‘And you?’ I asked. ‘What did you think of your conduct?’
The rain had ceased, as springtime showers do, as abruptly as it had started. I could hear the birds begin to sing again in the garden. The logs crackled on the hearth, but for a few protracted seconds there were no other sounds in the room. I wondered if I had been too impertinent. Even Bertram had stopped fidgeting on his stool.
Then Judith gave a sudden crack of laughter. ‘If you knew me better, you wouldn’t ask such a question. I never query my own actions. Only weak people do that. It’s the sign of a vacillating mind.’ She drummed her fingers against the arms of her chair. ‘As soon as I saw Fulk again, I recognized him for what he was: the son I never had. Veronica was my twin. We were born within a few minutes of one another. There had always been a very close and very strong bond between us. As girls and as women, it had been an unwritten rule that we helped each other out of trouble. And although I hadn’t seen her for nearly twelve years, that bond had never been broken. When Fulk told me the news of her death, it was like a blow to the heart; yet I wasn’t altogether surprised. I had been feeling low in spirits and extremely melanchoy since Christmas without knowing why. Then, of course, I understood: somehow, the fact of her death had communicated itself to me. The thread of twinship that had joined us all our lives had at last been cut. I was alone.’
‘Except for Fulk.’
She nodded eagerly. ‘Yes, except for my nephew. He was the link that made her death bearable. He looked like her, too. Which meant he also looked like me. And now …’ This time, Judith was unable to recover her poise so easily.
I finished for her. ‘And now Fulk’s dead, as well.’
‘Yes.’ The word was barely audible; a sigh of grief, a breath of air. She raised one hand to her mouth.
‘Then we must find his killer,’ I said gently. ‘Don’t you agree?’
She gave a little snort of laughter. ‘Where will you start? Thanks to my folly – oh yes, I can admit now that it was folly, although I would probably do it all over again – you’re not short of suspects.’
‘That’s true … Mistress St Clair, was it you or was it your nephew who made your intentions in regard to your new will general knowledge?’
‘Those sorts of things can’t be kept secret for long,’ she answered evasively. I opened my mouth to argue the point, but she forestalled me. ‘Very well! If you insist on the truth, I would have preferred that Fulk had kept quiet about it until I had had time to speak to the others most nearly affected. But Fulk was young, excited by his good fortune, anxious to let everyone know how high he stood in my affections. And he felt that he needed to learn about the embroidery business if he was one day to own the workshop. It was only natural that he should call there from time to time in order to see for himself how things were done.’
‘And natural, surely, that your cousin should resent it.’
‘
Edmund
’s cousin,’ she corrected me, as though anxious to distance herself from this man she had been planning to wrong. ‘He’s not my kinsman. Fulk was.’ She was trying to justify the unjustifiable, as was only natural in someone with a conscience.
The door opened and the manservant, William, returned. ‘You wantin’ any more logs on that fire?’ he asked.
I froze. I knew that voice. I recognized the Welsh accent. It belonged to my assailant of the night before.
‘W
ho – 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 …’