by Paul Doherty
Lady Elizabeth gazed stony-eyed back, refusing to touch the mask.
‘Poor Mawsby.’ Kathryn continued, putting the mask away. ‘I have yet to discover whether he knew about your role in these matters. Eleanora was his accomplice, his lover, he must have been intrigued by your performance in Canterbury Cathedral. No wonder he returned to Ingoldby Hall eager for a fresh cup of wine. I say poor Mawsby.’ Kathryn shook her head. ‘But he was a man infatuated with Eleanora, a killer used to the cut and thrust of battle. Human life was cheap to Mawsby. He was the one that followed me around Ingoldby and watched me study the mosaic in the library and then again out in the maze.’ Kathryn forced a smile. ‘Did he tell you about losing the mask?’
Lady Elizabeth refused to answer, an eerie, calculating look in her eyes.
‘Mawsby must have known the Vaudois woman and her daughter were possible suspects.’ Kathryn sat back in her chair. ‘After all, Master Gurnell had been sweet on Ursula. Did Mawsby know that both women were not as fey and witless as sometimes they pretended to be? Anyway, soon after he had taken care of Sir Walter’s head, exposing it for everyone to see, Mawsby took the axe and the blood-soaked sack down to the old hunting lodge and hid them there.’ Kathryn shrugged. ‘Sooner or later someone would have laid information against the Vaudois woman and her daughter. The old hunting lodge would be searched. We would also find the secret trackway through the copse. The finger of suspicion would point at them. You, of course, were intent on putting as much distance between yourself and Ingoldby as possible. You announced that your household would be dispensed and that included Eleanora. Everyone else would go, you’d then feign some excuse and keep Eleanora with you on your triumphant return to London as a very, very wealthy widow. A woman of independent sustenance, favoured and pitied by the King, protected by all the power of the Crown. How you and Eleanora would laugh at the way you had duped the world of men! And what did it matter to you if Veronica was drowned in a mere? Or poor Hockley lay cold in his grave? Or the Vaudois woman and her daughter, tarred and chained, hung from some gibbet? And Mawsby? Ah well.’ Kathryn picked up the mask. ‘He’d served his purpose, hadn’t he? He could be sent into the dark. The months would pass and, if your husband’s murder wasn’t placed at the door of others, then it would be eventually forgotten. Who could question it, or your household now dispersed to the four corners of the kingdom?’
‘I am sorry about the wine.’ The colour had returned to Lady Elizabeth’s cheeks. ‘And my temper. Mistress Swinbrooke, you do tell a good tale.’
Lady Elizabeth rose, walked over to the wine table, refilled another goblet and returned to her chair, sipping the wine gently.
‘A good tale?’ Colum queried.
‘Let us say it was the truth.’ Lady Elizabeth smiled at Kathryn. ‘Let us say that Eleanora and Mawsby plotted these hideous murders. And,’ she sighed, ‘God forgive them for their black hearts and evil deeds. Yet, what proof can you lay against me?’
Colum glanced down to hide his own anxiety. He was certain that this beautiful young woman was a killer, a murderess with a heart of stone. She was now doing what any felon would do, trying to slip through the net and pass the blame to others.
‘My proof lies in five parts.’ Kathryn’s reply was sharp.
Lady Elizabeth’s smile faded.
‘First, you tried to murder your husband by using poison; that’s what gave him the stomach cramp. But when Sir Walter sent for Brother Ralph the infirmarian from Greyfriars, you decided to stop. Only someone very close to Sir Walter could feed poison to him over a long period of time, one of those poisons which grow in strength.’
‘Nonsense!’
‘Nonsense? When I met you the day you left for Canterbury, I noticed a book about herbs and their properties in your chamber, such works are rare, studied by only those skilled in such matters. I wager you know as much about poison as I do, Lady Elizabeth. Secondly, Mawsby’s murder. He locked the door behind us when we left the writing chamber, and the only other person who held a key to that room was yourself.’
‘Oh yes, and Eleanora must have borrowed it?’
