Murder at Meaux

by Cassandra Clark

  On the opposite side were Lord Roger and Lady Melisen and their close servants. Surprisingly there was no sign of Friar John. It made her wonder about his shifting concerns. His interest in procuring the inheritance for the greater good sounded genuine so why wasn’t he here?

  Abbot de Courcy held up his hands for silence. All the folk squashed at the back with no direct involvement in the outcome hushed each other.

  ’First, the matter of Mark of Huby,’ the abbot began. ‘I have the task to inform all present of the Coroner’s verdict. It is his opinion that the lad went into the water at a point on the tow path below the mill where the bank is steepest. He is firmly of the opinion that he did not fall or throw himself into the water but was pushed from behind with enough force to make him stumble down the steep side with the inevitable consequence that he could not stop himself from falling into the water. Someone then used a stick or club to beat back his attempts to hold onto the bank and climb to safety. The confusion of prints in the mud on the bank side, with the lacerations on his knuckles, head and shoulders, suggest that he put up a prolonged fight. Failing to drag himself from the water, he was then swept downstream and came to lodge in the reeds beyond our quay where his body was later discovered. For these reasons the Sheriff will bring a charge of murder after the matter of the custody of Ulf of Langbar is determined.’

  There was a susurration of whispers as everyone asked their neighbours who else was going to be accused of murder. Several looked nervously over their shoulders.

  Abbot de Courcy sat down and propped his wooden crutch with some difficulty against the side of his chair.

  ‘May we proceed, my lord?’

  ‘You may.’

  His Proctor strolled into the space between the two factions, took his time in placing a few documents on the lectern on his own side of the chamber then swung his beaming and benevolent gaze over his captive audience. He was prolix. No one objected in ordinary life but Hildegard found herself, for once, urging him to speed up as he outlined the situation that had brought Ulf before them.

  After this he called for the prisoner to step forward.

  Hildegard was astonished that she had not noticed the conversi escorting Ulf into the Chamber. Now she could only stare at him. They had given him a clean tunic, trimmed his hair, although it was still long enough to brush his shoulders and, with her thoughts on foot-wear, she noticed that he was wearing a pair of serviceable riding boots someone must have loaned him.

  While the Proctor rambled on she glanced down at what everyone else had on their feet. Not a sandal in sight except over where the monks were sitting, shod in brotherly conformity. The seculars were booted without exception in all shapes, sizes and designs. Sir Bernard’s feet were small, in keeping with his stature, but the Sheriff and the Coroner from Beverley had feet like barges with spurs attached to their riding boots.

  Her reverie was interrupted when Hubert indicated that Sir Bernard’s first witness should be brought forward.

  It was the housekeeper from Stonegate.

  ‘I saw everything, my lord abbot,’ she announced as soon as she had dropped a curtsey and been told to rise.

  A plain-faced women with apple cheeks that gave the impression she was smiling, when in fact her eyes were as hard as stone, she was eager to tell her story, how her mistress, poor, dear Eunice, had been harshly treated by her own father, a master in the Guild of Silversmiths, no less, and treated even more harshly by the fellow he, her father that is, the master silversmith, had cruelly insisted she wed.

  ‘A young girl like that. A beauty. To think that she should come to such an end all because of that brute –’ she shot a look of hatred at Ulf who merely stared straight ahead.

  Gregory got to his feet with permission to ask a few questions. ’Pray, let us return to the beginning, mistress. How long did you work for the master, this Guild man?’

  ‘A year, my lord.’

  ‘And when he died, did you receive a handsome reward for your efforts in running the house on his behalf?’

  The woman looked suddenly furious and dropped her glance.

  ‘Forgive me, mistress. Would you mind repeating that? We will, of course, check your answer with the law clerks’ office if your memory fails you.’

  ‘He left me nothing, brother.’

  ‘No, he left you nothing because you were under notice to quit his house before he died. Is that so?’

  The housekeeper gave a furious and reluctant nod.

