Kate Sedley - The Prodigal Son

‘Did you ask him what he was doing with it?’

‘I didn’t ask him exactly — he never encouraged me to be too forward — but he saw me looking and laughed a bit, like he was embarrassed. “A fine cudgel, this,” he said. And I said, “It’s Master Chapman’s, isn’t it?” and he said, “Yes. He left it in the hall this morning when he came in.”’

I thought back to my return to Croxcombe woods. I had encountered the Bignells and accompanied them into the house before taking Hercules to the kitchens to be petted and made much of by the maids. I had a vague recollection of leaving my cudgel somewhere, and an even vaguer one of taking it with me when I returned to Croxcombe woods later in the afternoon.

‘And did your master tell you what he was up to?’ I asked.

Humphrey shrugged. ‘Not really. He told me to take it and put it back by the door, where he’d found it. The one at the back of the dais that opens into the kitchen passageway. So I did. He went off to look for Master and Mistress Bignell.’

I said nothing, but sat staring thoughtfully out of the open window where the shadows were lengthening and the bright banners of the setting sun gilding the evening sky. Knowing what I did, that my cudgel had been the murder weapon that had struck Anthony Bellknapp the fatal blow before he was tumbled into the moat, I was even more confused than I had been before. Humphrey’s information suggested that Anthony was the potential murderer, not the victim.

I thanked the lad and tried to cheer him up by advising him to apply to Dame Audrea for enough funds to see him safely home.

‘But not until I’ve discovered the identity of her son’s murderer for her. She won’t let you leave until then.’

‘Why not?’ He was instantly alarmed. ‘She doesn’t suspect me, does she? Do you?’

‘Not really,’ I said, patting him soothingly on the shoulder. ‘But the dame would prefer it to be you.’

He was no fool: he could work out why for himself and looked frightened. ‘You will be able to prove it wasn’t me, won’t you?’ I slid off the bed. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m going to talk to Thomas Bignell again. Meantime, stop worrying. No one can accuse you without proving that you had a reason to do away with your master.’

‘I didn’t!’

I smiled at him in what I hoped was an enigmatic way and left the room.

The Bignells had not yet retired to bed and were sitting with Rose and their son-in-law at the high table in the hall, watching in silence as the last of the day’s rushes were cleared away by the servants and fresh ones laid down for the morning. Also of the party were Reginald Kilsby, the bailiff, whose dismissal seemed to have been rescinded in the wake of Anthony’s death, and Jonathan Slye, the chamberlain. I pulled up a stool and forced myself in between Edward Micheldever and the butcher.

‘What do you want?’ the receiver grunted angrily. ‘What’s brought you back here, to Croxcombe?’

‘Dame Audrea asked me to return,’ I answered calmly. ‘She wants to know which one of you villains killed her son.’

‘I suppose you think that’s funny,’ growled the bailiff, half rising from his seat.

‘No. Although I am known for my sense of humour. The sorry fact is that you and Master Slye and Master Micheldever here all had reason to wish Anthony Bellknapp dead.’

‘That doesn’t mean to say we murdered him,’ the chamberlain protested.

‘Not all of you, no. But one of you might have been goaded too far.’

But now I had gone too far. Edward Micheldever was on his feet, hands balled into fists, inviting me to step outside. He was a solidly built, pugnacious man. I declined his invitation.

‘Sit down,’ I said, trying to sound authoritative, ‘and don’t be a fool. I’m not accusing anyone. If you can tell me where you were last night, and prove it, I shall be satisfied. So will Dame Audrea.’

‘I was in bed with Rose,’ Edward answered promptly, ‘and she’ll tell you so. Rose!’

Rose smiled tremulously. ‘It’s true,’ she concurred.

Well, she would, wouldn’t she? It didn’t really prove her husband’s innocence, except that what little I knew of Rose had convinced me that she was not a good liar. And there was no faltering glance, no hesitation in the voice. ‘It’s true,’ she emphasized, holding my gaze steadily.

I nodded my acceptance and turned my attention to the chamberlain. ‘Master Slye?’

The thick neck turned red and he shifted his burly body in his chair so that he could fix me with his ice-cold stare more easily.

‘I, too, was in bed, although I haven’t a wife to prove it. But if you ask the little kitchen maid with the wart on her chin I’m sure she’ll back up my story.’ He grinned in a lascivious way that, for some reason, made me feel hot and uncomfortable, and I saw the bailiff glance sideways at him with a contemptuous curl of his lip.

‘I shall ask the young woman,’ I said, ‘but I feel sure that if she knows what’s good for her, she will agree with what you’ve just told me.’

‘It’s true!’ Jonathan Slye expostulated angrily, going an even darker shade of red.

I suspected that it was, but made no answer, turning my attention to Reginald Kilsby.

‘I see you’re still here, Master Bailiff. Are you able to account for your whereabouts last night?’

‘Of course I’m still here,’ he blustered. ‘There was never any doubt that I would be.’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘Dame Audrea had no intention of permitting Anthony to dismiss me. She would have intervened.’

‘Somebody most certainly intervened,’ I said drily. ‘So, what about last night? Were you also in bed?’

‘Naturally. Where else should I have been?’ He added nastily, ‘And where were you, Master Chapman? And can you prove it? Why should we be subjected to your interrogation and not you to ours?’

He had me there, but when forced on to the defensive, the best thing to do is attack.

‘I am acting on the authority of Dame Audrea,’ I said with as much pomposity as I could manage. ‘She wants to discover her son’s killer, and she knows that I had no reason to wish him harm.’

I could see a retort hovering on the tip of the bailiff’s tongue, but he wisely left it to the receiver to voice it.

‘And what about Dame Audrea herself?’ Edward Micheldever demanded. ‘And Master Simon?’

‘Your mistress protests her innocence, like the rest of you. I haven’t yet spoken to Simon.’ I addressed the butcher. ‘Master Bignell, it’s still warm out of doors and not yet completely dark. I wonder if you’d take a walk with me. I could do with some fresh air.’

Mistress Bignell laid a hand on her husband’s arm, looking uneasy. ‘Don’t go, my dear, if you don’t want to.’

The butcher smiled and patted her hand. ‘Why ever not? I’m quite safe with Master Chapman.’ He got to his feet.

So did Ronan. ‘I’ll come, too,’ he said. His tone was aggressive.

‘You’re more than welcome,’ I told him. ‘You can all come if you like. It’s a balmy evening.’

I guessed that a general invitation was a certain way of discouraging the rest of the company, and I wasn’t disappointed. Only the butcher and his son followed me out of the hall.

We strolled across the dew-damp grass to the edge of the moat, sulky and sluggish now in the waning light. Behind us, the windows of the house suddenly blossomed with candle flames as the servants went from room to room lighting the wicks. From the stables sounded the shifting of hooves and the neigh of a horse as the animals settled themselves for the approaching night. There was a burst of laughter, quickly suppressed, from the kitchen quarters. Somewhere a dog barked, swiftly answered by another and then another. A man’s voice shouted and there was the thud of something being thrown; then all was silence.