by S. D. Sykes
I was covering Godfrey’s face with his cloak when the first of the visitors arrived. It was Godfrey’s younger brother, Edwin of Eden, who sprinted into the room dressed in a dirty nightshirt, even though it was nearly noon. He smelt as badly of beer and onions as he had done the previous night, when we had bumped into one another in the darkness of the inner ward.
‘I’ve only just heard,’ he said breathlessly, running his hands through his greasy hair. ‘Where’s Godfrey?’
‘In the chest,’ I said, pointing to the box.
He gulped. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Would you like to see him?’ I asked.
Edwin held up his short arms in alarm. ‘Good God, no thank you, de Lacy. I can’t stand the sight of dead bodies.’
‘Godfrey was murdered,’ I said. ‘Did they tell you?’
‘Yes,’ he said, suddenly leaning one hand against the wall, as if he were about to faint. His head dropped and a bead of spittle fell from his lips. I thought he was about to vomit, until he stood upright again and took a deep breath. ‘Why would anybody want to kill my brother?’ he asked. ‘I know Godfrey could be an annoying bastard, but this . . .’ He nodded his head towards the clockmakers’ chest. ‘Why would they put his body in there?’
I went to answer, when he fell against the wall again, now holding both hands to his mouth, as his cheeks puffed in and out like a pair of bag bellows. It was only moments before he noisily heaved the contents of his stomach onto the floor. As I had suspected, it seemed he had been consuming beer and onions.
When Edwin had nothing left to bring up, I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘Come on,’ I said, trying my best to sound sympathetic. ‘You need to clean yourself up and speak to everybody.’
‘Me?’ he said with some surprise. ‘Why?’
‘Because they’ll expect to hear from you, Edwin. You’re Lord Eden now. The head of this castle.’ His jaw dropped for a moment, and I had the impression that this sudden rise in status had not yet occurred to him. He then ran his thumb and forefinger around the edge of his mouth, removing the last traces of vomit from his lips.
‘By the saints,’ he said slowly. ‘You’re right, de Lacy.’ But this realisation didn’t appear to please him. Instead he lunged forward and grasped my arm. ‘Oh God,’ he groaned. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
I took his hand and gently removed it from my sleeve. ‘You need to gather the guests together,’ I told him. ‘Tell them what’s happened to Godfrey, and then reassure them that you’re searching for his killer.’
I had hoped that this advice might help, but Edwin only lost more colour. ‘Searching for Godfrey’s killer?’ he said. ‘But how on earth am I supposed to do that? I’m not the constable or the sheriff.’
‘But you’ve got to do something,’ I said, finding that my sympathy was beginning to wane. ‘Your brother was murdered, Edwin. Inside his own castle.’
He looked back at me with fearful, pathetic eyes, and suddenly I felt sorry for him again, for I knew the weight of expectation that lands upon a man when he unexpectedly becomes a lord. Eleven years previously I had also been required to solve a murder on my estate almost immediately after inheriting my new title, so it occurred to me to offer my help to Edwin. It was clear that he was floundering, and after all, I did have experience in looking for murderers, on many occasions.
And yet . . .
And yet, I also knew the risks of such an undertaking, for I had nearly lost my life during my last investigation in Venice. This time it was not my fight, it was Edwin’s – or so I reasoned at that moment. But then I changed my mind again, as I looked at his pale, trembling face. I could not trust this shambling man to find Godfrey’s killer – not least because we needed to act quickly. The murderer was among us. A person who might be planning to strike again, for all we knew. And then, another thought occurred to me. This time it was one of guilt and regret, as I realised the true extent of my mistake in coming to this place. My plan to keep my family safe had produced the very opposite result. I had locked them away from the Plague, only to lock them inside this castle with a killer.
I cleared my throat and stirred myself to say the next words. ‘Why don’t you let me help you with this investigation, Edwin.’
He looked at me askance, his upper lip arched. ‘You?’
‘Yes. I’ve found killers before,’ I said. ‘I have the experience you’ll need.’
He continued to regard me with puzzlement, until a smile slowly replaced the look of consternation. ‘Oh yes,’ he said, the colour coming back to his cheeks. ‘I remember now. Godfrey told me about this. You were some sort of hero in Venice, weren’t you?’
‘I wouldn’t put it that way.’
‘Oh, don’t be modest, de Lacy,’ he said. ‘You found a murderer and uncovered a ring of spies. Sounds fairly heroic to me.’ He licked his lips. ‘In fact, I heard that the doge was so pleased with you, that the lovely Filomena was your reward.’
‘No,’ I said sharply. ‘That is not how I met my wife.’
‘All right, all right,’ he said, backing away and holding up his hands in surrender. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, de Lacy.’ He bowed his head and resumed his cringing, pathetic pose. ‘Did you mean it about helping me?’ he said. ‘Was it a genuine offer?’ I nodded in response, prompting him to slap me on the back, as if we’d just agreed to ride to London together. ‘Good man,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and speak to the others now. I’ll tell them that you’re looking for the murderer.’
‘No, Edwin,’ I said. ‘Tell them that I’m assisting you. That’s all.’
