Paul Doherty - A haunt of murder

‘I don’t think you’ll find anything,’ said Ralph. ‘Our killer is too sly and cunning for that.’

‘But wouldn’t all this be noticed?’ Sir John snapped, shuffling his feet, plucking at his war belt in his agitation. His happy, humdrum existence had been shattered by bloody murder and he knew he would face harsh questioning from the King’s men when they arrived.

Ralph shook his head. ‘This is a deserted part of the castle. Until yesterday no guards walked the parapet except some sleepy-eyed sentry, and he’d make himself as comfortable as possible. No, the killer had it all his own way.’ Ralph gestured at the window door. ‘I’d advise you to have those shutters barred and padlocked. If the castle is ever attacked, that’s our weakest point.’ He walked towards the door.

‘Where to now?’ Adam asked.

Ralph didn’t answer, more intent on climbing the spiral staircase, studying each step as he went. The chamber at the top had no door. He walked in and went across to the two windows, one facing him, the other to the side. The room was similar to the one he had left, dirty and squalid. The bars on the shutter lifted easily and he noticed that the hinges had been recently oiled. He opened one shutter and stared down at the spot where he and Beardsmore had been standing. Then he moved across to the shutter in the right wall of this box-like chamber. He opened it and looked out on a good view of the moat right along the castle wall.

‘This is where Beardsmore’s assassin stood,’ he declared. ‘He fired first from the facing window and, when I fled, moved across to the side which provides a view from the flank of the tower.’

Sir John looked through both windows, the wind whipping his white hair, making his eyes water.

‘I’ve sent a sentry out.’ He turned and leaned against the wall. ‘Including the quarrel which killed Beardsmore, at least five crossbow bolts were loosed.’

Ralph stared out of the window. He had liked Beardsmore and felt guilty at the suspicions of him he had nursed earlier, but at the same time the sergeant-at-arms’ death seemed to have calmed his grief for Beatrice. Instead he felt an implacable desire to bring her killer to justice. He had seen a man hang once and had hated it, but he quietly conceded that he’d stand and enjoy this assassin have the life throttled out of him! Someone in this castle had watched him meet Beardsmore at the gatehouse and walk round the moat; he’d feared that Beardsmore would either find out how Phoebe’s corpse was removed or discover the whereabouts of poor Fulk’s corpse.

‘Yes, that’s it!’ he exclaimed.

‘What is?’ Adam asked.

‘The assassin meant to kill both Beardsmore and myself.’

‘Why?’ Sir John asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ Ralph replied cautiously. ‘But I tell you, Sir John, this castle should be put on a war footing. Every tower, every gateway should have a sentry not only to guard the approaches but to watch who goes where. We should also be very careful about being alone and what we eat or drink.’

‘Sir John Grasse! Sir John Grasse!’ a voice bellowed from the bottom of the staircase.

‘Oh Lord save us! What now?’

‘Sir John, followed by his two clerks, clambered down the stairs. The captain of the guard was there, helmet under his arm.

‘Sir John, it’s the prisoner, the woman Eleanora.’

‘Oh, don’t say she’s escaped.’

‘No, sir, she’s dead!’

They ran through the overgrown garden and bailey, across the green to Bowyer Tower. The door to the cell was open. Eleanora was sprawled on the floor, mouth gaping, eyes staring; her body was twisted like a piece of cloth, wrung and tossed aside. Father Aylred was sitting on the bed rocking gently backwards and forwards, singing under his breath. Theobald knelt by the corpse. He shook his head as Sir John came in.

‘Dead, Sir John. Poisoned.’

‘What?’ Sir John turned to the captain of the guard.

‘Sir, she ate what we ate and drank!’

Ralph crossed to the little table where a platter lay containing the remains of some food.

‘I’ve tested those already,’ Theobald said. ‘Indeed, when I came in two rats were finishing it off and they seemed none the worse.’

‘There are poisons enough in the castle,’ Sir John remarked.

‘Used to destroy vermin.’ He looked at Theobald. ‘And of course you have a fine collection of elixirs, haven’t you?’

Theobald would have retorted heatedly but Ralph intervened.

‘What is important,’ he said, ‘is how the wench died. You say the food is not tainted?’

‘Yes!’ Theobald snapped.

Ralph turned to the archers standing in the doorway. ‘Did any of you come into the cell?’

‘We kept well away from her,’ one of them replied.

‘And no one came down to visit her?’

‘No.’ The archer shook his head. ‘The Constable’s orders were quite clear. She was to be kept comfortable and not disturbed. The only time I came in here was to empty that.’ The archer pointed to a chamber pot peeping out from beneath the bed. ‘I put in some saltpetre to hide the smell. Apart from that, we left her alone.’

‘When did she last eat?’

‘Oh, about ten of the clock.’

‘Three hours ago.’ Ralph stared up at the grille in the wall which looked out on to the castle bailey. ‘So how did you find her?’

‘The corpse was cold,’ Theobald interjected. ‘She must have been dead for at least two hours.’

‘As I said,’ the archer replied, ‘we left her in peace. I remembered the chamber pot, looked through the bars and saw her lying there.’

‘How on earth did this happen?’ Sir John demanded. ‘Here’s a young woman in her cell. The food and drink are not tainted and yet she’s found poisoned by some noxious substance.’

Ralph knelt beside the corpse and put his fingers into the half-open mouth. It was slightly warm. He felt along the gums, the cracked teeth. He felt something half-chewed and pulled it out. Keeping it on the end of his finger, he went to the window. He sniffed, rubbed his finger along the wall and poured some water from the jug over his hands.

‘What is it?’ Sir John demanded.

‘I’m no physician or leech, Sir John. But I think I’ve just examined the last thing she ate. A sweetmeat, marchpane possibly.’

‘But she was never given any!’ the guard exclaimed.

Ralph stared up at the grille. ‘Someone in this castle approached that window. He secured Eleanora’s confidence and dropped a piece of marchpane or something through the bars. Eleanora would relish that. More importantly, she must have trusted the person who gave it to her.’

‘But who in the castle knew her?’ Adam asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Ralph replied wearily. ‘I really don’t. Sir John, you’d best get the corpse removed.’

Sir John stamped out of the cell, shouting orders. Ralph followed and went back to his own chamber. He unlocked the door and went in. Everything was as he had left it. He sniffed at the jug of wine and examined the cup before going to sit at his table. He pulled across a scrubbed sheet of vellum, opened the inkpot, sharpened a quill and wrote out a list of names. He included his own among them.

‘I’m so confused,’ he muttered. ‘I could even half convince myself that I’ve done something wrong.’

He studied the names. Any one of them could have been lurking in that tower the night Beatrice died. And Phoebe? A blow to the back of the head. Yes, they could all do that. And what about the attack on him in Devil’s Spinney? That would take some strength. He’d been knocked half unconscious and he recalled being dragged through the grass. The Constable was a strong man. So was Adam. But Theobald and Aylred?