‘If you have to go near to your brother,’ I said, ‘then wrap a stretch of linen about your mouth. If he has a high fever or his hands and feet are turning black, then leave him alone. There is nothing then that you can do to save his life.’ This comment elicited a response at least. Their eyes widened in horror and they both drew back from me. The older girl then turned and ran away. My words had appalled her. But not so the girl with the gaping lip. She repeated the advice out loud and then thanked me – her gratitude only deepening my sense of shame.
Chapter Sixteen
That evening we filed despondently into the Great Hall for supper, to the accompaniment of a tune that The Fool was playing on his shawm – an instrument whose loud and piercing tones are better suited as entertainment for a tournament than a quiet meal. We took our places at the table and were served a stew of stringy boiled fowl – a dish that only seemed to remind Old Simon of his deceased crow. The old monk picked out a bone and sobbed as we tried to talk to one another, though this was not the only distraction to our conversation. Edwin of Eden was drinking at speed, guzzling down his wine and then calling immediately for his goblet to be refilled. We ignored his antics until he launched himself across the table and loudly demanded a kiss from one of the maids, at which point Hesket stood up and reprimanded our new lord in the most severe tones.
After this public belittling, Edwin retreated to his chair to glower at Hesket like a chastised child – but at least he was quiet. I watched him for a while, as the candlelight picked out the gleaming threads of his tunic – another fine garment from Godfrey’s wardrobe, no doubt. This tunic would not stay in its pristine condition for long, however, as Edwin had already marked it with red wine and lumps of pottage.
Without Edwin’s drunken performance to dominate proceedings, we could converse again – the topic soon turning to Corvina. As Pieter de Groot and his nephew Hans were not in attendance at supper that night, the other guests felt able to speak freely about the pair.
My mother was first to find fault. ‘Of course I’ve never trusted that Dutch boy,’ she declared to the table. ‘His eyes are too close together and his hair pokes up in tufts.’
‘I’m not sure that we can infer anything about Hans’s nature from his hair,’ I pointed out.
She shook her head at my words. ‘No, no, Oswald. Those tufts are an indication of perversion. I’ve always said so.’
I caught the eye of Robert of Lyndham, and we briefly exchanged a look of amusement. Lyndham then ran his fingers through his own hair. ‘What would you say about my scalp, my Lady?’ he asked, as he leant forward to let Mother examine the top of his head. ‘Am I fair or foul?’ I noticed that Lyndham’s hair was thinning at the crown, and for some ignoble reason, it gave me a short frisson of pleasure to find some small flaw in his physical perfection.
Mother, unaware that Lyndham’s question was a joke at her expense, peered closely at his head. ‘Well,’ she said after a few moments of solemn contemplation. ‘I would say that you have an advantageous hair formation, Sir Robert.’ Then she paused and circled her finger across the back of his head. ‘Though I would take heed of this small whorl at your crown. It could be a sign of inconstancy.’
Lyndham raised his head. ‘Thank you, my Lady,’ he said with a mischievous grin, before he tapped the offending twist of hair. ‘I will make certain to watch out for this defect. I did not know of its existence before.’
There was a titter of laughter at this comment, soon extinguished by Old Simon, as he coughed loudly and put his hands together. ‘I would like us all to pray for the soul of the Dutchman,’ he said. ‘I fear his path is turning towards the Devil.’
Lord Hesket placed his goblet down upon the table, firmly enough to catch the attention of the other guests. ‘It was a bird, Father,’ he said wearily, before patting his daughter on the head. ‘Not a child.’ Lady Emma plunged her eyes to her hands at this comment, embarrassed to be pointed out.
Old Simon bristled at Hesket’s words. ‘Cruelty must be censured, my Lord. No matter if the victim is man or beast.’
‘I do not admire the actions of this Dutchman,’ replied Hesket. ‘But equally, we cannot damn the boy for killing a bird.’
It was Lady Isobel who answered this assertion – which came as something of a surprise, since she rarely contributed to the conversation at supper, other than to call for more wine, or occasionally to bid us good night. ‘I cannot agree with you, husband,’ she said. ‘I don’t feel safe with this Dutchman in the castle. I don’t like him.’
