Kate Sedley - The Wicked Winter

After a moment's silence, the cook burst out laughing, while Edith, Ethelwynne and Jenny Tonge, whose eyes had grown large with fright and apprehension, managed to smile, reassured by her obvious amusement.

'I never heard such nonsense! Is this true, Roger?' Martha asked, turning to me.

'No… That is… Perhaps…' I floundered, caught off guard and not knowing what to say. If I told the truth, I should be pressed to name my suspect and produce evidence in support of my claim, and I was not yet ready to do so. There were one or two more facts which I needed to garner.

'Well? Is it true or not?' Her good humour was rapidly giving way to impatience. And when I again hesitated over my answer, she walked up to me and waggled a forefinger under my nose. 'Now, you listen to me, my lad! We've had enough trouble here without you trying to stir up more. We all know what happened to both my lady and her brother and to the poor old hermit, if it comes to that — so we don't need your mischief-making. Let things alone, Roger Chapman, that's my advice to you.' She smoothed down her apron and regarded me for the first time with hostility. 'Luckily, you'll be gone tomorrow if this thaw continues.'

'Now see what you've done,' I hissed at Simeon, as I resumed my seat on the floor beside him. 'You've put me in the wrong with Martha.'

His mouth pouted like that of a sulky child. 'Serves you right! It's not fair to give me only half a story. I want to know what's going on in that head of yours.'

I shrugged and moved away, letting him see my disdain of such petulance in a grown man. It had no noticeable effect, so instead, I switched my attention to the cook. It seemed to me that her protestations were inspired by fear rather than genuine indignation, but was she afraid for herself, I wondered, or for her master, or for some other person? On second thoughts however, I realised that I should get no satisfaction from questioning her, thanks to the friar's intervention; so, when I had finished my meal, I went in search of Audrey Lambspringe.

It was now impossible for me to ask anyone in the kitchen where to find her without arousing fully justified suspicions of my intent. She had not taken dinner with us, so I concluded that she must be one of the company who ate in the steward's room, along with Phillipa Talke and Master Disney. As Lady Cederwell's personal attendant, and as a compliment to her mistress, she might well be included amongst these more august domestic ranks. Consequently, as soon as Jenny Tonge and the other two maids began collecting up plates from the great hall and elsewhere, I loitered in the main passageway, hoping that Audrey might emerge from Tostig's lair. I reasoned that if she were indeed present, she would be the first to leave, the steward and housekeeper, and even Fulk Disney, being sufficiency superior to her to linger for a gossip over their ale.

My argument proved correct, and she followed Ethelwynne, who was carrying a pile of dirty dishes, along the corridor, scuffing her feet among the rushes and replying listlessly to some remark that the other girl was making over her shoulder. I stepped forward and spoke her name.

'Mistress Lambspringe! Can you spare me a moment of your time?' Ethelwynne eyed me sharply and scurried off to the kitchen, undoubtedly to report to the cook on my present activity. I seized Audrey's elbow and gave it an urgent squeeze. 'If so, will you accompany me upstairs to the chapel, where we can be private together?'

The girl looked bewildered, as well she might, but readily agreed. Without any duties to keep her busy, she was at a loss how to fill her day.

We mounted the stairs together and disappeared from view only just in time. Below us, Martha's voice could be heard calling, 'Audrey! Audrey Lambspringe! Drat the child! Where is she?'

I hurried her forward, whispering, 'Take no notice! Mistress Grindcobb wishes to prevent me from speaking to you, that's all.'

The chapel, to my great relief, was empty save for the hermit's body. I felt my companion recoil a little at the sight of it, but pressed her to enter.

'Poor Ulnoth can do you no harm. Don't look at him if it disturbs you. Come into the confessional.' And I pulled back the curtain of the priest's cell where a narrow stone bench was revealed against the chapel's outer wall.

Audrey sent me a fearful, sidelong glance. I seized her wrist none too gently and forced her to sit beside me, smothering the desire to give her a shake.

'I haven't brought you here for dalliance,' I said impatiently. 'I want to ask you some questions.' She looked so relieved that I felt slightly insulted. All the same, I knew it was good for my soul. Conceit and self-esteem are both sins, and two that I used to suffer from when young.

'What questions?' she inquired apprehensively.

'Have you any recollection of where everyone was, and what they were doing, the day before yesterday? The day Lady Cederwell died.'

'Oh! I–I don't know! Why should I be able to tell you? It's not my business to spy on other people.'

Audrey was uneasy now, and half rose from the bench.

Again, I took hold of her wrist, but with a greater gentleness this second time.

'Whatever you say, I shall repeat it to no one. You have my most solemn promise on that. I'll swear it on the altar if you like.'

She hesitated, still poised for flight, but at last, with a show of reluctance, resumed her seat.

'Why do you want to know?'

I took both her hands in mine and answered solemnly, 'Because I think it possible that your mistress did not fall from the tower, but was pushed or thrown down. In short, that she was murdered.'

To my surprise, Audrey Lambspringe expressed neither horror nor incredulity at this suggestion. Her only reaction was to return the clasp of my fingers and stare at the ground.

After a moment or two, she nodded slowly.

'I, too, have considered that possibility,' she said. 'There are those, both inside and outside this house, who would benefit from my lady's death.'

'Can you name them?'

'I believe you know them already.'

'Nevertheless, I should be grateful to have confirmation of my suspicions from an inhabitant of the manor, from someone who knows its people better than I do.'

'And you won't inform anyone of what I have said? I have your word'?'

'I've told you, I'll swear to it if you like.'

'There's no need for that. I'll trust you. Well then, as you have probably seen for yourself, Sir Hugh will not be sorry to find himself a widower again. It means that he is free to marry Mistress Lynom. Similarly, Mistress Lynom is at liberty to wed the master.'

'You know of their liaison?'

Audrey glanced up in astonishment. 'Everyone at Cederwell knows of it.'

'Phillipa Talke didn't, I fancy.'

The small, pale face looked frowningly as she considered this.

'I think Mistress Talke must have known,' Audrey finally decided, 'but she refused to take the matter seriously. Sir Hugh and Mistress Lynom have always been friends, you see, and she thought it was no more than that.'

'So the housekeeper could well have killed Lady Cederwell if she believed it would release your master from an unhappy marriage and free him to offer her his hand.'

Audrey grimaced. 'I've heard Cook say that Mistress Talke believed Sir Hugh to be in love with her, but I didn't take much notice. I'd never seen any evidence of partiality on his side, and considered that very likely Mistress Grindcobb was mistaken.'

'I would never doubt anything Martha told me. She has a sharp ear and an even sharper eye. But let that pass for the moment.We are agreed, then, that both Sir Hugh and Mistress Lynom benefit from Lady Cederwell's death, and that Phillipa Talke may have thought that she would. She has surely realised her error by now, but it is her state of mind before your mistress's death that is important. So, continue. These three apart, who else within the manor pale gains, in your opinion, by this killing?'