Romancing Robin Hood (23 page)

‘You'll love Grace, Malc, she's pretty, bright, and totally lovely. Shall we say coffee this afternoon?'

Sensing she was being watched, Agatha twirled her swivel chair around, and beamed at Grace, ‘and here's the woman in question!' She held up a hand to indicate to Grace that Malcolm was still talking, before she finally hung up the phone.

‘Four thirty today, in the New Walk Museum cafe. OK, Grace?'

What else could Grace do but say, ‘Sure. Why not?'

Running after Sarah back to the little prison, Mathilda's blood pounded in her throat. She didn't know why she was being hurried back into confinement; the housekeeper's worried expression made it clear that it was for her own safety, not out for some malicious intent.

Once Mathilda was back inside, Sarah crouched at the door, glancing behind her nervously, her ears alert from any sound.

‘Please, Sarah …'

Shaking her head urgently, Sarah spoke fast, ‘Father Richard might be back soon, and if he learns I let you out, or indeed have done more than bought you some bread and ale, then he'd have my hide. He's been waiting for an excuse to get me out of here for years.'

‘Why?'

‘Because his brothers trust me. They haven't always done the right thing, but they believe what they are doing is the best thing. The rector just believes blindly, and his brand of justice is frankly frightening.'

‘Why do the others trust you?'

‘Because I'm merely their housekeeper, you mean?'

‘Forgive me, but yes.'

‘I brought them up, raised them from pups. All but for Richard, who was carted off to a monastery at the age of five. He never grew to know or trust me like his brothers did, and has always held the fact he was sent away against me, although his departure was none of my doing.' Sarah was getting more agitated, and Mathilda could tell the housekeeper was thinking fast. ‘Give me the dagger. It is best it was never here.'

‘What do you mean? Robert obviously thought I might need it.'

‘If the dagger wasn't here when you first arrived in the cell, then it wasn't Robert who left it. He went back to Derbyshire the moment you were imprisoned.'

Mathilda drew in a sharp breathe, ‘Do you think he believed me about Master Hugo lying about me after all? Has he gone to quiz the leatherworker?'

‘No. But I believed you, and that made Robert think.' Sarah took the dagger and wrapped it in her apron, ‘It is very important you do not have this dagger when they come to release you.'

‘Why?'

‘Because word has not long come from Derby. Robert didn't get to ask Hugo if he was telling the truth or not.'

‘Why not? What word? Who from?'

‘From Hugo's apprentice, Roger. Master Hugo was found dead just after Vespers last night.'

Grace paused, flexed her fingers, and gave in to the nagging doubts in her head about what time of day Vespers actually was. She knew that the church clock was something of a moveable feast depending on the time of year, but for the life of her she couldn't remember what time of year she'd decided to set her story; if she'd ever really thought about it in the first place.

Quickly googling the monastic calendar to check that she was right in thinking that it was about 7 o'clock in the evening. Grace told herself off for not having kept any sort of continuity notes, and promising herself she'd check to make sure that all her characters had the same colour eyes and hair at the being of her story as at the end, she read through the information on the screen.

Vespers was at seven in the evening, although that was only the case during midsummer. If her story was based in mid-winter, Vespers would be nearer 3 p.m. ‘Why the hell can't I remember what time of year I've set all this stuff in?!'

Cursing the fact she had to keep stopping and starting her story because of work, Grace became increasingly worried that her novel would read as disjointedly as it has been written.

Catching sight of the time, she reluctantly turned off the computer with a sigh. If she was going to see Malcolm, she'd have to go now. She really didn't want to offend Agatha.

Chapter Twenty-five

Grace had already counted every vertebrae of the skeleton of the Rutland Dinosaur, a
Cetiosaurus,
which majestically lorded it over the other residents of the New Walk Museum's dinosaur gallery. She'd observed the woman behind the cafe counter serve thirteen other coffees and four teas since they'd sat down an hour ago, along with three slices of carrot cake and two packets of assorted biscuits. While Grace had witnessed all of this, she had also been nodding and smiling in all the right places, as Malcolm regaled her of tales of sporting triumphs and his marketing coups at work.

