[Roger the Chapman 06] - The Wicked Winter (26 page)

Chapter Seventeen

After a moment's silence, the cook burst out laughing, while Edith, Ethelwynne and Jenny Tonge, whose eyes had grown large with fright and apprehension, managed to smile, reassured by her obvious amusement.

'I never heard such nonsense! Is this true, Roger?' Martha asked, turning to me.

'No... That is... Perhaps...' I floundered, caught off guard and not knowing what to say. If I told the truth, I should be pressed to name my suspect and produce evidence in support of my claim, and I was not yet ready to do so. There were one or two more facts which I needed to garner.

'Well? Is it true or not?' Her good humour was rapidly giving way to impatience. And when I again hesitated over my answer, she walked up to me and waggled a forefinger under my nose. 'Now, you listen to me, my lad! We've had enough trouble here without you trying to stir up more. We all know what happened to both my lady and her brother and to the poor old hermit, if it comes to that - so we don't need your mischief-making. Let things alone, Roger Chapman, that's my advice to you.' She smoothed down her apron and regarded me for the first time with hostility. 'Luckily, you'll be gone tomorrow if this thaw continues.'

 
'Now see what you've done,' I hissed at Simeon, as I resumed my seat on the floor beside him. 'You've put me in the wrong with Martha.'

His mouth pouted like that of a sulky child. 'Serves you right! It's not fair to give me only half a story. I want to know what's going on in that head of yours.'

I shrugged and moved away, letting him see my disdain of such petulance in a grown man. It had no noticeable effect, so instead, I switched my attention to the cook. It seemed to me that her protestations were inspired by fear rather than genuine indignation, but was she afraid for herself, I wondered, or for her master, or for some other person? On second thoughts however, I realised that I should get no satisfaction from questioning her, thanks to the friar's intervention; so, when I had finished my meal, I went in search of Audrey Lambspringe.

It was now impossible for me to ask anyone in the kitchen where to find her without arousing fully justified suspicions of my intent. She had not taken dinner with us, so I concluded that she must be one of the company who ate in the steward's room, along with Phillipa Talke and Master Disney. As Lady Cederwell's personal attendant, and as a compliment to her mistress, she might well be included amongst these more august domestic ranks. Consequently, as soon as Jenny Tonge and the other two maids began collecting up plates from the great hall and elsewhere, I loitered in the main passageway, hoping that Audrey might emerge from Tostig's lair. I reasoned that if she were indeed present, she would be the first to leave, the steward and housekeeper, and even Fulk Disney, being sufficiency superior to her to linger for a gossip over their ale.

My argument proved correct, and she followed Ethelwynne, who was carrying a pile of dirty dishes, along the corridor, scuffing her feet among the rushes and replying listlessly to some remark that the other girl was making over her shoulder. I stepped forward and spoke her name.

'Mistress Lambspringe! Can you spare me a moment of your time?' Ethelwynne eyed me sharply and scurried off to the kitchen, undoubtedly to report to the cook on my present activity. I seized Audrey's elbow and gave it an urgent squeeze. 'If so, will you accompany me upstairs to the chapel, where we can be private together?'

The girl looked bewildered, as well she might, but readily agreed. Without any duties to keep her busy, she was at a loss how to fill her day.

We mounted the stairs together and disappeared from view only just in time. Below us, Martha's voice could be heard calling, 'Audrey! Audrey Lambspringe! Drat the child! Where is she?'

I hurried her forward, whispering, 'Take no notice! Mistress Grindcobb wishes to prevent me from speaking to you, that's all.'

The chapel, to my great relief, was empty save for the hermit's body. I felt my companion recoil a little at the sight of it, but pressed her to enter.

'Poor Ulnoth can do you no harm. Don't look at him if it disturbs you. Come into the confessional.' And I pulled back the curtain of the priest's cell where a narrow stone bench was revealed against the chapel's outer wall.