He waved his hand at me, as he stumbled out of the cellar. ‘Of course, de Lacy,’ he muttered. ‘Whatever you say.’
Chapter Seven
I returned to our apartment to face Filomena and my mother, knowing that they would be desperate to hear more news of the murder. They pretended to be warming themselves by the fire when I opened the door, but it was obvious they had been lying in wait.
‘Is it true?’ asked Filomena, even before I had untied the clasp of my cloak. ‘Has Godfrey been killed?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m afraid it is.’
She crossed herself. ‘And is it also true that his body was left in the clockmakers’ chest?’
I nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Poor man,’ said Filomena, as she flopped down upon the bed, giving Mother the opportunity to launch into a well-prepared speech.
‘I told you there was death in this place, didn’t I, Oswald?’ she said, wagging a bony finger at me. ‘I said it was a bad decision to come here. We should return to Somershill immediately. Before somebody else is killed.’
‘We can’t leave, Mother,’ I said. ‘You know that. We’re surrounded by plague.’
‘I’ll take my chances, thank you very much,’ she blustered.
‘Well, that’s up to you,’ I answered. ‘But you’ll be going home on your own, as the rest of us are staying here.’
Filomena looked up again. ‘But perhaps your mother is right, Oswald,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to stay here either. There’s a murderer in this castle.’
Mother gave a surprised smile that soon turned into a gloat. It was not often that my wife agreed with anything she had to say.
‘Please don’t worry,’ I told them both, hoping to sound confident. ‘There’s no reason to think that anybody else is in danger. Especially as we’re going to start looking for the murderer straight away.’
Filomena stiffened. ‘What do you mean by that?’ she snapped.
I hesitated. ‘I’ve offered to help Edwin with the investigation,’ I said.
‘Why?’
‘You know why, Filomena,’ I replied. ‘Edwin is a fool. I couldn’t trust him to find a killer on his own.’
‘Let Edwin take care of this himself. It is his castle.’
‘I can’t do that,’ I answered. ‘It’s too dangerous.’
She gave a huff. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘So you do th
ink this person will kill again.’
‘I’m not saying that,’ I protested, as Mother interrupted our argument.
‘Goodness me,’ she exclaimed, pointing down into the inner ward. ‘Come and look at this, Oswald. Edwin of Eden is addressing a crowd from a stool.’
I joined Mother at the window, peering down to see Edwin below, surrounded by the other guests. He cut a strange figure, as he had thrown a very long cloak over his nightshirt. It was a garment that covered his feet and created the illusion that Edwin was floating above the cobblestones. I wondered if this cloak had belonged to Godfrey, because it certainly hadn’t been made for Edwin’s frame. Godfrey may have been short in stature, but Edwin was barely taller than Sandro. I couldn’t hear what our new lord was saying from our window, but I could see that he was being harangued by Lord Hesket, Old Simon and the knight, Robert of Lyndham. The three men were launching questions and hardly giving him the opportunity to answer.
‘Just look at that fool,’ said Mother. ‘Waving his arms about on that stool. Who does he think he is?’
‘He’s Lord Eden now,’ I replied.
She gasped. ‘Goodness me, Oswald,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ She continued to peer down. ‘Well, I wonder what he’s saying to them all?’
‘Why don’t you go and listen?’ I suggested. ‘Sandro can help you down the stairs.’
‘No, no,’ she said. ‘I’d rather stay here with you and Filomena.’
‘Very well then,’ I said, knowing better than to insist. ‘Edwin isn’t telling them anything that you haven’t heard from me.’
We continued to watch for a while longer as Old Simon staggered towards a door, with the aid of Alice Cross. Behind him, the argument continued to rage between Hesket and Edwin, culminating in Hesket attempting to push our new lord from his makeshift podium on the stool. The excitement was now of the highest quality and far too good for Mother to miss.
‘I think I will go down after all,’ she said blithely. ‘A dash of fresh air might do me some good.’
‘Do you think you should?’ I asked, a little mischievously. ‘It does look very boisterous down there.’
‘A woman of my age must take her daily exercise, Oswald. I will not be talked out of it.’ She looked over her shoulder. ‘Now where is that small Venetian?’ she said. ‘Sandro, Sandro.’ She called out his name until my valet ran into the room, trailed by Hugh, who was beating the floor with a long stick – blissfully ignorant of the drama that was unfolding about us.
When Mother, Sandro and Hugh had departed for the inner ward, I went immediately to my strongbox, with the intention of retrieving the two letters that Godfrey had given me the previous night.
Filomena watched me with suspicious eyes. ‘What are you doing, Oswald?’ she asked, as I turned the key in the lock, and then delved into the coffer that contained all of our most valuable possessions.
I lifted the two letters aloft. ‘Godfrey gave me these last night,’ I said. ‘For safekeeping.’
Filomena paused for a moment, and I could see that she had not fully forgiven me for our last disagreement, but curiosity got the better of her in the end. ‘Why was that?’ she asked me.
It was my turn to hesitate. My wife was no delicate flower, apt to wilt at the first chill – but was it a good idea to involve her in this investigation? ‘Come and sit with me,’ I said, once I had made my decision. ‘Then I’ll explain.’
