Rest Not in Peace (The Chronicles of Hugh De Singleton, Surgeon #6)

by Mel Starr

  Isobel nodded agreement.

  “Is there talk of who may replace Sir Henry as Commissioner of Laborers?”

  “Lady Margery says Sir Geoffrey will have the post.”

  “That’s not all of Sir Henry’s possessions he is likely to have, eh?”

  Isobel blushed. “Nay,” she replied.

  “Will he be as rapacious of the commons as Sir Henry? He is baseborn, I am told.”

  “Aye, but few speak of it. Not when he or Lady Margery are close by. And he has little compassion for the commons when their money is at issue.”

  “Before Sir John was found dead, did Lady Margery speak then of Sir Geoffrey replacing Sir Henry as Commissioner of Laborers?”

  “I daresay. Don’t remember clearly. All is a muddle. Can’t remember who said what and when.”

  “Did Sir John seek the office also, you think? The post is not for Lady Margery to give, nor is it inherited.”

  “Why not? ’Twas a source of income he could have no other way.”

  “So with Sir Henry dead, and then Sir John, Sir Geoffrey might have two things he wanted – Lady Margery and a position he might use to extort pence and shillings to fatten his thin purse.”

  “Aye. And he’d not overlook even a farthing from the meanest sort. Sir Henry didn’t.”

  “Yet ’tis said Sir Henry was needy. If he used his position to take unjustly from the commons, why did he lack funds?”

  “Don’t know. He had debts, and Lady Margery likes her jewels. She was much angered last year when Sir Henry sold an emerald ring without her knowledge.”

  “When you return to Lady Margery she will want to know of our discourse. On no account must you tell her of my questions or of your replies.”

  “What am I to say? She will surely ask, and so will her other ladies.”

  “Say that we spoke of William. ’Twill be no lie. His name was mentioned. Say I had many questions about the quarrel between William and Sir John. This also is true.”

  Isobel arose from the bench, but as she turned to leave the chamber a last question occurred to me.

  “Can Sir Geoffrey read and write?”

  “Aye. Not well, I think.”

  “You have seen examples of his pen?”

  “Nay. Just heard Sir Henry speak to him of it once. Sir Geoffrey was rueful that he lacked knowledge. Didn’t learn to read and write ’til he entered Sir Henry’s service.”

  Isobel departed the chamber. I remained, considering what I knew, and what I had just learned. Sir Geoffrey, I decided, had slain Sir Henry to gain a wife and an income, and when he saw these prizes threatened by Sir John, took the opportunity of Sir John’s wound and quarrel with William to do another murder.

  Sir Geoffrey would have access to the marshalsea, where he might have hacked a knob from an old, little-used saddle, and he had enough skill with a pen that he could write a message to Sir Roger designed to set askew any investigation.

  How the knight got his hands on the pouch of crushed lettuce seeds I did not know, but thought that either Walter or Lady Margery might know something of the business. But if I asked, they would deny it, so there was no point in doing so.

  And the portpain was also a puzzle. Did Sir Geoffrey have it from Lady Anne? Why so? Or from Lady Margery? This was more likely. But how would she have got it from the pantry? Was I of Sir Roger’s disposition, I would have suggested that Lord Gilbert rack the knight until he told all.

  There were two problems with such a business. Lord Gilbert has no rack at Bampton Castle dungeon, and a man whose arms and legs are being drawn from their sockets will say whatever is needful to end his suffering.

  I climbed the stairs to the solar, where I found Lord Gilbert reading his book of hours. He looked expectantly from his devotional. When I had sought him in the past five days it was usually because I had questions or answers. Mostly questions, few answers. He waited to learn which it would be this day.

  Lord Gilbert pointed to a bench near the cold hearth and invited me to sit. I did so, then told him of what I had learned from Isobel.

  “The Statute of Laborers has caused much enmity,” he said when I had finished. “If a gentleman pays only what the law permits, his laborers will go elsewhere, but if he pays enough to entice men to remain in his employ he will run afoul of the ordinance and be fined for his infraction.”

  Trust Lord Gilbert to see the matter from a gentleman’s perspective, rather than that of the commons.

