14 - The Burgundian's Tale (31 page)

I interrupted her ruthlessly. ‘You said “if that was indeed where he was going”. What exactly did you mean by that?’

‘I – I don’t know. For heaven’s sake! It’s twelve years ago! How can I be expected to remember? Oh, very well! I just had this feeling – intuition, if you like – that he was going to see a woman. There was an air of … of suppressed excitement about him, and he was all spruced up in his best hose and his new red velvet tunic. Now, will you please tell me …?’

This time I was saved from answering by the opening of the door, and by Roland Jolliffe entering the room in his slow, shambling way, but with a martial light in his kindly blue eyes.

‘Why are you keeping my wife so long, Master Chapman?’ he demanded belligerently. ‘I won’t have her worried by all your questions. She’s not strong.’ (I’d have bet money on Lydia outlasting everyone around her.) ‘Come, my love.’ He offered her his arm, which she rose and took with the greatest reluctance. ‘I’ll bid you a very good morning, pedlar. I don’t look to see you bothering my wife again.’

I
had intended to go next door, to the St Clairs’ house, as soon as I quit the Jolliffes’; but instead I returned the way I had come and struggled through the crowds, which had now become clogged with sightseers waiting to cheer the Duchess, to Needlers Lane, where I went straight to visit Martha Broderer, relying on the fact that Lionel would be across the street, at the workshop. I looked for Bertram as I went, but he had either not yet finished a protracted breakfast or we missed one another in the throng.

Martha Broderer was still at home and still at table. A dirty bowl and beaker opposite her place suggested that my hopes had been realized and that Lionel had at least left the room, if not the house.

‘If you’re looking for Lal, he’s already gone,’ his mother confirmed. ‘But stay and have a cup of ale with me, chapman, before you seek him out.’

‘It’s you I want to see, not your son,’ I said, pulling up a stool and accepting her offer of ale. When she raised her eyebrows, I went on, ‘I’ve just come from talking to Lydia Jolliffe.’ I added significantly, ‘About Brandon.’

Martha, filling a clean beaker from a jug of small beer, shot me a suddenly apprehensive glance from beneath frowning brows. ‘What about Brandon?’

I took the beaker and swallowed several mouthfuls before replying. But at last, I said, ‘Mistress Jolliffe has admitted to me that Edmund Broderer was Brandon’s father. And Brandon looks extraordinarily like Lionel. My guess is that your son, too, was fathered by Edmund.’

Martha looked at me, her lips compressed, her hands gripped together in front of her, on the table. I was afraid she was about to order me from the house, but, finally, she heaved a great sigh, almost of relief.

‘Edmund and I were once very much in love. He was nineteen, I was fifteen – old enough to know better, perhaps, but not old enough to be wise. At least, I wasn’t. I was already betrothed to Edmund’s cousin, you see. And when I discovered I was pregnant with Edmund’s child, I was too frightened to admit the truth – frightened of the shame and the recriminations. In spite of Edmund’s pleas, I went ahead and married my husband and passed Lionel off as his.

‘Edmund found it hard to forgive me, and who can blame him? But he stayed single for the next eleven years. I don’t mean there weren’t women; there were – a number of them. He was a very virile man. And I must admit that I have often wondered about Brandon Jolliffe’s paternity. The boy bears little resemblance to either of his parents, and the likeness to Lal that you’ve mentioned is really quite marked … Then, quite suddenly, at the age of thirty, Edmund met and married Judith Fennyman, a seamstress in Margaret of York’s household. It must have been the same year as the battles of Mortimer’s Cross and St Alban’s. The same year that King Henry was deposed and the present king crowned. Margaret of York was suddenly of great importance, a member of the reigning dynasty. Edmund told me later that he was never in love with Judith: his mother had died and he didn’t care for the idea of living alone, and Judith had a certain attraction for him, being as she was in the employ of the new princess. Besides, he wanted a child whom he could acknowledge openly as his own.’

‘He was disappointed, then,’ I put in as Martha paused to draw breath.

She nodded. ‘Yes. Judith proved to be barren. But more than that, the year after Edmund and Judith’s marriage, her brother-in-law, James Quantrell, was killed when he was thrown from his horse, and Veronica and Fulk, who was just a baby, went to live at the house in the Strand. Edmund and his sister-in-law didn’t get on. The two women were as thick as thieves, and Edmund felt himself to be an outsider in his own home.

