The Burgundian’s Tale

Seven

‘Who – who is that?’ I croaked.

Judith St Clair, who had dismissed the man with a wave of her hand, turned to stare in surprise.

‘I told you who he is just now. Don’t you listen? He’s William Morgan, who’s been with me since he was a child. His father was servant to my first husband.’

‘I … I didn’t realize he was Welsh,’ I said lamely.

The well-marked eyebrows shot up. ‘Why should you? And what does it matter if he is? Have you anything against the Welsh race, Master Chapman?’

‘N-No,’ I stuttered. ‘We do a great deal of trade with them in Bristol. All the same,’ I added, recovering my equanimity, ‘I should like to speak to this William Morgan later on, when I’ve spoken to the other members of your household.’

She inclined her head. Whatever else she might or might not have learned in the employ of Margaret of York, Judith had certainly learned how to behave regally. The Queen herself could not have been more condescending. But in spite of that, I found myself beginning to like her.

She started to rise. ‘I must go. I have a house to see to and a workshop to visit. Yesterday having been a holiday, I must assure myself that everything is running smoothly once again.’

I stretched out a hand to detain her and she sank back in her seat, frowning with annoyance.

‘What now?’ she demanded.

‘I must ask,’ I said, ‘about the night of the murder. ‘Where were you? How did you hear about it?’

She bit her lip, and I thought for a moment that she would refuse to answer. But Bertram, proving that he had more sense than I would have given him credit for, gave a little cough and shifted his stool forward until he was directly in Judith’s line of vision. At the sight of his royal livery, she changed her mind.

‘It was just over a fortnight ago,’ she began, then stopped, kneading her hands together in her lap, trying desperately to control her emotions. At last she went on, but with a slight tremor in her voice, ‘It was May Day, which, as it so happens, is also the Feast of Saint Sigismund of Burgundy. The young people – Alcina, Fulk, Jocelyn, Brandon Jolliffe – all went out maying before breakfast in the fields around Holborn, but when they returned, it was obvious that all wasn’t well between them. For a start, Fulk and Brandon bore all the marks of having been in a fight; and although they both claimed it had been a fight with some other youths who had been out maying, I didn’t believe them.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because of the way they looked and spoke – or, rather, didn’t speak – to one another. Besides, I questioned my stepson later, and Jocelyn confirmed that Fulk and Brandon had come to blows.’

‘What about? Did you enquire?’

Judith shook her head. ‘I didn’t need to. There had been bad blood not just between that pair, but between all three of them ever since Alcina fell in love with Fulk. I could hardly blame Brandon Jolliffe. There had been some talk of a betrothal with Alcina for months past. And as for Jocelyn, I’ve suspected for a while now that he was fond of her, and I knew my husband wouldn’t have put any rub in his way if it had turned out that she favoured him.’

I interrupted yet again. ‘Who would you have preferred your stepdaughter to marry?’

Judith shrugged. ‘I had no preference. Alcina’s happiness was, and still is, my only concern. But, of course, I wasn’t in the least surprised when she fell for Fulk. Both Brandon and Jocelyn paled into insignificance beside my nephew. Neither could match him for looks or character. He was the handsomest young man I have ever seen, and, in addition, witty, clever, humorous, kind. So very kind. Moreover, he sang like an angel and played the lute like a troubadour. What more could any woman ask?’

‘A veritable paragon,’ I murmured, and she gave me a sharp look, searching my face for any sign of scepticism.

‘You don’t believe me?’

‘Madam, unlike you, I didn’t know the young man, so naturally I accept your word. But that morning, did you also get the impression that all was not well between Fulk and your stepdaughter?’

Judith hesitated, then inclined her head. ‘I have to admit that I sensed some tension. I blame Alcina. She wanted to make sure of Fulk. I think that, because she was so much in love with him, she was pestering him for an acknowledgement that he felt the same way about her by agreeing to a date for their marriage.’

‘Which he didn’t. At least, not according to what Lionel Broderer and his mother told me. And they had obviously told others about that scene in the workshop, the night your nephew died. Your stepson, for example. Had you known about it, before Master St Clair mentioned it this morning?’

‘I might have done. I really can’t remember … Perhaps I dismissed it as spite on Martha Broderer’s part. She was more outspoken than the rest about the making of my new will.’

