The Burgundian’s Tale
- Автор: Sedley Kate
- Серия: Roger the Chapman #14
- Год: 2013
- Язык: английский
- Год: Severn House Publishers Ltd.
- ISBN: 978-1-4483-0102-7
- Жанр: Исторические детективы
Электронная книга - «The Burgundian’s Tale». Краткое содержание книги:
Things aren’t going too well at home for Roger the Chapman and his wife, Adela.
Their fourth child has died only days after being born and Roger fails to conceal his feelings of relief at having one less mouth to feed. Adela naturally resents his attitude and their bitter arguments become increasingly commonplace. Roger decides that to maintain harmony at home the best thing he can do is take up his pack and cudgel and once again leave Bristol to trade his goods in the surrounding countryside.
Almost as soon as he makes this decision, he receives a message from King Edward IV’s brother, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, summoning him to London to assist in the investigation into the murder of Fulk Quantrell, the son of one of the ladies-in-waiting to Margaret, Duchess of Burgundy, who is on a triumphant return visit to London. It seems Roger has no choice but to return to the dirty, crowded streets of London, where he soon meets a surprising number of people – royalty, servants and workers alike – who all have a motive for murder.
I shrugged. ‘He could have done. But in order to murder Fulk, he must have been following him. Now, Godfrey could have left the house and re-entered it without anyone seeing him, I grant you. But so could anyone in this house, thanks to this so-called secret stair. The murderer would only have had to ensure that the door in Mistress St Clair’s bedchamber was unbolted on the inside – and that wouldn’t have been difficult, seeing she was drugged with lettuce and poppy juice – and, similarly, have left an outside door in the kitchen passage unlocked – that’s presuming, of course, that there is one – and there you are! But we’ve a long way to go yet, my lad, so don’t go jumping to any conclusions.’
‘I wasn’t,’ Bertram protested, offended. ‘I was just trying to clear my head. I’m not that much of a fool.’
I grinned. ‘Of course you’re not. But the question bothering me at present is: was it William Morgan who attacked me last night? And if so, why? Two questions.’
Bertram gave a low whistle. ‘Do you really think it might have been him?’
‘He’s Welsh. And although I couldn’t swear to it, I thought I recognized his voice. Moreover, he’s about the right height and size. But having said all that, I wouldn’t be absolutely positive he was the man. Maybe when I speak to him, perhaps I shall be able to make up my mind.’
The door to the winter parlour opened again and Jocelyn St Clair appeared.
‘My father says you want to see me, chapman. If so, make it brief. I’ve an appointment with a cordwainer in Watling Street about a new pair of riding boots, and I promised I’d be there before dinner time. What do you want to know?’
He threw himself into the armchair and looked at me down that hawk-like nose of his. The blue eyes were half-closed, indicating boredom, but I noticed a nervous tic at one corner of his long, thin mouth. He was not as indifferent to this interview as he wished to make out.
‘Tell me about Fulk Quantrell,’ I said.
Jocelyn gave a harsh laugh. ‘He was arrogant, conceited and he got what was coming to him. But,’ he added hastily, ‘I didn’t kill him. I wouldn’t have soiled my hands.’
‘You didn’t like him?’
Jocelyn gave another laugh that grated on my ears as much as the first. ‘What an intellect! Does the Duke of Gloucester know what he’s paying for?’
‘His Grace doesn’t pay me,’ I answered quietly.
‘Just as well for him, then,’ retorted this objectionable youth. ‘No, I didn’t like Fulk Quantrell. And he didn’t like me. Although that’s not quite right. He was contemptuous of me, just as he was of Brandon. Just as he was of everybody! But, naturally, he didn’t let everyone know it, only those who didn’t matter to him. To my stepmother, to Alcina, to Lydia Jolliffe, he dissembled until he’d got what he wanted.’
‘And that was?’
He gave another insolent smile. I noticed he had very small, even white teeth. ‘Oh, come on! You can’t be as stupid as you pretend to be!’
‘Just answer me,’ I said, keeping my temper in check.
