The Lord Bishop's Clerk (19 page)

‘Let us have the truth, my lady. It will be known.’

She bit her lip and then took a deep breath, as if making a momentous decision. Catchpoll licked his lips; that was a sight to stir an old man on his deathbed.

‘I am sorry, my lord. It is so distasteful to me, I had not wanted it known. The clerk approached me, and …’ she faltered, ‘and tried to threaten me.’

‘Threaten you?’ Catchpoll could not contain his surprise, and she turned to look at him as though she had forgotten his presence.

‘Yes. He said he would send information to the king that I had already contracted an alliance, and was seeking to deceive him into sanctioning our secret union. He said that a Christian widow should be a generous benefactress of the Church, and that if, for instance, I were to offer up one of my manors to the New Minster in Winchester, his memory would prove remarkably adaptable.’

‘An alliance with de Grismont?’ It was a fair assumption, thought Bradecote.

She nodded.

‘Is there any basis for the accusation?’

‘Indeed not, my lord. No contract exists between us, before God or the law.’ She dithered, just for a moment. ‘It is true that I am hopeful that the king will permit Waleran to claim my hand. He has suffered imprisonment and ransom for King Stephen, and he will surely be rewarded for his loyalty. The clerk merely intercepted a note I was sending to Waleran, one I had instructed my maid to leave with his groom,’ she scowled petulantly, ‘but the silly wench could not find the groom and merely tucked it among Waleran’s saddlery. It is quite distinctive. The clerk was sniffing about, and obviously saw her conceal it. The note was couched in,’ she paused and looked coy, ‘loving tones, and suggested that he, Waleran, leave all the persuading to me. That is all.’ She hung her head.

‘I see. What reply did you give him?’

‘I tried to tell him it was not true, but he just smiled. Eventually, I told him to do his worst, but I would not give in to threats.’ She pouted, as Bradecote was sure she had done in front of Eudo, trying to persuade him. ‘He was a nasty little creep, and though I most certainly did not kill him, I cannot say I am sorry he is dead. In fact, I am quite glad.’

Catchpoll thought she very nearly folded her arms and added ‘So there’ at the end, like a defiant little girl. She blinked, and seemed to recollect herself, became again the siren.

‘But of course you could not think that I would be capable of killing a man,’ the voice was low and soft, and the damp, dark lashes fluttered, ‘not a mere woman of my feeble frame.’

Catchpoll, whose appreciation of the ‘feeble frame’ was greater than his appreciation of the woman within it, pulled a face behind her back. She might, he conjectured, wear a man out, and there were worse deaths.

Bradecote was tired of the act, but kept back any retort. ‘That will be all for the present, my lady.’ His voice was deadpan. ‘Thank you.’

Isabelle d’Achelie got up with less poise than she had when sitting, threw Bradecote a look of reproach and dislike, and withdrew.

‘Best get hold of de Grismont before the lady has time to tell him what she has revealed, my lord.’ Catchpoll was gazing after the lady’s retreating form.

‘I know, Catchpoll, I know. Fetch him now, but be polite. And at least I won’t have your eyes on stalks, you old goat.’

Catchpoll gave his death’s head grin. ‘I’ll have you know I am a good husband; no touching, but looking is something else. When a man can’t get pleasure from the sight of a shapely female, well, he might as well be shrouded and dropped into the earth.’

‘Thank you for that worldly wisdom, Catchpoll. Now fetch de Grismont.’

Bradecote was still considering the implications of what the lady d’Achelie had said when Waleran de Grismont arrived, supremely casual and at ease. He sat in the chair recently occupied by his inamorata, crossing his ankles and leaning back in the chair, lounging as much as it would permit.

‘Well, Bradecote. I cannot see myself being much help, but try me with your questions and I’ll see if I can give you useful answers.’

‘Thank you, my lord. First, you arrived the day Eudo the Clerk was killed?’

‘That very morning.’

‘Had you ever met him before?’

