Gianni lightly touched Bascot’s sleeve and inclined his head towards a pile of squirrel skins lying on top of a counter. They were similar to the ones that the sempstress had sewn on Alinor’s gown.
A moment later, Simon Adgate came into the room. Seen close to, Bascot noticed that despite the fact that Adgate’s hair was so pale a grey it was almost completely white, it topped a face that had retained its youthful vigour, with alert eyes and a full, mobile mouth. His frame, beneath the lavishly furred overtunic that he wore, was robust and his hands were large and strong. The furrier was extremely hale for a man that must be approaching sixty years of age.
“Greetings, Sir Bascot,” Adgate said in a reserved manner. “My assistant tells me that you wish to speak to me on behalf of Lady Nicolaa-how may I help you?”
“We have been told that Aubrey Tercel, the man who was murdered while the feast was in progress, purchased some furs for his mistress, Lady Petronille, a few weeks after their arrival in Lincoln. Was it from your establishment that he bought them?”
With a glance at his assistant, who was within earshot and, by his inquisitive attitude, listening to their conversation, Adgate said that it was.
“Why did you not mention this to Sir Richard when he asked if you were acquainted with him?” Bascot asked.
“I must apologise for my neglect,” Adgate said with seeming contrition. “It was merely a business transaction and so I did not think it of any importance.”
“Did you attend to him personally?”
“Yes, I did,” Adgate said uneasily. “When my assistant realised that the purchase might prove to be a substantial one, he sent for me and I showed Tercel a selection of the furs that I carry.”
“As I understand it,” Bascot pressed, “he came into the shop on more than one occasion. Did you see to his requirements each time?”
Adgate nodded, and the Templar could sense mounting tension in the man. “Surely, during three times of meeting, you must have spoken of matters other than the furs,” Bascot suggested. “Did he tell you anything about himself, or the places he had been in the town?”
Adgate shook his head and walked over to the pile of furs that Gianni had pointed out earlier. Bascot noticed that the furrier walked with a slight limp. Picking up a pelt of sable, Adgate brought it back and showed it to the Templar. “As you can see, my goods are of the finest quality,” he said, running his fingers caressingly through the rich, dark fur. “I have no need to engage in idle chatter with a customer to persuade them to make a purchase. Tercel saw the quality of my goods and so, I assume, did Lady Petronille when he took the squirrel furs to show her. Our conversation dealt entirely with the business transaction. We spoke of nothing else.”
The furrier’s little speech seemed earnest but Bascot was not gulled. There seemed to be a hint of desperation behind Adgate’s facile words and, glancing at Gianni, the Templar saw the boy surreptitiously curl the tips of the fingers of his right hand and quickly release them, a gesture that denoted apprehension. He had noticed the furrier’s uneasiness as well.
Bascot considered Adgate’s limp. Was it an old injury or a recent one? Could it be that there was some merit to Alinor’s wild assumption that the furrier had discovered his wife and Tercel together and fought with him, and that their struggle had resulted in an injury to Adgate’s leg? But the furrier had been overlooked all that evening by another guild leader, the armourer and his wife who had sat beside Adgate and accompanied him to their respective guest chambers in the old tower. Still, there must be a reason for the furrier’s seeming alarm and perhaps, as Bascot had discussed earlier with Richard Camville and Alinor, it was related to his wife.
Feigning acceptance of Adgate’s explanation, the Templar said, “I need to ask a few questions of your wife. Now that she has had time to get over the shock of being in such close proximity to where a murder took place, I would like to ask her whether or not she has recalled any information that may help us.”
Bascot felt, rather than saw, Adgate stiffen. “I am afraid my wife is indisposed,” he protested. “She has taken a chill and is keeping to her bed in an effort to recover from it.”
But Bascot did not intend to be so easily thwarted. “Be that as it may, I must insist on speaking to her, else it will be necessary for her to come to the castle so that Lady Nicolaa or Sir Richard can ask their questions directly.”
Faced with the unacceptable alternative, Adgate acquiesced to Bascot’s demand, asking only that the Templar give his wife a few moments to don suitable attire before coming down.
Bascot nodded and the furrier left the room, instructing his assistant to show the Templar into an adjoining chamber and pour him a cup of wine. The room into which Bascot was led, with Gianni at his heels, was a sumptuous one; a gleaming oak table set with candlesticks and condiment dishes of silver graced the middle of the room and richly embroidered tapestries hung on the walls. In front of a fire blazing in a capacious hearth were ladder-backed chairs and settles and a thick rug lay on the floor. There were two casements and the shutters of both had been partially opened to reveal square panes fitted with thinly shaven horn that allowed light to enter but prevented coldness from seeping into the room. The assistant bid the Templar be seated and poured wine into a silver cup and placed it in front of him.
His duty completed, the servant left the room and Bascot looked at Gianni and raised an eyebrow. “There is much wealth here,” Bascot mused. “If Tercel was making Adgate a cuckold, the furrier has more than enough riches to pay for the hire of an assassin.”
Gianni nodded in solemn agreement as the door opened and Adgate returned, leading his young wife by the hand. Clarice was a very handsome woman, with clear skin and a ripe red rosebud mouth, but now her pretty face was withdrawn and there were dark hollows under her lovely green eyes. She came forward hesitantly and seated herself on the edge of a chair.
Bascot regarded her for a moment before he spoke. She did not look up at him while he did so, directing her gaze downwards to where her hands were tightly entwined in her lap. “On the night of the feast, mistress, you told Sir Richard that you left the hall early and, after going to the chamber in the old tower which you and your husband had been allotted, went immediately to bed and slept undisturbed until morning. Are you absolutely certain all was quiet during all that time?”
Clarice answered in a voice so low it was barely audible. “Yes, lord, I am.”
“And earlier, when you crossed the bail, did you see anyone lingering around the entrance to the old tower when you went in-a servant, perhaps, or one of the guests?”
Clarice shook her head and said nothing, keeping her eyes downcast. Bascot, irritated by her withdrawn attitude, decided to act on instinct and said sharply, “But you were acquainted with the man who was murdered, mistress, were you not?”
Clarice’s gaze flew up to Bascot’s face and he saw fear in her eyes. Adgate, who had been hovering behind his wife’s chair, placed a hand on her shoulder and answered in her stead. There was a touch of panic in the protective movement and, the Templar noted with surprise, also a fleeting curl of distaste on the furrier’s full lips when his fingers touched his wife’s body.
“My wife might have been in the shop on one or two of the occasions when he called-she is often in there helping me display some of the ladies’ furred cloaks to prospective customers-but that can hardly be called an acquaintanceship.”
The Templar ignored the furrier and, once again, spoke directly to Clarice. “When he came into your husband’s shop, mistress, did you engage in conversation with him?”