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’m not a rich man,’ I protested. Nevertheless, I dipped into my purse and doled out a couple more groats. ‘You haven’t yet explained exactly why you ran away from Mistress St Clair’s. What made you think someone was trying to kill you? And who do you think it was?’
‘I don’t know who it was,’ was the disappointing response. ‘But I do know that I had some very peculiar accidents in that house.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, once, I was by myself at the bottom of the garden, plantin’ some cress seeds along the water’s edge, like Paulina Graygoss told me. I ’ad me back to the ’ouse and wasn’t thinkin’ about nothing but what I was doing, when suddenly, I toppled into the river. I swear to you, chapman, that someone pushed me, but when I came to the surface, there was no one in sight. Everyone swore they was somewhere else at the time and said I must’ve slipped. But I didn’t. I know I didn’t. Somebody pushed me in. Luckily, I can swim like a fish. Then, another time, I’d to go down the cellar to bring up some o’ the master’s favourite wine. I’d a candle, o’ course, but I still didn’t see the wooden ball on the third or fourth step from the top. I went crashing to the bottom and was lucky not t’ break me fuckin’ neck. As it was, I was laid up the best part of a month.’
‘What sort of a ball?’ I queried.
‘A child’s ball. A painted thing Mistress Alcina used to play with when she was a child, or so Paulina Graygoss said. Said, too, she thought it was put away with all the other old toys in a chest in Alcina’s bedchamber, but that someone must’ve got it out, though goodness knows why. That’s what Paulina said. And there was the time I was terrible sick after eating me dinner. It was mutton stew, and no one else was ill. I reckon somethin’ ’ad been added to me bowl when I wasn’t lookin’.’
‘Whom did you suspect? Mistress Graygoss?’
‘Any of the women. Not Nell, but everyone else. They were all in and out the kitchen that day, I remember. The master and mistress were ’avin’ Master and Mistress Jolliffe and Master Brandon to supper, ’s I recall, and were out to impress. Mistress Alcina was quite sweet on Brandon Jolliffe in them days, though I ’ear she ain’t so much now. Wanted Master Quantrell. We ’ad a laugh about that, we did. But, as I say, all the women were in ’n’ out o’ the kitchen at some time or another that morning. And William Morgan. Any of ’em could’ve put somethin’ in me stew without me seeing.’
I was a little doubtful about this last instance; and in the first, whatever Roger thought, he could have slipped. But the incident with the child’s ball certainly appeared more sinister.
‘Did anything else happen after that?’ I asked.
He gave a scornful snort. ‘I didn’t wait t’ find out. I ran away and came ’ere, where I’ve been ever since. What’s more, I’m goin’ to stay ’ere. Now, mind! Don’t you go tellin’ anyone in that house you’ve seen me. Not even Nell.’
‘She’s worried about you. She’d like to know that you’re alive and well.’
‘Daresay,’ he replied unfeelingly, ‘but she ain’t one for holding her tongue. Never could keep a secret, couldn’t Nell.’
‘Very well,’ I agreed. ‘I promise to say nothing. But I can’t answer for Lionel Broderer and his mother. Or for the other women. They must all have heard what was said.’ I didn’t add that once I had established my interest in young Roger Jessop, he had at once become a more interesting subject for discussion, and, doubtless, was even now a general topic of conversation in the embroidery workshop.
Roger was dismissive. ‘None of ’em knows me well enough t’ care what I’m up to. They got other things to talk about.’
I didn’t like to disillusion him, and, after all, he might be right. It did cross my mind that I ought to use any means in my power to wean him away from his present existence, and that to frighten him into running again might not be such a bad idea. But I didn’t. The smell and the close confines of the room were beginning to make me feel queasy once again, and my one thought was rapidly becoming of escape.
I tossed the lad two more coins, mumbled my farewells and left, stumbling along the fetid passageway and staggering thankfully into the less noisome air of Faitour Lane. I walked back to the Strand and down the alleyway between the St Clairs’ and Martin Threadgold’s houses to the river’s edge, where I paused for a moment, breathing in the cleaner river smells and staring out across the Thames, a streak of silver studded with the russet and blue, crimson and emerald of hundreds of barges.
‘Ah! Master Chapman!’ said a voice. ‘Do you have any news for me yet concerning the death of my nephew?’
I jumped guiltily and turned to find myself looking over the wall, into the stern, questioning features of Judith St Clair.
Seventeen
‘N-No,’ I stammered nervously. ‘At least … er … no, not yet.’
‘Not yet?’ The well-marked eyebrows were raised and the blue eyes surveyed me with a faint hauteur. ‘What precisely does that mean? Do you have any idea as to the murderer’s identity or do you not? If not, why don’t you just admit defeat and return to Bristol, or wherever it is you come from? I thought from the start that it was a mistake allowing a pedlar to usurp the office of sergeant-at-law. But of course, it’s not my place to question the decision of Duchess Margaret or My Lord of Gloucester.’
I felt my hackles begin to rise, but schooled my expression to one of civility – servility, even.
‘I still have some further investigations to pursue, mistress, but I hope to be able to satisfy both you and your royal patrons in the very near future.’
She darted a suspicious glance at me, as though convinced that I was bluffing; but she permitted herself to be mollified a trifle.
‘Come and look round my garden,’ she invited most unexpectedly. ‘You can easily scale the wall.’ She raised herself on tiptoe, so that her shoulders as well as her head came into view, and by dint of resting her arms along the top of the wall, she was able to peer over to the other side. ‘Look! You see those protruding stones? There, there and there. Simple, particularly for someone of your height. Those long legs of yours should make light work of such a climb.’
I could hardly refuse such a pressing invitation, even had I wished to, and within a matter of moments found myself standing beside Judith St Clair on one of the numerous paths that intersected the beds of flowers.
‘A beautiful garden, mistress,’ I said admiringly, staring about me as if seeing it for the first time. She smiled proudly, but there was a hint of something else in her expression that I could not quite define.
‘I like it. I love flowers,’ she answered simply. ‘And my favourite place is under the willow tree, looking out across the water. In spite of the river traffic, which has greatly increased in recent years, I find it very peaceful. Come and stand there with me for a minute or two and you’ll see what I mean.’
I followed her to the main path and walked to the little landing stage on the river bank, where we stopped beneath the willow tree’s trailing branches. On the opposite bank, shimmering in a faint heat haze, I could see the landscape of Southwark set out before me. Nearer at hand, pale spears of yellow iris glimmered among the reeds at the river’s edge, and marigolds peered at their ghostly reflections in the water. A reed warbler swooped towards its nest among the grasses.