Queen Without a Crown (30 page)

‘Aye. Birds don’t go for the berries; they’ve got more sense. Rabbits eat nightshade, though. Don’t know whether it doesn’t do anything to them or they like the wild visions. Wonder what rabbits have visions about?’ said Gladys, with a lascivious leer.

Ryder laughed, but Susannah was snivelling and dragging her feet as we approached the cottage. Ryder gave her a sharp push forward.

The door opened as we reached it, and Bowman appeared in the entrance, a lamp in his hand. He said nothing, but moved back in a silent invitation for us to enter. We trooped inside, also in silence, and with an abrupt gesture he signalled us into his parlour.

It was as untidy as I remembered, though the fire was better this time and there was candlelight. Bowman was much the same, though: lined, wire-haired and – yes, now that I looked at him carefully – possessed of a nose like a parrot’s beak. It was hardly Gervase’s aristocratic eagle nose, but yes, it was curved. Bowman seemed to have aged suddenly. His skin was papery and pale, except for a flush over his cheekbones. He was the first to speak. He did so in one syllable. ‘Well?’

‘We’re here,’ I said, ‘once more, to talk about the death of Peter Hoxton.’

‘Are you, now?’

‘You’ve got all the necessary in your garden,’ said Gladys, never one to approach a subject with anything like finesse. ‘Mistress Stannard here looked for herself just now. Pretty little bed of trouble you’ve got there, Master Bowman. Nightshade, yew, poison parsley. Everything you want for a witch’s brew. How long’ve you been growing things of that kind, and what for?’

Bowman cast a glance of loathing at her but didn’t deign to reply. Instead, he said to me: ‘I wondered. I saw you coming from an upstairs window. I remembered what you were after when you came here first, and I recognized
her
.’ His eyes flashed angrily at Susannah. ‘And her.’ He jerked his head at Gladys. ‘The dear old soul who sometimes passed the time of day with me at my gate, and then came wanting help for her sweet nursling. How is the poor girl, may I ask?’

‘’Fraid she don’t exist,’ said Gladys with her most eldritch cackle. ‘She was an excuse, that’s all.’

‘I see. Yes, I do see. A pretty tale you spun, to me and to Mistress Mildmay. Let’s not play the fool. You think I did for Hoxton, don’t you?’

‘We know you did,’ said Ryder.

‘Sure of yourself, aren’t you? Well, since you’ve been talking to Susannah, yes, I suppose you do know. I hope you’ll leave Catherine Mildmay alone, at least. If she helps me to help a few desperate girls, well, there’s more than one way to look at that, and we don’t all roll our eyes piously to heaven when we hear of a lass falling in love and being let down and not wanting her life wrecked because of it. We don’t all say: ooh, how shocking, and bleat clichés about making beds and lying in them. And there’s other things you can use nightshade for, besides killing. Easing pain, that’s one. And lotions to brighten lasses’ eyes. Belladonna, that’s its other name. It means Pretty Woman. Oh, sit down, all of you, now you’re here.’

We did so. Bowman glared at us. ‘Hoxton!’ His voice was full of scorn. ‘It’s twenty-three years next autumn,’ he said. ‘Pity that after being dead that long, he can’t lie quiet in his grave.’

Bowman himself had taken the same settle as before: near the fire and beside the shelf of flagons and the elegant salt which had been part of his first wife’s dowry. The flush on his face was explained now, for a half-full glass of dark red wine was on the floor by his stool. He picked it up and took a long swig. It occurred to me that without the flush, he would be very pale indeed. We were looking at a man who was both old and ill.

‘So,’ he said, ‘what are you here for,
exactly
? Come to seize me and march me to the constable? Why didn’t you bring the constable with you?’

‘Let Master Bowman be quite clear about how much we know,’ said Ryder. ‘Susannah, repeat now, before us all, what you told us in Oxford. Beginning from where you were caught examining a bag of his money.’

Susannah glowered. She had taken a window seat. It was draughty, and she was sitting with her cloak drawn tightly round her. Her heavy, tear-stained face had acquired an obstinate expression. ‘He said I was going to steal some money, but it wasn’t true.’ Her voice was monotonous, probably because she was repeating her denial for what no doubt felt like the thousandth time. ‘I was just
looking
.’

