“Ah,” I said. “But there is yet the matter of the portpain the silver was wrapped in. How did you have that?”
“I had no portpain. When Walter told me I was found out, and if the silver was returned the matter would end, I begged him to return it for me. He refused at first, but Lady Margery heard us quarrel and demanded the cause. I said I wished Walter to perform some service for me and he would not. Lady Margery demanded that as he valued his position, he do as was required.”
“Lady Margery did not ask what it was you desired of Walter?” I asked.
“Not at first.”
“When, then?”
“She did not leave us. Stood planted, hands on hips, waiting for Walter to do as I wished. We stood thus until I could bear it no more. I went to my chest, withdrew the silver, and gave it to Walter.”
“‘What is this?’ Lady Margery demanded of me. ‘Whose spoons and knives are these, and what is Walter to do with them?’”
“I told Lady Margery all; that I had taken the silver in hopes that I could sell it for enough to buy silks and fine new shoes, but must return it as I had been found out.”
“What did Lady Margery then say?” Lord Gilbert asked.
“Called me foolish.”
“I don’t often agree with Lady Margery,” he said, “but she spoke true. ’Twas foolish indeed to steal my silver. Could you not guess the stuff would be missed?”
Lady Anne did not reply for some time. When she did her words stunned us both. “She said if I wanted to take Lord Gilbert’s chattels I should be certain of not being discovered.”
“She was angry that your theft was revealed, rather than that you had stolen goods from your host?” I said.
“Aye.”
“What then?” I asked. “Did Walter then do as you wished?”
“He did. Took the silver from my hands, but dropped a spoon. ’Twas then Lady Margery told him to wait.”
“For what?”
“She left the room. Don’t know where she went. Returned soon enough with a length of linen cloth. Must have gone to her chamber for it. Told Walter to wrap the silver in it so no one would see what it was he had when he took it to the screens passage. Lady Margery did not know that no one was to be nearby to see the return of the silver.”
Here was an interesting tale. The missing portpain in which the silver was returned had been in Lady Margery’s possession. Had the bloody fragment in the squires’ chamber also been in her hands before it was used to absorb Sir Henry’s blood?
If so, was it to Sir Geoffrey that she had given a scrap? Or did Sir Geoffrey have the linen first, and give the remnant to Lady Margery?
The more I learned the more confused I became. I began to wish that I had never seen the small drop of blood on the floor of Sir Henry’s chamber. Had I not, I would never have examined Sir Henry’s ear and discovered a murder. I would have, for want of any contradictory knowledge, proclaimed the death as common to a man of Sir Henry’s age. Lady Margery’s accusation that my potion was at fault would have gone unchallenged.
Even I might have thought the accusation just.
I dismissed the thought. What kind of man am I to accept injustice if to struggle against it brings inconvenience? Is a calm, peaceful life worth such a price? Can a man see harm done to another yet go to his bed and rest easy of a night? Mayhap some men can, but I would be loath to think myself one of them. Where would men be if the Lord Christ had decided that being nailed to a cross was too inconvenient, and rather than offer His life for the salvation of all who believe, preferred a life free of sorrow and pain?
Lord Gilbert studied me in the silence which followed Lady Anne’s revelation. An eyebrow, as usual, was raised.
“You will speak to no one of this interview,” I said.
“But the chamberlain drew me from Lady Margery. She will ask where I went.”
“Very well,” I sighed. “If she asks, tell her all. Tell her I know of the portpain, and how a fragment of it was used. Tell her I know of her dalliance with Sir Geoffrey. Tell her I am about to seize a murderer and take him to Sir Roger to appear before the King’s Eyre.”
Lady Anne curtsied to Lord Gilbert, backed to the door, then fled from our presence. I heard her footsteps echo in the corridor as she hastened from the scene of her discomfort.
“What do you make of that?” Lord Gilbert asked. “The daughter steals my silver and the mother — well, stepmother — steals my linen. Find a murderer, so I may be rid of them. Lady Petronilla’s jewels may vanish next.”
“Perhaps Lady Margery did not take the portpain.”
“Why, then, did she have a part of it? Did some other steal it and give part of it to her?”
“Perhaps… or ’twas the other way round. She took the portpain and gave a fragment to another.”
“To Sir Geoffrey? To wipe away her husband’s gore when murder was done?”
“Mayhap.”
“Well, then, you told Lady Anne that you were about to arrest a murderer. Do so.”
“I did not tell Lady Anne that I was ready to seize a murderer. I told her to tell Lady Margery that I was. There is a difference.”
“Oh… aye. You play games with me.”
“Nay. I attempt to do right. When felons use trickery to escape the penalty due them, it is sometimes needful to use deception to trip them up.”
“Who do you deceive? Sir Geoffrey?”
“Aye. If he is the murderer, and is told that I am soon to arrest him, he may attempt some deed to avoid capture, or perhaps try to flee. I am going to find Arthur and Uctred and set them to watch at the marshalsea. Sir Geoffrey may send a page to saddle his horse, as if to go riding in the country. If he does so it will be another bit of evidence for his guilt. He will likely be attempting to escape capture.”
“Be careful. If he believes you are ready to accuse him, the deed you speak of may be a third murder… if ’twas he who plunged a dagger into Sir John. A man cannot be hanged three times for three murders.”
“I believe he did so, and I will heed your warning.”
I found Arthur and told him to seek Uctred and together keep watch over the marshalsea. I hoped, when Lady Margery learned from Lady Anne what I knew, that she would go to Sir Geoffrey and set him to flee, or do some other thing which might confirm his guilt. I told Arthur to keep the marshalsea under close study, but not to appear to be doing so. He rolled his eyes at this instruction, being directed to do a thing whilst appearing to do another.
I wandered about the castle for the remainder of the afternoon, awaiting some incriminating act from Sir Geoffrey after he learned from Lady Margery what I knew. Lord Gilbert’s grooms began to erect tables in the hall, but there was no sign of Sir Geoffrey. I walked to the marshalsea to question Arthur, and learned that the knight had not been near the stables, nor had any of Sir Henry’s pages, either. Had he hidden himself away in his chamber? Or already fled castle and town? I entered the stables and went to the stalls where his beasts were kept. They were both present, his page evidently having returned them from the meadow for the night before I set Arthur and Uctred to watch the place. If Sir Geoffrey had fled to save his neck he did so afoot, which no knight would do.
Lord Gilbert must have thought it unseemly to serve an elaborate supper on such a day. The removes that evening were simple, even though ’twas not a fast day. His cook prepared capons farced, cormarye, rice moyle, and cabbage with marrow. And parsley loaf with honeyed butter. For the subtlety a simple chardewarden sufficed.
I had spent many hours in the past week watching Sir Henry’s household at their meals in the hall, seeking, but not finding, some sign of guilt in expression or behavior. Why should this supper be any different?
It did seem to me that most of Sir Henry’s retainers and family had little appetite, but that could not mean that they were all felons. Perhaps they worried that another death might be expected, and they might provide the corpse.
Lady Margery, who in the past had not hesitated to glare at me frequently from the high table, did not look even once in my direction during the meal. At least, not when I was observing her. She spoke little to Lady Petronilla, and seemed often to glance at the empty place to her right where Sir John had taken his meals.