Susanna GREGORY - Mystery in the Minster

‘Lord!’ breathed Michael, shocked.

‘Do you remember the night we arrived back at the hospitium, and found Radeford rummaging in my saddlebag, Brother?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘He claimed he wanted a remedy for his headache, but I think he was just checking that his discoveries would be safe until the following day, when he planned to pull them out and prove himself cleverer than Cynric.’

‘In exchange for a magic spell to snag Isabella,’ said Langelee. ‘Poor Radeford. He really did love her, so perhaps it was a mercy that he never learned her true nature.’

They were silent for a while, reflecting on all that had happened. Then the bell began to chime, informing them that supper was ready in the hall. Its note was sweet and high on the evening air.

‘Come,’ said Langelee, standing abruptly. ‘Or there will be nothing left.’

‘That may not be a bad thing,’ grumbled Michael. ‘Because there is fish-giblet soup tonight. It is on days like this that I wish we were still in York, because the abbey knew how to feed us.’

Langelee winked. ‘The students will eat fish-giblet soup, but I have arranged for something a little more appetising for the Fellows. We owe ourselves something for getting that hundred marks.’

Michael brightened. ‘Really? Will there be enough for Matt and the others, as well as for you and me? Or is that why you suggest that we should hurry?’

Langelee considered carefully, then broke into a run. ‘I am not sure.’

Bartholomew smiled as Michael hared after him. He missed Radeford, but it was still good to be among the familiar things of home.

The same day, York

In her cramped prison cell, Lady Helen waited in tense anticipation for the appointed hour. She had known she would not hang, not when the saints had delivered her from the collapsing crypt, although she was sorry her good fortune had not been extended to Marmaduke and Isabella. It hardly seemed fair, when the scholars and Frost had escaped.

Frost! Helen felt nothing but contempt for him and the way he had capitulated so readily, thus tightening the noose around her neck. It was all Sir William’s fault, of course. He had shown Frost letters she had written to Isabella, which exposed the fact that she had never really intended to marry him, and had made the ‘promise’ as a way to secure a devoted henchman. Bitterly hurt, Frost had provided a full account of her crimes, in return for which he had been permitted to abjure the realm.

Unfortunately, the whole business had so appalled Gisbyrn that he had renounced all association with both of them. He had not even relented when Frost – in a desperate effort to redeem himself – had paid for an expensive obit for Gisbyrn and his entire family. Of course, it was not just the murders that had so horrified Gisbyrn – he was angry because the ensuing scandal had given Longton the moral advantage in their continuing feud.

There was a slight scratch on the cell door, and Helen glided towards it. Sir William thought he was so clever, pawing through her private correspondence, and asking probing questions of her friends and acquaintances. He believed he had learned the answers to everything. But she had one helpmeet he had never suspected, one who had also admired Zouche, and who would do anything to see the wrongs against him righted.

Her heart began to thump as she heard the bar lifted. She was ready, her cloak donned and her bag packed. Her friend would see to the rest of the escape, although not personally, of course. That was what minions were for. Thus she was astonished when the door opened, and she saw him standing there, tall, grave and haughty. Recovering quickly, she moved towards him and knelt to kiss his ring.

‘My Lord Archbishop,’ she said softly. ‘I was not expecting to see you in person.’

‘Some matters cannot be delegated,’ replied Thoresby. ‘As poor Zouche discovered to his cost.’

‘But you will build a whole choir to be your chantry chapel,’ she said eagerly. ‘I have seen the plans. And you will raise an altar for Zouche at the same time. You will see he has what he wanted, and he will be released from Purgatory.’

‘No,’ said Thoresby shortly. ‘You have ensured that any such memorial to him will be tainted, so I cannot afford to be associated with it. Poor Zouche will have to rely on his own good deeds to set himself free.’

‘Then I shall remain here, and see that justice is done,’ said Helen stiffly. ‘Because–’

‘Unfortunately, it has been decided that you must disappear,’ came another voice, and Helen frowned her bemusement when Jafford stepped out from behind the prelate. ‘So you will not be in a position to meddle with Zouche’s affairs again.’

‘Murder should never go unpunished,’ said Thoresby softly, standing aside, so the new sub-chanter could enter the cell. With horror, Helen saw that Jafford carried a knife, and that the angelic features were cold and hard. ‘No murder.’

Jafford had been in the process of raising the weapon, but he lowered it when he heard the odd timbre of the Archbishop’s voice, and regarded him uneasily. Thoresby nodded his satisfaction.

‘Your reaction tells me all I needed to know, Jafford. The physician was right: Cave did lack the poise to have dispatched Cotyngham and remain calm while his “victim” languished in the infirmary. But you knew how to leave misleading clues – ones that pointed to him as the killer.’

‘What?’ Jafford’s face was white with shock.

‘You knew how to ensure Ellis’s downfall, too,’ Thoresby went on remorselessly. ‘If he had not been killed in St Mary ad Valvas, you would have arranged matters so that he was deposed. Either way, you were there, ready to step into his shoes.’

For a moment, it seemed Jafford would deny the accusations, but then he shrugged. ‘Both were causing untold damage to the Bedern with their foul manners and brazen greed. I did not mean to kill Cotyngham, anyway. I went to apologise for Cave making off with his church silver, but he was angry, and would not believe me when I said I had nothing to do with it.’

‘So you pushed him,’ said Thoresby in disgust, while Helen’s face was a mask of shock. ‘And he cracked his head on the hearth. Moreover, I know Cave did not suffer a seizure, either. He was poisoned by the same toxin that killed the executors. Everyone is talking about the stuff, so I imagine it was not difficult for a man with access to books to learn what Isabella used.’

Jafford looked at the knife in his hand. ‘And because of this, you asked me here to…’

‘To see how low you would stoop.’

‘Thank God!’ breathed Helen. ‘For a moment, I thought you intended to let him stab me!’

‘You are both despicable,’ said Thoresby, regarding first one and then the other with such utter disdain that neither could meet his eyes. ‘I shall pray for your souls, although I doubt my petitions will help. You are not bound for Purgatory, but for Hell.’

He turned to leave, his cloak billowing behind him. Helen started to follow, but found her way blocked by two men. Her irritable objections died in her throat when they pushed back their hoods to reveal their faces: both were kin to Ralph Neville, one of the first executors she and Isabella had dispatched.

The grim business did not take long, and when the bodies were found the following morning, Neville’s nephews were many miles from York.

The gaoler was a simple man, and he opted for a simple explanation: that Jafford had gone to hear Lady Helen’s confession, and she had tried to escape. Both had died in the ensuing struggle. Thoresby listened gravely, then dismissed him with a blessing.