The Burgundian's tale

‘But it’s the old, familiar story,’ Timothy went on, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Faced with her own flesh and blood, warmed by the young man’s apparent devotion and affection, Judith had barely known him a month before she made him her heir, presented him with extravagant gifts of money and jewels, and allowed herself to become besotted by him …’ There was a pause before Timothy added grimly, ‘Two weeks ago, he was found battered to death in Fleet Street, not two or three hundred yards from his aunt’s home in the Strand.’

Two

I laughed shortly. ‘Now there’s a surprise!’

Timothy nodded gloomily. ‘A predictable ending to a predictable tale. But not an unprecedented one. Strange things seem to happen to women of Judith St Clair’s age, particularly if they’re childless. Suddenly faced with a handsome young man, her twin sister’s son, and deeply affected, I suppose, by the unexpected news of that sister’s death, she adopted him almost immediately as her own. Her former affection for her stepchildren was overwhelmed by the love she felt for her nephew.’

‘So why does Duke Richard need me to solve the crime?’ I snorted. ‘It seems to me any fool could work out the answer given time and patience. You already have four suspects with very strong motives for wanting the young man dead: Judith’s present husband, his son, her stepdaughter by her second marriage and the — er — cousin, was it? of her first husband, who runs the embroidery workshops for her, and who, in the fullness of time, might well have expected some acknowledgement of the fact in Judith’s will. It was generally known, I take it, that she had made this Fulk Quantrell her sole heir?’

‘She may not have said anything about it, but it appears he openly boasted of the fact.’

‘Well then!’

‘It mightn’t be quite as simple as that,’ Timothy demurred. ‘I’m not in possession of all the facts — God knows, I’m just the messenger — but I gather friends of Godfrey St Clair, a certain Roland and Lydia something-or-other, may also be involved. Don’t ask me how! Besides, no one else has the leisure to spend on the matter.’ His chest swelled importantly. ‘By the time we get to London, the Dowager Duchess will already be at sea, and the Earl of Lincoln must set out again almost at once for Gravesend in order to escort his aunt into the capital. I, of course, will be in attendance on My Lord of Gloucester and must be constantly on the alert for any outside forces, any foreign agents, who might pose a threat to the friendly outcome of this visit and England’s renewed ties with Burgundy.’

‘The French, you mean,’ I said drily. ‘Such cunning, devious, little bastards — they’re everywhere. I wonder you could be spared to come chasing after me.’

Timothy gave me a narrow look. ‘You watch that sarcastic tongue of yours, Roger! I volunteered to fetch you because I knew I had the power to make you acquiesce in Duke Richard’s request.’

‘Not a command, then?’

The spy turned down the corners of his mouth. ‘The Duke is sympathetic — unnecessarily so, in my opinion — to the demands of a wife and children. And given your present recalcitrant mood, it would appear to be a good thing that I did come.’

I was not prepared to allow Timothy that much satisfaction. ‘As it happens, I was already preparing to leave Bristol and go on my travels for a week or two. So’ — it was my turn to shrug — ‘I might as well be in London as anywhere.’

I was delighted to note his look of disappointment. But he made no comment apart from asking me where I would choose to stay. ‘I daresay a room can be found for you in Baynard’s Castle. You’ve lodged there once before.’

I had indeed; which was how I knew the servants’ dormitories to be cramped and overcrowded, some poor fellows sleeping three or four to a bed, others having no bed at all but forced to spend their nights on the draughty floor. Since becoming a house owner I had grown soft and used to my comfort.

‘I’ll find a room at St Brendan the Voyager in Bucklersbury,’ I said. ‘I know the landlord, Reynold Makepeace: an honest man, who won’t take advantage of a country cousin like me by charging outrageous prices.’

Timothy’s face brightened. ‘I know the Voyager: it’s tucked in among all those grocers’ and apothecaries’ shops. I also have a nodding acquaintance with Innkeeper Makepeace. But what’s even better is that Needlers Lane is a turning off Bucklersbury, about halfway along on the opposite side of the road to the inn. You’ll be a mere stone’s throw from the Broderer workshops.’ He rose and clapped me on the back, the same shoulder favoured by the Earl of Lincoln. I winced. ‘And now, if we’re not to keep the King’s nephew waiting — and I wouldn’t advise it, in spite of all his good humour and friendly ways — you’d better make your farewells. We must be at the castle by noon.’