by S. D. Sykes
‘Sit down again,’ I said. ‘We haven’t finished.’
‘But—’
‘I said, sit down!’
My raised voice caused Alice Cross to momentarily cease her battering of the floor, and look up sharply. But when her eyes met mine, she looked away.
Pieter de Groot reluctantly took his seat again. ‘If you must know,’ he said, ‘Lord Eden didn’t have enough money to pay the last part of my fee.’
‘So you were angry with him?’
He regarded me for a moment. ‘Oh, I see what’s happening here,’ he said, with a slow and deliberate nod of his head. ‘I see what you’re trying to suggest.’ He then wagged his finger at me, and only just stopped short of prodding its tip into my chest. ‘You want to blame this murder on a Dutchman. Pieter de Groot from Delft. Oh yes. Why not? He must be guilty.’
I pushed his finger away. ‘You were heard arguing with Lord Eden, and then his dead body was discovered in your chest. Can you blame me for being suspicious?’
His cheeks were now as red as a rasher of bacon, and sweat was beading in the indentation at the end of his nose. ‘I had nothing to do with Lord Eden’s murder,’ he hissed. ‘Even though he tricked me. Telling me that he could finish paying for the clock.’
‘Are you saying that Lord Eden lied to you?’
‘Yes,’ he spat. ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying.’
This deceitfulness didn’t sound at all like Godfrey, and I felt the sudden compulsion to defend my friend. ‘You must be mistaken, de Groot. Lord Eden would never have commissioned a clock that he couldn’t pay for.’
‘He thought that he would have the money,’ said de Groot. ‘But then something changed.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
De Groot hesitated, suddenly uncomfortable with himself for making the last disclosure.
‘I said, what do you mean?’
‘I didn’t know this at first,’ he said with a sigh. ‘You must believe me about that. Lord Eden didn’t mention his problem with money until our discussion four days ago. This argument that you tell me was overheard.’
‘What was the problem?’ I asked.
He heaved another sigh. ‘Lord Eden was borrowing the money to pay for my clock. Everything was arranged, but then his benefactor changed his mind. The money was suddenly no longer on offer.’
‘Do you know why?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know who the benefactor was?’
De Groot hesitated again, now poking his tongue about his cheek before deciding to answer. ‘It was Lord Hesket,’ he said at length.
I rose to my feet. ‘Thank you.’
He regarded me sourly. ‘So, I’m not under suspicion?’
‘Not at the moment,’ I said, dusting the charred reeds from my boots. ‘But don’t go anywhere, de Groot.’
‘How can I go anywhere?’ he exclaimed, banging his hands down on his muscular thighs. ‘I’m locked inside here. I told you before. This castle is a prison.’
I looked at his enraged, choleric face – his cheeks now streaked with purple veins. ‘Don’t get so angry, de Groot,’ I said. ‘It was just a joke.’
Chapter Ten
I knocked at the door to Lord Hesket’s apartment, to be admitted by the man himself. I then stepped inside a room that was as warm and dark as a birthing chamber. The lack of light and the profusion of red cloth about me only increased this sense of confinement, as if I had entered the abdominal cavity of a giant creature. It seemed that Hesket had secured the best accommodation in this castle, despite this not being the apartment that was supposedly intended for the King. With its lower ceilings and smaller windows, this chamber was far more congenial for a winter of isolation than our own rooms – especially given the thick Persian carpets and richly coloured tapestries that covered the floor and walls. For a moment, I looked about and felt as if I were back in Venice, in one of the many opulent chambers that I had visited in my time there.
Lord Hesket gestured for me to sit beside the fire, where his wife Lady Isobel was currently seated. When she realised that she was required to move, she made an attempt to hide her irritation by gifting me a smile, but I noted that her mouth only curled at the corners, while her eyes remained steadfastly cold. Her displeasure at my appearance was only increased when Hesket then asked her to take Lady Emma for a walk about the inner ward, claiming that his daughter would benefit from some fresh air. Lady Isobel produced another sour smile in response to this, arguing that she had only just returned from the last excursion, but Hesket insisted that she leave us anyway. At this instruction Lady Isobel grasped Emma roughly by her hand and pulled her towards the door. The girl protested, but luckily this objection did not escalate into a tantrum. She looked plaintively at her father, before he softly blew her a kiss and then waved her away.