‘Thirdly,’ Kathryn continued remorselessly, ‘when a jury is empanelled to try you, Lady Elizabeth, they will, as instructed by the King’s Justice, be taken out to Ingoldby and asked to sit in the arbour of flowers which stands at the side of the great meadow, where you were the afternoon your husband was murdered.’ Kathryn leaned forward. ‘Lady Elizabeth, I have studied the plan of that meadow most closely. Anyone sitting there must have seen Mawsby leave the copse of trees for the maze, then return.’ Kathryn demonstrated with her hands. ‘True, you cannot see the rearmost hedge of the maze, but you do have a clear view of the land between the maze and the copse. Will you explain to the jury how a maid like Veronica could glimpse such a figure in a momentary glance through a window but you and Eleanora never saw anyone either leave or reenter both the copse and the maze, not to mention crossing the lawn in between, on a clear summer’s day?’
Lady Elizabeth’s face grew pale and tight.
‘We, we . . . could have overlooked it,’ she stuttered.
‘Nonsense!’ Kathryn retorted. ‘Two young, sharp-eyed ladies on a full clear day? Mawsby would never have risked it unless you were both fellow conspirators. Indeed,’ Kathryn picked up the mask, ‘I suspect you were sitting there to protect Mawsby. You were playing a lute, singing: that was the signal. Different verses, different tunes, when it was safe for him to leave the copse and enter the maze and the same for his return. You acted as his spy or sentry. Shall we go to the great meadow, Lady Elizabeth? The jury will certainly be intrigued.’
‘You mentioned that your proof was in five parts?’
‘Ah yes. Eleanora has confessed.’
‘She would never. . . .’ Lady Elizabeth’s head went down.
‘Now we come to the fifth part.’ Kathryn’s voice was soft. ‘Eleanora confessed because of what I have told you. Because Master Murtagh described what it is like to be hanged on the public gallows. Because he offered her a pardon. . . .’
‘Never!’ Lady Elizabeth shrieked.
‘Because he threatened to search both her chamber and yours from floorboard to ceiling. That’s why she was arrested so quickly last night. The others were taken into custody to mask our intent.’
Lady Elizabeth put her face in her hands.
‘Do you wish to go to trial?’ Colum’s voice was harsh. ‘You will go on trial, Lady Elizabeth! The Crown will not intervene. The King will be most displeased when he hears this news. He will demand the best lawyers, the sharpest attorneys the Crown can muster to pursue this case. In fact, I lied to Eleanora: you murdered your husband, the sentence for that, according to statute law, is to be burnt alive. . . . ’
‘I . . .’ Lady Elizabeth rose, placing the wine cup on the floor beside her. ‘I would like to make a full confession.’
She lifted her head. Kathryn was shocked at the change: Lady Elizabeth seemed to have aged, her face was stricken, eyes screwed up as if in pain.
‘I truly loved her,’ she whispered. ‘I favoured her. I married Sir Walter because of her.’ She scratched the side of her cheek. ‘At first I tried poison. Sir Walter was no different from any other man. My father and brothers were locked in their world of profit. Sir Walter was imprisoned in a dungeon of guilt and remorse. Eleanora hated him: her brother died at Towton. Mawsby.’ She shrugged. ‘I was jealous of him but he was a fool: full of hate against Sir Walter which he hid so well.’ She began to pace up and down. ‘Later that afternoon Mawsby watched the great meadow. He glimpsed Veronica going towards the copse: a callow wench with prying eyes.’ Lady Elizabeth stopped. ‘And what is to become of me?’
Before Colum or Kathryn could stop her, Lady Elizabeth ran towards the door. So surprised, Kathryn was hardly out of her chair when Lady Elizabeth seized the key from the inside lock. By the time Colum had reached it, she’d opened the door and slammed it shut, turning the key in the lock. Colum hamm
ered on the wooden panels. Lady Elizabeth screamed as she ran down the gallery. Colum drew his sword and used the pommel to batter the door, splintering the wood.
‘What is it?’ a voice called.
‘Open this door in the King’s name!’ Colum shouted.
‘But Lady Elizabeth has the key. What is the matter?’ a maid, her voice full of fear, echoed back.
Kathryn ran across to the window and pushed open one of the small casement doors.
‘Colum!’ she called.
He hurried across, gently pushed her aside and thrust his way through. Kathryn, using a stool, climbed out, Colum helping her down onto the grassy verge. They ran round the house. The main door was open and servants milled in the hallway beyond. One of the maids was crying hysterically. Another was halfway up the great staircase, peering after her distraught mistress.
