Susanna Gregory: A Wicked Deed

‘So I gathered,’ said William. ‘As Sir Thomas said, we overheard much of what was said in the church.’

‘Then why did you not come to our rescue?’ demanded Michael. ‘That madman almost had me drinking a brew that would have killed me “temporarily”.’

‘We were coming,’ said William indignantly. ‘Have patience, Brother! Hamon was halfway in through the window with his sword drawn, and I was behind him with a cudgel, when that terrible explosion occurred. It blew Hamon right over me and out into the bushes.’ He shook his head disapprovingly. ‘That Eltisley was an agent of the Devil, and the Devil rose up from hell and snatched him away. What we saw was a glimpse into the fiery depths.’

‘What we saw was Matt using Eltisley’s powders to save us,’ said Michael tartly. He turned to Tuddenham. ‘You really heard it all?’

Tuddenham nodded, and Hamon came to stand at his side, a hand on his shoulder in a gruff expression of sympathy and support. ‘I heard that my wife and mother were plotting against me, and that it was not my child that Isilia was carrying. I suspected all that, of course, and I knew that they might try to prevent the deed being signed.’

‘You might have mentioned it to us,’ said Michael accusingly. ‘Then we could have been on our guard, and Alcote need not have died.’

‘But then you might have decided not to draw up the advowson, and Isilia’s brat would have inherited my estate over Hamon.’

‘It could have been your child,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It is unlikely, but not impossible.’

Tuddenham shook his head. ‘I always knew it was not mine.’

‘So, who was the father, then?’ asked Michael, intrigued.

‘That is not the kind of question a gentleman should ask of a dead lady,’ said Tuddenham softly. ‘But I do know, and her secret will die with me.’

‘And did you know what Eltisley was doing on your manor?’ asked Bartholomew, angry that the knight might have turned a blind eye to such practices.

Tuddenham gave a brief nod. ‘I knew that my mother was supporting Eltisley in some ridiculous experiment, because she was desperate to have my father back, but, like you, I did not take seriously Eltisley’s claim that he could raise the dead. And I cannot think why my mother wanted to resurrect my father anyway — the man was a brute, and a poor manager of our estates. He let Bardolf's father steal Gull Farm from him without even attempting to wrest it back. After his death, she lavished more and more praise on him, accrediting him with a goodness that he never expressed in life. She, like Eltisley, was not entirely sane in her own way.’

‘And all this is about who will inherit your estates?’ asked Michael. ‘You did not want Isilia’s child as heir, because he is not yours?’

‘Essentially,’ said Tuddenham. ‘But I never imagined Isilia, or my mother, would sink to such depths of evil to accomplish what they wanted.’

‘She seemed so angelic,’ said Bartholomew, almost to himself, thinking of the lovely Isilia and her green eyes and fresh skin. ‘How could such treachery come from such loveliness?’

Tuddenham glanced sharply at him.

‘You suspected it, though,’ said Michael quickly, before the knight could infer too much from Bartholomew’s words. ‘That was why you tried to keep your illness a secret — so that we would be safely back in Cambridge before they realised you were dying and that they would need to destroy the advowson if they wanted your estates for themselves.’

‘I knew my mother was employing delaying tactics — trying to make more work for you, to slow the process down,’ said Tuddenham tiredly. ‘For example, last week she produced that huge chest of irrelevant household accounts, knowing you would have to read them, and that to do so would waste your time. I just thought she was trying to wear you down, not that she was biding her time for murder.’

‘Really,’ said William, folding his arms, clearly unconvinced.

‘Yes, really!’ snapped Tuddenham. ‘But my mother is a cautious woman, and it seems she did not want to chance my having an accident before the birth of Isilia’s child — you may have noticed how solicitous they both were of my health — so, she must have decided that the deed should not be completed at any cost.’

‘She almost succeeded,’ said Michael. ‘She tried several times to have Alcote poisoned — once with Eltisley’s digestive tonic, and again with raisins — and she even attempted to stab him before Eltisley took matters in hand.’

‘Did any of them escape?’ asked Cynric, gesturing to the burning church. ‘You would not want the likes of those ladies and that Eltisley roaming the country with revenge in their hearts.’

‘Indeed not,’ said Tuddenham. He nodded toward Siric, who was guarding three of Eltisley’s surly drinkers, all sitting on the grass and covered in white plaster. Next to them lay a row of unmoving figures, their faces covered with a hastily gathered assortment of garments. From under Tuddenham’s russet cloak poked the hem of Isilia’s velvet dress, while Hamon’s boiled-leather hauberk hid most of Dame Eva from view. Eltisley lay next to her, identifiable by his green-stained apron.

‘You will check, when the fire dies down?’ asked Michael. ‘Look in the vault, too, in case one of them managed to crawl to safety.’

‘We will,’ said Hamon quietly. He gazed at Eltisley’s body with revulsion. ‘That madman will stay this way, I hope. Do you think he had taken some concoction that will allow him to rise from the grave, and come to haunt us?’

Bartholomew shook his head. ‘Sir Thomas was right. There was no chance of Eltisley’s potions working to raise the dead. It is against the basic laws of nature.’ He gestured to the black knight, who had come to stand with Tuddenham and Hamon. ‘And is Sir Robert Grosnold also aware of what has happened here?’

‘He is a good friend and a loyal ally,’ said Tuddenham, smiling wanly at his neighbour. ‘He slipped back to the village to warn me that my mother and wife were plotting against you the day Unwin died.’

‘I overheard Dame Eva and Isilia talking to Eltisley just before the feast started,’ said Grosnold. ‘You see, I rode my destrier too hard across the village green and he damaged a leg. I was forced to stop and attend to it: it was then that I heard the three of them plotting. I walked back to inform Tuddenham, and was about to go home when I saw that poor friar, Unwin, all weak and shaking. I dispatched the physician Stoate to bleed him, but it seems it did him no good.’

‘No good at all,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘But why did you not tell us you were with Unwin just before he died? We thought you had a hand in his death when you denied meeting him.’

Grosnold did not look pleased. ‘I am a knight. I do not slay priests unless absolutely necessary.’

‘Quite so. But why did you say you did not return to Grundisburgh, when you had?’ pressed Michael.

‘Because I did not want half the village to know I had returned to warn Tuddenham about treachery in his own household,’ snapped Grosnold. ‘I had no idea whether I could trust you to be discreet, as I could Stoate and Unwin. And regrettable though Unwin’s death was, it was over and done with, while the matter of Dame Eva and Isilia was still very much alive. So, like a good soldier, I considered my priorities. And there were appearances to be taken into account: I did not want the villagers seeing that I had driven my destrier lame in my demonstration of equestrian skills, either.’

‘Anyway, he had no reason to suspect Stoate played a part in Unwin’s death,’ said Tuddenham. ‘As far as he was concerned, Stoate had bled Unwin to improve the balance of his humours, and then Unwin had been murdered in the church for his purse.’