Trust Lord Gilbert to see the matter from a gentleman’s perspective, rather than that of the commons.
“Did Sir Henry fine any gentleman for paying wages above what is allowed?” he continued.
“Isobel did not say.”
“Probably did,” Lord Gilbert said. “He was in great want, I think. A penny is a penny, no matter whose purse it may be plucked from.”
Lord Gilbert closed his book, gazed thoughtfully at the window, then continued. “Sir Geoffrey is the felon, then?”
“So it seems.”
“I am sorry to hear it. He was valiant in battle.”
“So was Sir Henry,” I said, “but his courage did not prevent him dealing unjustly with men who deserved better.”
“Will you arrest him this day? If you do so, Lady Margery can be away tomorrow.”
“You believe that you have heard enough evidence against Sir Geoffrey to satisfy the King’s Eyre?”
“You think not?”
“I would like to be more certain.”
“Bah… you are too precise. There are few certainties in life.”
“Aye. Nevertheless, I would like another day or two to seek more evidence against the man. Now that I know better where to seek for it, the proof of Sir Geoffrey’s guilt may be more readily found.”
“Very well. Where will you search first?”
“It may be time to press Walter.”
“Sir Henry’s valet? Why him?”
“He gave the sleeping draught to Sir Henry. It was his duty and he admits that he did so.”
“If he admits this, why seek more from him?”
“Sir Henry was given more than a thimbleful of the stuff. Perhaps Walter did so at some other man’s urging, told that it was all for Sir Henry’s good.”
“Sir Geoffrey?”
“Aye. It may be that Sir Geoffrey hoped the greater dose would send Sir Henry to an endless sleep. He was, nevertheless, prepared with other measures if it did not.”
“Hmmm. I can see how it might have been. But what of the bodkin and bloody linen found in the squires’ chamber?”
“How Sir Geoffrey got the portpain I cannot guess, but it would have been no great trouble to enter the squires’ chamber and leave the incriminating stuff behind whilst they were out.”
“Did the Lady Anne take the portpain with the silver, and give part of it to Sir Geoffrey?”
“If I have the wit to ask the proper questions of the proper people, we will soon know.”
“Seems unlikely,” Lord Gilbert said. “More likely Lady Margery might have given it to him. But that would make her complicit in her husband’s murder, would it not?”
“Mayhap.”
“And how did Lady Margery come by the portpain? Would she steal my linens?”
“Who can say?” I shrugged.
“You are off to see the valet, then?”
“Aye. I have heard that he and other of Sir Henry’s grooms and valets play at nine man’s morris in the gatehouse anteroom with Wilfred the porter and his assistant, when they have no duties to attend to. I’ll first seek him there.”
I bowed to my employer and backed to the door of the solar. A few moments later I stood under the portcullis and watched as Wilfred and his guests attempted to relieve each other of farthings and ha’pennies. The game ceased when my shadow darkened the door. Lord Gilbert has not forbidden his grooms and valets from gambling, but there were yet guilty expressions on five faces. No man likes his lord’s bailiff to find him at some questionable business. And Sir Henry’s servants surely knew the consequence of unwisely putting one’s coin at risk.
The men had been kneeling upon the flags of the anteroom, but scrambled to their feet when they saw who it was who looked down upon their sport.
“Master Hugh,” Wilfred said, tugging a forelock. “I give you good-day. How may I serve you?”
“’Tis Walter I seek.” I motioned to the valet to follow me from the gatehouse and saw his companions exchange questioning glances as he fell in behind me.
I wished to speak privily to the valet, so took him also to my old bachelor chamber off the hall. I did not want Sir Geoffrey to come upon us suddenly and see me in serious conversation with Walter. He might assume what I was about.
Silence may be as great a menace as threatening words to those who hold secrets. I did not speak to Walter as we crossed the castle yard from the gatehouse to the hall. When we entered my old chamber I motioned for him to sit upon the bench, then walked behind him to the window, where I gazed out upon the castle yard and made pretense of collecting my thoughts. After a few minutes of this sham I faced him and spoke.
“You told me that you prepared Sir Henry’s wine with a thimbleful of the sleeping draught I provided. Is this not so?”
“Aye.”
“But when I inspected the pouch, much more than that was missing… Who told you to give Sir Henry a greater dose? Sir Geoffrey? Lady Margery? Sir John?”
Walter glared at me indignantly. “I provided only what you required. A thimbleful. No man told me to increase the dose.”
“’Twas your own choice, then, to give Sir Henry more of the crushed lettuce seeds than was meet? Did he request it?”
“Nay. ’Tis not what I meant. No man, nor woman either, told me to give him more than was asked, nor did I do so.”
“Someone did. If not you, who would do so?”
“Don’t know. After Sir Henry drank the draught I left his chamber.”
“Leaving the pouch of crushed lettuce seeds upon his table?”
“Aye. Just so.”
“And you saw no man nearby, in the corridor outside Sir Henry’s chamber, perhaps?”
Walter was silent. Here is a question he does not wish to answer, I thought at the time.
“Who did you see?”
Walter studied the back of his right hand, evidently considering his words and his fingernails. The silence grew oppressive, but I said no more, allowing the valet to soak in his discomfort.
“Sir Geoffrey was there,” he said finally.
“He saw you leave Sir Henry’s chamber?”
“Aye.”
“Did he speak?”
“Aye. Asked if Sir Henry slept. I told him, ‘Nay,’ but should do so soon, if your potion was successful.”
“What did Sir Geoffrey say then?”
“Said no more. Went to ’is chamber an’ I went to the stairs and sought my own bed.”
“You saw no more of Sir Henry, or Sir Geoffrey, ’til next morning?”
“Aye.”
“Has Sir Geoffrey spoken privily to you since Sir Henry was found dead?”
Once again the valet seemed reluctant to answer. I took his silence as answer enough, and continued.
“What did he say?”
“Said as how I was not to tell you or Sir Roger that I saw ’im after I’d given Sir Henry the potion. An’ if any man pressed me on the matter I was to say ’twas Sir John I met in the corridor.”
“Why would you do so if it was not so?”
“Sir Geoffrey said ’e’d make it worth my while to do so… but if I said ’twas ’im I saw, I’d suffer for it.”
“Why do you speak of it to me, then? Sir John is dead, and cannot refute the allegation if you tell me it was him you saw outside Sir Henry’s chamber. Sir Geoffrey is hale and healthy. Do you not fear his vengeance for speaking of this?”
“I did. That’s why I would not tell of it before. But I see now ’tis a coward’s part I’ve played. Sir Henry wasn’t a bad master, an’ didn’t deserve to die as ’e did.”
“At Sir Geoffrey’s hand, you think?”
“Suppose so. Been tryin’ to think who else could’ve done the murder.”
“And…?”
“Don’t see anyone else as havin’ reason or chance to do it.”
“Not Squire William?”
“Thought at first it might be ’im as slew Sir Henry. Sir Henry was about to dismiss ’im, I think.”
“Because he was unhappy that Lady Anne esteemed the lad?”
“Aye. An’ was he away there’d be one less retainer to provide for.”