‘Maybe she felt that her son had more to lose than anyone else. If, that is, under the terms of your original will, he would have inherited the workshop when you and your husband died.’

Judith said nothing for a moment; then she nodded, accepting the truth of this statement.

‘Well, Martha needn’t worry any more,’ she said in a low voice. ‘The will has been altered for a second time and put back as it was. All the original bequests had been reinstated. So, is that all?’ And she again made to rise from her chair.

And again I prevented her. ‘You’ve told me about the morning of the day Fulk died,’ I pointed out, ‘but not about the evening of the murder.’

Judith sighed. ‘There’s little to tell. All three of the young people went out some time after supper. They didn’t say where or why they were going, and I didn’t ask. I think Fulk may first have gone to church, as it was Saint Sigismund’s Day. My husband was in his chamber, reading. He is at present studying the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. I had one of my bad headaches, which always lay me low, so I went to bed immediately after the meal finished. I took one of my draughts of lettuce and poppy juice and knew nothing more until I was awoken the following morning with the terrible news that Fulk’s body had been found in Faitour Lane.’ Her voice caught in her throat, but she went on bravely, ‘He had received a mortal blow to the back of his head.’

A log flared suddenly on the hearth with a noise like tearing silk, and Bertram gave a little start. Judith, too, seemed to come out of a kind of daze, and fixed me with a haughty stare. ‘Is there anything more you wish to know? If not, I really must insist on taking my leave.’

‘I should like to speak to your husband, if he is willing and can spare me the time.’ I was treading carefully. There was no point in putting up the backs of these people.

‘I’ll ask him to join you,’ she said. ‘Wait here.’

When she had gone, I looked at Bertram, but he was staring abstractedly at a posy of flowers which stood in a jar in a wall niche by the door: the purple glory of lady’s smock and the damp, pale gold of wild iris.

‘Do you think,’ he asked in a dejected voice, ‘that there can be many men as wonderful as this Fulk Quantrell seems to have been? My father’s always telling me I could do better if I tried, but if I live to be a hundred, I don’t believe–’

‘Don’t worry your head about it, lad,’ I advised him heartily. ‘The only advantage I can see that this Fulk had over the rest of us was that he was a damned good-looking fellow. All the rest of it you can take with a pinch of salt. A very large pinch. Women’s gullibility when confronted by a pretty face never ceases to amaze me.’

On which lofty, masculine note, which would have infuriated Adela had she heard it and led to a right royal quarrel, I got to my feet as the door opened to admit Godfrey St Clair.

‘You didn’t go out at all, sir, the evening of the murder? At least, so Mistress St Clair informs me.’

It had taken several frustrating minutes to get this far in my questioning of Godfrey. First, he had warmed his hands and backside at the fire; then he had walked over to the wall niche to straighten the jug of flowers before doing the same for the harp in the corner. Next, he had settled himself in the chair recently vacated by his wife, arranging his robe with all the fussiness of a pernickety child, rising to his feet more than once, pulling and tugging at the frayed material until at last he proclaimed himself comfortable. Then he had remarked on the chilliness of the day, discoursed on yesterday’s pageant and his and Judith’s subsequent visit to Baynard’s Castle before, finally, announcing that he was ready to answer whatever I cared to ask him.

But before replying to my question, he produced a pair of spectacles from the pocket of his gown, perched them on the bridge of his nose and blinked at me through them as though I were some rare specimen of wildlife that he had just discovered taking up residence in his house.

‘No. No, that’s right,’ he finally agreed. ‘After supper, I went to my study and continued reading the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, emperor and philosopher. A truly remarkable man. Are you familiar with any of his dictums?’

‘I – er – No, I can’t call to mind anything of his just at the moment, can you, Master Serifaber?’

Thus appealed to, Bertram goggled at me like a stranded fish and mutely shook his head.

‘Did you remain in your study, sir, until you went to bed?’

‘What? Oh … yes. Until I went to bed.’

‘And what hour would that have been? As near as you can tell.’

‘Oh, I can tell you exactly,’ Godfrey said triumphantly. ‘I put my head out of my study window for a breath of fresh air and the watch were just crying midnight. I hadn’t realized it was quite so late. Time flies when you’re enjoying yourself.’

‘Indeed it does.’ Bertram gave a stifled giggle and I frowned him down. ‘Was anyone else in the house still up at that hour, apart from yourself?’