It wasn't that he was boring, and with his stylish short blond hair and his classically fit physique, he was certainly an enjoyable eyeful, it was just that every sentence began with, ‘I did this' or ‘I did that' or ‘You'd never guess what I did?' Grace idly wondered if he would notice if she got up and another person sat in her seat instead.

Malcolm was also making very sure that she understood that he was a good ten years younger than she was. As Grace listened with only one ear to a blow-by-blow account of how his latest rugby match had ended in him successfully tackling someone twice his size, she vowed that if she heard one more ‘cougar' joke, then her phone was going to bring her an emergency she had to go and address straight away.

Aggie's stepson had already been sat in the cafe when Grace arrived at the museum, two minutes late due to having to change out of her wedding shoes and into her more practical flatties, so she wasn't sure how tall Malcolm was. Grace was prepared to put money on him being taller than she was. About six foot, maybe six two? As she laughed at a joke that wasn't remotely funny, Grace began to wonder if perhaps Malcolm's physique might be a good one to model the character of one of the Folville brothers around …

‘Grace? Do you?' Malcolm was looking at her as if perhaps she wasn't quite as intelligent as his stepmother had led him to believe.

‘I'm sorry Malcolm, I missed that. Do I?'

‘Want another cup of tea?'

Grace sensing her chance to escape, and eager to get back to Mathilda, she stared at her watch and sighed dramatically, ‘I'm so sorry, I hadn't realised the time. I ought to get back to work.'

‘Work? But it's nearly six o'clock? Surely you finish at five?'

Grace couldn't help but snort. ‘We don't really ever finish work, we keep going until starvation drives us from the office; and I really do need to get back to my marking and editing. Thanks for a lovely tea break, though.'

The concept of working outside of regulated office hours seemed to leave Malcolm temporarily flummoxed, but he had the good manners to escort Grace to the door of the museum. As they walked, with Malcolm cradling her elbow, Grace wasn't immune to noticing the admiring glances they got as a couple. Malcolm was getting looks of unsubtle and unadulterated lust from the women, while she found herself on the receiving end of glares of the ‘you lucky cow' nature from the same quarter.

Unsure if she was flattered or offended by the ‘how did she pull someone as good-looking as him' implication as Malcolm kissed her cheek by way of a goodbye, that when he asked Grace out to dinner the following Wednesday, she found herself saying yes, just to show the gawping onlookers that she wasn't batting out of her range. It was only when she was walking back to the university on her own that Grace realised that she'd just agreed to go on a date with a man she didn't like very much.

Daisy was furious, ‘For goodness' sake, Grace, you're with Rob now. And I mean – Malcolm! He sounds like a homicidal king from a Shakespeare play.'

Feeling the guilt that she'd been ignoring simmer under the surface of her skin, Grace explained how Agatha had backed her into the situation, and that, as she hadn't wanted to tell anyone about Rob in case it jinxed things, she'd gone along with it.

Calmer, Daisy said, ‘I get that, but why on earth did you agree to go on a dinner date with him? I mean, you did your duty, you haven't offended Agatha. You have a date at your place with Rob tomorrow night!'

‘I know. I didn't mean to.' Grace sighed, ‘Malcolm's a nice bloke and everything, but he was a bit dull. Did you know there were almost two hundred bones in a complete Cetiosaurus skeleton?'

Daisy shook her head in exasperation, ‘Are you seriously telling me that you are jeopardising the chance of a proper relationship with Rob, a man with whom you have a heap of stuff in common, and who makes you laugh, for a guy who is so dull that you ended up counting random dinosaur bones to pass the time?'

Feeling defensive as well as guilty now, Grace said, ‘It's not like I'm cheating on Rob, is it? I mean, he hasn't actually told me how we stand, or asked me out properly or anything, and anyway, I was thinking of you.'

‘Me?' Daisy was completely nonplussed as she listened in bewilderment. ‘You should have seen the looks Malcolm got from the women sat nearby. He may be a bit self-centred, but he is extremely easy on the eye.'

