injustice done to Lancelot suddenly seized her. Eyes blazing, she jabbed a finger at Mistress Wentworth. “You know more of this affair than you’re prepared to admit. Let me tell you—I shall keep you here, send my man for a constable, and then make my accusation. Even if you’re innocent of the poisoning, you can be accused of making a false claim upon Hector de Glanville. Nay, don’t deny it—I see it in your face. You lied in front of a lawyer and a justice of the peace—you brought no proof, no papers, no ring. You didn’t even have a lock of your lover’s hair to substantiate your assertion.”

The woman’s eyes flickered from one side to the other. Clemence hoped she’d seen Perkin making a beeline for them, and know she had not come alone.

Mistress Wentworth’s expression soured. “You know nothing of the ways of men. What if I were to tell you he had lain with me, and promised to marry me thereafter but reneged on that promise? Every woman understands that is a heinous thing to do. Fortunately, he did not get me with child.”

Clemence repressed a shudder. It couldn’t be true. Well, it could, as Lancelot had proved himself a lusty fellow, but she refused to believe he’d abandon a woman he’d promised to wed.

“Mistress Clemence, the horses are settled. Shall you go to the jail now?” Perkin had appeared at Clemence’s elbow.

Mistress Wentworth narrowed her eyes at the boy, then glared at Clemence. “You’re going to the prison? Wherefore?”

“It is no business of thine.” Damn the youth—had he no subtlety? Clemence put up a hand, indicating he should stand a little way off while she concluded her conversation.

Leaning close, she whispered, “If you have lain with Hector de Glanville, you can tell me what he looks like naked.”

The expression on the other woman’s face would have made Clemence laugh under any other circumstance.

“What… what do you mean?” Mistress Wentworth glanced around her, her cheeks reddening.

“I mean, has he any peculiarities that would set him apart from other men?” Clemence was thinking of the scars on his back.

“None at all,” the other woman snapped. “He’s the same as most men—detestable.”

“So, Lancelot is not the only man in whose arms you’ve been.”

“That’s not what I said. Now, get you gone, Mistress Clemence Fitzpayne. This conversation bores me.”

“It proves you to be a liar. I now know how to make you perjure yourself in a court of law, and believe me, I will do it. Unless you tell me truly what brought you to the Black Bull that morning. Perkin, help the lady with her basket—she will accompany us to the prison to speak with Hector de Glanville.”

As Perkin stepped up beside her, Mistress Wentworth tensed visibly. “Hector’s in prison? I thought you said he was poisoned?”

“He recovered well. And is now indicted on a charge of murder.”

“Murder?” Mistress Wentworth shook her head in disbelief. “He said nothing about that.”

Clemence’s head snaked forward. “Who? Who said nothing about that?” But she didn’t need to voice the question—it could only be Walter de Glanville.

Suddenly, she wished she’d brought an entire mob of officials with her; wardens, the Watch, justices of the peace, constables—even her father. This woman needed to be cast into the deepest dungeon until she was prepared to talk. Lancelot’s life could depend on her testimony—if a court run by men was prepared to listen to a woman.

Well, they damned well would. She’d petition the queen if they didn’t.

The time for gentle persuasion was over. “Mistress Wentworth—you’re coming with us. I have a dagger and I’m not afraid to use it. Perkin, too, is armed, and you’re no match for both of us. You will come, and you will confess your treachery to Hector himself. He can then decide what’s to be done with you.”

The lady made no move. Having expected her to bolt like a frightened cony, Clemence was poised and ready to make a grab for her. So, she was puzzled at the woman’s lack of reaction.

“You must care for him a good deal if you’re prepared to risk starting an affray in the street.”

“I care for him more than I can say. I tell you this, so that you may be assured I’ll carry out my threat.”