Maureen Ash: The Alehouse Murders

She had told them the rest of the tale quite willingly. She had murdered Wat-smashing his head in with one of the alehouse stools when he had turned to pour them both a cup of ale after bringing the bodies inside-to prevent laying herself open to extortion at some later time. She had murdered Brunner for the same reason, tracking him down in much the same manner that Ernulf had done, by talking to the serving girl from the bawdy house the evening before the youngster had come to tell Ernulf she had seen the stewe-keeper. There had been a smile on her face as she told them how she had intended to dupe Philip de Kyme into thinking the child she had carried was his.

“I crept into his bed one morning before he awoke. As usual, he had drunk more than his fill of wine the night before and was sleeping alone in a small chamber adjacent to the hall. Will had told me how he often had to help his master to bed because his wits were so befuddled. When Sir Philip woke up, I pretended we had slept together all the night through, and that he had enjoyed my body during that time. It was plain he couldn’t remember if he had done so or not, and it was also clear he wasn’t going to admit to his loss of memory. When the time was right he would have accepted the child as his, and married me to have his precious heir, even if it was a female.”

“And who is the father of your child?” Bascot had asked.

Isobel had looked at him in surprise. “Why, Anselm, of course. That was why I had to kill him.”

At that point, the Templar priest had begged d’Arderon’s permission to leave. Even though used to hearing the confessions of dying men, he protested, never could he recall being privy to such depravity as was spilling from the mouth of this woman. He felt a great need of the solace of prayer. The preceptor gave him his leave and, shortly afterwards, he and Bascot left Isobel to the solitude of her cell, putting a pair of Ernulf’s men-at-arms on guard at the door.

Now it was clear what Anselm’s repeated muttering of the word “unclean” had meant. He must have been a lecher, just as the shoemaker’s son had said, and that could have been the reason why he been removed to such a distance from his parish in Canterbury. After coming to Lincoln he had met Isobel and succumbed to the temptation of enjoying her body. Hence his wearing of the hair shirt; an act of atonement for his renewed lapse from grace. It was probable he had seen her when she attacked him, perhaps realised the depth of her depravity. The enormity of the sin he had committed had robbed him of the will to live. From Isobel’s point of view, his knowledge of their relationship was a threat to her plans. She had to murder him, to keep him quiet.

“What made you think it was her brother that was guilty, Bascot?” D’Arderon had asked when they were once more outside.

“It was Lady Ermingard’s mention of the cloak. And her insistence that the girl that had it was hiding the fact that she was pregnant. I had puzzled long over the implication that there was the need for a quick discovery of the bodies. When I learned from Agnes that she had removed the young couple’s belongings, thus effectively obliterating any way of discovering who they were, it seemed that the requirement for haste had been very real. All had been done to ensure they were discovered and identified quickly. Why? Once the boy was dead, and the child his wife carried with him, any of the other people who might have had reason to benefit from their removal could have waited to convince Sir Philip of their worthiness at their leisure.

“There could only be one reason, and that was that another child was soon to be born that could fill dead Hugo’s place. Since Philip did not seem to have a paramour, there was only one woman other than his wife who could be carrying his seed, and that was Isobel. She was in his household all the time, and of such a supposedly pious nature that she would not have been suspected of having a liaison with the husband of a mistress she appeared to be devoted to. Besides, Scothern was extremely nervous when I went to de Kyme’s keep to see the letters that had been written to Hugo’s mother. His explanation was weak, but there was no doubt his fear involved his sister. I reasoned that it was Isobel who Lady Ermingard had meant when she had been talking about the cloak being the wrong colour. And it had been the sight of her, not the tapestry, that had prompted the same reaction that morning in the solar. Isobel was sitting right in front of it. Ermingard had also said that the cloak was wet. It started to rain just about the time that Anselm was killed. Anyone leaving the church just then would have been drenched. Therefore, whoever had done the stabbing must be connected with Isobel. And have knowledge of the whereabouts of Hugo and his wife, and the movements of Lady Sybil and Conal. I thought it must be Isobel’s brother, William; that he had discovered the intimacy between his sister and his master, and also her condition as a result of it. To keep her from the shame of unwed motherhood he had devised a plan to get the baron to marry his sister by removing de Kyme’s illegitimate son and also Sybil at the same time. The others-the alekeeper, the Jew, Brunner, Anselm-had been killed to prevent them making public any knowledge that would implicate him.”

Bascot took a breath, tracking the thoughts that had led him to his conclusion that Scothern had been the murderer. “I also remembered that it was he who first came to me with the tale of Philip’s illegitimate son, and the possibility that the murdered boy could be him. If he had not come forward, the identities of Hugo and his wife might never have been discovered. But Isobel was well aware of my investigations and it was at her urging that he asked Ernulf if the origin of the cloth had been ascertained, and it was she who prompted him to tell me of de Kyme’s letters to his former paramour. She had to have their identities made known.

“When Lady Ermingard spoke of the cloak, I reasoned that if Scothern had stabbed the priest and his garments had become drenched in the downpour that fell just moments after he had done so, then Isobel had suspected her brother’s involvement and had been trying to protect him by saying the cloak belonged to someone else. In fact, the cloak was her own.”

He paused as a sobering thought struck him. “It is fortunate that Ermingard never spoke Isobel’s name. She might have been murdered as well, if she had. Perhaps, in her confusion she sensed that her knowledge was dangerous and although she knew it was important to convey it, still had the good judgement to keep part of it back. It is thanks to her, however, that the purpose of the murders became clear, even if I ascribed that purpose to the wrong person.”

“The trail you followed was a true one, you just scented the wrong quarry,” d’Arderon said.

“Yes. I looked for a woman in the riddle, but never for one moment conjectured that it was a woman who had, on her own, carried out the murders. And it must have been by God’s own intervention that William was directed to tell his sister of the prepared speech that Hilde related to him last night.”

“Scothern could easily have been guilty,” d’Arderon opined. “Isobel said that her brother used to visit the alehouse while she went into Anselm’s church, supposedly to attend Mass. And Scothern knew Wat, was even the cause of Isobel making the alekeeper’s acquaintance when he ordered some of Agnes’ ale for the baron’s table. But it is hard to believe that he knew nothing of what Isobel had done.”

“No, it is not,” Bascot objected. “You have seen for yourself that she is clever and has a consummate skill at hiding her emotions. Scothern is a simple soul, cautious of incurring his sister’s anger, and respectful of what he believed was her pious devotion. It would have been an easy matter for her to gull him, just as she gulled Philip de Kyme, and, indeed, the rest of us.”