  “Did Sir Henry fine any gentleman for paying wages above what is allowed?” he continued.

  “Isobel did not say.”

  “Probably did,” Lord Gilbert said. “He was in great want, I think. A penny is a penny, no matter whose purse it may be plucked from.”

  Lord Gilbert closed his book, gazed thoughtfully at the window, then continued. “Sir Geoffrey is the felon, then?”

  “So it seems.”

  “I am sorry to hear it. He was valiant in battle.”

  “So was Sir Henry,” I said, “but his courage did not prevent him dealing unjustly with men who deserved better.”

  “Will you arrest him this day? If you do so, Lady Margery can be away tomorrow.”

  “You believe that you have heard enough evidence against Sir Geoffrey to satisfy the King’s Eyre?”

  “You think not?”

  “I would like to be more certain.”

  “Bah… you are too precise. There are few certainties in life.”

  “Aye. Nevertheless, I would like another day or two to seek more evidence against the man. Now that I know better where to seek for it, the proof of Sir Geoffrey’s guilt may be more readily found.”

  “Very well. Where will you search first?”

  “It may be time to press Walter.”

  “Sir Henry’s valet? Why him?”

  “He gave the sleeping draught to Sir Henry. It was his duty and he admits that he did so.”

  “If he admits this, why seek more from him?”

  “Sir Henry was given more than a thimbleful of the stuff. Perhaps Walter did so at some other man’s urging, told that it was all for Sir Henry’s good.”

  “Sir Geoffrey?”

  “Aye. It may be that Sir Geoffrey hoped the greater dose would send Sir Henry to an endless sleep. He was, nevertheless, prepared with other measures if it did not.”

  “Hmmm. I can see how it might have been. But what of the bodkin and bloody linen found in the squires’ chamber?”

  “How Sir Geoffrey got the portpain I cannot guess, but it would have been no great trouble to enter the squires’ chamber and leave the incriminating stuff behind whilst they were out.”

  “Did the Lady Anne take the portpain with the silver, and give part of it to Sir Geoffrey?”

  “If I have the wit to ask the proper questions of the proper people, we will soon know.”

  “Seems unlikely,” Lord Gilbert said. “More likely Lady Margery might have given it to him. But that would make her complicit in her husband’s murder, would it not?”

  “Mayhap.”

  “And how did Lady Margery come by the portpain? Would she steal my linens?”

  “Who can say?” I shrugged.

  “You are off to see the valet, then?”

  “Aye. I have heard that he and other of Sir Henry’s grooms and valets play at nine man’s morris in the gatehouse anteroom with Wilfred the porter and his assistant, when they have no duties to attend to. I’ll first seek him there.”

  I bowed to my employer and backed to the door of the solar. A few moments later I stood under the portcullis and watched as Wilfred and his guests attempted to relieve each other of farthings and ha’pennies. The game ceased when my shadow darkened the door. Lord Gilbert has not forbidden his grooms and valets from gambling, but there were yet guilty expressions on five faces. No man likes his lord’s bailiff to find him at some questionable business. And Sir Henry’s servants surely knew the consequence of unwisely putting one’s coin at risk.

&nbs
p; The men had been kneeling upon the flags of the anteroom, but scrambled to their feet when they saw who it was who looked down upon their sport.

  “Master Hugh,” Wilfred said, tugging a forelock. “I give you good-day. How may I serve you?”

  “’Tis Walter I seek.” I motioned to the valet to follow me from the gatehouse and saw his companions exchange questioning glances as he fell in behind me.

  I wished to speak privily to the valet, so took him also to my old bachelor chamber off the hall. I did not want Sir Geoffrey to come upon us suddenly and see me in serious conversation with Walter. He might assume what I was about.

  Silence may be as great a menace as threatening words to those who hold secrets. I did not speak to Walter as we crossed the castle yard from the gatehouse to the hall. When we entered my old chamber I motioned for him to sit upon the bench, then walked behind him to the window, where I gazed out upon the castle yard and made pretense of collecting my thoughts. After a few minutes of this sham I faced him and spoke.

  “You told me that you prepared Sir Henry’s wine with a thimbleful of the sleeping draught I provided. Is this not so?”

  “Aye.”

