by S. D. Sykes
‘Help me to lay a trap.’
Chapter Thirty-two
The next morning we buried Old Simon, alongside the two other freshly dug graves beside the chapel. Alice Cross had played her part thus far, and told the others that Old Simon had died of a seizure after climbing the steps to Godfrey’s library. It was not so far from the truth, after all.
As we stood about the grave that morning, the wind swept in off the sea and drove through us, penetrating even the thickest cloaks and the sturdiest boots. The women and children had remained inside the castle for this burial, for it was the grimmest and darkest of winter days. The tide was in and wrathful clouds advanced across the sky towards us like a fleet of invading ships. There was not even the weakest shard of sunlight to lift our mood.
Now that our resident priest had died, I was forced to perform the service of committal myself. Amongst our dwindling number, I was the only man with anything resembling a religious education. While I worked my way through the final words of petition, Sandro and Lyndham kept their eyes on the nearby forest. We had seen movement between the trees the previous night. People skulking on the outskirts of the castle. Fires burning and dogs howling. It seemed we were not the only souls to be seeking sanctuary from the Plague at this far end of the island. I don’t know if these people had any desire to storm the castle, as Godfrey had feared, but had they carried out any such plan, then they might have been surprised to find the dangers that still lay within these walls.
We retreated inside as soon as the coffin was covered with soil, before we lowered the portcullis and locked the gate. And then Sandro and I set to work, for there was no time to waste. Firstly I asked my valet to fetch the bucket of birch oil that we had found outside the castle walls, on the dawn after The Fool’s murder. Since then, I had kept this bucket in the cellar, with the instructions that it was not to be touched. Sandro carried it to the castle dungeon, where he left it just inside the door to the unlocked cell.
The second part of my plan was a little trickier to carry out, because I needed Filomena’s help for this, and I had not yet taken her into my confidence. I found my wife in the kitchen, holding baby Simon in one arm and stirring a cauldron of porridge with the other. Hugh was behind her, turning the bare roasting spit at speed and clearly causing the elderly cook a great deal of anxiety. I picked my son up in my arms and kissed his head. ‘What are you doing there?’ I asked him gently.
‘Roasting a lion,’ he said proudly.
‘I’m sure it will be very tasty,’ I said. ‘But a lion needs to be turned very slowly.’
‘Why’s that?’ asked Hugh.
I paused. ‘Because he is very large and very fierce.’
‘But he’s dead,’ said Hugh, looking at me as if I were stupid. I certainly didn’t have Sandro’s way with children.
‘But how can you be sure?’ I said. ‘If you turn the lion too quickly, then he might wake up again.’
Hugh regarded me for a moment, before his face dissolved into an excited giggle and he struggled from my arms, returning to the spit, where he duly engaged the turning handle with more restraint. This still annoyed the cook, however, so I asked the woman to leave us alone.
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 answe
red.
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 w
as,’ 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.’
