The Goldsmith's Daughter

Twelve

‘Do you know of such an enemy?’ I asked after a few moments, when Isolda’s last words had had time to sink in.

She shook her head. ‘No, although it’s not for want of thinking about it. But no particular person springs to mind. Of course, it would be foolish to presume that Gideon and I were loved, or even liked, by all our acquaintances, or even by all those who professed themselves to be our friends. Yet I’m unable to think of a single soul who would wish either of us so ill that he or she would be prepared to tell a lie that could result in so much distress and misery.’

‘Nevertheless, somebody did just that.’

She sat forward in her chair, stretching her back as though it were aching. ‘I know,’ she answered quietly. ‘That’s what I find so frightening.’

‘And your husband never mentioned this accusation to you? Did you indeed know nothing of it until after Master Bonifant’s death?’

‘Gideon never said a word to me. Had he done so, I should have been able to refute the accusation. And I hope that I should have been able to set his mind at rest.’ She shivered and held out her hands to the blaze. ‘That’s what disturbs me most, Master Chapman, that he seems to have had such belief in this tale, accepted it so readily, that he never even asked me to prove my innocence.’

I nodded sympathetically. If she were telling the truth, this omission of Gideon’s did appear odd, to say the least of it. But was she telling the truth? I had only her word for what had passed between herself and her husband. I should never now hear his side of the story.

‘What did you do that evening,’ I asked, ‘when you had changed your gown?’

‘I came downstairs, naturally, to this room, to join in the celebration.’

‘And who was here when you entered?’

‘Everyone — except Meg, of course. She was still down in the kitchen.’ Isolda ticked off the assembled company on her fingers, screwing up her eyes a little as she once more conjured up the scene in her mind. ‘My father, Mistress Perle, Gregory and Ginèvre Napier, both my cousins and, of course, Gideon. Oh yes, and our apprentice, Tobias Maybury,’ she added on a faint note of surprise. ‘I recall wondering at the time why he was present.’

‘Shouldn’t he have been?’

‘If it had been a normal mealtime, with just the family, yes. He always eats with us. But not when we entertain. Then he has his food downstairs in the kitchen, with Meg. And I remember now. .’

‘Go on,’ I urged as her voice tailed away into silence. ‘What do you remember?’

‘Oh, it probably means nothing,’ she protested, ‘but it occurred to me that he looked. . well, flushed, as if he were feeling guilty about something or other. It was probably my imagination, for he didn’t remain long in the room after my arrival, and he seemed perfectly himself when I saw him some fifteen minutes later, down in the kitchen. He and Meg were whispering and giggling together. At least,’ she amended, ‘Toby was giggling. Meg, come to think of it, looked rather flushed and indignant.’

‘I see. Now, according to Master Babcary, you instructed everyone where to sit.’

Isolda smiled thinly. ‘So I did, because I had laid the table and knew where I had placed each person. Yes,’ she continued, bitterly, ‘I can quite see why suspicion points so heavily in my direction.’

I was unable to reassure her. ‘Pray continue,’ I entreated. ‘What happened next?’

‘We all took our places around the table to drink Mistress Perle’s good health. Oh, but I’m forgetting. Before we did so, Father presented Barbara with her birthday gift, a leather girdle studded with sapphires and turquoises. It’s very beautiful and very costly and would, I think, have apprised us of Father’s intentions towards her, had we not known them already. Neither Gideon nor Kit, as I recall, looked as though he much approved.’

‘After which you all drank the lady’s health in the wine already poured out by you?’

‘Yes.’

‘And then?’

‘And then I went down to the kitchen to help Meggie bring up the trays of food.’ Isolda took a deep breath to steady her voice. ‘As I re-entered this room, Master Napier was just coming out. He looked grey and sweating, and I thought he’d been taken ill, but I know now, of course, that he was going for the apothecary in Gudrun Lane. I didn’t realise at first what was happening, until I saw Gideon. He was standing beside his chair, struggling desperately for breath. His face was turning blue. He couldn’t speak, and his lips and throat seemed so stiff that he could neither swallow nor talk. All he could do was to make a terrible croaking sound.’ Isolda covered her face with her hands and remained like that for several seconds. When she raised her face again, however, it had been wiped clean of all emotion. ‘Meggie screamed and dropped her tray, while Gideon. . Gideon raised his hand and pointed at me.’ She shuddered. ‘Dear Mother in Heaven! I’ll never forget his eyes. They were so full of hatred.’

By eleven o’clock, dinner had been eaten and cleared away, the men coming upstairs from the shop one at a time: first Master Babcary, followed by his nephew and, lastly, by the apprentice, Toby Maybury.

