The Burgundian's tale

‘Both, I should say.’ Jocelyn paused, then went on, ‘They’d been at odds all day, ever since they’d returned from the maying expedition that morning. My own opinion, for what it’s worth, is that Cina was trying to persuade Fulk to announce their betrothal and name the wedding day. He was resisting because I’m pretty certain he had no intention of marrying her. Why should he leg-shackle himself when he could inherit all my stepmother’s money and property for himself without the encumbrance of a wife?’

‘According to Mistress Broderer, Fulk claimed to have a betrothed back in Burgundy.’

Jocelyn gave a shout of laughter. ‘Moonshine! If he did say that, it was for Alcina’s benefit, to dampen her ardour.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘As sure as I can be. He informed me once that he had no intention of ever getting married, and I believed him.’ The small, childish teeth bared themselves in another grin. ‘Oh, Fulk liked women all right. I told you, he was after seducing Lydia Jolliffe. But women were like feathers in his cap to Fulk. They were conquests. His real predilection was for men.’

I heard Bertram draw in his breath and saw his eyes widen in disgust. But he was young. He would learn that, whatever the teachings of the Church, it takes all sorts to populate the world.

‘Did he make advances to you?’ I asked.

Jocelyn shook his head. ‘Too chancy. He couldn’t risk my stepmother finding out. She’s very strait-laced about such matters. But I know he’d made suggestions to Brandon, and been repulsed. Mind you, he was very discreet. I doubt if many people were aware that he favoured the vice of the ancient Greeks. Wouldn’t have believed it of him, I daresay, even if they’d been told.’

This had been a most instructive and enlightening digression, but I forced the conversation back on to its original path. ‘So you don’t have any idea where Fulk or Mistress Threadgold may have gone, or what they did, before arriving at the Needlers Lane workshop? You’ve heard about the scene there, I daresay?’

‘Oh yes! Martha Broderer made all of us and the Sheriff’s men free of it after the murder. Her intention was, of course, to implicate Cina and minimise Lionel’s motive for killing Fulk.’

‘And did she succeed, do you think?’

Jocelyn laughed shortly. ‘It doesn’t matter if she did or she didn’t, does it? Not now that the Duke of Gloucester, God save the mark, has taken the matter out of the Sheriff’s hands and put it in yours.’ He spoke with a sudden return to his earlier hostility.

‘You don’t think me capable of solving the murder?’ I enquired mildly.

He hunched his shoulders, not bothering to reply. ‘I must be off,’ he said, rising. ‘The cordwainer’s waiting for me and I promised him I’d not be late. It’s been interesting talking to you, Master Chapman.’ He made no effort to keep the sneer from his voice.

I didn’t try to detain him, and he had barely left the room when the housekeeper, Paulina Graygoss, appeared in the doorway.

‘It’s nearly dinner time,’ she announced grudgingly, ‘and the mistress says to ask you and your friend’ — she nodded briefly at Bertram — ‘if you’d care to eat with William and me in the kitchen.’

I did not hesitate to accept, although I could tell by my companion’s face that the arrangement was not at all to his liking. But it was too good an opportunity to miss. I could study and talk to William Morgan at close quarters. Mistress Graygoss, also.

‘Thank you,’ I said, almost before she had finished speaking. ‘If we may, we’ll follow you down.’

The main staircase descended into the back half of the great hall, whose inner door gave access to the stone-flagged passageway mentioned by Master St Clair.

As she turned into the kitchen, the housekeeper remarked tersely, ‘Dinner isn’t ready yet. Don’t get under my feet.’

‘I see a door along here,’ I said, ‘that looks as if it opens into the garden. So if you don’t mind, Master Serifaber and I will take a walk outside to clear our heads and work up an appetite.’

Mistress Graygoss indicated with a dismissive gesture of her hand that we could do as we pleased — she wasn’t responsible for us — and disappeared into the smoke and steam of the kitchen. I jerked my head at Bertram and we proceeded along the passage, heading for the door at the end. Halfway, I gave him a nudge.

‘There,’ I said. ‘Look!’

An archway in the wall revealed the lower treads of a flight of stone steps rising into the gloom above.

‘The “secret” stair, do you think?’ asked Bertram.

‘Undoubtedly, I should say.’ I glanced back over my shoulder. I could hear voices — or, rather, one voice raised in annoyance — but could see no one. ‘Shall we go up and make sure?’

‘You wouldn’t dare,’ Bertram protested, horrified. ‘Mistress St Clair might be in her room.’

He refused point-blank to accompany me; so, much against his will, I left him on guard with instructions to whistle if anyone emerged from the kitchen.