‘What is the matter?’ A burly stable man planted himself squarely in front of Colum. ‘My mistress’s household,’ his voice was a thick burr, ‘are arrested, now she screams like a ghost!’
Colum, restrapping the sword belt taken off when he’d climbed through the window, pushed the tongue of the belt through its loop and drew his sword in a flourish. The stable man stepped back.
‘Stand aside!’ Colum shouted. ‘This is the King’s business, though I suspect I will need your help!’
Colum and Kathryn went up the staircase, the servants following fearfully behind. They found the door to Lady Elizabeth’s chamber locked and had to use a bench from the great hall to snap it free of its thick leather hinges. Inside, Lady Elizabeth, a goblet of wine on the floor beside her, was already beyond any help: her body was jerking, head going backwards and forwards, eyelids fluttering. A yellowish froth stained the corner of her mouth and the muscles of her face were taut in agony. Kathryn felt her hand and peered closely at the half-closed eyes.
‘Poison.’ Kathryn picked up the goblet and sniffed at the jewel-encrusted brim. The sweetness of the white wine could not hide the acrid tang. ‘Deadly nightshade, monkshood,’ Kathryn whispered.
Colum ordered the servants back as Kathryn grasped Lady Elizabeth’s hand. The dying woman’s face had turned livid. Kathryn was sure the half-open eyes were conscious of her being there. She tried to speak but only the froth bubbled at her lips. Another hideous convulsion and Lady Elizabeth’s head jerked, then fell to one side, eyes glazing over, mouth and jaw slack. Kathryn pressed her hand against the woman’s neck.
‘God have mercy on her!’ she prayed. ‘She’s dead!’
Her words carried to the servants standing in the doorway to be greeted with loud wailings and exclamations, which Colum hushed as he gently urged them away. Kathryn stood for a while gazing down at the corpse. She gently pushed back one tendril of silky blonde hair.
‘Such God-given beauty,’ she murmured. ‘Such a waste!’
Staring down at the liverish face, Kathryn reflected on her own actions – but what other path could she have followed? Indeed, the more she had confronted Lady Elizabeth the more compelling the case against her had become.
Colum came back into the chamber.
‘Kathryn, we should be gone. I have instructed the maids to attend to Lady Elizabeth’s corpse, to lay it out on the bed. This will cause some flutter in the dove cote,’ he added. ‘A suicide, they will demand that she be buried at the crossroads.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Kathryn gently stroked Lady Elizabeth’s cheek. ‘Prior Barnabas of Greyfriars owes me a great favour. He will have another corpse to bury in the Poor Man’s Plot.’
Kathryn took one last look at the corpse and left. They returned to the solar; the key Lady Elizabeth had dropped during her flight had been found. They collected their possessions and went out to the stable yard. The sun was now strong, the air rich with the smell of horses, dung, oats, bran and hay. Surly-eyed ostlers brought out their horses. Kathryn and Colum were eager to leave. Once they had passed through the unguarded gates, Colum reined in, dismounted and urged Kathryn to do the same.
‘You had no real proof, just logic!’
Colum let his horse nuzzle at his hand. Kathryn gently stroked the neck of her soft-eyed cob.
‘Veronica,’ she replied. ‘Veronica did see Mawsby either enter the maze or leave it. I wondered about Lady Elizabeth and Eleanora. Why were they sitting in the flower arbour? I mean, at that particular time? Why did they stay so long despite the heat of the sun? Surely they must have glimpsed Mawsby? More importantly,’ she kissed her horse gently on the neck, ‘if Mawsby was acting by himself, a murderer bent on vengeance, would he have left the copse if he had seen Lady Elizabeth and Eleanora sitting in the arbour of flowers? If they were two innocents, he ran the hideous risk of being seen or even apprehended. I therefore concluded that both Lady Elizabeth and Eleanora were his accomplices, if not his masters; they were sitting in the arbour to protect their assassin.’ Kathryn held out her hand. ‘Once I had that as a hypothesis I began to build. Someone murdered Veronica before she could tell what she had seen or found. Mawsby was a master bowman, that’s how he killed Hockley in the cellar. Mawsby’s story about being in Canterbury was a cunning way to hide his true whereabouts. And, of course, there was the garbled story of the Vaudois woman, about a messenger galloping along the road . . . .’
‘And?’ Colum asked.