De Grismont shook his head. ‘Not to my knowledge, though it is possible we have been in the same place at the same time. He covered a lot of ground on behalf of Henri de Blois, so perhaps he was at Lincoln before the battle, or at the siege in Oxford, but I never took note of him.’

‘What are your relations with the comely lady d’Achelie?’

This time the lazy look was replaced by a scowl. ‘None of your business, by the Rood. It is one thing to ask about the victim, but not a lady.’

‘I am sorry, but this is important, my lord. I have already spoken to the lady, and she does not deny that she entertains hopes, shall we say?’

‘What woman doesn’t.’ He relaxed again. ‘Well, if Isabelle has told you, I should not be so defensive. I would not have her honour impugned, you understand, Bradecote?’

‘Your discretion does you honour, but in this case is unnecessary. You are hoping to take her as your bride?’

‘I am. I knew her husband. Hamo was a decent man, but in his last years … well, it was his hope I could make her happy after he had gone.’

‘Very friendly of him. Would you have been so keen to oblige if she had been ugly?’

Waleran de Grismont laughed. ‘Of course not. What sort of fool do you take me for? Look, she is as pretty a piece as you could wish to find, and has lived a numbingly uninteresting life for many years, if you see what I mean. She’s the sort of woman who needs a man in her life. Her manors march close to some of mine and, all in all, since it is certainly time I provided myself with heirs, who better could I pick?’

It was a pretty reasonable attitude, and Bradecote could not fault it.

‘Did you know that she was going to the king, for his approval?’

‘Not until after she had set off. I came here to recommend she go home.’ He shook his head, and added, as a man like any other, perplexed by the female of the species, ‘Why is it women cannot leave it all up to us, eh?’

‘And you did not know that Eudo the Clerk threatened the lady d’Achelie that he would send to the king saying that your alliance was already sealed?’

‘No, I did not,’ he spluttered. ‘If I had I would have taken a whip to him. How dare he upset her! It is not true either! Mind you, I cannot imagine how he reached that conclusion, because we have been mightily discreet.’

‘I believe he intercepted a note written to you by the lady.’

De Grismont groaned and put his head in his hands. ‘There should be a law forbidding the teaching of either reading or writing to women. I had thought it an admirable, if rare, accomplishment, but now I see its dangers. It is bad enough that women simply have to tell someone if they have a secret. Now I find out they cannot resist writing about it too. Heaven protect us. If you sire daughters, Bradecote, keep them from ink and vellum, whatever happens.’

Catchpoll, who, Bradecote noted, had maintained the blank look of one who understood little of what was being said, was struggling to suppress a grin. Bradecote was aware of fellow feeling for de Grismont when it came to the constant mystery of the opposite sex. It was also mildly comforting that a man whose reputation with them was predatory, could still be amazed by their behaviour.

‘My lady d’Achelie did not inform you of what had passed, then?’

‘I told you, I knew nothing.’ De Grismont’s good humour faded. ‘She probably did not want to tell me, because she would know it would displease me. At least she understood that much. What I cannot understand is why the clerk should want to meddle.’

‘From what we have gathered, my lord, “meddling”, or perhaps more accurately, “menacing with lies”, was what he did most. It would certainly not be the first time he had tried to have women purchase either his silence or a good word. I believe this time he thought that lady d’Achelie might consider granting a manor to the New Minster.’

The frown that had been gathering on de Grismont’s brow grew more pronounced, and he ground his teeth. He no longer sat at his ease, but upright and with fists clenched in his lap.

‘Well, I don’t care what the law says, I think someone did us all a service putting that cur where he deserved to be, firmly underground. Jesu, if I had known all that I would have been more than happy to do it myself. I cannot see why you are bothering to look for his killer, unless to thank them for a worthy deed.’

‘Justice cannot be meted out by all and sundry, my lord, or else any murder could be claimed as justified. It must come through the law.’ Bradecote was not unsympathetic, but was firm nonetheless.

