The Burgundian's tale

‘No. No, that’s right,’ he finally agreed. ‘After supper, I went to my study and continued reading the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, emperor and philosopher. A truly remarkable man. Are you familiar with any of his dictums?’

‘I — er — No, I can’t call to mind anything of his just at the moment, can you, Master Serifaber?’

Thus appealed to, Bertram goggled at me like a stranded fish and mutely shook his head.

‘Did you remain in your study, sir, until you went to bed?’

‘What? Oh … yes. Until I went to bed.’

‘And what hour would that have been? As near as you can tell.’

‘Oh, I can tell you exactly,’ Godfrey said triumphantly. ‘I put my head out of my study window for a breath of fresh air and the watch were just crying midnight. I hadn’t realized it was quite so late. Time flies when you’re enjoying yourself.’

‘Indeed it does.’ Bertram gave a stifled giggle and I frowned him down. ‘Was anyone else in the house still up at that hour, apart from yourself?’

Godfrey considered this. ‘I … I’m not quite sure,’ he said at last. ‘I’d heard the young people return earlier in the evening from wherever they’d been, and presumed that they were all at home and asleep in their beds. However, I … I did think I heard a noise of some sort, but when I went to investigate, I couldn’t find anything or anyone awake and stirring.’

‘What sort of noise? Can you remember?’

Godfrey shook his head. ‘At the time, I thought it was the door to the secret stairway opening and closing.’

‘The secret stairway?’ Bertram demanded excitedly. ‘Whereabouts is that, sir?’

Having sat still for all of ten minutes, Godfrey began to fidget with his gown again, rearranging it beneath his thin buttocks, raising and lowering himself until he fancied he was comfortable once more. Only then did he turn his attention back to me.

‘What were we talking about? Oh, yes! The secret stair. It isn’t really secret, you understand. Apparently, that was the name Alcina gave it when she was a child, and it stuck. Of course, I didn’t know her then. Didn’t know my wife then. Wasn’t even a widower probably …’

‘This so-called secret stair, sir!’ I had no compunction in cutting short the flow. He was one of those people who, if allowed to ramble into the byways of reminiscence, would be there all day. ‘Where is it?’

‘Oh, in Mistress St Clair’s bedchamber — didn’t I say? There’s a second door in one corner of her room which opens on to a little landing at the top of a flight of stairs. They lead down into the passage running alongside the kitchen.’

‘But doesn’t Mistress St Clair bolt this door at night?’

‘As a rule, yes, but she’s sometimes forgetful. So when I heard this noise and thought it was the door to the stair opening and shutting, I assumed that my wife, who had been suffering with one of her bad headaches, had gone to bed and forgotten to do so.’

‘What’s it used for, this “secret” stairway?’ I wanted to know. ‘What’s the point of it? Why was it built?’

‘Yes, yes! I understand what you’re asking me.’ There was a justifiable testiness in Godfrey’s voice. ‘No need to repeat the question three different ways. I’m not in my dotage yet, whatever you may think. I can’t tell you what the original purpose of the stair was when the house was first constructed, but we use it as a shorter and quicker route for Mistress Graygoss, our housekeeper, to get up and down to the first floor to consult with my wife. If she uses the main staircase it takes her much longer.’ He was getting restless again.

‘So, sir,’ I asked quickly before he could rise and amble off, ‘why did you think that the noise you heard was made by the door to this particular staircase?’

‘The damn door squeaks,’ he answered irritably. ‘Needs oiling. I keep telling William about it, but he doesn’t take any notice of me. The only person he heeds is Judith, and then only if he feels like it or she gets angry with him. Old family servant,’ he grumbled. ‘Been in my wife’s service since he was a lad. They’re always the worst sort. Bloody useless. William isn’t thirty yet — somewhere about your age, I should reckon — but behaves like he’s an old man. Says he has a bad back.’

I suppressed a smile and let Godfrey have his moan. Then I asked, ‘And what did you do next?’

He took off his spectacles, polished them on his sleeve and readjusted them on his nose before answering. ‘What did I do next? What do you think I did next? What anyone would have done. I went into my wife’s bedchamber to make sure she was all right.’

‘And was she?’