Hesket turned to regard his wife, seemingly as shocked as the rest of us to hear her voice. ‘Would you have us lock the boy in a dungeon, then? For killing a bird?’ He pointed to her bowl. ‘I would remind you that we are eating a chicken this evening. Should we arrest the cook as well?’
Lady Isobel took a deep and determined breath. ‘There is a difference, husband,’ she said calmly. ‘The bird in question was a beloved companion. Not a farmyard animal.’ She paused. ‘And anyway. It is not the killing of the creature that has upset me. It is the manner of the bird’s death.’
It was Edwin’s turn now to contribute, breaking his petulant silence. ‘Hans is just bored,’ he said. ‘Like me.’ He then let forth a long belch that caused Lady Emma to cover her ears with her hands and groan.
Old Simon bent forward to fix Edwin in his line of sight. ‘The Dutch boy may be bored, Nephew. But that is no excuse for entertaining himself with devilry. He should be punished for his sins.’
Edwin threw back his head in amusement. ‘What sin is that, Uncle? Thou shalt not kill an old man’s talking bird?’
‘But he tortured Corvina,’ replied the old priest, his voice lifting with agitation. ‘Surely you do not condone that?’
‘It was an ignorant animal,’ said Edwin. ‘A stupid crow.’
‘No, no. Crows are very intelligent.’ Old Simon was becoming flustered. ‘I taught Corvina to speak, and sometimes she would dance for me, hopping from leg to leg and ruffling her feathers if I whistled a tune.’
Edwin looked at his uncle for a moment, before he roared with laughter. ‘She was a crow, Uncle,’ he said. ‘Not a dancing whore!’ He then nearly fell from his chair in amusement, prompting The Fool to take up his shawm again – as if a deafening tune might ease the awkwardness of this whole episode. At the very same moment, Lady Emma struck up a wail, causing her father to shout over the cacophony.
‘That’s enough, Eden,’ he called. ‘Stop this foolery. You’re upsetting my daughter.’
‘But it was just a bird, Hesket,’ laughed Edwin. ‘You said so yourself.’ He then jumped to his feet, flapped his arms and strutted about like a chicken. ‘A dancing bird.’
‘That’s enough,’ repeated Hesket.
‘No, it’s not,’ said Edwin, as he danced his way towards Lady Emma, standing behind the girl and flapping his wings in time to The Fool’s tune. His antics caused Lady Emma to yell even louder, but this was not enough to stop Edwin, who only ceased his dancing when Hesket roughly pushed him to the floor.
‘Get away from Emma,’ he shouted, ‘you drunken ape.’
The Fool dropped his shawm, and for a moment there was an uneasy hush to the hall. Hesket’s shove had even silenced Emma.
‘How dare you attack me?’ said Edwin, as he struggled back to his feet and dusted himself down. ‘This is my castle, and I will not tolerate it any longer.’
Hesket folded his arms. ‘I’ll treat you as I please,’ he said, ‘because you’re an animal. A stupid, drunken animal.’ He then pointed at our jester. ‘I’d wager this man here has more sense than you. And he’s the one we call The Fool.’
Edwin turned away from Hesket and peered along the table. ‘Sir Robert,’ he shouted. ‘Where is Sir Robert?’
Lyndham puffed his lips and held up his right hand reluctantly. ‘I’m here, Edwin. In front of you.’
Edwin squinted. ‘Ah. Yes, I see you now. Hiding away over there. Well, get rid of this man,
’ he said, gesturing towards Hesket. ‘He has offended me. Throw him and his family out of my castle at once.’
Lyndham flushed. ‘And why should I do such a thing?’
‘Because you are in my employ,’ said Edwin. ‘My brother paid you to protect my family. And now I want protecting.’
Lyndham’s expression changed from one of awkwardness to anger. ‘Godfrey offered me sanctuary from the Plague,’ he said, ‘in return for guarding this castle. He did not pay me anything. I am a knight, not your servant.’
‘That’s not true,’ said Edwin. ‘Godfrey told me so himself. Now I demand that you throw this man and his dimwitted daughter out of my castle.’ He paused. ‘Though his wife can stay. I might have some use for her.’
‘Watch what you’re saying,’ said Hesket, his voice now low and menacing. ‘I won’t stand for this.’
