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 shook my head. ‘I prefer to have the whole story, Your Highness, before giving away any part of it.’
The Earl made a moue of disappointment. ‘Poor stuff,’ he complained. ‘Haven’t you any idea at all who might have killed the Burgundian?’
‘There are one or two clues that point in a certain direction,’ I admitted, ‘but they’re not of sufficient strength to justify my making my suspicions public just yet.’
‘I’ve told you. I wouldn’t say a word to anyone,’ he wheedled. ‘On my word of honour.’
It was my turn to laugh aloud. ‘Your Highness, you are surrounded by people, all of whom have ears. If I said anything to you now, it would be all over the castle by nightfall. Don’t you agree?’
I gestured at the Master of the Bath and the three pages, and towards a fourth servant with a large sheet draped across one arm, standing ready to towel his royal master dry the instant Lincoln should step from the tub. As I did so, it occurred to me how alike two of the pages were to one another: blue-eyed and fair-haired, tall and well built. I glanced from one to the other with interest.
The Earl, following my eyes and at once understanding what had attracted my attention, let out a roar of raucous laughter that brought a reproving frown to the face of his Master of the Bath.
‘You’re looking at Edmund and John and thinking how alike they are – isn’t that so?’ I agreed with an inclination of my head. Lincoln grinned. ‘You’ll see that particular cast of countenance frequently in the royal palaces of my uncle, the King.’ I must still have looked nonplussed, for he gave another shout of laughter and said, ‘Think, man, think! His Highness has never been renowned for living like a monk. If, that is, monks ever do live like monks!’ (He was convulsed with merriment at his own wit: he was still quite young – only eighteen.)
I realized belatedly what the Earl was trying to tell me: that the two boys were bastard sons of the King. Not the sons of high-born ladies, of course, but offspring of some of the chambermaids and kitchen maids His Highness had seduced. For Edward Plantagenet, fourth of his name, was known to have an almost insatiable sexual appetite that no one woman – and probably not even two or three – could satisfy.
Lincoln signalled to the man holding the towel that he was about to get out of the bath just as a knock fell on his chamber door and Bertram reappeared, to announce that the Dowager Duchess was now ready to receive me. The Earl held out his wet right hand.
‘Then I won’t keep you, Roger. As I told you, my aunt of Burgundy is not a woman who can brook delay. But I’m very glad to have seen and spoken with you again, even though I can’t be said to have gained much by it. You’re as close as an oyster. But I have good memories of our journey together from Bristol to London, and those convivial evenings we spent on the road. I trust we shall meet again soon.’
I kissed the hand he had extended and smiled. ‘Your Highness is very gracious. And you need not feel too downcast. If it’s of any comfort to you, you have just given me a valuable clue – the key to something that has been puzzling me for the past two days.’
‘And can you now divulge the name of the murderer?’ he asked eagerly, his boyish face agog with excitement.
I shook my head. ‘Let us simply say, My Lord, that you have provided another stepping-stone to help me on my way.’
‘But you do have a name in your head?’
‘I do, Your Highness. But it may not be the right one.’
Lincoln gave a crow of laughter. ‘You’re a cautious one, chapman, and no mistake. I’d never hesitate to entrust a secret to you. And now, you mustn’t keep my aunt waiting any longer.’ And as I was going out of the door, he called mischievously, ‘Good luck!’
The Dowager Duchess was ready for the evening’s festivities, resplendent in a gown of cloth-of-silver tissue, the Order of the Golden Fleece in brilliant enamels hung about her neck. Diamonds, emeralds and rubies sparkled in riotous profusion over every inch of her royal person, and a magnificent gold crown, set with enormous pearls, rested on her once famous golden hair. This was now demurely hidden beneath a veil of white silk, and I wondered, meanly, if there were any grey in it that the Duchess was happy to conceal.
‘Well?’ she asked abruptly, as I was ushered into her presence, and ignoring Bertram who, this time, had insisted on sticking close to me. ‘What have you to tell me, Master Chapman.’
I bowed low. (It seemed like a good idea.) ‘At present, Your Grace, I cannot give you a name, but in a day or so, I believe it might be possible.’
‘Why can’t you tell me your suspicions now?’ she demanded imperiously. ‘If, that is, you really have any.’
‘Suspicions are not proof, madame. I have no desire to blacken anyone’s name without good cause.’
She made no answer for several seconds while she considered this, then nodded, as though satisfied. ‘Very well. But I return to Burgundy soon. I should like to know the truth before I leave.’
I regarded her straitly. ‘Madame … Your Highness, the truth is not always what we want to hear.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Is that a warning?’
‘A caution, perhaps. No more than that at present.’
The Duchess bit her lip, then, as trumpets blared throughout the castle, nodded a curt dismissal, rising swiftly to her feet and summoning her ladies about her.
The King and Queen had arrived.
Eighteen
I was consumed by a sense of irritation. Was this what I had been summoned to Baynard’s Castle for? Was this what I had forgone my rest and supper for? A delay while My Lady the Duchess finished an elaborate toilet, half a minute of questioning and then dismissal? Was that really it? My Lady had asked nothing, and I had told her nothing, that could not have been settled by sending one of her servants to the Voyager. My annoyance, however, might have been much greater had it not been for my interview with the Earl of Lincoln, and the sudden revelation that had been vouchsafed me while I was there. My visit had not, after all, proved to be a complete waste of time.
It was, in fact, to prove even more rewarding.
As the Duchess sailed regally from the bedchamber, surrounded by a bevy of pretty and not-so-pretty young women, all chattering animatedly in French, a language in which, alas, I am not at all proficient, Bertram gripped my elbow and indicated that we should leave.
‘We’ll go down by the eastern turret stairs,’ he whispered, ‘and out past the stables. That way, we’ll miss all the fuss of the King and Queen’s arrival.’
‘And the arrival of all their hundreds of retainers, and the bowing and scraping and speechifying,’ I added nastily. I was still smarting under a sense of outrage and the confirmation of my belief that those set in authority over us are often arrogant and thoughtless, with no consideration for mortals less fortunate and important than themselves.
‘Well, yes, there’s that as well,’ Bertram agreed, eyeing me curiously. ‘Has something happened to upset you, Roger?’
‘Master Chapman to you, my lad,’ I snapped, refraining from boxing his ears, but only because I was following him down a very narrow and ill-lit staircase.
‘My, my! You are annoyed,’ Bertram replied, turning his head to grin cheekily at me over one shoulder. ‘Mind you, I understand. The Dowager Duchess can have that effect on some people.’
Our descent ended in a corner of the castle’s brilliantly lit and frantically busy outer courtyard, where the royal party’s horses were being rubbed down, watered, fed and stabled while their owners sat through several hours of banqueting and festivities in the great hall. There was still some activity with late arrivals. Rich satins and furs gleamed dully in the flickering light of dozens of torches, and a thousand rainbows glimmered among the flash and sparkle of gems.