14 - The Burgundian's Tale (12 page)

‘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.’

I
let this go.

Jocelyn’s frankness could be taken two ways: either as proof of his innocence, or as evidence of his cunning. He had made no attempt to hide or disclaim his hatred of Fulk Quantrell; on the contrary, he had paraded it in the hope, I presumed, that it would exonerate him in my eyes. But a guilty man, one with at least a modicum of intelligence, would surely think along the same lines. I continued to keep an open mind.

‘Tell me about the evening of the murder,’ I invited. ‘Your stepmother says that you and Fulk and Mistress Threadgold all left the house after supper, but didn’t mention where you were going. She didn’t ask. Did you go together?’

‘No. I called next door for Brandon Jolliffe and we went to the Bull in Fish Street, our usual haunt. We spent the evening there, drinking and slandering Fulk to the top of our bent. He and Brandon had come to blows that morning when we’d all been out maying. Brandon accused Fulk of stealing Alcina’s affections. Foolishly, I thought, because it was obvious, to me at any rate, that she had done most of the pursuing and that Fulk was encouraging her in order to annoy poor old Brandon and prove himself superior. I tried to talk some sense into him – Brandon, that is – that evening in the Bull, but he couldn’t or wouldn’t see it. Eventually he stormed off in a temper and left me sitting there. Left me to settle our account, as well.’ Jocelyn shrugged and gave a lop-sided grin. ‘Not that I held it against him. He was upset.’