‘But the last one, Hawisa’s death, did not follow this sequence,’ Cade interrupted.
‘Yes, I know,’ Corbett replied. ‘But that was meant to puzzle us. You see, Master Cade, only a handful of people realised the pattern in the deaths. Ranulf, myself, you and two other people I talked to: Lady Mary Neville and Lady Catherine Fitzwarren.’ Corbett smiled weakly. ‘I confess, for a while, Master Cade, you were under suspicion. Lady Mary, I also began to wonder about you. However, both Puddlicott and the beggar described the killer as very tall. Finally, His Grace the King unwittingly told me the date of Lord Fitzwarren’s death. You killed that last girl, Lady Catherine, just to muddy the water.’ Corbett drummed his fingers on the table top. ‘You were always dirtying the water,’ he added.
‘When we visited you at St Katherine’s by the Tower you hinted that the monks of Westminster were involved in some scandal which could be linked to the deaths of the street girls.’ Corbett smiled thinly. ‘I suspect when the dust settles, everyone will be so knowledgeable. You, however, saw such rumours as a cover for your own murderous activities.’
Fitzwarren preened herself, smiling spitefully. ‘All of this is conjecture,’ she retorted. ‘You have no real proof.’
‘Perhaps not, but enough for the King’s Justices to try you at Westminster. And what then, Lady Catherine? Public humiliation? Suspicion? You will be regarded as the lowest of the low.’ He watched the smile fade from the old woman’s face. ‘And after conviction? God knows what. If you are found innocent or, more likely, the case not proven, will you ever be able to walk the streets of London? And, if you are found guilty of so many deaths, you will be taken from the Fleet prison, dressed in the scarlet rags of a murderer and burnt at Smithfield, where every whore in the city will gather to laugh at your dying screams.’
Fitzwarren looked down then quickly back at Corbett.
‘What other choices are there?’ she asked softly.
‘The King would wish this matter kept quiet. A full and frank confession and forfeiture of all your goods to make compensation.’
‘And me?’
‘You will take the veil in a lonely, deserted convent. Perhaps somewhere on the Welsh or Scottish march and live out the rest of your days on bread and water, making reparation for the terrible crimes you have committed.’
The old lady grinned and cocked her head sideways.
‘You are a clever, clever boy,’ she murmured. ‘I should have killed you,’ she added softly. ‘With your hard face, worried look and cunning eyes.’
‘You tried to, didn’t you? You hired those killers who attacked us in the Walbrook?’
Fitzwarren wriggled her shoulders and pouted as if Corbett had made some mild criticism.
‘You are a clever, clever boy.’ Fitzwarren repeated. You see, Corbett,’ she moved in her chair, as if she was telling a story to a group of children. ‘You see, I loved my husband. He was a noble man. We had no children so I lived for him.‘ She looked around, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘Don’t you understand that? Every breath I took, my every thought, my every deed was centred on him. He died a warrior’s death fighting for the King in Wales.’ Fitzwarren crossed her arms, her face became sad, losing its mask of hatred as she withdrew deeper into the past. ‘I really loved my husband,’ she repeated. ‘In a way, I still do, despite the terrible injury he did me.’ Her eyes quickened with malice and she glared at Corbett. ‘I joined the Order of St Martha, devoting my life to good works, I pitied these girls and I never dreamt what secrets I would find. One day I was talking to one of them, she was young, with skin as white and smooth as marble and eyes as blue as the summer sky, she looked like some angel, beautiful and innocent.’ Fitzwarren tightened her arms. ‘That was until she opened her mouth. I tried to reason with her, tried to explain the wrong she was doing. I pointed out how hard my life had been, a Fitzwarren, with a husband who had been a general in the King’s army.’ Lady Catherine’s lips curled. ‘The bitch asked my name and I repeated it. She asked me again and again whilst rocking to and fro with peals of laughter.’ The old woman stopped speaking and looked down at the table.
‘My Lady?’ Corbett insisted.
Fitzwarren looked up, her eyes slits of malice, and Corbett sensed her mind was slipping into madness.
‘The bitch,’ she hissed. ‘She plucked up her skirts and showed me her private parts! “See these, my Lady Fitzwarren!” she yelled. “Your husband fondled them, kissed and ploughed me because of the joys you could not give him!’” Fitzwarren rubbed her face in her hands. ‘I couldn’t believe it,’ she whispered. ‘But the whore described my husband, his skin, the colour of his hair, his walk, his posture, even his favourite oaths. According to the bitch, my husband used not only her but others of her ilk. I could not deny it for when we were in London my husband was often absent on the King’s business, or so he said.’
The old noblewoman laughed abruptly. ‘The bitch thought it was so funny. Here was I, serving those who served my husband so well! The girl kept pulling up her skirts, standing on a stool, flouncing her filthy nakedness before me. There was a knife on the table. I don’t know what happened. I picked it up and struck. The girl screamed so I yanked her hair back and slit her throat.’ Fitzwarren stared at Corbett. ‘How could he,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘How could he consort with such women and leave me a laughing stock, the butt of every common prostitute’s jokes? Oh, I am no fool,’ she added. ‘The girl’s words raised ghosts in my own mind. How my husband neglected me and everything began to fester. Yet I found the whore’s death acted like a purge, cleansing my blood, purifying my mind, so I struck again. Each time I used a robe and cowl from the vestry at Westminster.’ She smiled. ‘Those fat monks never noticed that anything was amiss. I heard the rumours about their late-night revelries and saw them as a marvellous opportunity. I also thought of my dear departed husband and vowed that every month, on the anniversary of his death, a whore would die.’ She raised whitened knuckles to her lips. ‘Oh, I used to love it. I would prepare carefully, single out my victim and plot her destruction.’ Fitzwarren leaned over and tapped Corbett on the hand with her icy fingers. ‘Of course, you were right, you clever, clever boy. Now and again things went wrong. The whore Agnes saw me. Silly, silly girl! She thought she was hiding in the shadows but I saw the light glinting on her cheap jewellery, and her stupid face peering through the darkness.’ She rubbed the side of her cheek. ‘Her death was easy, but Lady Somerville was different. Usually I checked the robe I used, even cleaned it myself, but one day I made a mistake. You know how it is, Corbett? Dark red blood merges so well with brown. Then, of course, the fragrance of my perfume. Anyway, I caught Somerville holding the robe, she just stood and looked at me, and I smiled back.’
‘And Father Benedict?’ Corbett asked.
‘I knew Somerville would go to him,’ she spat out. ‘For she would find no joy with de Lacey.’ She smiled to herself. ‘Life became so, so busy. Somerville suspected and was already talking to Father Benedict. I knew he would take some convincing and I had already marked Isabeau down as my next victim.’ Fitzwarren gazed into the middle distance, talking as if to herself. ‘Somerville had to die and Father Benedict as soon as possible afterwards, before he could gather his dithering wits and realise what was happening. The following evening I visited Isabeau. I didn’t dream Agnes would arrive. The rest. .’ Fitzwarren shrugged and put her hand inside her robe as if to scratch her chest, ‘well,’ she whispered then rose, bringing her hand back in a lightning lunge. Corbett saw the glint of a thin steel dagger in her hand. Yet Fitzwarren’s speed made her clumsy, instead of thrusting she tried to hack at his face. Cade jumped up and Lady Mary Neville screamed as Corbett seized Fitzwarren’s wrist, squeezing it tightly till his assailant, her face contorted with pain, let the dagger drop. Ranulf sprang forward, grabbed the woman, dragging her arms behind her back and expertly tying her thumbs together with cord from his pouch. Fitzwarren just stood, smirking in satisfaction.