[Roger the Chapman 06] - The Wicked Winter (14 page)

The time had come to defend myself.

'I am sure,' I protested, 'that I replaced the lid.'
 

'Quite sure?' asked Sir Hugh, peering accusingly at me.

Honesty compelled me to admit, 'I'm almost certain that I did.'

The knight shook his head sadly. '"Almost" is not good enough, Chapman. However,' his countenance lightened, 'no blame can be attached to you. You are a stranger to this house and its people. It was an oversight which normally would have had no worse consequence than a few inches of ice to be broken up before water could be drawn from the well this morning. You were not to know that Master Empryngham was prone to walk in his sleep. I therefore exonerate you of any guilt for his death. It is just another blow delivered by Fate to this unhappy household and one which, in some sort, may be said to be an unfortunate result of the first.' As Sir Hugh rose to his feet, thus declaring the investigation to be satisfactorily concluded, he permitted himself the bleakest of smiles, but my feeling was that he could barely contain his mood of elation. And indeed, what was there in either death to dismay him? Within twenty-four hours he had been rid of an uncongenial wife and her unwanted half-brother; two accidents which, as he had pointed out, could plausibly be linked one to the other. But although, following Sir Hugh's example, no one showed me anything but the utmost sympathy at having been the unwitting cause of Gerard Empryngham's death, I remained unconvinced in my own mind that I was. True, I still could not recall replacing the well-cover, but neither could I remember not doing so. And until that happened, I refused to accept responsibility, and said as much to Brother Simeon.

'You must learn to live with the results of your actions, both of omission and commission,' he told me austerely, while we ate our delayed breakfast of herring and black bread in a comer of the kitchen. 'To seek to deny them is a sin in the eyes of God.'

I made no reply, busy watching the bustle of activity all around us as Martha and the maids tried to blot out the horrors of yesterday evening and this morning by throwing themselves wholeheartedly into their work. The family and Mistress Lynom had to be waited upon in the great hall, and there was Adela to be fussed over and cosseted in the women's quarters, where she was laid down upon one of the beds.

Also, the first numbed silence was gradually giving way to gossip and speculation about the future now that the mistress and her brother were no more. I was content to remain thus, warm, well fed and unnoticed, for a while, but the friar was growing restless again, getting up and going first to the back door and then to the front, staring out across that unending white wasteland of snow.

'It's no good, Brother,' I said when he eventually rejoined me, 'the tracks are impassable today, and maybe for many days to come.' Adopting something of his own sententious tone when speaking to me earlier, I added, 'You would do well to reconcile yourself to the fact. Nothing you can do will alter things. The weather is not at your command.' He looked down at where I still lolled on the kitchen floor, my back propped against the wall, my long legs stretched out in front of me. His eyes narrowed in disapproval.

'This idleness may suit you, Chapman, but I have God's work to do. My mission to the people of this region cannot brook such delay.'

'Then ask God to send you better conditions,' I answered flippantly, and heard his sharp intake of breath.

'That may be impiously meant, but it is precisely what I shall do. I am going now to find the chapel.' He bent down and gazed fiercely into my eyes. 'For the sake of your immortal soul, my friend, you would do well to remember that God is not mocked!' With which parting shot, he quit the kitchen, passing Phillipa Talke on the way.

'Do you want either of the girls to help you lay out the mistress?' Martha Grindcobb asked, but the housekeeper shook her head.

'No, not yet. The stiffness is still present in parts of the body. We must wait a while longer. It seems,' she added, 'that Mistress Lynom and those two men of hers will have, perforce, to remain here until the snow melts sufficiently to allow them home again. I must find out if there's enough clean linen in the linen press. If not, one of the men will have to dig his way through to the cottages and fetch the laundress up to the house. How is everything here?' The cook smiled, pleased to be able to confirm that in her domain all was very well indeed, in spite of the extra mouths to feed.

'We shan't starve,' she answered briskly, 'even with appetites like his to satisfy!' And she nodded in my direction.