Audrey sent me a fearful, sidelong glance. I seized her wrist none too gently and forced her to sit beside me, smothering the desire to give her a shake.

'I haven't brought you here for dalliance,' I said impatiently. 'I want to ask you some questions.' She looked so relieved that I felt slightly insulted. All the same, I knew it was good for my soul. Conceit and self-esteem are both sins, and two that I used to suffer from when young.

'What questions?' she inquired apprehensively.

'Have you any recollection of where everyone was, and what they were doing, the day before yesterday? The day Lady Cederwell died.'

'Oh! I - I don't know! Why should I be able to tell you? It's not my business to spy on other people.'

Audrey was uneasy now, and half rose from the bench.

Again, I took hold of her wrist, but with a greater gentleness this second time.

'Whatever you say, I shall repeat it to no one. You have my most solemn promise on that. I'll swear it on the altar if you like.'

She hesitated, still poised for flight, but at last, with a show of reluctance, resumed her seat.

'Why do you want to know?'

I took both her hands in mine and answered solemnly, 'Because I think it possible that your mistress did not fall from the tower, but was pushed or thrown down. In short, that she was murdered.'

To my surprise, Audrey Lambspringe expressed neither horror nor incredulity at this suggestion. Her only reaction was to return the clasp of my fingers and stare at the ground.

After a moment or two, she nodded slowly.

'I, too, have considered that possibility,' she said. 'There are those, both inside and outside this house, who would benefit from my lady's death.'

'Can you name them?'

'I believe you know them already.'

'Nevertheless, I should be grateful to have confirmation of my suspicions from an inhabitant of the manor, from someone who knows its people better than I do.'
 

'And you won't inform anyone of what I have said? I have your word'?'

'I've told you, I'll swear to it if you like.'

'There's no need for that. I'll trust you. Well then, as you have probably seen for yourself, Sir Hugh will not be sorry to find himself a widower again. It means that he is free to marry Mistress Lynom. Similarly, Mistress Lynom is at liberty to wed the master.'

'You know of their liaison?'

Audrey glanced up in astonishment. 'Everyone at Cederwell knows of it.'

'Phillipa Talke didn't, I fancy.'

The small, pale face looked frowningly as she considered this.

'I think Mistress Talke must have known,' Audrey finally decided, 'but she refused to take the matter seriously. Sir Hugh and Mistress Lynom have always been friends, you see, and she thought it was no more than that.'
 

'So the housekeeper could well have killed Lady Cederwell if she believed it would release your master from an unhappy marriage and free him to offer her his hand.'
 

Audrey grimaced. 'I've heard Cook say that Mistress Talke believed Sir Hugh to be in love with her, but I didn't take much notice. I'd never seen any evidence of partiality on his side, and considered that very likely Mistress Grindcobb was mistaken.'

'I would never doubt anything Martha told me. She has a sharp ear and an even sharper eye. But let that pass for the moment
.
We are agreed, then, that both Sir Hugh and Mistress Lynom benefit from Lady Cederwell's death, and that Phillipa Talke may have thought that she would. She has surely realised her error by now, but it is her state of mind before your mistress's death that is important. So, continue. These three apart, who else within the manor pale gains, in your opinion, by this killing?'

Audrey wriggled uncomfortably and cast an anxious Took towards the chapel door. 'We cannot be sure that it was murder. '

I ignored this remark. 'Who else?' I demanded inexorably.

She bit her lip. 'No one that I know of.'

'I think you're lying.' But my reproach was muted. 'You were close to your mistress. She was miserable and lonely and needed someone to talk to. You were always with her, attending to her wants. Who would she be more likely to confide in? When she sent for Brother Simeon, was it only to ask for his help concerning her husband's infidelity?'
 

'N-no,' Audrey replied nervously. A blush spread across the delicate features. 'She... She fretted about Maurice and .. and Fulk Disney.'

