The Medieval Murderers - House of Shadows

‘This is a bad business, coroner,’ he boomed, his voice suiting his burly appearance, heavy-boned and short-necked. John guessed his age as middle forties, a few years older than himself.

After a few formal exchanges, de Wolfe went straight into the meat of the matter and went through the history of Roger’s guardianship of Christina, confirming what he knew from others.

‘You were on good terms with the lady?’ he asked ‘She was like another daughter to us, for we have Eleanor, who is a few years older.’ Roger had a forthright, almost aggressive manner, sticking out his jaw pugnaciously even when the subject matter was not controversial.

John avoided mentioning the prior’s suggestion that this girl was a competitor for Jordan’s hand in marriage and went on to ask about the night she died.

‘I saw nothing of her after supper,’ said Roger abruptly. ‘My wife and I were accommodated where we are now. The two girls, Christina and Margaret Courtenay, were lodged upstairs. The first I knew of the tragedy was in the morning, when all hell was let loose on finding the poor maid’s body.’

‘Was she looking forward to her nuptials – excited and happy?’

Beaumont rubbed his square jaw. ‘Not all that keenly, to be honest, but the king’s command and perhaps her feelings of duty to her late father to preserve his estates overcame her personal desires.’

‘And the bridegroom? What of him?’ asked de Wolfe.

Roger scowled at the question. ‘You had better ask him that, but I suspect he would rather have plighted his troth elsewhere.’ He refused to be drawn as to where ‘elsewhere’ might have been, saying bluntly that it was Jordan’s business, not his.

‘With Christina dead, what will happen to her fortune?’

The baron shifted uneasily and his face became even more ruddy. ‘Effectively, the king has acquired her estates. I am merely the caretaker. But perhaps in view of my faithful stewardship, he might allow me to purchase the manors myself, as I know their management so well.’

And at a knock-down price, thought John cynically. After some more questions that got him no further, he decided to take the bull by the horns, perhaps an apt expression for the bovine-looking man sitting opposite.

‘I have to say this, Sir Roger, but you had a good motive for seeing the girl dead. Had this marriage gone ahead, you would have lost your half-share of the revenue and all chance of acquiring her large estates.’

The reaction was violent.

Roger Beaumont sprang to his feet, his chair going over with a crash as he confronted the coroner. ‘Damn your impertinence, sir! Are you accusing me of killing my own ward, whom I have nurtured like another daughter for so long?’

Thomas, cowering in his corner, saw that the baron’s face had turned purple and was afraid that he was going to have a seizure.

De Wolfe held up a placatory hand. ‘I am accusing you of nothing, but it is my royal duty to explore every possibility. I must ask you, as I will ask everyone else, where were you on the night Christina went missing?’

Roger stared at him as if he had gone mad, but his rage seemed to have passed and he sat down heavily on the chair, which Thomas had hurried to put back in place. His voice was dull and thick when he answered.

‘I spent the whole night asleep in my chamber with my wife. She will vouch for that, though I doubt you would consider that of much value.’

John inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘I consider everything most carefully, I assure you. Perhaps it would be convenient if I did speak to your good wife next.’

Roger left with an air of obvious annoyance, muttering under his breath, and a few moments later a buxom maidservant ushered in his spouse.

Lady Avisa Beaumont was a tall, handsome woman at least ten years younger than her husband. Her fair hair was plaited into two coils above each ear, contained in gold-mesh crespines, over which was a samite veil trailing down her back and over her shapely bosom. The cold was kept at bay by a heavy brocade mantle lined with ermine, covering her ankle-length kirtle of blue velvet. A slim, high-cheekboned face bore a pair of large brown eyes, and John, an experienced connoisseur of elegant women, could easily see how Roger had wanted her for his second wife.

There was virtually nothing Avisa could add to what he already knew, in relation to the night of the girl’s death. She had spent it all in a bed an arm’s length from her husband’s in the guest-chambers near the inner gate and knew nothing of the tragedy until the hubbub in the morning. She produced a fine-linen kerchief, which she used to dab at her eyes when she related this part of her story, and de Wolfe had no reason to think that her grief was anything but genuine.

‘Your husband tells me that Christina was not overjoyed at the prospect of marriage?’

Again the wife confirmed what Roger had said, but with an addition. ‘Until a few months ago, we had hoped that my stepdaughter, Eleanor, would have joined the Neville family. She has long admired Jordan, whom she has known since childhood. In fact, it was on his visits to us at Wirksworth that he became acquainted with Christina.’

John scratched his stubble and out of the corner of his eye watched Thomas’s pen scribbling away on his parchment.

‘Was Christina or Eleanor the attraction that brought him to Wirksworth?’ he asked.

Avisa Beaumont dropped her long-lashed eyes. ‘Neither, really. He came to accompany his mother, who is my cousin. But we hoped that some attraction might develop between him and our daughter – as, indeed, it still might!’ she added hopefully.

‘So Christina’s death has left the field open for a match with a young man who was heir to considerable property?’ ventured John.

Just as a critical remark had fired up her husband, Avisa’s face darkened and she glared at the coroner. ‘That is not an issue, Sir John, and it is improper of you to suggest it! Anyway, she is not the only contestant on the field,’ she added obscurely, but refused to enlarge on the remark.

De Wolfe’s questions went on for a few more minutes but, as with Roger Beaumont, nothing useful was obtained. The lady seemed very reluctant to accept that the girl’s death was deliberate and firmly declared it to be a terrible accident – though she could not hazard any guess as to why Christina should be found in the crypt of the cellarium.

When she left, with a rather haughty promise to send Roger’s daughter down next, John turned to his clerk shivering on his stool, as he was furthest away from the brazier.

‘Anything strike you so far, Thomas? You have the sharpest mind among us,’ he said. The rare compliment warmed the little priest more than any fire and he hastened to offer his opinion.

‘As you said, Crowner, both those persons had a motive to see Lady Christina out of the way, though whether they would – or could – stoop to murder is another matter. Sir Roger is easily capable of striking the girl unconscious and breaking her neck…I’m not sure about the lady, but she looks tall and strong.’

They were interrupted by the arrival of a younger handmaiden who was acting as chaperone to her mistress, Eleanor Beaumont, whom she ushered into the room. She was eighteen and, though comely enough, had none of the beauty of her stepmother, following her father more in her solid physique. Thomas thought that she might have done better as a boy, as she looked capable of wielding a sword or drawing a bow.

Again, she repeated the claim that Christina had been like a younger sister to her for the past six years and, though she was not moved to tears, de Wolfe thought that unless she was a very good actress she was genuinely sorry that her friend was dead.