She didn’t move. ‘Do those letters have something to do with Godfrey’s murder?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ I replied honestly. ‘They could have.’
I had piqued her interest at least. ‘Why did Godfrey give them to you?’ she asked, as she slowly walked across the room to join me by the fire.
‘He wanted me to deliver these letters in the event of his death,’ I said.
She sat down and then drew her stool close to mine. ‘The event of his death?’ she repeated, wrinkling her nose. ‘Did he think his life was in danger, then?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Though the death he feared was from the Plague, not murder.’ I hesitated again. ‘Even so. These letters might tell us something. So we need to read them.’
She laid a hand on my arm. ‘Are you sure about that, Oswald?’ she said. ‘Remember, if you open those letters, then you are caught in this tangle. You cannot escape.’
‘It’s too late,’ I said. ‘I’m already trapped, whether I like it or not.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because Godfrey told me a secret last night,’ I said.
‘Oh yes?’
‘He told me that he was planning to leave the castle today and bring two people back with him.’
‘Who?’
‘He wouldn’t say,’ I replied.
She withdrew her hand from my arm and laid it gently over the other in her lap. ‘You’re right, Oswald,’ she said solemnly, ‘we should read them now.’
I broke the seal on the first letter, unfolded the parchment and then read the contents aloud. The first one was addressed to the priest, John Cubit, in Oxford.
‘My dearest John. I have asked Lord Somershill to deliver this letter to you in the circumstances of my death. You must know that I have never swerved from our path. To the end, I have laboured tirelessly upon our shared vision, knowing this to be the way of righteousness. I have taken the greatest pains to hide our work from prying eyes, but you will know where to find it. May God go with you. Your true friend, Godfrey, Lord Eden.’
Filomena frowned. ‘Shared vision?’ she said. ‘What does that mean, Oswald?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
‘And who is this John Cubit?’ she asked, pointing to his name on the letter. She was learning to read English and liked to show me that she was making progress.’
‘He’s a priest,’ I said. ‘A radical.’ She pulled another face in response, and I knew that this word had confused her. ‘Cubit wants the church to change,’ I said. ‘There is a group of such men in Oxford. Led by a man named John Wyclif.’
‘Was Godfrey part of this group?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I think he was,’ I said. ‘At least, he tried to foist a book by Wyclif onto me last night.’
‘What was it about?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘I deliberately left it behind.’ When she arched an eyebrow, I added, ‘I didn’t want to read this book, Filomena. I’m not interested in Wyclif’s dangerous beliefs.’
‘Dangerous?’
‘Wyclif’s not popular with the church,’ I said. ‘But he’s able to speak his mind because he’s protected by a powerful friend.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘It’s the Archbishop of Canterbury, Simon Islip,’ I said. ‘They were once fellow students at Oxford. But Islip’s protection cannot last forever. As soon as Islip is dead, the church will decide that Wyclif is a heretic.’ I paused. ‘And we all know what happens to heretics in the end.’
She crossed herself. ‘This work that Godfrey has hidden from prying eyes?’ She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Do you think it’s heresy?’
‘Probably,’ I said.
She paused. ‘But we don’t know where it’s hidden?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And we don’t know what it is.’ Filomena drummed her fingers upon her knees for a moment. ‘We should open the second letter, Oswald. It might tell us more.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Especially as this one is addressed to Islip.’
I tore at the seal and unfolded the second square of parchment, and then began to quickly scan the words. ‘Godfrey begins with best wishes to the archbishop’s household,’ I told her. ‘And then . . .’ I let my finger run along the words. ‘God’s bones, listen to this.’
‘What is it?’ she said.
I read the letter aloud.
‘I am writing to request your assistance. Calling upon our history of friendship and common interest. I know you to be a man of the greatest honour. A pe
rson whom I can trust without fail.’
I paused for a moment, almost unable to speak the words of the next sentence.
‘What is it?’ said Filomena urgently. ‘Please, Oswald. Read the letter to me.’
I turned my eyes back to the words.
‘I wish to inform you that I have married a local woman in the past year, but have yet to announce this union to my family. Her name is Abigail Franklin, and though she is not born of nobility, she is a God-fearing woman from a good family. I have decided to keep my marriage a secret from my own family thus far, but please do not doubt that Abigail is my true wife. We were married by the priest John Cubit, according to God’s law.’
Filomena stood up. ‘Did you know about this marriage, Oswald?’ she asked.
I shook my head. ‘No. Of course not. Or I would have told you about it before. But listen. There’s more.
‘In the month of August in this year of 1361, my wife gave birth to our first son, a boy named Simon. I beg of you to acknowledge Simon as the rightful heir to Eden, as my younger brother Edwin will oppose Simon’s claim to the estate. I ask you, as my friend and previous benefactor, to both recognise and protect Simon’s position. At my death, it is my son, and not my brother, who becomes the true lord of this estate.’
I folded the letter again and paused for a moment. ‘This makes sense now, Filomena,’ I said. ‘The two people Godfrey intended to bring back to the castle must have been his own wife and son. No wonder he was behaving so secretively.’