‘This went on for six years and, more and more, he began to turn to me for comfort – I was a widow by this time – and, gradually, all our old love was rekindled. He gave me a gold ring as token of his love, and I gave him a gold-and-agate thumb ring, which he told me he would wear until he died. He promised to tell Judith that he was leaving her for me. He could obtain a divorce, he said, on the grounds of her inability to have children …’

Martha broke off, her voice suspended by tears, so I finished for her. ‘But before that could happen, Edmund Broderer disappeared and no one knew what had happened to him until some time later, when his body was fished out of the Thames, almost unrecognizable.’ I paused, then asked, ‘Didn’t it ever occur to you, Mistress Broderer, how very convenient for Judith his death was?’

Martha gave me another sharp look. ‘Yes, of course it did. But not only Veronica Quantrell, but William Morgan also, swore they were all at home together and didn’t leave the house the night he vanished.’

I made no comment, but finished my beer. ‘Were you surprised,’ I then asked, ‘when Judith married a violent man like Justin Threadgold?’

‘Yes, I must admit I was. But she’s always had this passion for children and young people. I thought she must have married him for Alcina’s sake.’

‘And her passion for Fulk Quantrell?’

Martha laughed, gesturing with one hand. ‘Oh, that’s easy enough to explain! A nephew, her twin sister’s son, whom she hadn’t clapped eyes on for the past twelve years! Handsome and with a tongue dripping with honey! Poor Judith stood no chance. She was lost from the first moment of setting eyes on him.’

‘Yes … I rather fancy that she was,’ I answered slowly. I got to my feet. ‘Well, thank you, Mistress Broderer. I won’t take up any more of your time. You’ve told me what I wanted to know.’

‘Where are you going now?’ she enquired curiously. ‘Do you know yet who killed Fulk Quantrell?’

‘Yes, I think so,’ I said. ‘It’s just a question of whether or not I can get that person to confess.’

Martha looked both excited and a little alarmed. ‘It’s not Lionel, is it?’ she demanded, trembling slightly.

I moved towards the door. ‘Is he aware that Edmund was his father?’ I enquired.

She shook her head. ‘No. I’ve never told him; I’ve never seen the need. Whether or not I
would
have done, had Edmund and I ever married, I can’t say.’ She sighed again. ‘Maybe I’ll tell him the truth one day, if the moment seems right.’

I thanked her for her time and patience, and left quickly before she realized that I hadn’t answered her question.

‘I’ll let myself out,’ I said. ‘Don’t trouble your maid.’

I made my way back to the Strand, more than ever convinced that I knew the identity of Fulk Quantrell’s murderer.

This time I did see Bertram, although he failed to spot me. With a face like thunder, hot and sweating, he was returning through the Lud Gate and about to climb the hill. I didn’t call out, but carried on along Fleet Street to the bridge, and across the Fleet into the Strand.

Paulina Graygoss answered my knock, but pulled down the corners of her mouth when I asked to see her mistress. ‘You’ll have to come back later,’ she informed me tersely. ‘The mistress is doing her domestic rounds. And there are still details of Master Threadgold’s funeral to arrange. She and Mistress Alcina will be visiting St Dunstan’s later, after dinner. You can wait till then, if you like,’ she added grudgingly.

But I wasn’t prepared to wait. ‘Tell Mistress St Clair I would like to speak to her
now
,’ I said, drawing a gasp of protest from the housekeeper.

‘I’ll do no such thing,’ she declared roundly. ‘I’ve never heard the like. What impudence! A common chapman to issue his orders to the lady of the house! How dare you!’

One of the doors into the great hall opened and Godfrey St Clair shuffled in, a silk-covered folio (presumably the sayings of Marcus Aurelius) clutched in one hand.

‘What’s the trouble, Paulina?’ he asked, giving me an odd, calculating look that he tried, unsuccessfully, to turn into a welcoming smile. Then, without waiting for her reply, he advanced on me, one hand outheld. ‘Master Chapman! I saw your approach from a window. I’m sorry to tell you that my wife is but just this moment taken with one of her very bad headaches, and is laid down upon her bed.’

Paulina Graygoss gave a startled exclamation of sympathy and at once ordered me from the house. ‘You see now that it’s impossible for you to see the mistress.’

Godfrey silenced her with a wave of his hand. ‘On the contrary, my wife has agreed see you, Master Chapman, if you keep your visit brief and do not object to being received by her in her bedchamber.’

‘Mistress St Clair was expecting me?’

‘She … She thought you might be back … might wish to speak with her again.’ Godfrey seemed ill at ease and his eyes refused to meet mine. ‘I don’t know why,’ he went on, ‘but it was after Mistress Jolliffe called on her a little while ago, just as we were finishing breakfast.’