Godfrey considered this. ‘I … I’m not quite sure,’ he said at last. ‘I’d heard the young people return earlier in the evening from wherever they’d been, and presumed that they were all at home and asleep in their beds. However, I … I did think I heard a noise of some sort, but when I went to investigate, I couldn’t find anything or anyone awake and stirring.’

‘What sort of noise? Can you remember?’

Godfrey shook his head. ‘At the time, I thought it was the door to the secret stairway opening and closing.’

‘The secret stairway?’ Bertram demanded excitedly. ‘Whereabouts is that, sir?’

Having sat still for all of ten minutes, Godfrey began to fidget with his gown again, rearranging it beneath his thin buttocks, raising and lowering himself until he fancied he was comfortable once more. Only then did he turn his attention back to me.

‘What were we talking about? Oh, yes! The secret stair. It isn’t really secret, you understand. Apparently, that was the name Alcina gave it when she was a child, and it stuck. Of course, I didn’t know her then. Didn’t know my wife then. Wasn’t even a widower probably …’

‘This so-called secret stair, sir!’ I had no compunction in cutting short the flow. He was one of those people who, if allowed to ramble into the byways of reminiscence, would be there all day. ‘Where is it?’

‘Oh, in Mistress St Clair’s bedchamber – didn’t I say? There’s a second door in one corner of her room which opens on to a little landing at the top of a flight of stairs. They lead down into the passage running alongside the kitchen.’

‘But doesn’t Mistress St Clair bolt this door at night?’

‘As a rule, yes, but she’s sometimes forgetful. So when I heard this noise and thought it was the door to the stair opening and shutting, I assumed that my wife, who had been suffering with one of her bad headaches, had gone to bed and forgotten to do so.’

‘What’s it used for, this “secret” stairway?’ I wanted to know. ‘What’s the point of it? Why was it built?’

‘Yes, yes! I understand what you’re asking me.’ There was a justifiable testiness in Godfrey’s voice. ‘No need to repeat the question three different ways. I’m not in my dotage yet, whatever you may think. I can’t tell you what the original purpose of the stair was when the house was first constructed, but we use it as a shorter and quicker route for Mistress Graygoss, our housekeeper, to get up and down to the first floor to consult with my wife. If she uses the main staircase it takes her much longer.’ He was getting restless again.

‘So, sir,’ I asked quickly before he could rise and amble off, ‘why did you think that the noise you heard was made by the door to this particular staircase?’

‘The damn door squeaks,’ he answered irritably. ‘Needs oiling. I keep telling William about it, but he doesn’t take any notice of me. The only person he heeds is Judith, and then only if he feels like it or she gets angry with him. Old family servant,’ he grumbled. ‘Been in my wife’s service since he was a lad. They’re always the worst sort. Bloody useless. William isn’t thirty yet – somewhere about your age, I should reckon – but behaves like he’s an old man. Says he has a bad back.’

I suppressed a smile and let Godfrey have his moan. Then I asked, ‘And what did you do next?’

He took off his spectacles, polished them on his sleeve and readjusted them on his nose before answering. ‘What did I do next? What do you think I did next? What anyone would have done. I went into my wife’s bedchamber to make sure she was all right.’

‘And was she?’

‘She was sleeping soundly. And before you ask me, yes, I’m sure. I bent over her, shielding the candle flame so as not to wake her. She was lying on her side and snoring, bedclothes drawn up to her chin. She’d taken one of her sleeping draughts. The empty cup was still on the bedside table and I could smell the dregs. So I closed the bed curtains again and checked the door to the stair. It was bolted all right, but I looked around just to make certain there was no one hiding in the shadows. There wasn’t, so I came to the conclusion that I must have been mistaken. In fact, by that time, I couldn’t have sworn that I’d heard anything at all. The noise had faded from my mind. So I went off to my own chamber, got myself undressed and into bed, and slept like a baby until morning. The next thing I knew someone was hammering on the street door. Member of the watch to tell us that Fulk had been found murdered in Fleet Street, on the corner by St Dunstan’s Church.’

‘Was anyone missing from the house when you got up? Your son, Mistress Alcina, the housekeeper, William Morgan? Any of the other servants, if there are any?’

