Paul Doherty: The Peacock's Cry

‘I am not sure if Elizabeth really believed her friend or truly cared if the lady abbess was being swived by her chaplain. Margaret, I suspect, was of a different heart. She had also discovered how you met at the centre of the maze in Rosamund’s bower.’

‘Nonsense!’

‘Oh yes, we have uncovered the secret passageway that runs beneath Rosamund’s bower. A paving stone in the corner of the buttery can be lifted to reveal steps leading down.’

Lady Joan closed her eyes and sighed as if she had been struck. Corbett almost felt sorry for this murderous and arrogant woman whose world was being violently turned upside down.

‘They found wine, goblets, a lantern, a thick swan-down mattress, blankets of the softest wool and comfortable feather-filled bolsters.’ Corbett made a face. ‘They also discovered that part of the tunnel that probably continued on beneath the convent walls had been blocked by the recent collapse of some of its pillars, struts and beams, which brought down a cascade of rubble. I shall return to that later.’

‘I do not know anything of this,’ interjected the abbess. Corbett, however, glimpsed the sweat on her brow, the trembling of her hands, her swift and shallow breaths.

‘Of course you do. It’s Rosamund’s secret, passed from one abbess to another. Some wouldn’t care about it; you certainly did. Remember the inscription in the church above Rosamund’s tomb? If you study that emblem carefully, it looks like a key pointing to the ground. It is in fact hinting at an underground passageway, and where else would that be but beneath the maze? Why should the abbess have to thread the maze like common sinners? Moreover, if danger ever truly threatened, such a passageway provided swift escape and sure refuge. Poor Vicomte,’ Corbett continued, ‘he argued that no matter how complex or baffling a riddle might appear, the solution was usually very simple. In this he was correct.’

Corbett cleared his throat. His mouth felt dry, yet he did not wish to eat or drink anything in this chamber. ‘Vicomte’s theory of a simple solution appealed to me. I was convinced there was a secret passageway into the centre of the maze. When I established that there wasn’t one above ground, the next logical step was to search for such a passageway beneath the maze. If this existed, so did at least two entrances. Now the one in the nunnery could be anywhere within its walls, but logic dictated that the other entrance must lie at the centre of the maze, a small, enclosed space, the only one available. Such logic proved to be correct.’

Corbett paused. The abbess sat back in her chair. She reminded Corbett of a cat, watchful, ready to spring, and he wondered if she carried a concealed weapon.

‘Margaret Beaumont blackmailed you, didn’t she? She wanted to flee Godstow. She hinted at the secret that she knew. You decided to act all compliant. You can be very charming and persuasive, Joan – I know that to my cost. Somehow you persuaded Margaret to clear her chamber and to come wherever you told her. She was desperate to escape. She had no inkling of who you truly are and what you intended, you and your accomplice, Chaplain Norbert.’ He paused at her sharp intake of breath. ‘Oh, rest assured, your lover is being thoroughly questioned by Ranulf Atte-Newgate.’ He smiled thinly. ‘Ranulf has his own methods of interrogation.’

‘Torture is forbidden under English law. Torture of a priest incurs excommunication.’

‘Ranulf would agree.’ Corbett lowered his head lest this woman, who knew him so well, detect his deceit. ‘But there again, accidents do happen. Chaplain Norbert hates water, doesn’t he? He has a terrible fear of drowning. Now,’ he continued briskly, ‘Margaret Beaumont was flattered to be taken down into the secret passageway. She was in fact going to her death. You and Norbert killed her. God knows how, but I suspect we will find her corpse.’

‘This is all conjecture,’ the abbess replied coolly. ‘No evidence, no proof, nothing but one lie after another, a catalogue of fables.’ Her face twisted in fury. ‘Filthy allegations against a loyal subject of the Crown and a beloved daughter of Holy Mother Church.’

‘Not for long,’ Corbett replied cheerily. ‘Elizabeth Buchan was now alone but unconcerned. She believed that Margaret had fled, probably with the help of someone in Godstow. However, the days passed, weeks came and went. She received no message, no news of her friend. Then the situation turned ugly. Margaret’s kinsfolk were concerned. The king was petitioned and Ranulf Atte-Newgate arrived here. Elizabeth now realised that something dreadful had befallen her friend. She recalled Margaret’s remarks. She did not know who to trust, so she approached you with her anxieties. You must understand, Lady Joan, how difficult it is for anyone to imagine that you of all people are a murdering bitch, your hands stained with the blood of innocents.’ He shook his head as she made to protest. ‘Once again you spun your web and drew an unsuspecting victim into its treacherous tendrils. I cannot say what Elizabeth Buchan knew. Perhaps you showed her the passageway to gain her confidence and she too went down it to her death. I don’t know whether she struggled or not, but her end was swift. A crossbow bolt through her forehead. But then,’ Corbett clicked his tongue, ‘something happened that you and your murderous paramour had not planned for.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You enticed Elizabeth Buchan down there and killed her, intending to take her corpse and bury it as you did Margaret Beaumont’s further down the tunnel, perhaps where it debouched into the woods beyond the walls. Now it may just have been that the tunnel is ancient, or maybe it was an act of God, but that part of it that stretches on from the centre of the maze and out under the walls of the nunnery abruptly collapsed.’ He paused. ‘Oh yes, that’s what I have been told. It is very easy to establish, since the fallen earth has still not hardened. On the night Elizabeth Buchan died, you were left with a choice. Either you could take the corpse back out through the secret entrance somewhere in the nunnery. However, that would be highly dangerous, as it would be to take it through the maze, so you decided to leave her above ground, as if she had wandered there and been raped then killed. Elizabeth Buchan was not ravished when she was alive; her corpse was abused after death to make it look as if she had been. One of Ranulf’s quarrels was used to kill her.’

‘The crossbow was also his.’ Lady Joan sighed and swiftly looked away as she realised the trap she had blundered into.

‘How do you know that? Who told you,’ Corbett pressed the point, ‘that Elizabeth had been given Ranulf’s crossbow? How could you know that unless you met her carrying it and managed to take it off her? You used it to muddy the waters to create a mystery. Ranulf Atte-Newgate might take the blame, certainly for Elizabeth’s death, and neither murder could be placed at your door. However, it’s time I saw to something. You must wait here.’

Ignoring the abbess’s protests, he rose, went to the door and summoned two of the sheriff’s men.

‘Watch her,’ he warned, ‘as hawks would a coney.’

He left the Magdalena chamber. He’d hardly gone far when a breathless Ranulf called his name and hurried up.

‘Sir Hugh, we have found the entrance.’

‘In the lady abbess’s quarters?’

‘No. In the sacristy of the church, beneath one of the aumbries.’

‘I wonder …’ Corbett gasped. ‘Yes, Margaret Beaumont was stealing those albs when she saw the abbess and her lover not only meet in loving embrace but open the secret passageway. She may well have been hiding in the sacristy at the time. Yes, that would be logical.’