Kate Sedley - The Lammas Feast

John Overbecks curled his lip. ‘Not to me, Chapman. You may look like a lad about town, but the sad truth is you’re under the thumb of that wife of yours. You’re slowly being turned into a henpecked husband and father. But you’re a handsome lad, and I reckon Mistress Ford had a soft spot for you. When I heard Master Hulin’s news, I realized at once that if Marion and I were to dispose of her — and there was no doubt that she did pose something of a threat to us — here was a golden opportunity for the blame to be pinned on you. Neither of us could have foreseen that you would have so impregnable an alibi.’

I said nothing, steadying myself with both hands pressed down flat on top of the stool. I was shaking with fury, but, at that moment, I was too weak to do what I wanted to do — get my hands around John Overbecks’s fat neck and press his windpipe until all the life was choked out of him. Pictures chased one another through my head: Cicely resting at our cottage while this inhuman wretch pursued his evil plans, hurrying up to the Magdalen Nunnery to give his co-conspirator the glad tidings that their innocent victim could safely be murdered that night, a murder for which another innocent victim could be blamed. I recollected their startled faces when Cicely and I came up with them outside the nunnery. And I recalled my parting encouragement to Cicely to try to recall what she could about the morning of the stranger’s death. Perhaps if I hadn’t done so. . But no! It was stupid to blame myself. The murderous pair’s plan had already been laid and was about to be hatched.

Marion had smothered Cicely Ford in her sleep, just as she had killed Jean Overbecks, and more easily because she could pick and choose her time, in no danger from interruption. Later, she had ‘found’ the body, informed Richard Manifold of her discovery and invented the story of a man, who looked just like me, having been seen by her on Saint Michael’s Hill in the early hours of the morning. She had then advised Richard to speak to her brother-in-law regarding my involvement in Cicely Ford’s affairs — and everything was in train for my arrest.

Yet again, I thanked God fervently for Philip Lamprey and his propensity for drink and insulting behaviour. .

John Overbecks’s voice roused me from my reverie. ‘You’ve worked it all out, I see.’

‘Not quite,’ I answered. ‘Walter Godsmark. Did you murder him, or am I doing you an injustice?’

The baker smiled. ‘Oh, never let it be said that you do me an injustice, Chapman. Of course I murdered him. Well, I helped him into the Frome, and who knew better than I that he couldn’t swim? I was the fool who’d saved him from a watery grave in the Avon.’

‘He was blackmailing you?’

‘He tried to. The cream of the jest is that he wasn’t even sure what he was blackmailing me about. But, unhappily for him, Walter wasn’t quite as gormless as he looked. He’d managed to put two and two together and work out that Jasper had been threatening me with something. Walter had been sent by Jasper to ask me to visit him on the Monday evening, and the following morning Jasper was dead, with a knife in his back. So I was probably the murderer. Walter cornered me in the Green Lattis and told me what he thought he knew. I arranged to meet him that night, outside the city walls, down by the castle weir. The trusting idiot was expecting a bag of gold, the first of many if he’d had his way, but instead. .’ The baker spread his hands and grinned. ‘I shall never forget the expression of total surprise on his silly face as I pushed him into the river, nor the way he called to me to help him out.’ The grin became a full-throated chuckle as my companion gloated over the remembered scene.

‘The property you rented to Master Fairbrother,’ I said. ‘When you offered it to me, was that to get me in your power?’

The baker smiled again, a smile I was coming to detest.

‘A dramatic turn of phrase! But, yes. I was afraid, rightly so as it turned out, that you might begin to take too great an interest in the crime. Your reputation was all against you being able to leave well alone. Having you and your family as my tenants would have given me a hold over you. The threat of being thrown out, penniless, on the street would, I reckoned, curb your zeal to expose me if you did happen to discover my involvement in Jasper’s death. But that wretched wife of yours persuaded you against the scheme. I told you, Chapman,’ he jeered, ‘you’re under that woman’s thumb.’

He had been wary and tense ever since my appearance in the bakery, but now, for a brief second, he had dropped his guard.

I heaved myself off the stool and threw myself at him with all my strength, aiming to bring him down before he divined my intention. But I had reckoned without my weakness and his agility, both of body and of mind. Within seconds, he was behind me, his left arm clamped across my throat, jerking my head back against his shoulder with a wrench that made me gag. His right hand held a wicked-looking knife; a knife I hadn’t even noticed, but which must have been lying on the trestle behind him; a knife, presumably, with which he had been trimming his pastry sculptures to make sure that there were no rough edges; a knife whose point now pricked my throat.

‘Adela knows I’m here,’ I croaked. ‘She. . knows I suspect you. She’s gone to. . fetch Sergeant Manifold. You won’t get away with this. . murder.’

His left arm tightened until I could no longer breathe. ‘A good try, Chapman. But I don’t believe you, I’m afraid.’

‘A mistake, Master Overbecks,’ said a voice that, until then, I had never thought I should be pleased to hear. Richard Manifold clapped a hand on the baker’s shoulder. I may have said some harsh things about my wife’s former suitor in my time, but at that moment I could willingly have kissed his large and probably dirty feet.

Neither of us had heard the bakery door open, but now, behind Richard, as well as Jack Gload and Peter Littleman, I could also see an extremely frightened Adela.

John Overbecks released me and, shoving me unceremoniously to one side, aimed a blow with the knife at Richard’s heart. Richard side-stepped and nearly fell, saving himself from this indignity by putting out a hand towards the trestle table. He grasped the top of a pastry castle, which not unnaturally crumbled under his weight, and he collapsed backwards into the Garden of Eden. John Overbecks let out a howl of rage and despair, the master craftsman for a moment gaining ascendancy over the cornered criminal, as he saw his creations dissolve into a cloud of pastry flakes. As he made an abortive dive to save Saint George and the dragon, Jack Gload and Peter Littleman, galvanized at last into action, pinioned him on either side. The baker struggled, but was no match for their solid strength.

Richard Manifold brushed his clothes free of as many of the clinging crumbs as he was able, and faced his prisoner with what authority he could muster.

‘John Overbecks, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Dame Cicely Ford and the attempted murder of Roger Chapman — an attack witnessed by myself and my two officers, Jack Gload and Pete-’

He broke off, and we all followed the direction of his horrified gaze.

Jane Overbecks stood framed in the doorway, her eyes shining like stars and clutching a baby to her breast.

Adela screamed.

It was Adam.

‘Look, John!’ Jane held out our son towards her husband. ‘I went to Mistress Walker’s. She wasn’t there, but the children were. The two older ones said I could have the baby to keep. They’ve given him to me. They said they didn’t want him. Isn’t that wonderful? Now I have a baby of my very own.’

Jack Gload and Peter Littleman must have slackened their grip, their concentration weakened by the unexpected turn of events. As a consequence, before any of us realized what was happening, John Overbecks had wrenched himself free of them and was standing behind his wife, his steadying hands on her shoulders.