‘And she’s willing to see me?’

‘I’ve just said so.’

‘In spite of her headache?’ Paulina Graygoss demanded. ‘I ought to go up to her, master, and mix her one of her potions.’

‘No, no!’ Godfrey shuffled his feet. ‘It’s … It’s not as bad as most of her headaches,’ he explained. ‘And as for the potion, I’ve already mixed one for her and she’s already feeling a little better. Besides, she’s so much else to do, she feels she must talk to the pedlar, here, and get it over with. Then, perhaps, he’ll go away and leave us in peace.’ Godfrey turned back to me. ‘So if you don’t object to being received by my wife in her bedchamber, Master Chapman, I’ll take you to her.’

I gave a bow and indicated that he should lead the way. The housekeeper detained me with a hand on my arm.

‘You upset the mistress and you’ll have me to reckon with,’ she threatened in a low, furious voice. ‘Receiving you when she’s suffering from one of her headaches! Whatever next!’

‘That’ll do, Paulina!’ Godfrey exclaimed impatiently. ‘Come along, chapman, please. Mistress St Clair doesn’t like to be kept waiting.’

I followed him meekly up the main staircase and was ushered into the room I had already visited twice before, but, for the first time, I entered through the main bedchamber door.

‘I’ve brought the pedlar, as you see, my love,’ Godfrey muttered, and withdrew hurriedly, closing the door behind him. His attitude was that of a man who, having reluctantly played his part, wanted nothing further to do with the matter. His nervousness was palpable – an unease that should have made me wary but failed to do so because, in some measure, it was Godfrey St Clair’s natural manner.

Judith, fully clothed, was sitting up on the bed, but not in it. She had removed her shoes in order, I presumed, not to dirty the magnificent coverlet, while the bed curtains had been pushed right back to the head of the bed so that the story of Daphnis and Chloe was visible only as streaks of ochre and daubs of terracotta pink.

‘Ah! Roger the Chapman!’ she murmured, somewhat mockingly, I thought. ‘Sit down.’ And she indicated a stool set ready for me by the side of the bed.

She was certainly very pale, but otherwise gave no impression of a woman in the throes of a debilitating headache. A carved wooden cup with a silver rim, which stood on the bedside cupboard beside the candlestick and candle, appeared, from what I could see of it as I sat down, to be full to the top of some brownish liquid. She evidently had not yet swallowed the potion Godfrey had prepared for her, which, again, argued no great degree of discomfort. These signs and portents should have put me on my guard. But, I regret to say, they didn’t.

‘Well?’ she invited, a little smile lifting the corners of her mouth. ‘Do you know now who killed my nephew? And why?’

I didn’t return her smile. ‘I think so,’ I answered.

‘You only “think so”? I expected better of you than that.’

‘All right,’ I said. ‘I do know. But I’ll be honest with you, mistress. I’ve no real proof.’

At that, she laughed. ‘That’s not just being honest,’ she said. ‘That’s being foolhardy. So! You’ve no proof unless the murderer confesses?’

‘No. Only suspicions. And if the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy refuses to accept those suspicions—’

‘Which she doubtless will!’

‘Which, as you say, she doubtless will, then there is nothing further I can do in this matter.’

Judith nodded thoughtfully. ‘On the other hand,’ she said, ‘suspicion, like mud, tends to stick and can ruin a life quite effectively. Although, of course, one still has that life, which must be preferable to a painful death. So I can’t promise you that you’ll get your confession, chapman.’ She closed her eyes for a moment or two before suddenly opening them wide and turning them intently on me.

‘Tell me, then,’ she said, looking down her masterful nose, ‘what made you first suspect me?’

I considered this. ‘I think it was when you told me that your nephew had been murdered in Faitour Lane. This, of course, was perfectly true, but his body was later shifted by two of the beggars round the corner into Fleet Street and left outside St Dunstan’s Church.’

‘A very foolish mistake,’ Judith commented harshly, plainly angry with herself, as well as with me for picking it up. ‘So that’s how the corpse came to be moved, is it? I did wonder … Go on! What else?’

‘I found it odd that, after Fulk’s death, you changed your will back again to its original form with such speed. Not much in itself, perhaps, but when I thought about it, it suggested to me a desire to erase Fulk from your life as soon as possible – a desire to right a wrong for the people you truly cared for: your husband, Mistress Alcina and Master Jocelyn. Even, perhaps, Lionel Broderer. As I said: a feeling, not evidence.’