  A pause followed so that the clerks could write everything up then the Proctor said, ‘Let’s move on. Tell us if you will what happened on the day and night of the murder.’ He glanced humorously round. ‘I assume we are all in agreement that it was not merely an unfortunate accident? Otherwise,’ he added, ‘we may as well free the prisoner and go back to our homes.’

  As there was no dissent he nodded at her to continue.

  ‘Her husband, Sir Ulf, the prisoner, gave her scant regard and spent most of his time away.’

  ‘On pleasure, you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know. How should I? But he was never there. Poor lamb, after her father died she had the house to run as she wished and decided to keep me on.’

  ‘To the day in question, if I may insist.’

  ‘Well, she was there, as usual, and then her husband turns up that day, very late, and shouts up to her to let him in.’

  ‘And did she?’

  ‘No, she was that sick of him and being ignored she thought she would ignore him so she slammed the window shut, and what woman of spirit wouldn’t have done likewise, I’d like to know?’ She glared round.

  ‘I’m sure we would all like to know. Some more than others.’

  The monastics raised their eyebrows with suggestions of relief in their expressions while some of the married seculars looked rueful.

  An uncomfortable sigh scudded over those at the back who were not vowed to celibacy.

  ‘And had your mistress – for she was your mistress now her father was dead and she had inherited his property – had your mistress any other visitors that day?’ the Proctor asked.

  ‘She did. A lady friend came in on her way to market and later her uncle, by marriage that is, Sir Bernard, over there –’ she gave a half smile, ‘he came in between Nones and Vespers.’

  ‘Did your mistress slam the shutter on him as well?’

  ‘Never, my lord, why should she? He was always most attentive to her needs.’

  ‘Commendable,’ murmured the Proctor.

  Ulf flicked a brief, blue glance round the chamber then returned to his scrutiny of the lancet window behind Hubert’s head.

  The Proctor turned to Brother Gregory. ‘Do you have any questions, brother?’

  ‘I may have.’ Gregory rose looking slightly dazed and, fumbling with his papers as if unsure what was in them, began in an unexpectedly hesitant manner. ‘Mistress...tell me something, if you will?’

  ‘Certainly, brother.’ She gave him a grotesquely coquettish smile.

  ‘Then tell me...what do you think about a married woman who flaunts her lover in her husband’s face?’

  The housekeeper’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘Come now, I can see my question surprises you but surely you‘ve known for some time about the wife’s lover, Mark of Huby? Everyone else did.’

  ‘I can only say she must have had good cause to turn to someone kinder,’ the housekeeper mumbled.

  ‘I doubt whether kindness, as such, came into it. She was a generous young women, was she?’

  ‘I suppose –’

  ‘She was generous to young Mark. However,’ he continued before she could interrupt, ‘we can come back to that later if necessary. Now I would like you to turn your mind to the day of your mistress’s murder and think very carefully about the sequence of events when the accused arrived at the house. You know, don’t you, to which house I’m referring?’

  Hildegard hadn’t expected sarcasm from Gregory but it confused the
housekeeper and she frowned as if there might be another house she should know about.

  ‘I’ll prompt your memory.’ He made a show of consulting his notes. ‘The accused arrived from his manor shortly after Vespers. This,’ he added in an aside to the Proctor, ‘comes from her deposition laid the morning after the body of her mistress was found at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck. After Vespers,’ he repeated turning back to the housekeeper. ‘That is right, isn’t it?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Further, you say that he was denied entrance to the house?’

  ‘No –’ she put up a hand and cast a quick glance in Sir Bernard’s direction. ‘He went inside. He went into the kitchen. There was shouting. There was a terrible row. Some object was thrown against the wall and smashed. I’m sure I said that in my deposition.’

  ‘You did but you see, I’m having a real problem with this because when the kitchen was inspected no sign of anything being broken against a wall was found.’

  ‘I –’ she kept her head down.

  ‘You would agree, would you not, that if something was thrown against a wall with enough force to smash it, some signs would remain? A smear of its contents against the wall, perhaps? Pieces of broken crockery maybe?’

