[Roger the Chapman 06] - The Wicked Winter (17 page)

Mistress Lynom's voice was low and rasping. 'You're the one who's trying to plant the blame on me!'

'Nonsense! What was Hamon doing at the tower? Answer me that if you can!' The knight had worked himself into a temper, but whether in a righteous cause or simply to conceal the truth, I had no means of knowing. 'He most surely didn't follow me from the house, for I had no need to enter the tower to discover Jeanette. As I got near to it, I heard her moaning.' The silence now was almost physically oppressive. I was frozen into immobility, my hands gripping the rungs of the penitent's stool so hard that their marks remained imprinted on my palms for a least half an hour afterwards.

'She was alive when you found her?' breathed Mistress Lynom.

'Yes. But she died almost immediately. Not, however, before she had time to utter the one word "Hamon".'
 

'I don't believe you!' The woman's voice trembled. With anger? With fear? I could not tell. A moment later, however, it strengthened as she flung her accusation. 'You left the body lying there! You pretended you didn't know Jeanette was dead! You waited for someone else to make the discovery and played the innocent. Would you have done that unless you yourself were guilty of the deed?' I heard the rustle of her gown as she paced to and fro. 'There would be no point to such an action, unless you killed her.'

'I stayed silent for you!' Sir Hugh exclaimed in exasperation. 'As soon as Jeanette uttered Hamon's name, I knew what must have happened; that you'd paid him to do it. He's a man who'd do anything for money. You waited all day for news of Jeanette's death to reach you, but there was a delay in finding her body and you became impatient. When you could contain yourself no longer, you rode to Cederwell for reassurance that all had gone as planned. It was very fortunate for you, my dear, that the friar mentioned Ulnoth the hermit, or you might have found it impossible to explain how your groom came by his news.'

'I came solely to discover how you were! As soon as Hamon told me what he'd seen, I guessed that you must have thrown Jeanette from the tower in a sudden fit of rage. I didn't blame you. No man could contain his patience for ever with such a creature! I just wanted to make sure that everything was well and that you weren't suspected.' The pause this time was even more heavily charged with conflict than before. Each was accusing the other of having murdered Lady Cederwell. Was one of them a killer? Or, despite appearances, was neither responsible for her death? There were those who also might have wished for it; Phillipa Talke, Adela Empryngham, Fulk Disney, Maurice. Or could it truly have been the accident it was assumed to be?
 

'Do you seriously think me capable of doing away with my own wife,' Sir Hugh demanded in a tone of barely suppressed rage, 'however great the provocation?'
 

'For my sake, yes!' was the spirited reply. 'And for your sake, also. My dear, why can't you just admit it? I've already told you, you'll hear no word of blame from me, and you cannot believe that I would ever lay information against you! As for Hamon, he'll say nothing as long as I make it worth his while. And in a year or so's time, he won't find it easy to make an accusation without revealing his complicity in our silence.'

'Oh, I don't fear Hamon,' Sir Hugh replied furiously, his anger boiling up and bubbling over. 'He would never dare to accuse me of anything, for he'd only be putting his own neck in a noose. He'll be thankful to let it remain the "accident" that everyone thinks it. Ursula, why don't you confess that he was acting on your instructions? I shan't condemn you ! I love you !'

'I take leave to doubt that.' Mistress Lynom's tone was icy. 'Any man who tries to shuffle off his guilt on to his woman is unworthy even to speak the name of love. I shall leave this house, sir, as soon as the roads are passable, and I trust that our paths may never cross again. Meantime, while I am forced to remain under your roof, you will do me the favour of having my meals sent to my chamber and of making no attempt to speak to, or even see, me. I bid you good-day !' I heard the door open, protesting a little on its rusty hinges, and Sir Hugh exclaim anxiously, 'Ursula!' Then silence reigned. I waited for several minutes before daring to rise from my stool and peer outside, half expecting to find Sir Hugh still there, but the chapel was empty. I wondered if he had followed Mistress Lynom in an effort to make up the quarrel, although such a rift could not easily be repaired, or had simply let her go before busying himself about his own concerns. I bit one of my fingernails thoughtfully; then recollecting that I still had not offered up my morning prayers, I knelt down before the altar and, Father Godyer's snores having at last abated, was finally able to concentrate my mind on higher things.

