A Killer in Winter

‘I married a man far older than me because I wanted a life of comfort and security. I sacrificed a good deal for it – my freedom and my spirit, not to mention a handsome lover who would have been a friend as well as a husband. Walter has sons who will inherit his fortune, and I saw that his premature death would end the life I had built at such cost. I will be a fat, middle-aged widow with nothing to offer any suitor.’

‘You are not fat,’ said Bartholomew gallantly. ‘But there are dietary regimes that promote good health as well as a thinner figure. If you like, I can draw up-’

‘Matt!’ said Edith sharply. ‘This is not the time.’

‘I would have helped,’ said Abigny, regarding his sister with gentle affection. ‘I admit I have not amounted to much, with my token post at the law courts and my squandered fortune, but I would have looked after you.’

She gazed at him bleakly. ‘You will wed this year. Do you think your salary can support me and your new wife? Will Janyne want her husband’s sister living in her house? And you have missed my point: I do not want to struggle along on pennies. I would have married Matt if I had been content with that.’

Her face was haunted, and Abigny leaned across to take her hand in his. ‘Your finances and your dreams are your business, Philippa. You do not have to share them with others.’

‘It is better they know the truth,’ she said tiredly, indicating Bartholomew and his family. ‘I do not want them speculating, and coming up with answers that show me in a poorer light than even I deserve.’ She took a deep breath and turned to Edith, apparently finding it easier to address her than the others. ‘I did not know what to do with myself when I first heard the news about Walter. I could not imagine what would become of me – and Giles – just because Walter had elected to go skating.’

‘You said he would never have done that,’ prompted Bartholomew, when she fell silent.

‘I still think he would not. He was too cautious to have ventured out on to weak ice. I suppose I shall never know why he did it. But then, when I heard he was still alive, I felt a sudden relief, as though I had been reprieved. He opened his eyes and looked at me, and I am sure he read the fear and apprehension for my future in my face. He said two words: “Temple” and “you”.’

‘Temple?’ asked Edith, curiously. ‘What does that mean?’

‘It is the name of our home,’ said Philippa. ‘Temple House – because it has arches on the front like the Temple Church in Fleet. Those words told me that the house was mine, that he had made provision for me in his will. I am not penniless after all.’

Bartholomew gazed at her. So that was the reason for the change in her behaviour between when she first learned about Turke’s accident and his death. She had gone from being a penniless widow with no future to the owner of a large and substantial home. He recalled their discussion at the Christmas feast, when she had mentioned the splendid house that bore resemblance to the Temple Church with its columns and round-headed windows.

‘So that explains all this odd behaviour?’ asked Stanmore, relieved. ‘You were trying to maintain a grief that you do not genuinely feel?’

Philippa looked pained. ‘Now you think me a hypocrite. I loved Walter in my own way, and I will miss him. And I shall respect his memory and do all a good widow should do. But I am not devastated by his death. However, I shall need to act my part until we have buried him and allowed his Fraternity friends to say their farewells.’

‘You should have told us,’ said Edith, sounding hurt. ‘We can be trusted not to tell people that you are looking forward to a brighter future now Walter is gone.’

‘You said you did not understand the meaning of Walter’s final words,’ said Bartholomew, trying not to sound accusing. ‘But you did.’

Philippa gave a wry smile. ‘Do you think I should have told you I had just received the happy news that I am the owner of the best house on Friday Street while my husband’s corpse was still warm? That would not have been appropriate!’

‘Neither was changing from debilitating grief to cool efficiency in a matter of moments,’ muttered Bartholomew. He spoke aloud, wishing she had chosen to be honest sooner. It would have saved a good deal of agitation for Stanmore. ‘So, Walter did not mention Dympna, and my theories associating him with Norbert are wrong?’

‘The only time I have ever heard that name was when Mayor Horwood mentioned it at the feast,’ replied Philippa. ‘He thought Dick Tulyet might be its leader.’

‘Dick?’ mused Bartholomew thoughtfully. Was that the link between Dympna and Norbert – that the beneficiary of one loan was Tulyet’s cousin? But Tulyet would not have asked Michael to investigate if he had been responsible for Norbert’s death, surely? ‘Did Horwood say anything more about this guild?’