  The housekeeper mumbled, ‘I would clear it away, of course.’

  ‘And what was this “object” that had broken? It must have been identifiable from its shards.’

  ‘A plate, I think.’

  ‘You sound uncertain?’

  ‘No, it was a plate.’

  ‘And what is your practice with broken plates – are they thrown into the midden with all the other rubbish?’

  She nodded and bit her bottom lip.

  ‘So you threw this broken plate into the midden?’

  She nodded again and her bottom lip began to bleed.

  Sir Bernard moved restively.

  ‘And yet,’ Gregory’s voice dropped, ‘no evidence whatever was found of any broken crockery in the midden either that day, or the day after, or any day after that. And shall I tell you how I know?’

  The silence was palpable. How could he know a thing like that except by necromancy?

  He told them. ’I know this for a fact because after the death of your mistress her very good uncle, Sir Bernard Vavasour, whom you see standing here in the abbot’s court, this uncle of the deceased, with his usual attention to detail as the experienced coroner he is, had the house and yard, with the midden and the well, and all the other parts of the demesne, locked up so that no-one could tamper with anything inside that might be useful as evidence.’ Gregory gave Sir Bernard a small bow.

  The housekeeper said in a scarcely audible voice, ‘I must be mistaken about the plate.’

  ‘Just as you are mistaken, if we may use that word, about the so-called row between the accused and his wife.’

  ‘No, I heard it as sure as I’m standing here –’ she began.

  ‘I put it to you, mistress, that the row you heard occurred earlier in the day, after, let’s say, Nones and before Vespers? And it wasn’t between your mistress and her husband because we have several witnesses including yourself to attest to the fact that her neglectful husband, as you so describe him, did not arrive at the house until after Vespers. The argument was between your mistress and her kind uncle. Yes or no?’

  The housekeeper, with a flustered glance at Sir Bernard, burst into tears. Her hard face cracked and dissolved. She wiped at her tears but could not control them.

  Gregory turned to the abbot. ‘That’s all for now, my lord.’

  The Proctor rose to his feet.

  ‘Is there any suggestion what this alleged argument might have been about?’

  ‘Her inheritance,’ called a voice from the back and a converso tapped some fellow on the shoulder and shook his head at him.

  Brother Gregory smiled randomly round the chamber and said, ‘My gratitude for putting my own thoughts into words, whoever you are. Yes the argument was about Eunice’s inheritance.’

  Sir Bernard lunged forward. ‘This is a pack of lies! There was no argument! Where’s your proof?’ He made an attempt to get at Ulf and strike him although to Hildegard it seemed he would have rather struck Gregory if it wouldn’t have destroyed his hopes for good.

  Two conversi, ever alert, were quick to take Sir Bernard by an arm each, and one said, ‘If you will draw back, sir –’

  He tried to shake them away but they were burly after all their work in the fields and he soon realised he was wasting his efforts.

  Hubert was expressionless. Hildegard could not guess whether he was furious with Gregory for his distrust of the main witness’s testimony or whether he felt the entire hearing was falling short of any reason not to hand Ulf over to the Sheriff now and end the whole thing.

  All he said was, ’Are there any more eye-witnesses, Proctor?’

  ‘I want a word!’ Sir Bernard shouted. ‘I have something to say!’

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ the abbot murmured. ‘But let my learned brother answer me first.’

  The Proctor riffled through his notes. ‘There is more mainly of an anecdotal nature but I feel that perhaps we should allow Sir Bernard to defend himself at this point and then the others can be called as necessary?’

  Hubert nodded for him to continue and Sir Bernard pushed the two conversi away and turned so everyone could see him. ‘The story is this. I used to visit my niece often as I could see she was unhappy in her marriage. On the day she was so brutally murdered by this fellow here, her so-called husband, I visited her as usual. After I left I remember calling up to the solar to say I would visit her again on the morrow. Is that right?’ he turned to the housekeeper. ‘You must have heard me?’

  ‘Yes, Sir Bernard, I did.’