‘Brother Ralph.’
‘What about him?’
‘Well, according to our good infirmarian, he left Ingoldby Hall just before noon.’
‘Ah yes, and he never met Mawsby on the road?’
‘That’s because Mawsby had already hobbled his horse and was lurking in that copse ready to carry out his murderous task. Other images came back. Mawsby singing a love song. Eleanora’s silver chain with the golden rose. I hadn’t seen it before and she was supposed to be in mourning. Lady Elizabeth’s book of herbs.’ Kathryn let the cob graze on the grass, gently wrapping the reins around her wrist. ‘The mummery at Canterbury Cathedral, Lady Elizabeth acting as if she had been poisoned but there was nothing for us to examine except an acrid smell, the contents of the cup had been cleared away. What other explanation can there be for Mawsby’s murder? Logic, alone dictates it.’
‘I should go back,’ Colum breathed, ‘and search those chambers.’
‘Oh, you might find something, but they were a cunning pair. I can’t even prove Eleanora made that mask.’
‘So, why didn’t Lady Elizabeth simply lie?’
‘I wondered about that too, but I suspect the love between her and Eleanora was very passionate. Lady Elizabeth is spoilt and vain. Eleanora is the one with the will of steel. They thought we’d never stumble on the hypothesis about Mawsby crossing that lawn unless we had evidence. Once Lady Elizabeth thought Eleanora had betrayed her, what reason did she have for living? Even so . . .’
Kathryn turned her horse back onto the trackway. Colum helped her to remount. She gazed down at him.
‘There was a compelling logic against both of them. If a jury was empanelled they would certainly say there was a case to answer and present an indictment.’
‘Why did you think Eleanora is the one of steel?’
‘Oh, Lady Elizabeth was a doll in her hands. Eleanora could convince Lady Elizabeth that winter was summer and spring was autumn. If we examine that Bede roll, the list of names massacred at Towton, we’ll discover Eleanora’s kin. In Spain and Italy the blood feud must be pursued, whatever the cost, whatever the means.’ She gathered her reins. ‘And why should Lady Elizabeth object? She wanted to escape. Maltravers was much older, an ideal choice. I suspect from the start both that precious pair had murder in their hearts. Now, come, Colum.’
He remounted his horse and they went along the trackway, turning off down towards the old hunting lodge. Colum explained how Gurnell had been grieved to hear of the deaths of the Vaudois woman and Ursula, though Colum had not provided details. Just before they reached the bend he reined in, leaned over and grasped Kathryn’s hand.
‘Why, I
rishman, you choose the strangest places and times to do your courting!’
‘Kathryn, soon we will be out of this. In a few weeks we’ll be married, man and wife. And what then?’
‘Why, Irishman.’ Kathryn freed her hand and, leaning over, caressed the black hair tumbling down the side of his face, running a finger down his unshaven cheek. ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out as we go a-courting and a-loving till the end of time.’
‘I think we should go away,’ Colum declared.
‘Go away? Leave Canterbury?’
‘Just for a little while. To be alone.’
Kathryn stared through the interlaced branches. For a brief second she experienced what it would be like to be in a strange place, where they were not known, on a beautiful morning like this. Yet, even as she did so, she experienced a slight chill, not of fear but a conviction that, wherever they went and whatever they did, the pursuit of the sons and daughters of Cain would never be far away.
‘Kathryn?’
‘I’ll think about that, Irishman.’ She winked at him and urged her horse on. ‘But, in the meantime . . .’
They rounded the bend. The old hunting lodge lay before them; from the chimney stack at the side of the house curled a plume of smoke. Colum’s retainers were lounging on the ground, one sharpening a stick, others playing a game of hazard.
‘Lovely lads!’ Colum breathed.
Kathryn thought they were the biggest rogues she had ever met, a group of wild Irishmen, some with hair as black as Colum’s, others fiery red, all with swaggering ways and impudent eyes. They hailed Kathryn as if she was a princess, gathering round her, touching her hand, staring up at this ‘wise woman’ who had captivated their leader. Some whispered endearments in Gaelic. Others grinned admiringly, chatting to each other. Colum they greeted with good-natured insults and, for a while, there was quick repartee in a tongue Kathryn couldn’t understand. Two of the retainers helped her dismount, one offering to carry her cloak.
