A Head for Poisoning by Simon Beaufort

Author:Simon Beaufort [Simon Beaufort]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2015-09-28T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

If Geoffrey had not felt so dreadful, he would have laughed at the expressions on the faces of his brothers and sister. All went from shocked disbelief to cold fury within the space of a few moments.

“But we have seen this new will,” said Walter, the first to recover himself sufficiently to speak. “It says that Godric has bequeathed everything to Geoffrey.”

“To Godfrey,” corrected Stephen. “In the service of the Duke of Normandy.”

The Earl raised querying eyebrows. “And who might this Godfrey be?”

“There is no such man,” said Stephen. “It—”

“Then this other will is of no consequence,” said the Earl dismissively “And it is quite irrelevant, anyway.” He snapped his fingers and his fat priest hurried forward. “Here is the will Godric made in my presence, citing me as sole beneficiary. Would you like to read it?”

“Geoffrey will,” said Walter, stepping forward and snatching the parchment from the fat priest’s damp fingers. He thrust it at Geoffrey, and everyone waited. Geoffrey tried to make the black lines on the parchment stay still long enough for him to read them, but they wriggled and swirled and threatened to make him sick.

“I cannot,” he said, dropping his head back onto his arms, and letting the parchment flutter to the ground. Walter retrieved it, and turned it this way and that helplessly.

“I thought he was literate,” said the Earl, turning to Joan in surprise. “You told me that he could read and write in several languages.”

“Enide always said he could,” said Bertrada, “although I never saw any evidence of it myself. Perhaps he has been deceiving us all these years.”

“Just like he has deceived us by hiring Ine to poison Godric,” said Stephen bitterly.

“Are you accusing him of hiring a poisoner as well as stabbing Godric?” asked the Earl sternly. “I thought I had just told you that I do not appreciate people trying to mislead me. If you have evidence for your charges, then let me see it. If not, you will desist from your wild accusations.”

Stephen was the first to look away from the Earl’s piercing gaze.

“I have no evidence,” he admitted. “But I have my suspicions. Geoffrey is a liar—you just saw that he cannot read when he has always pretended to us that he can. And he returned to Goodrich solely so that he could claim to be this Godfrey in the service of the Duke of Normandy.”

“Of course he can read,” snapped Joan. “Show them, Geoffrey!”

“Geoffrey thought he was this mythical Godfrey, did he?” asked the Earl, ignoring her. “Well, it does not matter that he cannot read for you. Your clerk will do that later. The will you hold is a copy, by the way: the original is safely in Shrewsbury. Now, I am sure you will not be so rash, nor so ungrateful for my protection all these years, as to hurt my feelings by contesting the will?”

“But what will we do?” asked Bertrada in a small voice. “Where will we go?”

“To Rwirdin, I suppose, if Sir Geoffrey will have you there,” said the Earl.

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