The Medieval Murderers - House of Shadows

‘I understand that you were lodged in the guest-chamber next to your father and mother?’

Eleanor nodded and turned her head to indicate the young woman who stood behind her. ‘Sarah slept on a mattress near my door, but in the same room.’ This was a hint that she could not have left the room that night without the maid being aware of it.

‘I understand from Lady Avisa that you had hopes of marrying Jordan de Neville yourself?’ John asked as delicately as his nature would allow.

The girl bristled visibly. ‘She should not have said that! True, I had great affection for Jordan, but I doubt he noticed me in that respect.’

‘But she is gone, so who will he marry now?’ persisted John.

Eleanor flushed, looking more like her father than ever. ‘You had better ask him yourself, sir!’

The coroner did just that a short time later, when the man who had been deprived of his nuptials arrived. Jordan de Neville was twenty-three and had spent some time at the Lionheart’s court in Rouen, thanks to the noble connections of the various ramifications of the Neville family, who were a rising faction in the corridors of power.

He was a tall, thin man with a shock of black hair that sat like a thick cap on top of his head. He was dressed in the most modern style, the toes of his shoes being elongated into long points stuffed with wool and curled back almost to his ankles. A rather supercilious manner did nothing to improve his looks, which were average, to put it kindly. John felt that here was a fellow unlikely to set a girl’s pulse racing, unless she had an eye on his undoubted family wealth and influence.

After he had seated himself before the coroner, John made sympathetic noises about the tragic loss of his bride-to-be. Jordan looked appropriately mournful and expressed his devastation at such a tragic loss. The words were perfectly phrased, but de Wolfe felt that their delivery lacked conviction. He came straight to the point with almost brutal directness.

‘I am aware that this marriage was not your own choice, but arranged by your family at the behest of our sovereign lord, King Richard?’

The tactic was successful, for the young man broke into a flood of words, as if he had been yearning for someone on whom to unload his feelings. John saw that he was a weak character, easily persuaded by those in authority. He confessed that though he liked Christina, he had not wanted to marry her, being greatly attracted to her friend Margaret Courtenay, whom he now hoped to wed. He dismissed John’s suggestion that Eleanor Beaumont might make an alternative bride, though he was aware that she had done all she could to ensnare him.

‘My parents and uncle were the architects of this pact with the king to fuse the Neville and Glanville lands – it was a political arrangement. I had no say in the matter,’ he concluded sadly.

De Wolfe moved on to more immediate issues. ‘You were here at Bermondsey the night that Christina vanished?’ he asked abruptly. Jordan looked affronted at the implications.

‘I was indeed! Until about an hour before midnight, when all the monks trooped off to their church for Matins. Then I left with my squire and rode in the moonlight back to our lodgings.’

‘Where did you spend the evening?’

‘The whole party was in the guests’ refectory. We ate supper and sat talking until about the ninth hour, when Christina went to her chamber with her lady-in-waiting, as did Sir Roger and Lady Avisa. I stayed talking to Margaret and the prior for another hour or so. Eleanor insisted on sitting with us, rather to my annoyance, but eventually she left for her bed as well.’

‘So you were with your favourite lady until quite late?’

Again Jordan looked offended, a frequent mood of his, thought John.

‘Not alone – it would not be seemly. Her handmaiden was there as a chaperone, as well as Prior Robert – and the two monks, Ferdinand and Ignatius, came and went on various errands.’

As with the others, more questioning failed to extract anything useful from the dandified young fellow, and the coroner waited impatiently for the last of the guests to present herself.

Margaret Courtenay dispensed with a chaperone, telling her maid to wait outside and firmly shutting the door on her as de Wolfe rose to greet her. A very self-possessed young woman, she was quite different from Eleanor Beaumont. A few years older, probably of twenty-one summers, she was a pretty blonde who fell just short of being beautiful. Strong character showed in her face, and her garments, just visible under a heavy cloak, were plain but elegant. She had a veil of heavy white silk over her head, but her fair curls peeped out of the front.

Once again, John went through the familiar routine of questioning. She was the third daughter of a baron from the West Country and had been sent to Sempringham as a novice some years earlier to test her suitability for becoming a nun. This was where she met Christina, but when the latter left for Wirksworth Margaret abandoned any intention of taking the veil and returned home to her parents. She stayed at Wirksworth on a number of occasions, and it was here that she met Jordan de Neville. She made no secret of her aspirations to become his wife, but their plans had been ruined by the forced marriage insisted on by the higher powers.

De Wolfe had left questioning her until the end, as she might well have been the last to see Christina alive. ‘You returned to your chamber later than her, I understand?’ he asked.

‘I took the chance to be with Jordan a little longer,’ she said rather wistfully. ‘I thought it might well be the last time we could meet as single people. Christina was in bed when I entered the chamber next door to say goodnight. At least, her maid, who was sleeping in the outer part, whispered that she thought her mistress was already asleep.’

‘And you went to your couch yourself then? Did anything wake you that night?’

Margaret shook her head. ‘Nothing, and neither did my maid hear anything from her outer room – though she sleeps like a log, so nothing would disturb her,’ she added disdainfully.

De Wolfe grunted, to cover his frustration at being unable to get anything useful from all these folk. ‘You knew Christina for some years. Have you any reason to think that someone would wish her dead?’

She dropped the lids over her blue eyes. ‘Only the obvious ones, Sir John,’ she said very quietly.

‘I crave your pardon, Mistress Courtenay, but it is not that obvious to me,’ he rumbled.

Margaret looked up again, almost defiantly. ‘Sir Roger and his wife have always been very good to me, having me to stay at Wirksworth. I would not wish to defame them, but surely everyone knows that he would lose a great deal – including his further expectations – concerning the lands that would have come to Christina on her sixteenth birthday, if this marriage had gone ahead.’

De Wolfe thanked her for her frankness and suggested that she remain while he asked her maid a few questions. However, there was nothing that this young woman could add, as she merely repeated Margaret Courtenay’s account of that last evening. Outside in the corridor, the lady who had attended upon Christina de Glanville was waiting, and John took advantage of the presence of the other two women to bring her in for questioning. She started off the proceedings by bursting into tears, distressed by the reminder of the death of her mistress, whom she had served for over two years. When she had composed herself, all she could offer was a similar lack of help to his investigation.

‘My lady left the refectory some time after supper ended and we both went up to our chamber. I helped her to dress for bed and then settled her for the night. She asked me to blow out the candle, so I knew she wished to sleep at once.’