Once we were alone, Hesket walked over to a side table and offered to pour me a goblet of Madeira. ‘I will have to serve this myself, I’m afraid,’ he said wearily. ‘I don’t know about you, Lord Somershill, but I’m sorely in need of a servant.’
‘Godfrey didn’t allow you to bring a maid?’ I asked.
‘Of course he did,’ answered Hesket. ‘But unfortunately the woman died on the way here.’
I sat upright. ‘She died?’
Hesket passed me the wine. ‘It was not plague, Somershill,’ he said. ‘Don’t be concerned. She fell into a river.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Yes,’ he said ruefully. ‘It was a shame. Especially as she was the only person whom Emma would speak to.’
‘So Lady Emma can speak?’
‘Of course she can speak,’ he snapped. ‘My daughter is not a dullard. She’s just very selective about talking.’ He took a gulp of his wine and then banged down the goblet on the table beside him. ‘I’m afraid to say that she has never chosen to speak to me.’
I knew better than to ask more. ‘How did your servant come to fall into a river?’ I asked instead.
Hesket leant forward to fix me with one of his unnerving stares. ‘You are an inquisitive fellow, aren’t you, Lord Somershill? Are you investigating the death of my servant now, as well as Eden’s unfortunate murder?’
‘No, no. Of course not,’ I said defensively. ‘It was just a question. Nothing more.’
He continued to stare at me, but I met his gaze. ‘If you must know, I didn’t see what happened,’ he said, eventually blinking and looking away. ‘One moment we were crossing a footbridge. The next moment the woman had slipped into the water. Lyndham and that jester fellow tried to save her, of course. But the river was swollen.’
‘Lyndham and The Fool were with you?’ I said, surprised to learn this.
‘Yes. Of course they were,’ he said. ‘I would never have journeyed here from London without a guard. A rich man does not ride about England without a knight.’
I reflected briefly on my own decision to travel to Castle Eden alone, with only Sandro to assist me in fighting off any outlaws and thieves – but luckily the shabbiness of our cart, and the stoutness of our pony, had deterred any interest in our wealth. ‘It must have been difficult for Lady Emma?’ I said. ‘It’s distressing for a child to witness the death of another person. Especially as she was close to this woman.’
Hesket regarded me with a sharp eye. ‘My daughter has borne it well enough, Lord Somershill. And, of course, she has my wife to comfort her.’
I thought of the woman who had just steered Emma from the room with all the tenderness of a man herding cattle to market, and couldn’t think of a suitable answer to this.
Hesket slapped his knees, so thankfully the topic was closed anyway. ‘I presume you’re here to ask me questions about the death of Lord Eden?’ he said. ‘And not that of my daughter’s maid?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That’s right.’
He wiped the end of his nose. ‘I must say that I find it strange that Edwin of Eden has started this investigation already. In my opinion
it might have waited until spring.’
‘I think we need to catch the killer before then, don’t you?’ I answered.
Hesket snorted with his usual disdain. ‘Why’s that, then, Somershill? Are you afraid that this person will kill again?’
‘Who can say?’
‘I see,’ he said, ‘so you are afraid.’ He paused for an instant and then leant towards me, resting his hands on his thighs to give the slant of his upper body more stability. ‘But what about justice for Godfrey?’ he said. ‘Do you care about that as well?’
‘Of course I do,’ I said defensively. ‘Godfrey was my friend. But equally, I make no apologies for also wanting to protect my family. I’m certainly not content to leave them at the mercy of an unknown killer for the whole winter.’
‘So you think you can find him?’
‘Of course I do.’
Hesket gave another disdainful huff. ‘Yes, well, I have heard of your reputation, Lord Somershill. And not only from your mother’s boasting. Your exploits in seeking out murderers are talked of in London.’ He hesitated. ‘But tell me this,’ he said. ‘I’ve always wondered, what makes you so interested in this pursuit?’ He fixed me again with one of his intense stares. ‘Is it because you like prying into other people’s lives?’
