Filomena eyed me with suspicion, rightly guessing that I had sought her out with an ulterior motive. ‘What is it, Oswald?’ she asked.
‘I need you to distract Lady Isobel for a while.’
She continued to stir the porridge. ‘Why?’
‘I need Sandro to speak to Lady Emma on her own. But her stepmother watches her like a hawk.’
She stopped stirring. ‘And what do you want with Lady Emma?’
‘Can I tell you later?’
She looked up at me, and raised one of her eyebrows.
At this moment, Simon woke up and began to grizzle – which immediately prompted Hugh into making the same noise, only louder.
‘I don’t think that I have the time to help you,’ said Filomena, brusquely. ‘My hands are full with these two children.’
I picked Hugh up, though he squirmed like a piglet to reach Filomena. ‘Please,’ I said. ‘Go to Lady Isobel now and ask for some help with the baby.’
Filomena laughed at this. ‘Lady Isobel has no interest in children.’
‘Then think of something else,’ I said. ‘I don’t know. Tell her that you want to know about the latest fashions in London.’
Filomena laughed again – this time with even greater disdain. ‘Is that all you think women want to talk about, Oswald?’ she said. ‘Children and fashion?’
‘Please, Filomena. I really need your help with this.’
‘I’m busy.’
‘Very well then,’ I said, putting Hugh to the floor and wandering back towards the door. ‘I suppose that I could always ask my mother to help me.’
She put down the spoon and glared. ‘No no. I will do it, Oswald,’ she said. ‘Just give me a moment to think of a story.’
* * *
Filomena was as good as her word. I don’t know what excuse she dreamt up to get Lady Isobel out of her chamber, but it worked – for soon Sandro peeped around the door of their apartment to find Lady Emma alone. I hung back in case I scared the girl, but she seemed happy enough to take Sandro’s hand and follow him out into the inner ward. Once there, Sandro encouraged her to start singing her favourite song, the pair of them skipping around in a circle like two mummers in a play. Their voices were soft to begin with, but as Sandro led her to the dungeon, Lady Emma’s voice rang out at great volume.
‘These castle walls are cold, ’tis true,
They freeze with winter ice and snow,
But a man can always warm his pole,
Inside a tight and furry hole.
I know I’m not the only man,
Who longs for comfort from the cold,
I’ve heard the creeping feet at night,
Looking for a new delight.
If ever there was consolation,
To this frozen isolation,
It is found, in every guise,
Between a woman’s warming thighs.’
I followed at a distance, before taking my place in a corner of this dark cell, as the words of The Fool’s song resounded from the walls. Predictably, it was not long before Lady Isobel appeared at the door, her beautiful face contorted with rage.
‘Stop that, Emma,’ she shouted, marching into the room and grabbing the girl by the sleeve. She went to shake Emma violently, but froze when she saw my face in the lantern light. ‘Lord Somershill?’ she said. ‘What on earth are you doing in here?’ For a moment she seemed lost for words, until her stepdaughter began to sing again, and then Lady Isobel found her voice. She screamed, demanding that the girl be quiet, before she slapped Emma soundly across the face.
Sandro gasped at this and pushed Lady Isobel away from her stepdaughter.
Lady Isobel squealed in disgust at Sandro’s touch, as if somebody had thrown the contents of a chamber pot at her. ‘Get this filthy Venetian rat away from me!’
At this insult, Sandro turned to Lady Emma, and together they began the song again, even louder this time.
‘I know I’m not the only man,
Who longs for comfort from the cold . . .’
Lady Isobel placed her hands over her ears. ‘Stop singing that song. Stop it!’ But the song resounded about the dungeon, achieving a new level of volume that must have reached the whole castle.
‘. . . I’ve heard the creeping feet at night,
Looking for a new delight.’
She made another attempt to grasp the child, but Emma dodged her stepmother with ease, laughing wildly at her escape. Sandro and Emma then danced about her, until the woman screamed at the very top of her voice for them to stop.
‘If ever there was consolation,
To this frozen isolation,
It is found, in every guise,
Between a woman’s warming thighs.’
We were not alone for long. The bait had worked. The bird had sung and its mate had answered.