I returned to the kitchen to find Martha Grindcobb in a state of high dudgeon over the request from Ursula Lynom that henceforth all her meals be served in her bedchamber.

'And the master upholding her commands as if she were already mistress of the manor!'

'And what exactly do you mean by that remark?' Phillipa Talke demanded sharply, as she emerged from the storeroom.

The cook, who had plainly forgotten her presence, jumped and looked agitatedly from one to the other of the kitchenmaids.

'Nothing, nothing,' she muttered, continuing to roll out her pastry, dipping her hand in the crock for more flour and making her own miniature snowstorm in the process.

The housekeeper set down the jar of oil she was carrying and faced Martha squarely.

'What do you mean?' she insisted.

Once again Martha glanced around the kitchen, seeking help, before suddenly deciding that it was time for a little plain speaking.

'I mean that the master'll marry Mistress Lynom as soon as it's decently possible. They've been lovers for years.'
 

'I don't believe it.'

The cook laid aside her rolling pin and sighed. 'Then you're the only person at Cederwell who doesn't. Ask anyone. Ask Edith or Ethelwynne here! Ask Jenny! Ask Tostig; if, that is, he can bring himself to utter an indiscretion. You poor, blind fool! Is it that you can't, or you won't, see what's been under your nose for all this time?'

I thought for a moment that the housekeeper was going to faint. She staggered a little and grasped at the edge of the table for support. Her face had gone grey and seemed to have collapsed from within. Her breathing came hard and short, but after a moment, she rallied.

'They're friends,' she said stoutly, 'everyone knows that. Old friends. But I've never heard there's more than that between them.'

'That's because you don't want to hear,' Martha Grindcobb retorted. 'You've shut your ears against any gossip that's run contrary to your own secret hopes and desires. Oh, don't bother to deny it! We all know you think Sir Hugh's in love with you, and no doubt he may even have led you on to believe it, when it suited him. With my lady constantly on her knees at prayer, and Mistress Lynom a couple of miles distant, he must sometimes have had to take comfort where he could find it. The master would think nothing of deceiving you in such a cause. After all, he's a man.' The cook broke off, her face suddenly full of concern. 'Are you feeling ill, Mistress Talke? I'm sorry to have been so blunt, but it's high time... Jenny ! Edith! Quickly ! She's going to swoon!' But it was I who stepped forward and caught the housekeeper in my arms as she tottered and almost fell to the floor. I helped her to a stool while Jenny, as on the previous evening for Adela Empryngham, was sent to the buttery for a cup of ale. By the time she returned, however, Mistress Talke was beginning to recover.

'Leave me alone, all of you!' she commanded huskily, forcing herself to her feet and trying to control the shaking of her hands. She picked up the crock of oil, but some of it slopped over the rim and spilled on the flagstones.

'You should rest longer, Mistress,' I urged. 'You're not fit to resume your duties. Let me help you to your bed.'

'No!' she spat. 'If you so much as set foot in the dormitory, I might be accused by some people of letting you have your evil way with me.' She turned on Edith and Ethelwynne, who were giggling together in a corner, and seemed about to lash them with her tongue in much the same vein; but then, suddenly, all the spirit went out of her and she hurried from the kitchen without a backward glance.

'It was time someone opened her eyes,' Martha Grindcobb said defensively. 'Sir Hugh won't marry anyone but Mistress Lynom.'

Had I wished, I could have told her that even that marriage was now in jeopardy, but decided to keep my mouth shut for several reasons. Firstly I should have been forced to admit that I had deliberately eavesdropped on a conversation not meant for my ears; secondly, I was not at all sure that the couple would not eventually kiss and make up, sooner, perhaps, rather than later; and thirdly, I would have to have given the reasons for the quarrel, which would not only have raised the spectre of murder, where all was now thought to be accident, but also, by their very words, implicated both Sir Hugh and Mistress Lynom in Lady Cederwell's death.

And in addition to these considerations, I was not convinced that their suspicions of one another were justified. All in all, therefore, it was much better, for the time being at least, that I stayed silent.

The housekeeper's reaction to Martha's home-truths had interested me. Phillipa Talke did not strike me as a woman who would normally faint, however disquieting the news she received. I suspected that she prided herself on her ability to take life's knocks without flinching. If Sir Hugh, for his own selfish ends, had indeed allowed her to believe that he might one day marry her, I should have expected the discovery that she had been duped to have angered her to the point of fury, prompting an outburst of temper and talk of revenge.