‘I wouldn’t call it prying,’ I said. ‘I call it seeking answers.’
This didn’t satisfy him. ‘Yes. But why do it, Lord Somershill? That is my question. Why pay so much attention to the dead?’
I froze for a moment, unable to think of an answer. Why had I spent so much time hunting murderers in the last eleven years? There had to be an answer to this – and yet I could see no particular pattern to my investigations. To begin with, I had been acting from a sense of duty, as those early murders had taken place on my own estate. It had been my role, as Lord Somershill, to find and punish the killer. My involvement in my last investigation had been different again. I had been seeking payment for the finding of a killer, in order to settle a mounting gambling debt to an angry and terrifying creditor. On the surface there was no thread running between these investigations. And yet . . .
And yet, I had driven each of these investigations to its end. In each case I had found the true murderer, sometimes at great risk to my own life, and consequently I had made certain that this person was punished for their crimes. There had to be more to my involvement than duty or self-interest. But, if there was a common motive, I could not see it.
Hesket’s question had made me uncomfortable, so I muttered some platitude about seeking fairness, before I quickly diverted his attention by asking some questions of my own. ‘I understand that you promised to loan some money to Godfrey,’ I said. ‘To pay for his astronomical clock.’
Hesket sat back sharply, as I had clearly taken him by surprise. ‘Goodness me, Lord Somershill. You have been poking around, haven’t you? What fast work.’
‘Is it true?’
‘Yes.’
‘But then you changed your mind and withdrew the offer?’
He cleared his throat. ‘Yes. It was Godfrey’s fault. He had reneged on a promise to me.’
‘What was the promise?’
He hesitated. ‘I’m really not sure that this is relevant, Somershill.’
‘It could be,’ I answered.
He heaved a long and regretful sigh. ‘Look. If you must know, I lent Godfrey a good deal of money to make this castle more suitable for our stay this winter.’
‘Suitable?’
He looked at me with consternation. ‘You’re not telling me that you like this frozen garrison?’
‘It’s what I expected from an old castle.’
‘Well, it’s not what I expected,’ he said. ‘And it’s certainly not what I paid for.’
‘What do you mean?’ I said.
‘It’s very simple, Lord Somershill,’ he answered. ‘I requested that Godfrey create a solar for our daytime use. It’s what my daughter and wife are accustomed to in London. The Great Hall here is very old-fashioned and draughty, so we are forced to sit in our bedchamber all day. It was a blessing that I sent a cart of our own belongings ahead in the late summer, or we would be living in all the comforts of an anchorite’s cell.’
‘These are your own carpets and tapestries?’ I asked.
‘Of course they are,’ he replied. ‘Do they look like something that Godfrey would have bought? No, they don’t,’ he said, quickly continuing before I could reply. ‘Godfrey was addicted to living like a Cistercian monk. All wooden floors and bare walls.’ He took another long gulp of the wine. ‘It was quite a shock when I arrived here, I can tell you. When I discovered what Godfrey had really used my money for. Instead of creating some private rooms for our use, he’d knocked a great window in the wall of his own library and added some sort of ventilation shaft in the cellars. Why on earth should I care about that? And then . . . and then, as if the window and the shaft were not bad enough, he’d spent a fortune on that ridiculous astronomical clock. An utter waste of my money, if ever I saw one.’ He paused to catch his breath. ‘So, when Godfrey asked me for yet more money to complete the clock, I refused to lend him another penny. And can you blame me?’
‘So you were angry with Godfrey?’ I asked.
‘I certainly told him my opinion of his deceit.’
‘You looked very angry to me on the night of his murder. If you remember, you nearly knocked me over as you left his library.’
‘The man had infuriated me,’ he said.
‘About the loan?’