'She thought them lovers?'

The pale rose deepened to crimson. 'So she said. She... She tried to tell me... to explain things to me.'
 

'Did she also explain that in the eyes of the Church, it is one of the most heinous sins?' Audrey nodded. I continued, 'So you see, do you not, that when I ask you to tell me what you can recall of people's whereabouts the day before yesterday, it's not simply out of idle curiosity? Were you fond of Lady Cederwell?'

'She was good to me,' was the evasive answer. 'She promised me her russet cloak, and that's the truth, whatever some others might have you believe. It worries me to think that she could have been killed deliberately.' Audrey wiped away a tear. 'All right. I'll tell you what I can remember, but it won't be much, I'm afraid.'

In the event, Audrey Lambspringe's recollections proved to be greater than either of us had expected. Because she was left for many hours at a time to her own devices, while Lady Cederwell was at her devotions in the tower, and with nothing more to do than refurbish her mistress's small store of clothes, Audrey was at liberty to note the comings and goings of other members of the household, without herself being much observed in return. Her natural timidity and self-effacement meant that her fellow servants were inclined to overlook her, or discount her presence even when they knew she was there.

I had guessed this to be so when I approached her, and for that very reason had hoped to glean some useful information, but I had not allowed for an innate inquisitiveness which meant that she knew most of what was happening, both indoors and out.

On Tuesday morning, Sir Hugh had left Cederwell, riding his black horse, and had not returned until almost midday, long past dinner time, which had upset Martha Grindcobb.

She had been forced to keep his food hot over the kitchen fire and, as a result, had burned the meat and been cursed for her pains. When he had finished eating, the knight sent for Audrey and, having demanded the whereabouts of her mistress, set out for the tower. After some twenty minutes, perhaps longer, he had reappeared through the front porch looking, as Audrey put it, as though he had been visited by Old Scratch himself.

'You saw Sir Hugh?'

She nodded. 'I was at the bottom of the staircase, having but just come down from my lady's room.'

'Yet you thought nothing of it? The way he looked, I mean.'

'At the time, no, I did not. It was a bitter day, promising snow. He had gone out without a cloak, and I thought him white and shivering from the cold. It was only later, after my lady's body was discovered that I... well, that I thought there… might have been a different cause.'

'Did Lady Cederwell visit the tower every day?'
 

'Most days, as soon as she had finished breakfast, which she always ate in her chamber. Sir Hugh had turned the top room into a private chapel for her, and Father Godyer had consecrated it. My lady spent most of her time there. She said this was an ungodly house and she would not abide in it for more hours than she had to.'

Sir Hugh began to command more of my sympathy than heretofore. He had plainly had much to endure from his imprudent marriage.

I asked, 'And so you were not surprised when your mistress did not return to the house all day? Not even when darkness fell?'

'No.' Audrey pleated her skirt in her lap, her eyes fixed on her unquiet hands.

'What about food? Was she never hungry?'
 

'She ate very frugally. Some days Martha would send me with some victuals, and at others, my lady would take a basket with her.'

'What did she do on Tuesday?'

'She took a basket.'

'You're sure of that?'

'Oh, yes.' The answer came without hesitation. 'She was going to see poor Ulnoth.' Audrey glanced sideways at the body, then hurriedly looked away again. 'Twice or three times a month, during the winter, my lady would take the hermit a loaf of bread and a flagon of ale. Tuesday was one of those days.'

'Did she always walk there and back? It would be a long journey on foot, and even longer in bad weather.'
 

'Yes. She said it was a penance, an act of humility. A gra'merci to God for having so much when others have been given so little.'

I cast my mind back to that second visit which I had made to Ulnoth, when he had been so frightened. Once my eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom, I had been able to see everything there was to see, yet I had noted no loaf of bread nor flagon of ale. If Lady Cederwell had indeed set out for the boulder house, she had not arrived there. Who or what had prevented her? And why?