Phillipa Talke glanced sourly at me. 'Make sure he earns his keep,' she recommended. 'You can surely find some work for a great lout like him to do!'

I noted for the first time since she entered the kitchen how drawn the housekeeper was looking. Her eyes were heavy as though she had slept badly, and in spite of her sharp words she appeared preoccupied, hurrying off without waiting to see that her advice was followed. Martha Grindcobb merely winked at me and returned to ordering the kitchen-maids about. I settled myself more comfortably and closed my eyes.

It had been my experience that the stiffness which seized bodies a few hours after death lasted for roughly a day. It began in the head and neck, spread to all other parts, then passed off in much the same sequence. Therefore, by my reckoning Lady Cederwell had not died until at least the middle of the previous morning, perhaps even later. I should be interested to discover when the rigor began to loosen its hold. In the meanwhile, having assured myself that Martha indeed had no employment for me, I disposed myself for sleep.

Even when young, I had the ability to cat-nap during the day and awake refreshed, but rarely, if ever, did I dream anything but the most arrant nonsense during these brief spells of unconsciousness. Those half-visions which sometimes disturbed my slumbers were for the long stretches of the night, for the depths of darkness when the soul can be on the verge of severance from the body, for that time when past misdeeds or too hearty a supper can lie heavily on the mind and stomach. Yet that morning, almost as soon as I closed my eyes, I was standing in the small, triangular courtyard created by the odd angle of the great hall to the rest of the house at Cederwell Manor. It was snowing as I paused by the well, and behind the closed shutters at my back, voices were raised in angry recrimination. With those slow, deliberate movements that endow any dream with its trance-like quality, I drew up the bucket, unhooked it, emptied its contents into the pail on the ground beside me and hung it once again on its peg, having first locked the spindle into position so that the rope would not uncoil. Then, stooping to my right, I picked up the heavy wooden lid and replaced it on top of the well. I clearly felt the rough wood of the handle against my palm and the sudden, small, sharp stab of pain...

I awoke with a resounding snort that made Martha Grindcobb and the kitchen-maids turn their heads in my direction. Edith began to giggle.

'That was a short sleep, lad,' the cook said. 'It's barely five minutes since you shut your eyes.'

'I... I had a bad dream,' I answered, which was only half a lie.

I raised my right hand, examining it carefully, and it took no more than a second to find what I was looking for, a tiny splinter embedded in the soft flesh at the base of the thumb.

I now knew that I had replaced the cover on the well the previous evening, although it would be almost impossible to convince anyone else of that fact. The tiny sliver of wood could have been acquired anywhere at any time; when I removed the lid for example. A dream would carry no weight in my defence; it could easily be dismissed as a lie or a fabrication of my imagination, occasioned by the anxiety to prove myself innocent of Gerard Empryngham's death.

Nevertheless, I was absolutely certain that I was not responsible.

I closed my eyes again, but now I was only feigning sleep.

My mind was as busy as one of those caged squirrels which fine ladies keep for their amusement, turning over all the implications of my discover. If I had replaced the lid, then someone else had deliberately removed it. But why would anyone wish to do so? There had been no call for more water to be drawn last night; my second pailful had filled the indoor barrel to the brim. Furthermore, no one had come into the kitchen after Martha and Jenny Tonge had quit it on their way to bed. They had left by the back door and mounted the outside staircase to the covered gallery and the women's dormitory at its end. And shortly after their departure, I had heard the housekeeper come bustling along the main passageway to lock the back entrance with an important rattle of her keys.

All the same, when I thought about the situation more closely, I had to assume that one of the women, probably Martha Grindcobb, on account of her superior position, must have possession of a key which would allow her and the others access to the house ready for their duties each morning.

There was, too, a door leading from the great hall into that inner courtyard, although no one could have entered the storeroom because it was locked from the inside. But then, there would be no need to enter the storeroom if the object was to murder Gerard Empryngham...