‘There are a couple of young girls who help Paulina – Mistress Graygoss – in the kitchen and generally make themselves useful about the house. Act as maids to my wife and Alcina. But that’s all. They share a room in the attics. There used to be a young lad, brother of one of the girls, I believe, who assisted William in the garden, but he doesn’t come any more. Don’t know what happened to him. Nice, polite, well-behaved boy …’ He was off again.

I sighed and repeated my question. ‘Was anyone missing?’

‘Well, Fulk obviously. No one else.’

I changed the subject. ‘Why did you permit Mistress St Clair to alter her will in her nephew’s favour? You must have known it would cause bad feeling. In the eyes of the law the money is yours.’

Godfrey gave vent to a sound that I presumed was a laugh, but came out as more of a derisive hoot. ‘You don’t know my wife very well, Master Chapman, I can tell. You’re right, of course. Legally, anything she owns is mine. But I’m a man who values his peace and comfort and she can be a Fury when roused. I’d never cross Judith unless I absolutely had to. It wouldn’t be worth it. And, to be fair, the money is hers, inherited from her first husband, as she doesn’t scruple to remind me. So when she demanded that I alter our will in Fulk’s favour, even though I could see it would lead to trouble, I did it.’

‘Mistress St Clair was very fond of him.’

‘Fond of him? She was besotted by him almost from the moment he arrived. To begin with, she was very upset about her sister’s death and Fulk comforted her. They grieved together. That was the start of it. After that, he could do no wrong.’

‘And what did you think of him?’

The abrupt question seemed to throw Godfrey. He looked startled and a little nonplussed, as if he had never really considered the matter before.

I tried again. ‘Did you like him?’

There was a further bout of fidgeting. I let him get on with it. I had realized by now that settling his body seemed also to settle his mind.

‘Did I like him?’ he repeated slowly, rolling each word carefully around his tongue and savouring it as though it were something new and foreign. Then he leaned back in his chair and regarded me over the tips of his steepled fingers. ‘Well, do you know, I really couldn’t say for certain. Sometimes I did, sometimes I didn’t. Fulk could be very charming, but …’ Here he paused, deep in thought. Finally, he went on, ‘But there was something sly about him. On several occasions, when he wasn’t aware that anyone was watching him, I saw him looking at the others, even Judith, with a kind of mockery in his eyes. Oh … perhaps it was my imagination! One shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. However, there’s no doubt in my mind that he positively enjoyed stealing Alcina’s affection from Brandon Jolliffe right under the poor boy’s nose. Not, I have to say, that I ever thought Alcina’s affection for Brandon went very deep. Indeed, if Jocelyn had continued to push himself forward more, as he was beginning to do just before Fulk’s arrival, I believe he might have been the one to win her favour.’

‘Would you have liked your son to marry Mistress Threadgold?’ I asked, wanting confirmation of the suggestion that had already been made to me.

‘Ah … Well now!’ Godfrey was suddenly wary, like an animal scenting a baited trap. ‘I’m not saying that. You modern young people nowadays, you won’t be pushed. You like to make up your own minds. Different when I was a youth. We did as we were told.’ He got to his feet. ‘That’s enough questions for the present, I think, don’t you? I must be off, back to Marcus Aurelius. “Let your occupations be few,” he writes, “if you would lead a tranquil life.” Wise advice.’

I could tell that this time he was determined to leave and that nothing I could do, short of brute force, would detain him further. He had seen quicksands ahead of him and was anxious to avoid them if he could.

‘You said you thought your son would be willing to speak to me, sir. If he’s still in the parlour, would you ask him to come up?’ I added in my most authoritative voice, ‘Their Graces the Duke of Gloucester and the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy are hoping for a speedy resolution to this enquiry.’

‘Yes … Yes, I see … All right! If he hasn’t gone out, I’ll send Jocelyn up to you.’ And Godfrey, only pausing to give another twitch to the jar of flowers, whose position in the niche appeared to offend his ideas of symmetry, left the room.

I put another log on the fire. Outside, it was still overcast and raining.

‘Well?’ Bertram asked. ‘What do you think?’

‘What about?’

‘Master St Clair. Could he have killed this Fulk Quantrell, do you think? He’d like his son to marry Mistress Threadgold, that’s plain.’