But she had almost swooned away, and left the kitchen like a beaten woman. Suppose Phillipa Talke had killed Jeanette? Suppose she had gone to the tower searching for her mistress and discovered her on its roof, standing on the parapet's edge, as was her custom? Suppose Phillipa had succumbed to a momentary temptation to push her over, only to find out later that she had committed murder, damned her immortal soul, simply to clear the way for Sir Hugh to marry another woman? Might she not then have fainted? Suppose...

I pulled my thoughts up short. Such a theory, however plausible, did not tally with Sir Hugh's assertion that his wife's dying word had been 'Hamon'. And thinking again of Sir Hugh, was this a lie? Was he himself guilty of Lady Cederwell's death? And was he, as Mistress Lynom said, simply trying to shift the blame on to her and her servant? But why should he do such a thing? Perhaps because he did not want her to have any hold over him after they were married. If he not only refused to confess his guilt but also insisted on questioning her innocence, then, as his wife, she could enjoy no unequal advantage. She was plainly a strongminded woman, used to ordering everything as she wished and, above all, getting her own way. If she had any power to wield over her husband, I had no doubt that she would use it.

But could not this argument also apply to Mistress Lynom? If she was the one who had arranged for Jeanette Cederwell's death, then she, too, might not relish the thought of Sir Hugh being a party to the truth for the selfsame reason. If she continued to profess herself convinced of his guilt, she would achieve the same end...

'For heaven's sake, lad, move!' Martha Grindcobb gave me a great dig in the ribs with her elbow as she went past me on her way to the oven. 'You've been standing there for five minutes or more, just staring into vacancy like you were hagridden. If you've nothing better to do, you can go out to the woodpile and fetch in some more logs. Or take a spade and start moving the snow from the gallery stairs. It's fair dangerous as it is, going up and down to the dormitory. No good reason, when I think of it, that you shouldn't do both. Mistress Talke said I was to keep you busy.'

'I'll do both willingly,' I answered, and meant it. Fresh air would do me good and clear my head, which was beginning to ache from being mewed up indoors and too much thinking. I looked around me. 'Where's Brother Simeon?'

Martha opened the oven door to rake out the charred remains of the brushwood and twig fire, which had heated the clay bricks inside it. She then threw in a handful of flour to make sure that it was sufficiently hot and, satisfied, picked up her longhandled wooden shovel, putting in the pies and pastry coffins. When she had finished, she slammed the door shut, wiped her hands on her apron and turned to answer my question.

'He's gone up to the women's dormitory to visit Mistress Empryngham, pour soul, and offer spiritual guidance and comfort. Now, you'll find a spade in a comer of the storeroom, and there's a basket over there for carrying the wood. All in all, I think you'd better clear the snow away first, before someone has a nasty accident.'

I fastened my jerkin up to the throat and put on my cloak, pulling the hood's drawstring tight around my face to protect my head from the cold. I did not immediately go to pick up the spade and basket, however, being once more deep in thought. The mention of Adela Empryngham had jolted my memory, and I realised that, in the events of the past halfhour, I had almost forgotten that her husband had died.

If Lady Cederwell's death had indeed been murder, what bearing did the fact have on that of her brother? Maybe none.

Even if Jeanette had been pushed from the tower, Gerard's death could still have been accidental. He was known by members of the household to walk in his sleep, and he had quarrelled with his wife, which had in all probability disturbed him. But for me, the question remained as to who had removed the cover from the well, and why. I was perfectly convinced in my own mind that I was not the culprit; so who would have gone outside on a bitterly cold night, in the middle of a snowstorm, to draw up water, especially when the barrel in the kitchen was full? No one, surely, of any sense, and therefore it had to be someone bent on mischief. Had that shadowy person then lured Master Empryngham out of doors on some pretext or another before pushing him, head first, down the well, secure in the knowledge that Gerard's sleepwalking would make it seem an accident? And whoever had last used the well would be blamed for forgetting to replace the cover. But why? For what purpose? What advantage could accrue to anyone by Gerard's murder? Sir Hugh might rid himself of an unwanted drain on his resources, but he meant to do that in any case, as he had informed Adela only the previous evening. He had no need to resort to violence in order to free himself of his brother-in-law's presence.