Chapter Thirty-three
Though the dungeon was dark, Lyndham strode in with all of his usual confidence, never imagining that he might be stepping into a snare. ‘What’s going on in here, Isobel?’ he asked.
‘Don’t say anything,’ she said quickly, nodding her head towards me. ‘De Lacy is here.’ Lyndham flinched for a moment, as he turned to look for me, finally seeing my face in the low lantern light.
He looked at me with confusion at first, before his expression changed to annoyance, especially when Sandro and Emma darted out of the door and locked it behind them. ‘What’s going on, de Lacy?’ he asked me. ‘I don’t like being locked in a dungeon.’
‘I want to talk about The Fool’s song,’ I answered.
He frowned in disbelief. ‘What about it?’
‘Those creeping feet at night,’ I said. ‘I always assumed that The Fool had written those lyrics about Edwin of Eden. But that was my mistake. The feet were yours, weren’t they, Lyndham? As you crept about the castle to be with Lady Isobel.’
He laughed at this. ‘It’s just a stupid song,’ he said. ‘Pay it no heed.’
‘But it’s not, is it?’ I said. ‘William Shute spent long enough in your company to know the truth. And so has Hesket’s daughter. It’s no wonder that the song upset her so much, when she first heard it. She knew what those words meant well enough.’
‘This really is nonsense, de Lacy,’ he replied.
‘Is it?’
The lantern light threw shadows across his smiling face, but I saw fear there as well. ‘You mustn’t read anything into Emma’s behaviour,’ he said, with a scornful raise of his hands. ‘The girl is a halfwit. She cannot even speak.’
‘Emma can speak, Lyndham,’ I replied. ‘As well you know. Which is why you killed the one woman in the world whom she would talk to,’ I said.
He wrinkled his nose. ‘What?’
‘You pushed her lady’s maid into the river, didn’t you? In case Emma told the woman the truth about you and her stepmother. You even jumped into the river in a pretence of saving her, so you would never be blamed.’
‘That is the wildest story I’ve ever heard,’ he said. ‘I think the marsh is seeping into your mind, de Lacy.’ He managed to dredge up a laugh, but Lady Isobel was not finding this conversation amusing.
‘Just let me out of here, Lord Somershill,’ she said, her voice rising to one of her high-pitched commands.
‘No,’ I said. ‘You’re staying in this dungeon. Both of you.’
Lyndham pushed the hair back from his face. His skin was sweaty for once. ‘Look, de Lacy. We’ve had enough of this. Just call your valet and get the boy to unlock the door.’
‘Not until you admit that you are lovers,’ I said.
They glanced at one another. ‘All right,’ he said at length. ‘But you can’t lock us up in here for such a trivial matter, can you? It was just a bit of merrymaking between the two of us. After all, Hesket was so much older than Isobel.’
‘Be quiet, Robert,’ hissed Isobel. ‘He’ll twist your words.’
‘You’re not locked in here for adultery,’ I said. ‘It’s for murder.’
>
‘What?’ said Lyndham, frowning again.
‘The murders of Lord Hesket and William Shute.’
Lyndham laughed. ‘Now I know that you’ve gone mad, de Lacy. I’ve never heard such nonsense.’
‘I told you not to speak to him, Robert,’ hissed Lady Isobel. ‘The man is trying to trick us.’
Lyndham strode towards the door, clenched his hands around the bars in the small window and shook them. ‘Let me out of here,’ he shouted. ‘I’m locked in this cell with a lunatic.’ When nothing happened, he kicked at the door, before he turned back to me. ‘Come on, de Lacy. We’re friends,’ he said, straining to keep up the smile. ‘Let us out of here and then we can talk properly.’
‘You’re not leaving this dungeon,’ I said. ‘Neither of you.’
‘Listen to me,’ he said calmly. ‘Whatever it is that you’ve dreamt up about these murders is a lie. This investigation has exhausted you. Especially the recent episode in that cottage. So come on. Get your valet to open the door and then we can forget all about this.’
‘No,’ I said, holding the lantern up to my face. ‘My mind is sound. I know exactly how you killed them both.’
The laugh came again. ‘Oh yes?’
Lady Isobel grasped hold of Lyndham’s arm. ‘Please. Don’t say another word to him, Robert,’ she urged. ‘I told you that before.’