‘Or what?’ said Edwin.
Hesket was bristling with rage – his beard no longer hiding the bright red face beneath. ‘You will not speak that way in front of my wife and daughter.’
Edwin only laughed at this. ‘Your daughter’s mind is addled, Hesket,’ he said. ‘As addled as a rotten egg. The senseless girl doesn’t understand a word that anyone says.’
Hesket thumped the table. ‘I’m warning you.’
‘You don’t scare me,’ said Edwin. ‘I’m not Godfrey.’ He then threw back his head with laughter again. ‘Oh yes. You might have persuaded my brother to marry that imbecile,’ he said, pointing at Lady Emma. ‘But don’t think I’m taking your defective offspring to my bed.’
Hesket launched his goblet at Edwin in response, spraying red wine across the table, before he then strode out of the hall to an audience of startled faces.
I followed the man, catching up with him at the far end of the inner ward, where the night was at its very darkest. We had both left the hall without our lanterns, and the moonlight did not reach into this shadowy corner.
When I placed a hand on Hesket’s shoulder, he turned to punch me, but I drew back in time to avoid the blow. ‘Is it true, Hesket?’ I said, grasping his flailing arm. ‘Did you plan to marry your daughter to Godfrey?’
He tried to shake me off, but I held firm. ‘Get away from me, Somershill,’ he hissed. ‘This is none of your business.’
‘Is it true?’ I said again.
‘Yes, it’s true.’
I was hardly able to believe this disclosure. ‘But Emma is only ten years old, Hesket. How could you make such an arrangement?’
‘Emma is thirteen. And don’t you dare to judge me. If you had a daughter with Emma’s weaknesses, then you would understand.’
‘No, I wouldn’t,’ I said, releasing his arm. ‘I would never marry such a young girl to a man of over thirty.’
It was now Hesket’s turn to grasp me, pulling at the cloth of my cloak and drawing me so close to his face, that the long hair of his beard tickled at my skin. ‘You know nothing of our lives, Somershill. Nothing of our troubles.’ He shook me. ‘What do you think will happen to Emma when I die?’ he said. ‘I am fifty-five, and if the Plague does not kill me, then some other malady is sure to take my life in the next few years. I have to make arrangements for my daughter now, because there’s nobody I can trust to protect her interests when I am dead. My wife will remarry immediately and the rest of my family are no better than grasping cockroaches.’ He shook me for a second time, his voice becoming more urgent. ‘Emma will need a husband to defend her. You must see that? A man who is kind and sympathetic. A man who can offer her a quiet home, away from the crowds of London.’ He suddenly dropped his hands from my cloak and looked away. ‘I chose Godfrey as her husband, because he seemed to possess all these qualities,’ he said with a long sigh. ‘And yet the man was a liar.’
The truth was emerging, taking shape before me. ‘Godfrey told you he was already married on the night he was murdered, didn’t he?’ I said. ‘That’s why you were so angry when you left his library.’
Hesket looked up sharply. ‘How did you know about Godfrey’s marriage?’
‘I only found out after his death,’ I said. ‘In a letter that Godfrey had given me.’
Hesket ran his fingers through his hair and composed himself. ‘Well, Somershill. You’re right,’ he said. ‘The liar did finally admit the truth to me that night.’ He grunted a laugh. ‘But how could he string me along any longer? Not when he was planning to bring his wife and child into this castle the very next day.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And yes, I was angry. Very angry. Both with him, and then with myself. For I shouldn’t have been surprised at this final treachery, should I? Godfrey had already been deceiving me for many months.’ He shook his head. ‘All that money I lent him was intended to prepare this castle for Emma. So that she would have some comforts when she moved into this abysmal hole. So can you imagine how I felt when we arrived? To discover that Godfrey had spent all of my money on the most foolish whims.’ He waved his hands in the air. ‘Windows. Ventilation shafts. That damned clock! And then . . .’ He balled his hands into fists. ‘And then, as if that deceit were not bad enough, the liar then admits that he could not marry my daughter after all, because he already had a wife and a child!’ He paused to catch his breath. ‘So yes. I was angry.’
‘Did you return to Godfrey’s library later that night?’ I asked.