I had found it strange eating with the family and not being relegated, as I usually was, to the lowlier company of the kitchen. But as someone known to be in the employ of Mistress Shore and, even more importantly, in that of the Duke of Gloucester, I was treated as a guest rather than as a nosy, interfering pedlar — although I suspected that the Babcarys were beginning to regard me in that light.

Eleanor had reappeared at dinnertime, looking pale and wan, but with an unimpaired appetite. She ate daintily, but heartily, making short work of a plate of mutton stew and dumplings, three honey and saffron tarts and a mazer of ale. All the same, she managed to convey the impression that she had just risen from her sickbed and was treated accordingly, with much tenderness and loving affection, by her cousin, brother and uncle. In these circumstances, I felt I must delay questioning her until such time as she was showing a more robust face to the world, and consequently requested that I might be allowed to talk to Meg Spendlove.

‘Then speak to her in the kitchen,’ Isolda advised me. ‘Meg won’t be happy anywhere else. Not that I think you’ll get very much out of her, even there. She’s very wary of strangers, particularly of men.’

We were once more alone, the men having returned to the workshop and Eleanor Babcary having withdrawn again to her bedchamber, complaining of a headache.

‘I’ll do my best to overcome her prejudice,’ I said. ‘But before I go downstairs in search of her, there is one thing, Mistress Bonifant, that I have so far failed to ask both you and your father. How do you think the monkshood was obtained? Would you or any other member of the household know?’

Isolda hesitated, then answered reluctantly, ‘My father, who’s not so young as he was’ — I couldn’t help reflecting how indignantly Master Babcary would have taken issue with this statement — ‘uses an oil, made chiefly from the root of the monkshood plant, to ease his aching joints. Long hours bent over his workbench has given him rheumatic pains in his arms and back. This liniment, provided for him by Master Page of Gudrun Lane, gives him great relief when rubbed well into his shoulders and the surrounding flesh.’

‘And who performs this service for him?’

The colour crept up under her skin and then receded, leaving her very pale.

‘I do sometimes,’ was the reply. ‘At other times, it’s Kit.’

‘But everyone in the house is aware that Master Babcary uses this embrocation?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘And also that it is extremely poisonous?’

She nodded. ‘Master Page made it plain both to Father and to me that it could prove fatal if swallowed, and we naturally made sure that the other members of the household were also told. And because of that warning, Father always keeps the bottle containing the liniment locked in a cupboard in his room.’

‘And where does he keep the key to this cupboard?’

Isolda bit her lip. ‘In a little wooden box in the chest at the foot of his bed. Unfortunately,’ she added, ‘everyone knows that it’s there and which cupboard it unlocks.’

‘So anyone could have taken the bottle and poured some of the contents into Master Bonifant’s wine?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid that’s true.’

I thought about this. ‘My mother used to use a liniment made from the root of the monkshood plant,’ I said after a short silence, ‘for her rheumatics, and my recollection of it is that it had a pungent smell. Why, I wonder, did Master Bonifant not notice it as he drank?’

Isolda began to collect the dirty dishes together and stack them in a pile. After a long moment, she replied, without raising her eyes from what she was doing, ‘The oil was very potent, and Apothecary Page warned us that even a drop could prove fatal. Kit and I were to wash our hands thoroughly every time we so much as touched it, and we were never to use it if we had a cut or scratch or any kind of abrasion on our skin. So I suppose it needed only a very small amount to kill Gideon. And the wine itself had a strong bouquet.’ She gave an uncertain little laugh and finally met my gaze. ‘You see, I’m being perfectly candid with you, Master Chapman.’

Was she also being very clever? I asked myself, but was unable to make up my mind.

‘I appreciate your frankness, Mistress Bonifant,’ I replied. ‘After the — after your husband’s death, did you or Master Babcary check the bottle containing the monkshood oil to see if any of it was missing?’

‘We did, but it was impossible to tell. The bottle is of thick, smoked glass with a very tiny neck. And, as I told you, only the smallest drop would have been necessary to kill Gideon. Why do you ask?’

‘Because it occurs to me that it may not have been your father’s liniment that was used. If, for instance, the murderer was from outside this house, then the poison must have been obtained elsewhere.’

Isolda gave me a quick, sidelong glance. ‘You’re thinking of Barbara Perle and the Napiers. But what motive could one of those three possibly have had for wishing my husband dead?’

‘That I don’t know at present, but there may have been a reason. And now, if you’ll allow me to carry that tray downstairs for you, I’ll speak to Meg Spendlove.’

