The Burgundian's tale

Our host readily explained. ‘These three houses — this one, Mistress St Clair’s and the one belonging to Roland Jolliffe — were once part of the great Savoy Palace, which, as you must know, was burned to the ground during the Great Revolt almost a hundred years ago. But because they were at some distance from the main buildings, they escaped the flames; and when the rest of the land was eventually built over, they remained as separate dwellings. My theory is that, originally, they were used as whorehouses. The “Winchester geese” were ferried across from Southwark to the landing stage, brought up through the gardens and lodged here. Gentlemen requiring their services, but who needed to be a little more discreet than their fellows, would use the “secret” stairs. Of course, such niceties didn’t bother the last occupant of the Savoy, the great John of Gaunt. He kept his mistress, Lady Swynford, in regal state in the palace itself, until she had to flee before Wat Tyler’s vengeful mob … There, does that answer your question?’

I nodded and thanked him.

‘So,’ he continued, settling back in his chair, ‘what else do you wish to ask me?’

I leaned forward, my hands resting on my knees. ‘Master Threadgold, on the night that Fulk Quantrell was killed, your niece claims to have spent the evening here, with you. An infrequent occurrence, I gather. Was she here?’

He replied without the smallest hesitation. ‘Yes, she was here. My housekeeper will also vouch for Alcina’s presence, if necessary. She let her in.’ He paused, frowning. ‘I thought she seemed upset about something — Alcina, that is — but I didn’t enquire the reason. I didn’t feel it to be my business. All the same, I suspected it might have had to do with young Master Quantrell.’

‘You knew she was in love with him?’

‘Oh, yes. I don’t have a lot to do with her or with the St Clairs, but I get all the gossip from Felice, who keeps both ears closely to the ground. She and Goody Graygoss aren’t exactly friends, but Paulina can’t resist chattering about her employers’ affairs every now and then.’

‘What did you think of Fulk Quantrell?’

Bertram was beginning to wriggle, trying to get comfortable on the window seat. I administered a warning kick on his shins.

‘I didn’t think anything about him,’ was the tart response. ‘I didn’t know him, except by report, and that might well have been biased in either direction.’

‘And what did report say of him?’ I wanted to know.

Martin Threadgold shrugged. ‘This and that. This was good, that was bad. I had no way of sifting truth from falsehood.’ But his gaze, until now clear and direct, suddenly avoided mine. ‘So you see, I’m afraid I can’t help you or the Duke of Gloucester’s representative, here.’

Bertram stopped squirming long enough to smirk importantly, then resumed his search for a less uncomfortable position.

‘Why do you think Mistress St Clair — Mistress Broderer as she then was — decided to marry your brother?’ I asked, relying on my old tactic of an abrupt change of subject to disconcert my listener. ‘He wasn’t a very pleasant man from all I’ve heard.’

‘He was a very unpleasant man,’ Martin admitted candidly. ‘Took after our father, I’m afraid: a violent man, easily moved to anger. I was more our mother’s son.’

‘Were you afraid of your brother?’

‘Everyone was afraid of Justin when he was in one of his moods or in his cups. But he could also be extremely charming if he chose. Judith made the mistake that so many clever women make about violent men: she thought she could manage him, that he would be different with her. I’m sure he convinced her that she was special, more intelligent, more beautiful, more … more … oh, more everything than Alcina’s mother had been. He would have represented himself as a man whose patience had been sorely tried by an inferior intellect; by a foolish, feckless wife … But, of course, people like him never change.’

That, I reflected, was very true. The faults of youth rarely lessen with age. More often than not, they become exaggerated.

‘Did Mistress St Clair and your brother never get on together after they were married?’ I asked.

Martin Threadgold considered this carefully, then shrugged. ‘Not often. Although they must have had their better moments. Justin planted that willow for her down near the river bank — the one you can see from this window.’

Bertram and I obediently slewed round and stared down across the walls, into the neighbouring garden, at the tree we had noted earlier.

‘Judith’s always been very fond of it,’ our host continued. ‘On hot summer days, she likes to sit in its shade and look at the water.’

‘After the marriage, I assume that your brother and niece went to live next door,’ I said. ‘Was there never any suggestion that Mistress St Clair might move into this house?’