Paul Doherty - A haunt of murder

‘But that’s impossible!’ Beardsmore cried. ‘I was on guard duty at the barbican. No one passed me carrying such a bundle: I would have seen it. We have both checked the postern gate. It has not been opened for years.’

‘Sir John,’ said Ralph, ‘is there a secret passageway out of this castle?’

The Constable shook his head. ‘If there was, Ralph, I’d know. And how can there be? The moat is deep, any passageway would have to go under it so it’s nigh impossible.’

‘Why?’ Marisa asked.

‘Because,’ Adam replied languidly, ‘the water would seep through any man-made structure and flood the tunnel.’

Ralph sipped his wine and took another piece of marchpane from the plate. ‘Nonetheless, what I have said is true. How the assassin left carrying the corpse must, for the time being, remain a mystery.’ He pulled a face. ‘So, my next question is, what were we all doing that Monday afternoon?’

‘I was in my chamber,’ Theobald answered quickly. ‘I never left there, not till the bell rang for supper. I was studying the innards of a rat.’ There were cries of disgust. ‘I read in a treatise from Italy,’ he explained, ‘that the innards of a rat, dried and ground to powder, are a veritable cure for certain skin diseases.’

‘Did anyone visit you there?’ Sir John asked.

The physician shook his head.

‘No one would dare go there,’ Lady Anne said tartly. ‘Such smells and odours!’

The others also gave an account of themselves. Few could offer any witnesses except Adam who had been going through the list of stores in the castle with Marisa. ‘We were there all afternoon,’ he concluded.

‘And I can vouch for that,’ Sir John declared. ‘I heard your voice, and Marisa’s. As for myself, I dined here in the hall then I went for a sleep.’

‘Whilst I,’ Lady Anne pointed to the spinning wheel near the window seat, ‘read a little and worked on the wheel. You came over, Father. You asked if you could borrow some candlesticks for the altar.’

The priest picked at a stain on his robe. ‘True, I was in my chapel, cleaning the sacred vessels.’ He flailed his hands in despair. ‘Master Ralph, what is the use of all this?’

‘And you?’ Ralph asked the sergeant-at-arms.

‘I dined with Sir John,’ Beardsmore replied. ‘And then I did my guard duty. I stayed with the other lads in the barbican.’

Ralph ran his thumbnail round his lips. ‘Sir John, we do have one loose thread: Fulk the miller’s son. From what Eleanora has told us, Fulk may have recognised the person who carried Phoebe’s corpse into the spinney. He must have come to the castle and demanded to see someone.’

‘That could be very easily established. Wait there.’ Beardsmore hurriedly left the solar, clattering down the stairs.

Sir John took advantage of the break to order the wine cups to be refilled. He loudly speculated on what they should do with their new prisoner. ‘There is no doubt,’ he announced, eager to assert his authority, ‘that the tavern slattern had a hand in Goodman Winthrop’s death. But what can we do? Put her to the torture? We have enough discontent in Maldon.’

‘Keep her safe,’ Ralph replied. ‘Wait for the commissioners to arrive from London. Let them take responsibility.’

Sir John nodded. ‘Adam, when this is finished, go down to Maldon, tell the taverner Taylis that Eleanora will be kept safe and secure. We will not harm a hair on her head. I just wish this business was finished.’ He looked at Aylred. ‘Father, I regret my sharp words earlier. Perhaps you could say a Mass in Midnight Tower and give the place a blessing.’

The priest agreed.

Ralph was studying Theobald, who appeared agitated. Of all the people present, he was the most solitary and most secretive. Ralph glanced at Adam and Marisa sitting hand in hand. Marisa was staring adoringly at her husband. Ralph felt a tug at his heart and tried to curb his envy at their closeness. They heard footsteps and Beardsmore strode back into the chamber.

‘I’ve made inquiries among the guards.’ He shook his head. ‘So many people come in and out of the castle, Sir John. One guard thinks he may have seen Fulk coming here early on Tuesday morning but Phoebe’s corpse had yet to be discovered. No one was stopped or challenged.’

Sir John put his cup down. ‘We’ve done what we can.’

Ralph was angry and disappointed at the lack of new information the meeting had produced. ‘There’s an assassin in the castle.’ he said heatedly. ‘He or she killed without mercy. The assassin could well be in this chamber.’ He got to his feet, kicking the chair back. ‘I would warn you all to be most careful.’

He was halfway across the bailey when Beardsmore caught up with him.

‘Master Ralph, do you trust me?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘If the killer is in this castle then he or she must be someone in authority.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Oh, clerk, look around. Can you imagine any of the archers or the men-at-arms, the cooks, the scullions, the servants taking such pains over the disposing of poor Phoebe’s corpse? She wasn’t killed in some kitchen fight or because an archer wanted to ruffle her skirts. She was killed for something else. Something she saw or heard. Whoever it was managed to find a secret way out with the corpse. Everyone at that meeting will go back to their chambers and start to think.’

‘And you don’t want the finger of suspicion pointed at you.’

‘No, I don’t.’ Beardsmore tightened his war belt. ‘I have to check certain matters. Meet me at the barbican within the hour.’ The sergeant-at-arms walked away.

Ralph remembered Eleanora and crossed to Bowyer Tower. He opened the door and went down the steps. The dungeons consisted of three cells off a passageway built into the base of the tower. They were well-swept and clean, usually reserved for stores. Two archers now sat across the passage playing dice, a jug of ale and some beakers on the ground beside them. Pitch torches flickered in the darkness. From the middle cell came the sound of crooning.

‘She’s happy enough,’ one of the archers declared as Ralph squatted beside him. The fellow wiped his nose on the back of his hand. ‘More comfortable than we are.’

‘And you don’t trouble her?’

The archer shook his head. ‘Master Beardsmore was most insistent. She’s to be kept warm and plump for the royal commissioners.’

‘I would like to speak to her.’

The archer pocketed his dice, got to his feet and took a key from a hook in the wall. He opened the door and ushered Ralph in.

Eleanora was comfortable enough; the cell was clean, fresh grass had been cut and strewn on the floor. She had a cot bed with a bolster and blankets, a table, stool, a shelf for cups and jugs; even a small crucifix hung from one of the window bars high in the wall. The tavern wench was sitting in the corner, knees up, making a doll out of straw she had pulled from the mattress.

‘You are well, Mistress?’

‘I would prefer to be back at the Pot of Thyme, sitting on a customer’s knee and sharing a tankard of ale. But I’m well looked after. I’ve had bread, roast goose.’ She pointed to a jug on the table. ‘And some watery ale. The old priest came down to see me but he was more nervous than I am.’

‘Do you think Fulk saw Phoebe’s murderer?’

‘I think he did but Fulk was tight-lipped. I asked him but he just stared at me in that strange way of his. You know, out of the corner of his eye, just like his father does when he makes a profit with that golden thumb of his.’

‘So why do you think Fulk came back to the castle?’ Eleanora’s eyes shifted.

‘Why should he come back?’ Ralph persisted. He got up and moved towards her. ‘Did he tell you?’