Isolda shook her head. ‘You’d do better to let me come with you and introduce you properly as a friend. Besides,’ she added, picking up the heavy wooden tray, loaded with its stacks of dirty dishes, as though it were a featherweight, ‘I don’t trust you with your hands full on that twisting stair. You’re more than liable to drop the lot. In domestic matters, men are clumsy creatures — or, at least, so they pretend.’

On which slightly sour note, she led the way down to the kitchen where Meg Spendlove was already scouring out the cooking pots ready for the preparation of the evening meal.

The maid’s eyes had widened with fright as soon as she saw me, and she retreated to the opposite side of the stone bench on which she was working when Isolda explained that I wished to talk to her about the murder.

‘I don’t know anything, Missus,’ she muttered. ‘I wasn’t there.’

Isolda lowered her burden on to one end of the bench and put water to heat over the fire in order to wash the dirty plates.

‘No one’s accusing you of anything, Meggie,’ she said soothingly, adding, with a significant glance in my direction, ‘Master Chapman knows that you had nothing to do with Master Bonifant’s death. He just wants to ask you a question or two. Now, sit down quietly on that stool and listen to what he has to say. Don’t be afraid. I shall be right here, beside you.’

I would far rather have spoken to Meg alone, but I had enough sense to realise that without Isolda’s comforting presence I should probably get nothing out of her at all. It was therefore the lesser of two evils, and I resigned myself to putting up with a certain amount of interference from my hostess.

‘Meg,’ I said gently, not quite sure where I should begin, ‘what. . what were your feelings about Master Bonifant?’ She stared at me blankly. ‘Did you like him?’ I asked.

I had expected prevarication, and was unprepared for her blunt, ‘No! I didn’t. I hated him.’

‘Now, Meggie dear!’ Isolda interrupted hurriedly. ‘You know that’s not true. You didn’t always get on well with him, I agree, but you didn’t hate him.’

‘Yes, I did,’ was the uncompromising retort. The little face was suddenly filled with loathing. ‘I’m glad he’s dead. I thank God every night for it when I say my prayers.’

There was no arguing with such conviction, and Isolda stood, irresolute, not knowing what to say for the best, nor how to put Meg on her guard for what she probably guessed would be my next question.

‘Did you know that the liniment used by Master Babcary to ease his aches and pains is poisonous?’

Meg nodded vigorously, a belligerent gleam in the brown eyes.

‘Yes, ’cause Missus Isolda told us all when the ’pothecary first brought it to the house. And I know where it’s kept, and where the key to the cupboard is.’ Having made this admission, however, all her bravado seemed to desert her and she burst into noisy sobs. ‘But I didn’t kill Master Gideon. I didn’t! I didn’t!’

Isolda flew to her side, putting a protective arm around her shoulders.

‘Of course you didn’t, Meggie! Nobody would ever accuse you of such a thing, would he, Master Chapman?’ And she stared at me defiantly, daring me to contradict her.

This assurance seemed to have the opposite effect on Meg to the one intended, and the sobs grew louder. I had to wait several minutes for the noise to abate, but the delay afforded me an opportunity to ignore Isolda’s question without her realising it.

‘Meg,’ I said, even more gently, when the fit of crying had eventually subsided, ‘I know that you and Mistress Bonifant spent most of the day in the kitchen, preparing the food for Mistress Perle’s birthday feast but did you, for any reason, go up to the parlour after the table had been laid?’

‘I’ve already told you that she didn’t,’ Isolda put in quickly.

I tried to recollect whether she had done so or not, but I need not have worried. Meg Spendlove was too simple to take a hint.

‘I didn’t go up after the table was laid,’ she answered, frowning slightly. ‘But I did go up with the Missus aforehand. She said if I was good, she’d let me put the special cups on the table. Missus told me where to put them, so I shouldn’t get ’em mixed up again.’

Isolda sighed resignedly. ‘She loves those goblets. She likes to look at the carving around the rims, the clusters of grapes and vine leaves, the nymphs and shepherds dancing.’ She glanced at the girl and shook her head. ‘Why did you have to go and blurt that out, Meggie? No one need have known you were there.’

Meg seemed puzzled. ‘Toby knew,’ she said. ‘He peeped round the door while you were telling me where to put the things on the table.’

It was Isolda’s turn to frown. ‘I didn’t know that. I didn’t see him.’

‘You wouldn’t. You had your back to him,’ Meg answered. ‘But I saw him and he saw me. He winked at me, then went away again.’

‘Was he there for long?’ I asked. ‘Long enough, say, to overhear what Mistress Bonifant was saying and to watch where you placed the goblets?’

‘I dunno. I suppose so.’ Meg had stopped being frightened and was beginning to grow surly at all this questioning.