He took a moment to answer. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Did you return to the library and kill Godfrey?’
Hesket hesitated. ‘Be careful what you say. I’ve suffered enough insults for one night.’
‘Well, did you?’ I said. ‘Godfrey’s deception clearly infuriated you.’
‘He lied to me, Lord Somershill. Worse than that, he betrayed my daughter.’
‘I think the mazer just came to hand, didn’t it?’
‘What mazer?’ he said scornfully. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
I continued. ‘You didn’t mean to kill Godfrey, did you?’
‘I didn’t kill him.’
‘But you lost your temper,’ I continued. ‘You swung the mazer at his head and before you knew what you were doing, you had killed him.’ I paused. ‘That’s the truth, isn’t it, Hesket? You’re the killer in this castle.’
He stared at me for a moment, his dark eyes boring into mine. ‘Is that what you really think?’ he said with a scornful laugh. ‘Oswald de Lacy. The great investigator?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘Then you’ll have to prove it, won’t you?’ he said, spinning on his heels and striding away into the darkness. Was this an admission of guilt, or merely a challenge? I could not say.
I turned to make my own way back towards the hall, allowing time for my beating heart to slow, when I saw a small face in the shadows. It was Lady Emma, her eyes bright and sharp as they looked back at me. Her expression was unreadable. At first I thought that I saw fear, but then I suspected animosity. Whichever was the case, I was certain that she had witnessed this whole conversation, for when I held out my hand to her, she backed away and fled.
* * *
I locked the door to our chamber that night, tucked Hugh into bed and then tried to sing the boy a lullaby. I felt tense, and my son picked up upon my apprehension, tearfully begging for Filomena instead. When I finally managed to find sleep, it was restless and disturbed, and did not prepare me for the horrors of the next day.
Chapter Seventeen
I was woken at first light by a thunderous bang at the door to our apartment. I rose quickly from bed, pulled on my cloak and opened the door, to be greeted by the ashen face of Alice Cross.
‘What is it?’ I said.
‘You must come quickly, my Lord,’ she replied. She was out of breath and could hardly speak. ‘It’s Lord Hesket. He’s dead.’ Before I could ask another question, she added, ‘He’s been murdered.’
For a moment I felt the blood rush from my head to my feet. ‘Where is he?’
‘In the stables.’
I stepped
into the passageway and half closed the door behind me. ‘Does anybody else know about this?’ I asked her.
‘Only one of the maids,’ she answered. ‘The girl went to feed the horses this morning and she came across his body.’ She paused. ‘It’s a terrible sight, my Lord. Lord Hesket has been . . .’ She took a deep breath and put out an arm to lean upon the door frame. ‘His body has been sullied.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I cannot describe it,’ she replied. ‘You must come and see for yourself.’
I told her to wait in the passageway while I quickly dressed, deflecting Filomena’s stream of questions, as I pulled a thicker tunic over my head and then tightened my belt. ‘Just lock the door behind me,’ I told her. ‘Don’t open it to anybody.’
This advice did nothing to calm her. ‘What’s wrong, Oswald? I demand that you tell me the truth.’
‘Very well then, Filomena,’ I said. ‘Hesket is dead.’
My wife raised her hands to her mouth and gasped. ‘What?’ she said in disbelief. ‘Was he murdered?’
‘Just make sure to keep this door locked,’ I said. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’
I followed Alice Cross down the stairs, through the inner ward and then into the stables, but when our steward refused to go any further, I sidestepped the woman and entered the stall alone – peering past the horse that still occupied this stable, to see something propped up against the far wall. It was Hesket’s body – his head drooping to his chest, and his arms and legs splayed, so that he looked like an abandoned doll. Once again, I had the impression that the body had been arranged into a pose.
I approached, kneeling down to look into Hesket’s face. The sight that met my eyes was horrific. The killer had cut great swathes of skin from his scalp and scored his cheeks with the blade of a knife – though these injuries were only superficial and had not been the cause of his death. As I slipped my hand inside the loose neckline of his tunic to feel the temperature of his skin, I felt the wound that had really killed him. It was a slit across his throat – deep and cleanly cut. His death would have been instant and silent, for he would not have had the time to call out for help.
The Bone Fire Page 15