‘All right,’ I said. ‘You were just looking, and you were misunderstood.’

‘No, she wasn’t,’ said Bowman. ‘I’d missed money before.
Lightfingers
, that’s the nickname I gave her, privately, so to speak.’

‘That’s rude,’ said Susannah, attempting to be haughty and wiping away a few more tears.

‘And true,’ said Bowman.

‘Never mind all that,’ said Ryder, annoyed. ‘Susannah, go on with the story. You know what will happen if you refuse.’

Reluctantly, between scowls and sniffs, Susannah repeated the dismal tale of how Bowman had suborned her to bear false witness against Gervase Easton.

Bowman listened in silence, sipping his wine as he did so. When his glass was empty, he took a flagon from the shelf beside him, poured himself a refill and added ground cinnamon from one of the trays in the salt. ‘So,’ he said, when the story was over. He dusted a little cinnamon off his fingers. ‘What if I say that this woman is lying?’

I said: ‘We know the man that Madge Goodman saw wasn’t likely to have been Gervase Easton. Because we have established that Easton was almost certainly right-handed and she saw a left-handed man.’

‘And I am left-handed and I was already in love with Judith. Ah, well. No, Susannah isn’t lying. I made a mistake in not getting rid of dear Lightfingers, instead of making her my accomplice.’ Susannah let out a faint shriek. ‘At the time,’ said Bowman, ‘it seemed a good revenge for her thefts, getting her to name Gervase – making an accomplice of her. I wanted Judith Easton so much.’

He paused, looking not at us, but into the depths of his wine, as though he were seeing memories alive again in the glass.

‘How can I make you understand? I was younger then,’ he said. ‘Later in life, a man learns more sense, but twenty-three years ago . . . Even then, I didn’t know till it happened what it was like to be in love like that. I’d loved before, though not in that fashion. But I was only someone who made gloves for her, and she was wedded and never had eyes for any man but Gervase. He was a fool to worry about Hoxton. While Gervase was there, she couldn’t even
see
Hoxton; I’m sure of it. I remember that soft glow in her eyes whenever she looked at Gervase or spoke his name. She could hardly see me, either, except as a glover. I paid her a compliment now and then, tried to let her know with a look, or a light remark, how I felt, but she never noticed. She never would, while Gervase lived.

‘It was like a madness. It
was
a madness. Like being bewitched. She was the kind that can cast an enchantment just by breathing. I saw her image before the eyes of my soul, all day long. I acted out scenes inside my head, like a strolling player: inventing conversations, making love, with Judith. At night, I’d dream of her. I considered getting rid of Gervase, but then I’d think: there’s Hoxton. Mostly, he tires of women quickly, but he’s gone on and on hunting Judith. Maybe she’s put a spell on him too, and women do fall for him. With Gervase gone, maybe then she
will
notice him, and where will that leave me?

‘I wanted rid of Hoxton and Gervase alike, but how to do it? Besides, I was afraid that if I struck at Gervase Easton, someone would work out the link, or they would once I started courting Judith. Then I thought of striking at Hoxton and somehow putting it on to Gervase . . . Oh well. It’s always a fool’s business, letting women get mixed up in anything. The trouble was rooted in women, after all. I knew Mistress Mildmay in those days, to speak to – nothing more – but it was from her that I learned to recognize nightshade and heard what it could do. If I hadn’t known that . . . It was her fault partly, though mostly Judith’s.’

‘How could it be Judith’s fault?’ I said indignantly.

‘Too beautiful for her own good, and no use at standing up for herself,’ said Bowman harshly. ‘Marriage to her showed me that. Nothing like marriage for breaking an enchantment.’ He took a long drink of his spiced wine. ‘Poor, enchanting, foolish Judith. She couldn’t deal with Hoxton; she couldn’t even deal with Gervase. Well, she couldn’t stop him from fighting Hoxton and half-killing him. It wasn’t true, by the way, that I once heard Gervase make threats against Hoxton when he was drunk. I made that up. But the fight was real enough. It was all beyond Judith. I suppose you could say she couldn’t deal with me either. I made a push to get her as soon as she was free, and she couldn’t hold out against me. She was the kind that can’t make their way through life without a man to lean on. They’re faithful, but they’re not strong in other ways. We got wed, but when she knew me better, she got to be afraid of me. Then I didn’t want her any more. Who wants to love a mouse? I wanted to love a woman.’