But I hadn’t quite finished with her yet.

‘Later on,’ I said, ‘after Mistress Perle and her friends had arrived, Toby came down to the kitchen to have his supper with you, as he always did when there were guests. Mistress Bonifant has told me that when she entered the kitchen, you and he were whispering together. Toby was laughing. What were you talking about?’

The colour surged into her face. ‘Nothing!’ she exclaimed fiercely. ‘Anyway, I can’t remember.’

‘Then how do you know that it was nothing? Something must have amused Toby,’ I urged. ‘What was it?’

Meg’s face, from which the tide of red had now receded, became expressionless. ‘Can’t remember,’ she repeated.

‘Try,’ I pleaded.

Meg simply shrugged her thin shoulders and looked away.

Isolda smiled mockingly. ‘Master Chapman, you might as well save your breath. You’ll get no more out of her now that she’s made up her mind not to tell you. She can be as obstinate as a mule.’

I had no doubt that she was right. I have invariably found that simple people, like Meg Spendlove, possess tremendous strength of will and determination.

‘Did you poison Master Bonifant, Meg?’ I asked abruptly, hoping to catch her off her guard.

She thrust out her underlip and her eyes sparked with anger. ‘No! But I wish I had,’ she answered.

There seemed nothing more to be said. Meg was in a thoroughly recalcitrant mood and I should get no more from her. I could have persisted, but it would have done no good. I glanced at Isolda, who gave an almost imperceptible, discouraging shake of her head.

‘We’ll leave you alone then, Meggie,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll come back later and give you a hand with the dirty dishes.’

‘No need to,’ Meg replied, her tone surly. ‘I can do them on my own.’

‘Well, at least she isn’t frightened of you any longer,’ Isolda smiled as we left the kitchen. There was a crash from somewhere behind us as an iron cooking pot was carelessly dropped on the stone-flagged floor and we both laughed. ‘Now, what do you want to do next? Do you wish to speak to Toby Maybury? If you’ll return upstairs, to the parlour, I’ll see if Father can spare him from the workshop.’

‘I do want to speak to him,’ I agreed, ‘but I also need to speak to both your cousins.’

Isolda pursed her lips. ‘I suppose Nell might be feeling well enough to answer a few questions by now,’ she said doubtfully. ‘I’ll ask her if you like. But don’t be surprised if she declines. She’s not very strong, you know. She has always suffered from delicate health.’

It was on the tip of my tongue to protest that a girl who had such a hearty appetite was probably as strong as a packhorse, but I restrained myself. I should gain nothing by antagonising these people, and it was obvious that Eleanor Babcary was a privileged person in the household.

‘I should be very grateful for your help in this matter, Mistress Bonifant,’ I said. ‘I should like to have a word with Mistress Eleanor, if I may. Master Toby can wait a while.’

Isolda accompanied me up the first flight of stairs, leaving me outside the parlour to continue on up to the second storey, where her cousin’s bedchamber was situated next to her own. I pushed open the door, closing it carefully behind me, and once again approached the fire, thankful for its warmth after the dank chill of the kitchen.

I sat down in the armchair, recently vacated by my hostess, and stared into the heart of the flames. So far, I had no idea who had killed Gideon Bonifant, but was very much inclined to think that Isolda was innocent of the crime. Yet I was well aware that this was to ignore the most telling evidence, and was simply because I liked her. Moreover, I knew that my judgement was often at fault, and on several occasions before this, I had been drawn to women who had turned out to be far more evil than any man. Her apparent frankness might mean that she was just a clever dissembler, and it was therefore vital that I remain on my guard where Isolda was concerned.

I had guessed that Eleanor Babcary would take some persuading to leave her bed, but it now seemed a very long time since my hostess had left me at the parlour door. I got up from my chair, stretching my arms and legs, which were beginning to ache from inactivity, unused to this cloistered, sedentary life. I turned my back to the fire, letting its heat seep into my bones, and it was while I was standing thus that I suddenly realised how quiet, all at once, the house was. It was true that the door of the room was closed, but surely I had previously been able to hear some sounds through it. But now there was nothing; not so much as the echo of a distant voice, not even the creak of a floorboard. I could hear no footfall from the rooms overhead, no faint crash from the kitchen regions.

The hairs began to rise on the nape of my neck, and I again felt as I had done the night before last, on my way back to the Voyager. It was as though some evil presence was very close at hand, and I reflected with dismay that I had left my cudgel downstairs, in the shop. So I clenched my hands into two sizeable fists and rocked forward on the balls of my feet, ready to launch myself at whatever was threatening me.

The silence seemed as impenetrable as ever. Then the latch of the door was slowly lifted.