Lyndham shook her away. ‘No,’ he said, as he prowled towards me, now with menace. ‘I want to hear his great theory. After all, it’s not often that a person is accused of murder by the famous Oswald de Lacy.’ I could almost taste the bitter tang of his contempt.
I stood my ground, hoping that Lyndham couldn’t sense my fear. ‘You didn’t come to Castle Eden with the plan to murder Hesket,’ I answered. ‘I’ll say that much.’
‘Is that so?’
I continued. ‘The idea only occurred to you when Godfrey was killed, and then, suddenly, there was an obvious culprit in the castle. A strange boy from Delft with an unnatural interest in torturing and killing animals. Somebody who would quickly be blamed for the killings.’
‘Still nonsense,’ he answered.
‘You saw Hans leaving through the tunnel on the night of Edwin’s argument with Hesket. You realised that this was your opportunity.’
‘A tunnel indeed?’ he smirked, raising an eyebrow. ‘How ingenious.’
‘Yes. You’ve known about this escape route since Godfrey employed you to guard this castle. He told you about the tunnel himself.’
This mention of employment seemed to provoke him, more than the accusation of murder. ‘Godfrey did not employ me, de Lacy. I was invited to protect Castle Eden.’
Behind us, Lady Isobel had sidled back over to the door. ‘Let me out,’ she whispered through the bars. ‘Please, will somebody let me out? I’m trapped in here. Please. Help me!’ The door remained shut, with no sound from the passageway beyond.
Lyndham leant his hand on the wall, pinning me against the stones. ‘You’re upsetting Isobel, de Lacy. And really, you don’t want to do that. She’s a rich and powerful woman.’ He moved closer, his sweating face nearly touching mine. ‘Known at court.’
I took a deep breath and continued, trying not to be intimidated. ‘Isobel has no place at court. She is a murderer, Lyndham. A woman who killed her husband. With the help of her lover.’
‘You’ll have to prove that, won’t you?’
‘Once you’d seen that Hans had left the castle, you killed Hesket and tried to make it look like the Dutchman’s work,’ I said. ‘You mutilated Hesket’s body, in the same way that Hans had mutilated Old Simon’s crow. Lady Isobel even concocted a story about Hans having a vendetta against her husband. Everything pointed at the Dutchman. Especially as he had disappeared.’
Lady Isobel pulled herself away from the door on hearing my accusations. ‘I had nothing to do with this,’ she called across the cell. ‘You’re wrong about my involvement, Lord Somershill.’ Lyndham turned to her sharply, with a slightly bewildered, even wounded look across his face. For a moment he was lost for words.
‘You thought that you’d got away with it, didn’t you?’ I said, moving away from the wall and feeling a little braver, now that Lyndham had moved his arm. ‘Until you realised that The Fool had seen something from his hidden chamber in the cellar. But you didn’t want to kill the man, did you, Lyndham? You were old friends, working the circuit of palaces and grand houses of England together. Shute just needed to be warned. He needed to understand what you would do to him, if he talked. Which is why you put his hat onto a dead dog.’
Lyndham stepped away from me and broke out laughing. ‘Are you suggesting that I did those things to my own hound, de Lacy? Now you really have lost your mind.’
‘But it wasn’t your dog, was it?’
‘Of course it was,’ he snapped.
‘No, it wasn’t. We only thought it was your dog because you told us so,’ I said. ‘I expect that the mutilated creature was from the pack of hounds that we can hear in the forest. No wonder they’ve not been barking so loudly in recent days. One of them is dead.’
‘You’re mad, de Lacy. If it wasn’t Holdfast in that chest, then where is he?’
‘You took him out of the castle first,’ I said. ‘I imagine that you’re paying somebody on the island to look after him.’ He laughed at this assertion, but not convincingly. ‘I know the dog left through the tunnel Lyndham, as Sandro stepped in some of its mess.’
The handsome knight was becoming riled. ‘I’ve had enough of this, de Lacy. I want you to shut up now.’
‘A murderer doesn’t like to be exposed, does he?’ I answered. ‘And you had to murder Shute in the end, didn’t you? Because he couldn’t be trusted. Especially not once he’d locked himself into that cellar with so many barrels of Sweet Malmsey. You knew that he would soon be singing out your names to anybody who was listening.’ I pointed to the bucket that I’d asked Sandro to leave in a corner. ‘Remember this, Lyndham?’ I asked. ‘It’s full of birch oil. You stole it from de Groot’s workshop and then poured the oil down the ventilation shaft. You burnt your friend William Shute to death.’