The lord of Defford did not appear in any way mollified, but his temper was not Bradecote’s concern.

‘Could you tell me where you were between Vespers and Compline, my lord?’

‘Look, Bradecote, do I have to prove where I was for the entire evening? This is getting ridiculous, and so I shall tell de Beauchamp when next I see him.’

‘Nonetheless, I need to know.’ Bradecote was losing patience. His headache, which had remained merely a background irritation for an hour or so, was now thumping behind his eyeballs, and his brows beetled with the pain.

‘I went to supper with the abbot, as he and everyone else there can verify. When I left I cannot say whether anyone saw me or not. I was not trying to ensure that I was seen far from the crime, since I had no anticipation of a crime being committed. I went to my chamber, but I saw nobody as I arrived. I left some time before Compline and went to the stables to see that my groom had returned with my horse. He had taken it out for a gallop because it was misbehaving in the stalls. Neither my horse, nor I, enjoy confinement.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘I saw that all was well. Then the bell began to toll, and I headed for the cloister door. I met young FitzHugh crossing the courtyard and we entered at the same time. That will have to suffice, because I can provide no more detail.’

‘Thank you, my lord. I appreciate your co-operation. I realise it must seem an intrusion, but we have to build a picture of what was going on that evening.’

De Grismont rose, and if he did not leave with the good humour in which he arrived, he was at least calm and polite. ‘I take it this does not yet mean that I can depart, so I will await your further pleasure, Bradecote.’

Catchpoll held open the door for him and closed it carefully behind him. He heaved a big sigh.

‘Not a man to cross, my lord, clearly. I thought at one point he was going to get up and leave, and I tell you straight, I did not fancy stopping him, not without playing dirty.’ He sucked his teeth. ‘You can see his point, mind.’

‘But can you see him murdering the clerk?’

‘He admitted he would have been happy to, but that was certainly no confession. A man like that, and that angry, surely he would have gone up to the clerk quite openly, pinned him against the wall, and then shaken him until his lying teeth rattled.’

‘That’s what you would have done, Catchpoll.’

‘Yes, my lord, it is.’

‘As would I, and it would not be murder.’ Bradecote closed his eyes, and hoped his serjeant would only think he was concentrating.

‘We have spoken to everyone now, my lord. What do you intend next?’

That was the difficult question. Did he start all over again, probing for cracks in everyone’s answers? If so, then he had best spend a while with his vellum and consider whether any questions had been missed. He had no wish to ask Serjeant Catchpoll how he should proceed, and wondered if the man was angling for it to remind him of his novice position.

‘I need to think first, Catchpoll, and to get some fresh air. Let us think independently and pool our thoughts after we have eaten.’ He got up and walked out without waiting for Catchpoll’s reply.

He had hoped to find a breath of breeze outside, and he had a desperate need to get away to the herbalist without Catchpoll knowing, but the air was oven-hot. His head was now throbbing as if bludgeoned by a blacksmith’s hammer.

Isabelle d’Achelie was trying to look inconspicuous, which was difficult. She lingered within sight of the abbot’s lodging, hoping to catch sight of Waleran de Grismont as he left. Since she had been asked about their relationship, and knew he had not yet been interviewed, it was reasonable to assume he would be next to occupy the seat in the abbot’s parlour. She was almost pleased with herself for making this deduction when she saw the serjeant escorting the commanding figure to the lodging door. She wondered if his sense of honour would have him deny her, and hoped his nobility had not put her in the position of a liar. She waited, fiddled with her shoe, walked towards the guest hall only to think better of it and turn back as if she had forgotten something. Had anyone been observing her, she would have looked suspicious. However, the brother who did espy her was so overcome with thoughts that his calling should prevent that he did not actually think about her actions. At last de Grismont strode from the lodgings, his face marred by a scowl. Unthinkingly, Isabelle hurried to him and grasped his arm. He looked down at her, and the scowl did not lift.