‘Well, what do you think he wanted? He wanted my stepmother’s money: to be her heir. He wanted to get in between the sheets with Lydia Jolliffe. She’s very attractive, if you have a fancy for the maturer woman, which I must admit I don’t. I like ’em young.’ Again he bared those small, predatory teeth and winked. ‘More juice.’
I was beginning to dislike young Master St Clair very much indeed. ‘And Alcina? What did he want from her? Not marriage, it would seem. At least, not according to Lionel and Mistress Broderer.’
‘No. I never thought he did. He just wanted to take her away from Brandon. To prove his superiority. To prove his power over women. Once he’d done that, he had no more use for her. I tried to warn Cina, but she wouldn’t listen. She was as besotted by him as my stepmother and that silly old fool of a housekeeper.’
‘Mistress Graygoss liked him, too, did she?’
‘All the women thought the sun shone out of his arse.’
‘You speak with some bitterness. How had Master Quantrell offended you?’
After only a momentary pause, and somewhat to my surprise, Jocelyn made a direct and unflinching reply. ‘He was trying to steal my inheritance, wasn’t he? Mine and Alcina’s and Lionel’s, too. I knew what was in the will; my father had told me.’ Probably had it bullied out of him, I thought. ‘Lionel was to receive the workshop and sufficient money to continue running it for the remainder of his working life. Alcina and I were to share the rest of the fortune between us when both my stepmother and father were dead.’ He expelled his breath on a great sigh of relief. ‘Well, thank the saints that’s all been put back as it should be. The will’s been rewritten. Personally speaking, I hope Fulk’s murderer is never caught. I owe him a great debt of gratitude.’
Eight
I let this go.
Jocelyn’s frankness could be taken two ways: either as proof of his innocence, or as evidence of his cunning. He had made no attempt to hide or disclaim his hatred of Fulk Quantrell; on the contrary, he had paraded it in the hope, I presumed, that it would exonerate him in my eyes. But a guilty man, one with at least a modicum of intelligence, would surely think along the same lines. I continued to keep an open mind.
‘Tell me about the evening of the murder,’ I invited. ‘Your stepmother says that you and Fulk and Mistress Threadgold all left the house after supper, but didn’t mention where you were going. She didn’t ask. Did you go together?’
‘No. I called next door for Brandon Jolliffe and we went to the Bull in Fish Street, our usual haunt. We spent the evening there, drinking and slandering Fulk to the top of our bent. He and Brandon had come to blows that morning when we’d all been out maying. Brandon accused Fulk of stealing Alcina’s affections. Foolishly, I thought, because it was obvious, to me at any rate, that she had done most of the pursuing and that Fulk was encouraging her in order to annoy poor old Brandon and prove himself superior. I tried to talk some sense into him – Brandon, that is – that evening in the Bull, but he couldn’t or wouldn’t see it. Eventually he stormed off in a temper and left me sitting there. Left me to settle our account, as well.’ Jocelyn shrugged and gave a lop-sided grin. ‘Not that I held it against him. He was upset.’
‘Was this before or after curfew?’ I asked.
‘Lord, I don’t know. After, probably. No one takes much notice of curfew nowadays. And although all the gates are shut at sundown, there are a dozen or more ways of getting in and out of the city, if you know them. Half of London’s walls are in a shocking state of disrepair.’
I nodded understandingly. It was the same in Bristol, as it was in other inland cities in the southern half of England. Lack of invasion and attack for so many years had made for complacency among the civic hierarchy, who were loth to spend good money – or throw it away, as they saw it – on mending city walls. No doubt the matter was regarded differently in the North, where the inhabitants were under constant threat of incursions from the Scots.
‘Did you see Master Jolliffe again that evening?’
‘No. I hadn’t really expected to, but I waited awhile, then paid our shot and went home.’
‘And during that journey, you saw nothing untoward on the corner of Fleet Street and Faitour Lane?’
Jocelyn laughed. ‘If you mean did I see Fulk being done to death, I’m afraid you’re out of luck. If I had, I’d probably have given a helping hand.’ Again, there came that disarming frankness. ‘As it was, the usual congregation of beggars and layabouts were shouting and screaming, fighting, cursing, whoring. What you’d expect. But not a hint of murder.’