  Turning back to the abbot he said, ‘I did not see my niece again.’

  ‘Is that all you have to say?’

  Red-faced, Sir Bernard said there was another witness. He glared at Osmund. ‘Come on, speak up.’

  ‘Who is this?’ asked Hubert of the Proctor.

  ‘The silversmith’s journeyman.’

  ‘Your name?’ Hubert weighed him up.

  ‘I’m Osmund Brekinthorpe, my lord.’ Osmund had whipped off his felt cap and held it crumpled between his fingers. Belatedly he remembered to bend his knee.

  ‘Is it true you’re a journeyman at the property in Stonegate where the murder took place?’

  ‘I am, my lord.’

  ‘Tell us what you know.’

  ‘I have a good view into the yard and see all the comings and goings from my work-bench in the window.’

  Gregory leaned forward over his lectern. ‘May he tell us what he saw from say, Nones on the day in question?’

  ‘He may.’ Hubert was beginning to look irritated. ‘Go on.’

  ’I saw Sir Bernard enter the yard and go into the house.’

  ‘And did you hear anything?’

  Sir Bernard was beginning to smile.

  ‘I did, brother.’

  ‘Would you like to elaborate?’

  ‘I heard raised voices, brother. Then things seemed to cool off.’

  Sir Bernard was chewing his cheek.

  ‘And then?’

  ‘And then Sir Bernard left.’

  ‘Did he shout up at the window?’

  ‘Yes, he said he would return on the morrow.’

  Hildegard stared with sadness at Osmund. She had liked the fellow with his strange, oblique smile and his dedication to his craft. Despite his admitting that he had heard an argument he was not giving his story as he had told it to her.

  ‘Is that all?’ the Proctor asked. ‘If so you may step down –’

  ‘No, it is not all.’

  Sir Bernard stood up straighter and gave him a wary glance.

  ‘I made no deposition to the bailiffs as they did not ask me for one. Well one of them did but the two others over-rode him. If I had been asked I would have said that there was a disturbance at mid
night when the hounds kept in the stables kicked up a racket enough to wake...’ he tailed off suddenly, aware of the inevitable direction his words were leading him.

  ‘They made a lot of noise, these dogs?’ Gregory helpfully suggested.

  ‘Aye. They always did when Sir Bernard arrived. They hated him.’

  ‘Dogs?’ somebody queried. ‘Are we to hear what they have to say?’

  Somebody barked.

  Hubert, looking more irritated than ever, heard this but chose to ignore it although his eyes flashed with annoyance. ‘Continue.’

  ‘That’s why they were kept, as guard dogs,’ Osmund continued, ’but they were like lambs mostly once they got to know you. It was Sir Bernard they hated. They howled and whined and bristled and tried to get at him. They couldn’t abide him. That’s how I always knew when he ever came to the yard.’

  ‘And were they like this when the prisoner arrived?’

  ’No, they fawned on him excessively because they loved him. But what I want to say is that to my confusion they started to howl around midnight as if Sir Bernard was about. I couldn’t work it out.’

  ‘I’ll tell you why you can’t work it out!’ exclaimed Sir Bernard, pushing his way forward again. ‘It’s because I was helping to put out a fire in Coppergate. I was nowhere near the yard then.’

  ‘Can you prove that?’ Gregory asked.

  ‘Yes, with the testimony of about a dozen witnesses. Will that be enough for you?’ He gestured to the people standing nearest him from his own household.

  ‘That’s interesting,’ Gregory replied. ‘I have a witness who can also verify where you were at midnight on the night in question.’

  ‘There you are then –’

  ‘However, they have a different story to tell –’ He made a sign to one of the conversi who reached down to propel into view a small, scruffy child, busily smoothing flaxen hair flat to her head. She smiled up at Gregory and gave a little curtsey.

  ‘Is she old enough to stand as witness?’ the Proctor asked.

  The girl in her ashen smock was as proud as a queen in ermine. ‘I am fourteen, my lord Proctor, and as ready as anyone to tell the truth of what I saw.’