  “But when I inspected the pouch, much more than that was missing… Who told you to give Sir Henry a greater dose? Sir Geoffrey? Lady Margery? Sir John?”

  Walter glared at me indignantly. “I provided only what you required. A thimbleful. No man told me to increase the dose.”

  “’Twas your own choice, then, to give Sir Henry more of the crushed lettuce seeds than was meet? Did he request it?”

  “Nay. ’Tis not what I meant. No man, nor woman either, told me to give him more than was asked, nor did I do so.”

  “Someone did. If not you, who would do so?”

  “Don’t know. After Sir Henry drank the draught I left his chamber.”

  “Leaving the pouch of crushed lettuce seeds upon his table?”

  “Aye. Just so.”

  “And you saw no man nearby, in the corridor outside Sir Henry’s chamber, perhaps?”

  Walter was silent. Here is a question he does not wish to answer, I thought at the time.

  “Who did you see?”

  Walter studied the back of his right hand, evidently considering his words and his fingernails. The silence grew oppressive, but I said no more, allowing the valet to soak in his discomfort.

  “Sir Geoffrey was there,” he said finally.

  “He saw you leave Sir Henry’s chamber?”

  “Aye.”

  “Did he speak?”

  “Aye. Asked if Sir Henry slept. I told him, ‘Nay,’ but should do so soon, if your potion was successful.”

  “What did Sir Geoffrey say then?”

  “Said no more. Went to ’is chamber an’ I went to the stairs and sought my own bed.”

  “You saw no more of Sir Henry, or Sir Geoffrey, ’til next morning?”

  “Aye.”

  “Has Sir Geoffrey spoken privily to you since Sir Henry was found dead?”

  Once again the valet seemed reluctant to answer. I took his silence as answer enough, and continued.

  “What did he say?”

  “Said as how I was not to tell you or Sir Roger that I saw ’im after I’d given Sir Henry the potion. An’ if any man pressed me on the matter I was to say ’twas Sir John I met in the corridor.”

  “Why would you do so if it was not so?”

  “Sir Geoffrey said ’e’d make it worth my while to do so… but if I said ’twas ’im I saw, I’d suffer for it.”

  “Why do you speak of it to me, then? Sir John is dead, and cannot refute the allegation if you tell me it was him you saw outside Sir Henry’s chamber. Sir Geoffrey is hale and healthy. Do you not fear his vengeance for speaking of this?”

  “I did. That’s why I would not tell of it before. But I see now ’tis a coward’s part I’ve played. Sir Henry wasn’t a bad master, an’ didn’t deserve to die as ’e did.”

  “At Sir Geoffrey’s hand, you think?”

  “Suppose so. Been tryin’ to think who else could’ve done the murder.”

  “And…?”

  “Don’t see anyone else as havin’ reason or chance to do it.”

  “Not Squire William?”

  “Thought at first it might be ’im as slew Sir Henry. Sir Henry was about to dismiss ’im, I think.”

  “Because he was unhappy that Lady Anne esteemed the lad?”

  “Aye. An’ was he away there’d be one less retainer to provide for.”

  “And a loss of reputation in the eyes of his peers. No knight would willingly keep fewer knights and squires in his household.”

  “Suppose so. Don’t know much of that sort of thing amongst gentlefolk.”

  “I am told that Sir Henry angered many folk around Bedford. He was a Commissioner of Laborers, charged with enforcing the Statute of Laborers, as you will know. ’Tis said he was unjust in the fines he levied.”

  “Don’t know about that,” Walter said. “Wasn’t my business. Who said so?”

  I made no reply, but thought it odd that Lady Margery’s ladies-in-waiting would know more of Sir Henry’s affairs than his valet, and that Walter would not speak of the fine his father had been required to pay some years past.

  “Will the sheriff arrest Sir Geoffrey?” Walter asked.

  “If there is evidence of his guilt,” I replied.

  “Does evidence point to any other?”

  “Some does,” I said. I did not wish for the valet to think the matter resolved, when I was yet uncertain myself. At that moment I did not believe Sir Geoffrey guiltless, but thought another might be involved. Who, I could not say. And without more proof the King’s Eyre would likely set him free. I might send a commoner to the gallows with the evidence I had, but not a gentleman. Not even a gentleman who was once of the commons.

