Kate Sedley - The Burgundian's tale

Duke Richard glanced at me with raised eyebrows. I told him about the lettuce and poppy juice potion that she took for her headaches.

‘She must have seen Your Highness’s approach along the Strand,’ I suggested, ‘and realized that the game was up. But, My Lord, how did you know where to look for me?’

The Duke, who could be extremely haughty if he wished, merely grinned like a schoolboy and perched on the end of the bed, smoothing the beautiful, embroidered coverlet with a long-fingered, appreciative hand.

‘First things first,’ he reproved me gently. ‘Are you fully recovered after your ordeal? If so, I should be glad to know the details of these two murders. My sister, the Duchess Margaret, will be shocked beyond measure and and it will be hard to convince her of Mistress St Clair’s guilt, in spite of her confession. I need to know all of the facts.’

So, I told him.

When I had finished speaking, I lay back against the pillows, exhausted, my recent experience in the ‘fly trap’ having sapped my strength. Bertram handed me another beaker of wine and, over its rim, I met his reproachful gaze.

‘If only you’d kept me informed,’ he chided, ‘instead of trying to keep me in the dark all the time, you wouldn’t have ended up almost dead meat.’

‘I’m truly sorry,’ I said contritely.

But my apology must have lacked sincerity, because the Duke laughed.

‘And so you should be, Roger,’ he told me. ‘If it wasn’t for young Master Serifaber’s unshakable conviction that something had happened to you, and his insistence on speaking personally to me, you would certainly have died of suffocation.’

It appeared that Bertram, calling on Lydia Jolliffe, had been informed not only of my visit, but also of the fact that she had seen me returning along the Strand in the direction of the city. Indignantly, he had returned to the Voyager only to find that I wasn’t there.

On some God-given impulse, he had decided to visit the Broderer workshop, where Martha had just arrived in order to give a hand with some of the beadwork. She admitted to having seen me and, under pressure, had reluctantly divulged the gist of our conversation. Bertram had then set off back to the Strand, convinced that I had gone to confront Judith St Clair and, as a much brighter lad than I had earlier given him credit for being, already beginning to get a faint inkling of the truth.

At the St Clair house, Paulina Graygoss, who answered his knock, had declared that I had called, but must have gone without her noticing, because she hadn’t seen me since. She had referred him to William Morgan, who had confirmed that I had left. Something in the latter’s manner, however, had aroused Bertram’s suspicions and convinced him that the Welshman was acting under orders from Judith St Clair. Bertram, therefore, had made his way back to Baynard’s Castle to seek out Timothy Plummer, but that gentleman, still swollen with self-importance in his role as chief guardian to the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy, had refused to listen to what he considered the merest conjecture. My fate could well have been sealed there and then, had the Duke of Gloucester not happened to ride into the outer courtyard at the very moment Bertram was leaving.

So anxious was Bertram by this time, that, nothing daunted, he had seized the Duke’s bridle — and very nearly got himself killed by one of the Duke’s squires for his pains. Fortunately, My Lord had intervened just in time; and, as soon as Bertram had explained his worries for my safety, had acted with speed and a fine disregard for the consequences, should Bertram’s hunch have proved to be wrong. A messenger had immediately been despatched to the Sheriff, while the Duke himself had taken Bertram up behind him and, accompanied by three or four men-at-arms and two of his squires, ridden directly to the Strand.

It was during this frantic dash through the London streets that Bertram had recollected my telling him of the ‘fly trap’ in Mistress St Clair’s bedchamber, and he had made straight for it as soon as he had been admitted by Paulina, his royal master hard on his heels.

‘And so I hope you see, Roger,’ the Duke said, still smiling, ‘how much you owe to this astute young man.’

I had regained a little of my bravado — enough, at any rate, to grin impudently and say, ‘My trust is all in Your Grace to reward him as he deserves, because I’m very sure I can’t.’

‘He shall become one of my personal bodyguards,’ was the prompt reply, leaving Bertram pink with excitement and gasping like a stranded fish. ‘And now,’ the Duke went on, getting to his feet, ‘I must return to Baynard’s Castle and seek an interview with my poor sister. As I said, this news will be a great blow for her, I’m afraid.’ He addressed Bertram. ‘Master Serifaber, you will accompany me. From henceforth, you will answer only to my household officers and not to Master Plummer, with whom I am seriously displeased. Roger!’ He gave me his hand to kiss. ‘Once more, I have to thank you for a job well done. I wish it could have had a different outcome, but you’ve done your part and solved the murder. I would repeat all my former offers to you, except that I know you won’t accept them.’

‘It’s enough to know that I have Your Grace’s gratitude,’ I replied, and laughed when he gave me a quick, suspicious look from under his brows. ‘Your Highness, I mean it, most sincerely.’

He nodded, his face clearing. ‘My Scots cousin, the Duke of Albany, has been singing your praises to me. It would seem that he, too, has cause to be grateful to you.’

I said hurriedly, ‘I think the less said about that, Your Highness, the better. Especially with so many officers of the law within earshot.’

‘Perhaps so,’ he agreed sardonically, but then pressed my arm. ‘Don’t step outside the law too often, Roger. Even I may not be able to protect you if you do … You’ll come and see me at Baynard’s Castle before you return to Bristol, I hope.’

I did, of course. As I have observed so often in the past, royalty’s hopes are tantamount to commands. Also present at our meeting was that ebullient young man, the Earl of Lincoln, who threw his arms around my neck and hailed me as a genius. This extravagant and wholly undeserved praise was somewhat tempered by the discovery that Lincoln had had a substantial wager with his father, the Duke of Suffolk, that I would unravel the mystery within seven days, and could now claim his prize.

Neverthless, I could not doubt that his admiration was genuine, and he assured me several times that he would not forget me. I groaned inwardly. I would much have preferred a life untrammelled by the esteem of princes, who were in the habit of regarding my time as their own. It was bad enough that the volatile Duke of Albany remembered me with gratitude, let alone having young Lincoln thinking of me every time he needed a mystery solved.

But there was nothing I could do about it.

It had been in my mind to remain in London for a day or two in order to renew acquaintance with my old friends, Philip and Jeanne Lamprey; but after my harrowing experience in the ‘fly trap’, my one desire was to return to Adela and the children as soon as possible. I had completely abandoned my original intention to walk back to Bristol, enjoying my own company and selling my wares as I went. Nothing now but speed would satisfy me; so I rode on the horse hired from the Bell Lane stables (which, when I thought about it, seemed the sensible thing to do: how else would the poor beast get home?).

The nag and I reached Bristol a week later (slow going, but I’ve already admitted I’m no horseman) on the feast of Saint Augustine of Canterbury. I returned my mount to the stables and walked the short distance to Small Street. As I approached my own house — mine by the generosity of the sweetest woman I have ever known — my heart swelled with pride and the anticipation of embracing my dear wife and family again. It would be no exaggeration to say that my heart beat faster with expectation …