The Burgundian’s Tale

That, I reflected, was very true. The faults of youth rarely lessen with age. More often than not, they become exaggerated.

‘Did Mistress St Clair and your brother never get on together after they were married?’ I asked.

Martin Threadgold considered this carefully, then shrugged. ‘Not often. Although they must have had their better moments. Justin planted that willow for her down near the river bank – the one you can see from this window.’

Bertram and I obediently slewed round and stared down across the walls, into the neighbouring garden, at the tree we had noted earlier.

‘Judith’s always been very fond of it,’ our host continued. ‘On hot summer days, she likes to sit in its shade and look at the water.’

‘After the marriage, I assume that your brother and niece went to live next door,’ I said. ‘Was there never any suggestion that Mistress St Clair might move into this house?’

Our host gave a dry laugh. ‘None. Once Justin had seen the luxury and comfort of the Broderer home, there was no chance of him staying here. As a family, we were not well off. We had little money and our parents had allowed the house to go to wrack and ruin before they died. My father hoped that either Justin or myself would marry money. In fact, he pressed it on us as a duty. But he died a disappointed man. I have never fancied the married state, and Justin’s first wife, Alcina’s mother, brought no dowry worth mentioning with her. That was hardly surprising: no woman of means would have looked at us.’

‘Until Judith Broderer.’

‘Until, as you say, Judith began casting lures in Justin’s direction. Mind you, he wasn’t a bad-looking man and loneliness can play terrible havoc with a person’s judgement.’

‘Your niece thinks her stepmother may have married her father in order to protect her from his violent ways.’

Martin Threadgold raised sceptical eyebrows and looked down his nose. ‘A girl’s romantic notion, surely! But there! Women are strange creatures and capable of things that we men find it difficult to understand. Especially when the flux is on them each month.’

‘You’re certain that Mistress Broderer, as she then was, was fully aware of your brother’s violent nature?’

Martin blew his nose in his fingers, inspected them with interest, then wiped them on his sleeve.

‘Bound to have been,’ he said. ‘Edmund Broderer and my brother were … well, not exactly friends – no, never that – but drinking cronies. There’s an alehouse, the Fleur de Lys, where they both drank, and they would, on occasions, help each other home when they’d drunk too much.’ Martin sighed. ‘Justin always reproached himself that he hadn’t accompanied Edmund the night that Master Broderer fell into the river and drowned.’

Bertram’s discomfort was now impossible to ignore, so I got to my feet. He joined me with alacrity.

‘Thank you for your time, Master Threadgold,’ I said, holding out my hand.

He took it, saying, ‘I hope I’ve satisfied you as to my niece’s whereabouts on the evening of the unfortunate young man’s murder?’

I nodded to set his mind at rest, although only too aware that there were still questions that remained unanswered. Then I clapped Bertram on the back.

‘Right, my lad,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and see if we can talk to the Jolliffes.’