  I sent Walter on his way and returned to the solar. For what I wished to do next I would need Lord Gilbert’s aid. I wanted to interrogate Lady Anne.

  “What did you learn from the valet?” Lord Gilbert asked.

  “He saw Sir Geoffrey in the corridor outside Sir Henry’s chamber, just after Sir Henry had consumed the sleeping draught.”

  “Sir Geoffrey’s chamber is there. Where else would he be if he was going to his bed?”

  “He told Walter to say, did anyone ask it of him, that ’twas Sir John he saw… said he would do well by him if he did so, but the valet would find trouble if he told the truth.”

  “Why, then, did he do so? Does he no longer fear Sir Geoffrey’s wrath?”

  “My thoughts also,” I replied. “Walter said Sir Henry was a good lord and deserved better.”

  “So he will now speak the truth when he would not six days past?”

  “So he said.”

  “You believe this?”

  “I’ve no reason not to.”

  “And what of the sleeping draught? You said much of the herb was missing from the pouch. Did Walter provide it to Sir Henry?”

  “He said not.”

  “Then who did?”

  “Perhaps Sir Geoffrey went to Sir Henry, found him yet awake, and offered to fetch more wine so he could take more of the potion.”

  “Would Sir Henry take this act of kindness from a man he knew wished to steal his wife?”

  “Why not? He had already perhaps consumed some of the crushed lettuce seeds, to no effect, good or ill, so would have seen no reason to reject such an offer.”

  “What if, when Sir Geoffrey returned with the wine, he had put some other substance into it?”

  “Poison?”

  “Aye.”

  “When I tasted the dregs in Sir Henry’s cup I could detect no off flavor.”

  “Are there no poisons which are tasteless?” Lord Gilbert asked.

  “There are some. But if he poisoned Sir Henry’s wine, why pierce him with a bodkin?”

  “Wanted to be sure of Sir Henry’s death, I suppose. But you think poison unlikely?”

 
“Aye,” I said. “I do. The increased dose of my potion would have sent Sir Henry to a deep sleep, so that a man might do him to death without awakening him.”

  “Then arrest Sir Geoffrey and let’s be done with this matter. Send him to Sir Roger and let the King’s Eyre sort out the details.”

  “I have yet a few questions.”

  “For whom?”

  “Lady Anne. Would you send John Chamberlain to request that she join us here?”

  “What do you expect to learn from her?” Lord Gilbert asked.

  “If I knew her replies I would not need to ask of her.”

  “Oh… aye, just so. Very well. Seek John and tell him to request Lady Anne’s presence in the solar.”

  I did so. John was easily found, but he must have had some difficulty locating Lady Anne, for I returned to the solar and with Lord Gilbert waited nearly an hour before Lady Anne appeared.

  Wealth can stiffen a man’s spine, and a maid’s also, I think, but poverty will undermine confidence. Sir Henry and his daughter were needy. John Chamberlain ushered Lady Anne into the solar and her apprehension was clear.

  Lord Gilbert and I stood, and my employer motioned to Lady Anne to take the best chair. He dismissed John, and I seated myself on a bench while Lord Gilbert resumed his place.

  Lady Anne had stolen the silver of one of the great barons of the realm, and even though the goods had been returned, was now facing him and his bailiff. Neither I nor Lord Gilbert had spoken a word but in greeting, yet a tear appeared upon her cheek, glistening in the light as the afternoon sun slanted through the solar windows.

  Lord Gilbert looked to me and folded his arms across his broad chest. No doubt he also saw Lady Anne’s reaction to this encounter. Good. Fear may be, in my experience, a great encourager of truth, especially if one fears being caught in a lie by a powerful lord, or even his bailiff.

  “Six days past,” I began, “you helped yourself to Lord Gilbert’s spoons and knives. When you were found out, and the return of the silver was demanded, you wrapped them in linen and left them in the screens passage, near the pantry, as was demanded.”

  Lady Anne made no reply to this review of the matter, which I took to mean that she had no objection to the truth of the accusation. Lord Gilbert must have thought the same. He spoke next, and bluntly.