My eyes shot open as I silently put into words the suspicion which had been hovering at the edges of my mind ever since I had seen those two feet protruding from the well earlier this morning. And if Gerard had been murdered, why not his half-sister also? I realised now that Brother Simeon and I had both been toying with the notion when we had talked together the previous evening, but had each dismissed it through lack of evidence and the belief that we were letting our imaginations run away with us. Yet why had Lady Cederwell sent so urgently for the friar, if it were not to enlist his aid against the adultery of her husband and the perhaps even greater sin of her stepson, both offences rank in the eyes of the Church, and therefore in her own? This theory pointed the finger of suspicion at Sir Hugh himself, his son, Maurice, and at Fulk Disney; for Brother Simeon's reputation had gone before him, and his determination to root out immorality wherever he found it had become a byword throughout the surrounding villages.

The news would certainly have spread as far as Cederwell, and the knowledge that Jeanette had invited him to the manor must have rung alarm bells in more than one head.

But there were others in the house who might have persuaded themselves that they would benefit from its mistress's death. Phillipa Talke, if Martha's gossip were true, either remained in ignorance of Sir Hugh's liaison with Mistress Lynom or refused to believe in it, and hoped to marry him herself one day. Adela Empryngham loathed her position as poor relation and the contempt shown to her and Gerard by her brother-in-law and many of his servants. Maybe she had at last come to the end of her tether. If Jeanette were to die, to have a fatal accident, then Sir Hugh would certainly turn Gerard out, and he and Adela would be able to return to their original home.

And there might well be others whose motives were more obscure. I could not think, from what I had so far learned of her, that Lady Cederwell had been a greatly loved châttelaine.

Audrey Lambspringe, it was true, seemed to have held her mistress in some affection, but no one else, apart from her brother, had shown any outward sign of grief. And now Gerard himself was dead, the victim of yet another seeming accident... Slowly, I drew up my legs and folded my arms around them, my chin resting on my knees.

I was suddenly aware of Martha Grindcobb talking. 'And we'll have pears in wine syrup and a sweet cheese tart. With Mistress Lynom stopping, I'll have to be on my mettle. They say that cook of hers is a wonder.' She sniffed. 'We'll see about that. She won't out-wonder me!'

Ursula Lynom! I had forgotten her, but why should not she or one of her household have had a hand in Jeanette Cederwell's death? That groom of hers, Hamon, had come riding back to the hall in an almighty hurry. Perhaps he had not just discovered the body, as Simeon and I had surmised, or seen someone else bending over it, but seized an opportunity fortuitously presented to him, and carried out what he knew to be his mistress's wishes...

I reined in my galloping thoughts. This was going altogether too fast. I could see that Mistress Lynom might wish Jeanette Cederwell out of the way, but why her brother? And then I remembered Gerard's barely concealed threat, made in the great hall yesterday evening. 'I wish to say that I am not deceived. I know what I know, and although I can prove nothing at this moment, I refuse to keep silent for much longer.' Ursula Lynom had been present, and surely Hamon had been there as well.

'You're very quiet, my lad,' the cook said as she bustled past me, shouting several orders at once to the harassed kitchen-maids. She was plainly in her element with a houseful of people to cater for, and I suspected that her talents were not normally given much chance for display.

I got to my feet. 'Do you need me for anything?' Martha paused, considering. 'You could take up some broth to Father Godyer,' she said. 'To the best of my recollection, he's had no breakfast. What with one thing and another and all the upset, I've quite overlooked him yet again.' She ladled some stew from the pot simmering over the fire into a bowl, stuck a wooden spoon in it, placed it on a tray and handed the whole to me.

Following her directions, I made my way to the front of the house and mounted the narrow, twisting staircase which led to the upper storey. At the top, I turned left and walked past the solar, two bedchambers and the chapel - where I had a brief glimpse through the open door of Brother Simeon, still on his knees before the altar - to a small, dark room which managed to be stuffy and yet icy cold at one and the same time. An elderly man, teeth chattering, was huddled under inadequate bedclothes, sneezing violently every now and then and blowing his nose into a soiled piece of linen.