I shrugged. ‘He could have done. But in order to murder Fulk, he must have been following him. Now, Godfrey could have left the house and re-entered it without anyone seeing him, I grant you. But so could anyone in this house, thanks to this so-called secret stair. The murderer would only have had to ensure that the door in Mistress St Clair’s bedchamber was unbolted on the inside – and that wouldn’t have been difficult, seeing she was drugged with lettuce and poppy juice – and, similarly, have left an outside door in the kitchen passage unlocked – that’s presuming, of course, that there is one – and there you are! But we’ve a long way to go yet, my lad, so don’t go jumping to any conclusions.’

‘I wasn’t,’ Bertram protested, offended. ‘I was just trying to clear my head. I’m not that much of a fool.’

I grinned. ‘Of course you’re not. But the question bothering me at present is: was it William Morgan who attacked me last night? And if so, why? Two questions.’

Bertram gave a low whistle. ‘Do you really think it might have been him?’

‘He’s Welsh. And although I couldn’t swear to it, I thought I recognized his voice. Moreover, he’s about the right height and size. But having said all that, I wouldn’t be absolutely positive he was the man. Maybe when I speak to him, perhaps I shall be able to make up my mind.’

The door to the winter parlour opened again and Jocelyn St Clair appeared.

‘My father says you want to see me, chapman. If so, make it brief. I’ve an appointment with a cordwainer in Watling Street about a new pair of riding boots, and I promised I’d be there before dinner time. What do you want to know?’

He threw himself into the armchair and looked at me down that hawk-like nose of his. The blue eyes were half-closed, indicating boredom, but I noticed a nervous tic at one corner of his long, thin mouth. He was not as indifferent to this interview as he wished to make out.

‘Tell me about Fulk Quantrell,’ I said.

Jocelyn gave a harsh laugh. ‘He was arrogant, conceited and he got what was coming to him. But,’ he added hastily, ‘I didn’t kill him. I wouldn’t have soiled my hands.’

‘You didn’t like him?’

Jocelyn gave another laugh that grated on my ears as much as the first. ‘What an intellect! Does the Duke of Gloucester know what he’s paying for?’

‘His Grace doesn’t pay me,’ I answered quietly.

‘Just as well for him, then,’ retorted this objectionable youth. ‘No, I didn’t like Fulk Quantrell. And he didn’t like me. Although that’s not quite right. He was contemptuous of me, just as he was of Brandon. Just as he was of everybody! But, naturally, he didn’t let everyone know it, only those who didn’t matter to him. To my stepmother, to Alcina, to Lydia Jolliffe, he dissembled until he’d got what he wanted.’

‘And that was?’

He gave another insolent smile. I noticed he had very small, even white teeth. ‘Oh, come on! You can’t be as stupid as you pretend to be!’

‘Just answer me,’ I said, keeping my temper in check.

‘Well, what do you think he wanted? He wanted my stepmother’s money: to be her heir. He wanted to get in between the sheets with Lydia Jolliffe. She’s very attractive, if you have a fancy for the maturer woman, which I must admit I don’t. I like ’em young.’ Again he bared those small, predatory teeth and winked. ‘More juice.’

I was beginning to dislike young Master St Clair very much indeed. ‘And Alcina? What did he want from her? Not marriage, it would seem. At least, not according to Lionel and Mistress Broderer.’

‘No. I never thought he did. He just wanted to take her away from Brandon. To prove his superiority. To prove his power over women. Once he’d done that, he had no more use for her. I tried to warn Cina, but she wouldn’t listen. She was as besotted by him as my stepmother and that silly old fool of a housekeeper.’

‘Mistress Graygoss liked him, too, did she?’

‘All the women thought the sun shone out of his arse.’

‘You speak with some bitterness. How had Master Quantrell offended you?’

After only a momentary pause, and somewhat to my surprise, Jocelyn made a direct and unflinching reply. ‘He was trying to steal my inheritance, wasn’t he? Mine and Alcina’s and Lionel’s, too. I knew what was in the will; my father had told me.’ Probably had it bullied out of him, I thought. ‘Lionel was to receive the workshop and sufficient money to continue running it for the remainder of his working life. Alcina and I were to share the rest of the fortune between us when both my stepmother and father were dead.’ He expelled his breath on a great sigh of relief. ‘Well, thank the saints that’s all been put back as it should be. The will’s been rewritten. Personally speaking, I hope Fulk’s murderer is never caught. I owe him a great debt of gratitude.’