‘Grace, what the hell are you talking about? And what about the looks you got from the men? I bet there were loads.'

‘Not that I noticed.'

‘Were you looking?'

‘Well, no. But think about it, Daisy. Malcolm would look great in your wedding photos. Should I ask him to come with me? I must admit, I'm a bit nervous about coming on my own.'

‘What on earth are you talking about now?' Daisy clattered down the cup she'd been drinking from, and spoke very clearly down the line. ‘It's
my
wedding, you're
my
best friend Grace, and I want you to be there with someone you actually like. And you don't like Malcolm, do you?'

‘He's all right.'

‘Grace?'

‘OK, he's a self-obsessed ego manic – but he is a very handsome one. Your photos would be …'

‘I don't care if he's a dead ringer for Ryan Reynolds! I don't want to look back at my wedding album in ten years' time to remember the only day you ever got to be gorgeous in Lincoln Green with the wrong man stood next to you. Why isn't Rob coming with you?'

‘I haven't asked him,' Grace knew she as being ridiculous, and that it was all due to feeling guilty for having coffee with Malcolm, and not being sensible enough to back out of the dinner date the second it had been made. ‘But like I said, I don't really know where Rob and I stand.'

‘Oh for goodness' sake, Grace! You aren't half thick for a clever person.' Slipping her new heels back onto her feet, Grace sat at her office desk, pleased the shoes didn't feel quite as alien as they had when she'd first put them on.

She'd already poked her head around the administrators' office door to ask Aggie for Malcolm's phone number so she could cry off their non-date, but the secretary had gone home. Cursing herself for always trying to please all of the people all of the time, and usually messing everything up in the process, Grace looked up at the reassuring presence of her Robin Hood paraphernalia all over the walls and bookshelves. Why was she bothering with this dating lark? She already had someone who'd never cheat on her, would always be there at the touch of her DVD player, and could therefore never let her down.

Trying to drown out the contradictory voice at the back of her head, which was sternly telling her that mythical men wouldn't ever keep her warm at night, and a feeling of a resignation that her desire not to offend Aggie might have already messed up any chance she'd had with Rob, Grace decided to lose herself in fourteenth-century England. After all, no one could hurt her there.

Mathilda's heart was racing as she thought over everything Sarah had told her before she'd relocked the cell door and rushed back to her kitchen duties. If she'd believed herself to be in a dangerous situation before, that was nothing compared to the position Mathilda found herself in now.

The information the leatherworker's lad had imparted to the Folville's stable boy was sparse.

Master Hugo of Derby had been found stabbed in the wooded ditch that ran to the north side of Twyford, only a short distance from the workshop that belonged to Mathilda's father, just as the bells for the call to Vespers had rung across the countryside.

Sarah had kept talking, but there had been no need for her to spell out the situation. Mathilda's head was already buzzing with the implications, not to mention the conclusions the sheriff and his bailiff would jump to.

Hugo was a known associate of the Folvilles. Her father, Bertred, not only owed the Folvilles money, but owned the workshop nearest to the place where the body was discovered. On top of that, both she and her brother Oswin of Twyford had not been seen around the family home for a few days, instantly making them suspects.

To make things even worse, someone had left a dagger in her prison. A dagger that Mathilda now had no doubt had been placed there to implicate her.

She wondered what Sarah had done with the weapon she'd hurriedly removed from the cell, and what she'd say if questioned by the authorities. Sarah had promised Mathilda that she would not mention she'd been let out of her prison to help with making the beds; but Mathilda knew well that if a heavy handed method of inquisition was used against the housekeeper, she might not be able to keep that promise, however genuine it had been at the time.

It seemed odd to recall how hostile Sarah had been to her on arrival in the Folville home only days ago. Forcing herself to drink the broth that Sarah had bought her, Mathilda took comfort from the one piece of welcome news Sarah had also given her alongside all the extra worry.

As soon as word of the murder had reached her ears, Sarah had experienced similar fears to Mathilda's, and had sent her kitchen hand Allward to creep carefully up to Mathilda's Twyford home in order to check on the wellbeing of her father and Matthew.