‘She had the resolution to run away with Gervase,’ I said, nettled. ‘They married against his father’s wishes.’

‘He ran away with her,’ corrected Bowman dispassionately. ‘Not the other way round, I’d wager. She put a spell on him, without realizing it, same as she did with me, and he offered her a life with a man to look after her and just swept her off her feet. That’s how I’d read it. Well.’ His pale blue eyes stared round at us. ‘What do you want of me?’

Brockley said: ‘We have made these enquiries on behalf of Judith’s son Mark. As you know, Mark wishes to marry and the girl’s family won’t consent until his father’s name is cleared. What we want of you is a written and signed account of the truth which we can show them. We don’t intend to show it to the authorities.’

‘You could forge that for yourselves,’ said Bowman and swallowed another gulp of wine.

‘Thank you, Bowman. Unlike you, we are not criminals,’ said Ryder coldly. ‘Forgery is a crime. We want your own confession because it will be more impressive than merely repeating Susannah’s testimony, though it is true that we could do that, and swear to it, if necessary.’

‘There will be other sworn statements to back up yours,’ I said to Bowman. ‘Testifying that Gervase was not left-handed, for instance.’

‘I won’t swear anything!’ said Susannah, in a panicky voice.

‘If you refuse to provide the confession,’ said Ryder, ignoring her, ‘then we
will
go to the constable with Susannah’s testimony. You will probably hang. Susannah probably will, too. A confession, though, made privately to us, could save both your necks.’

Susannah set up a blood-curdling howl at this point, and Dale, kindly enough, went to put an arm round her.

Bowman, ignoring her, turned to the rest of us. ‘All right. If that’s what you want. If you reckon this girl’s people are that persuadable. Why should I hinder a young man in love? I know what it’s like. Where are my writing things? Get off that window seat, Mistress Lightfingers. You’re sitting on them.’

Dale coaxed Susannah off the seat, and Bowman lifted it up. From the storage chest beneath, he took paper and a writing set. He carried them to the table and sat down. In silence, we watched while he sharpened a quill, opened a phial of ink and, holding the pen in his left hand, began to write.

He didn’t write for long. After a very few minutes, he blotted the sheet and looked round. ‘Who do I give this to?’

‘What if
they
take it to the law?’ wailed Susannah. ‘These folk you’ll be showing it to?’

‘We hope we can persuade them not to,’ said Brockley.

Susannah, clearly unconvinced, burst into fresh howling.

‘Give what you’ve written to me,’ I said to Bowman. I took it from him and read it:

He had signed it with panache, in an ornate Italian hand.

I handed it to Brockley. He and Ryder read it together. Ryder looked up, straight at Bowman, who was sitting half-turned on his stool, watching us, the quill pen still in his fingers.

‘I’ve been married myself, and widowed,’ Ryder said. ‘I know about love. But this love you’ve been telling us about . . . I can’t imagine it. It’s not . . . not
healthy
.’

Brockley and I said nothing, but it was the silence of agreement. I wondered what the love Bowman had described really felt like. I found it hard to believe in it, and looking at him, it seemed incredible that such a huge and murderous passion could ever have existed within this little, hook-nosed, ordinary glover of Windsor.

He was still holding the quill, but even as I gazed at him, he dropped it. He looked down at his left hand. ‘It’s gone limp,’ he said and gasped, as though he found it hard to breathe. ‘I’m losing strength. And I think . . .’

It wasn’t until he retched, and suddenly we were all staring at him intently, that we realized, even by candlelight, that apart from the flush on his cheekbones, his face had changed from pale, to a sickly greyish-green.

‘What is it? What have you taken!’ Ryder sprang at him and grabbed his shoulders, but Bowman merely laughed, and then retched again.

Gladys scrambled for the salt and took out the spice trays, sniffing at them. ‘Nutmeg . . . This one’s cinnamon . . . Nothing wrong there . . . This looks like cinnamon again . . . Ah!’ She put her nose closer. ‘This one smells funny,’ she said. ‘Garlicky. That ’ud be hemlock, like as not. Mixed in with the cinnamon, I’d say. Reckon he put this in his wine.’