The Burgundian's tale

Martha broke off, her voice suspended by tears, so I finished for her. ‘But before that could happen, Edmund Broderer disappeared and no one knew what had happened to him until some time later, when his body was fished out of the Thames, almost unrecognizable.’ I paused, then asked, ‘Didn’t it ever occur to you, Mistress Broderer, how very convenient for Judith his death was?’

Martha gave me another sharp look. ‘Yes, of course it did. But not only Veronica Quantrell, but William Morgan also, swore they were all at home together and didn’t leave the house the night he vanished.’

I made no comment, but finished my beer. ‘Were you surprised,’ I then asked, ‘when Judith married a violent man like Justin Threadgold?’

‘Yes, I must admit I was. But she’s always had this passion for children and young people. I thought she must have married him for Alcina’s sake.’

‘And her passion for Fulk Quantrell?’

Martha laughed, gesturing with one hand. ‘Oh, that’s easy enough to explain! A nephew, her twin sister’s son, whom she hadn’t clapped eyes on for the past twelve years! Handsome and with a tongue dripping with honey! Poor Judith stood no chance. She was lost from the first moment of setting eyes on him.’

‘Yes … I rather fancy that she was,’ I answered slowly. I got to my feet. ‘Well, thank you, Mistress Broderer. I won’t take up any more of your time. You’ve told me what I wanted to know.’

‘Where are you going now?’ she enquired curiously. ‘Do you know yet who killed Fulk Quantrell?’

‘Yes, I think so,’ I said. ‘It’s just a question of whether or not I can get that person to confess.’

Martha looked both excited and a little alarmed. ‘It’s not Lionel, is it?’ she demanded, trembling slightly.

I moved towards the door. ‘Is he aware that Edmund was his father?’ I enquired.

She shook her head. ‘No. I’ve never told him; I’ve never seen the need. Whether or not I would have done, had Edmund and I ever married, I can’t say.’ She sighed again. ‘Maybe I’ll tell him the truth one day, if the moment seems right.’

I thanked her for her time and patience, and left quickly before she realized that I hadn’t answered her question.

‘I’ll let myself out,’ I said. ‘Don’t trouble your maid.’

I made my way back to the Strand, more than ever convinced that I knew the identity of Fulk Quantrell’s murderer.

This time I did see Bertram, although he failed to spot me. With a face like thunder, hot and sweating, he was returning through the Lud Gate and about to climb the hill. I didn’t call out, but carried on along Fleet Street to the bridge, and across the Fleet into the Strand.

Paulina Graygoss answered my knock, but pulled down the corners of her mouth when I asked to see her mistress. ‘You’ll have to come back later,’ she informed me tersely. ‘The mistress is doing her domestic rounds. And there are still details of Master Threadgold’s funeral to arrange. She and Mistress Alcina will be visiting St Dunstan’s later, after dinner. You can wait till then, if you like,’ she added grudgingly.

But I wasn’t prepared to wait. ‘Tell Mistress St Clair I would like to speak to her now,’ I said, drawing a gasp of protest from the housekeeper.

‘I’ll do no such thing,’ she declared roundly. ‘I’ve never heard the like. What impudence! A common chapman to issue his orders to the lady of the house! How dare you!’

One of the doors into the great hall opened and Godfrey St Clair shuffled in, a silk-covered folio (presumably the sayings of Marcus Aurelius) clutched in one hand.

‘What’s the trouble, Paulina?’ he asked, giving me an odd, calculating look that he tried, unsuccessfully, to turn into a welcoming smile. Then, without waiting for her reply, he advanced on me, one hand outheld. ‘Master Chapman! I saw your approach from a window. I’m sorry to tell you that my wife is but just this moment taken with one of her very bad headaches, and is laid down upon her bed.’

Paulina Graygoss gave a startled exclamation of sympathy and at once ordered me from the house. ‘You see now that it’s impossible for you to see the mistress.’

Godfrey silenced her with a wave of his hand. ‘On the contrary, my wife has agreed see you, Master Chapman, if you keep your visit brief and do not object to being received by her in her bedchamber.’

‘Mistress St Clair was expecting me?’

‘She … She thought you might be back … might wish to speak with her again.’ Godfrey seemed ill at ease and his eyes refused to meet mine. ‘I don’t know why,’ he went on, ‘but it was after Mistress Jolliffe called on her a little while ago, just as we were finishing breakfast.’

‘And she’s willing to see me?’

‘I’ve just said so.’

‘In spite of her headache?’ Paulina Graygoss demanded. ‘I ought to go up to her, master, and mix her one of her potions.’