Lyndham looked at me, his face pale with shame, or fear – it was hard to say, but Lady Isobel’s reaction was different. She bowed her head to me and held her hands together, as if in prayer. ‘I want you to know, Lord Somershill,’ she said earnestly, ‘that these allegations have nothing to do with me. If Sir Robert has committed these crimes, then he acted alone.’
‘Just wait a moment, Isobel,’ said Lyndham, grabbing the woman by her arm. ‘Don’t you dare to blame all this on me,’ he said. ‘Most of it was your idea.’
‘It was not,’ she rasped.
‘Don’t worry, Lyndham,’ I said. ‘I’m perfectly aware of her involvement. Lady Isobel is every bit as guilty as you.’
‘That’s not true,’ she exclaimed.
‘You might not have carried out the murders yourself,’ I said to the woman. ‘But you won’t be spared the same punishment.’
She regarded me momentarily with hatred, before a smile began to cross her lips. ‘Very well then, Lord Somershill. Have it your own way. Yes. Robert and I are lovers. Yes. I did plot my husband’s murder with Robert when the opportunity arose. And yes, it was my idea to kill Shute, though Robert spoke against it, since the two of them were friends.’ She threw a smile at Lyndham. ‘I’m sorry, Robert. I panicked when the door was locked. I should not have tried to blame you for these crimes, for we acted together.’ She turned back to me, and gave a short, mocking curtsey. ‘So, Lord Somershill. I hope that you’re satisfied now? You have your confession.’ She paused. ‘Though I wonder what you are going to do with it?’
‘I’m going to make sure that you’re punished,’ I said.
She smiled again. ‘Yes. I can understand why that would be your intention. But then again, you’ll have to get out of this dungeon first, won’t you? And it seems to me that you are trapped inside this room with two people who
don’t really want to let you out. Not alive, anyway.’ She strolled over to the bucket of birch oil. ‘I think Lord Somershill might be interested in an experiment, Robert,’ she said. ‘A re-enactment of one of our crimes.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Lyndham, not fully placated by her apology.
‘I think we should burn him, of course. Set fire to the man and let him see how The Fool died. After all, Lord Somershill has worked out how we did it last time, so let’s celebrate his powers of deduction. And, of course, once there is a fire in here, I’m sure that somebody in this castle will come to our aid and let us out.’
Lyndham drew back, and for a moment I sensed indecision in his face. Part of him had liked me. Part of me had liked him. You might even say that we had become friends in the last few weeks, so I hoped he might resist Isobel’s calls to end my life. That our friendship meant something to him. So, I didn’t extinguish the lantern in my hand, instead I held it aloft, daring him to act. But, I should have guessed that he would take Isobel’s part in the end. After all, he had already murdered two people in pursuit of this woman’s affections. He looked to me with sad, almost apologetic eyes, but he still threw the bucket of oil over me. He still made the decision to kill.
I was soaked, but not in flames. My clothes were wet and the light of my lantern was extinguished.
‘What’s going on?’ screamed Lady Isobel, now that we had been plunged into darkness. ‘Why isn’t de Lacy on fire?’
‘It was water in the bucket,’ I said.
‘What?’ said Lyndham.
‘I wanted to see if you would attack me, Lyndham,’ I replied. ‘Now I have the answer.’
It took a moment for Lyndham to digest this information, before he found his voice again. It was a hostile growl, all remembrances of our fledgling friendship now obliterated. ‘I underestimated you, didn’t I, Oswald de Lacy?’ he said. ‘I can see that now. I thought you were just an observer, when we first met. Happy to untangle a mystery from the safety of the flanks. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? Because it turns out that you do have courage as well as curiosity.’ He grasped hold of my wet tunic and pulled my face to his. ‘Do you know what makes me really sad about having to kill you? I think we could have been friends. I really do. But then you spoilt that friendship with all your annoying little investigations.’ He shook me. ‘So, tell me this, de Lacy. Why do you do it? Why not leave the dead to take care of themselves?’
The Bone Fire Page 28