He paused. ‘Yes. Of course it was about the loan. The man had made promises to me, Lord Somershill. Promises that he had flagrantly broken.’ He paused, banging his finger against the stem of his goblet. ‘Promises that his dim-witted brother is also refusing to honour. But—’ He shook his head and then smoothed over the hair of his beard. ‘None of this has anything to do with Godfrey’s murder.’ He stood up. ‘So, I thank you for your interest in my private family matters, Lord Somershill, but there is nothing I can tell you.’ When I didn’t move, he waved his hands at me, as if trying to shift a stubborn dog from the hearth. ‘Come on. Off you go. I’ve told you everything that you need to know.’
Night had fallen by the time that I left Hesket’s apartment. The inner ward was completely bathed in darkness, so that I could barely see the walls about me. For a moment I stood still and enjoyed the illusion of being in a much wider space, until a lantern was lit in one of the rooms above, creating a disembodied square of light in the air. I walked across the cobblestones, heading for the door to our apartment, when I bumped into Lady Isobel.
‘Have you finished speaking to my husband, my Lord?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘I apologise that you had to leave us.’
‘It’s no matter,’ she said politely. ‘It does Emma good to be outside.’
‘And where is Lady Emma now?’ I asked, expecting to see the child by her side.
‘Oh, don’t worry about Emma,’ she said. ‘She’s run off to find Master de Groot.’ She paused. ‘The girl is obsessed with that clock.’
I bowed my head and then moved off quickly, as the air was nipping at my face with frozen claws. When I opened the door to our own apartment I discovered Filomena and Sandro, huddled together about the hearth. These two Venetians already found English winters difficult, but now they were drooping like frosted buds. Filomena had even pulled up her hood, as her teeth chattered – though this might have been an affectation for my benefit. When Hugh ran into the room and crawled up onto her lap, she forgot about shivering, kissed the boy’s head and then let him burrow into her cloak.
‘Why don’t you light the fire?’ I asked, taking off my gloves and placing them next to the lantern.
‘I tried to light it, Master Oswald,’ said Sandro. ‘But the wood is too damp.’
Filomena interjected. ‘These logs make a bad smell when they burn, Oswald. The smoke affects your mother’s lungs.’ She coated this observation
with the wearied tone she preserved uniquely for any mention of my mother.
‘Talking of Mother, where is she?’ I said, looking about the room, expecting to see her busying about in a corner, or snooping out of the window.
Filomena pulled her hood further over her head, so that I could barely see her face. ‘She’s visiting the cook. She doesn’t like the food.’
‘Mother went down the stairs alone?’ I asked.
‘I tried to assist Lady Somershill,’ protested Sandro, ‘but she refused my help. I offered three times.’
My valet was clearly keen to absolve himself from any blame in this matter – afraid that I would chastise him for disobeying my orders. Recently Mother had fallen down the stairs at Somershill with the regularity of a drunkard outside a brothel – so I had asked her repeatedly not to descend any stairs without the assistance of a servant. Unlike a floppy-bodied drinker, she had hurt herself badly at each fall – causing a succession of garish, painful bruises.
‘It’s true,’ said Filomena, defending Sandro. ‘Your mother would not listen to us.’ She paused, before adding, ‘as usual.’ There it was again. That special tone in her voice.
I drew up a stool and sat down next to them, feeling the urge to replace my gloves. However, this would have been an obvious admission that the room was as freezing as Filomena claimed, so I folded my arms instead, tucking my fingers into the folds of my velvet tunic and trying to disguise my own chilliness.
Filomena sidled up to me. ‘Listen, Oswald. There’s something I want to tell you.’
‘What was it?’
Filomena glanced at Sandro, and a look passed between them, making me realise that they had already discussed this topic. She wriggled on her seat, moving Hugh’s head before speaking. ‘I saw something while you were out,’ she said. ‘I think it’s important.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘I was looking out of the window, and I saw Edwin creeping across the inner ward. He seemed suspicious, so I ran down to follow him.’
‘Where was he going?’
‘He went into the stables,’ she said, ‘where he met with that Dutch boy, Hans.’ She anticipated my next question. ‘It was not a chance meeting, Oswald. They were talking in whispers.’
