I had to think for a moment who Veronica was, then recollected that she had been Judith’s twin sister and Fulk Quantrell’s mother. She had died recently, shortly after Christmas.
‘So the fortune,’ Duke Richard put in quietly, ‘is Mistress St Clair’s, inherited from the first of her three husbands and enlarged by the industry of this Lionel Broderer. Does that make him the chief suspect for Fulk’s murder, do you think?’
‘He must have had expectations,’ I admitted. ‘But there are others, as well, who had excellent reasons for killing Master Quantrell once his aunt made her intentions concerning him known. And very foolish intentions they were, if Your Highness will pardon my frankness.’
‘Oh, I know! I know! And so I told her.’ The Duchess sipped her wine. ‘Indeed, I think – I’m sure – she knows it herself now, in spite of all her excuses. But I should hesitate to condemn her folly too strongly.’ The blue eyes filled with tears. ‘Fulk was a most charming young man. I remember that as a child he was enchanting. He could wrap all my ladies around his little finger.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘Including me. And as he grew older, he was no less popular. To his aunt, who had not seen him for twelve years, he must have seemed hardly lower than the angels. And bringing, as he did, the news of his mother’s death, comforting his aunt as he must have done …’ The Duchess’s voice became suspended. ‘Need I say more?’ she added after a pause. ‘Judith admitted to me that she was in thrall to Fulk from the very first moment of seeing him.’
I thought this over for a minute or two. The Duke made no comment, but stared into the heart of the fire. A shower of sparks flew upwards like stars in the black night sky.
I addressed the Duchess. ‘Can Your Highness tell me what this Fulk Quantrell was really like?’
‘I’ve just told you! Weren’t you listening?’ Her indignant look appealed to her brother, who ignored it.
‘With respect, Your Highness,’ I said firmly, ‘you’ve told me what this young man was like only on the surface – about his fascination for women. But underneath, did he have a streak of cruelty? Of greed? Did he ingratiate himself with those who could advance his interests and abandon them when they could no longer be of use to him?’
‘No!’ The blue eyes flashed with anger. ‘He was like his mother, gentle and kind. He had a beautiful singing voice and was always near at hand whenever I needed him. How dare you suggest otherwise? You didn’t know him! Who has been poisoning your mind against Fulk? If this is your attitude, I would much rather you had nothing to do with solving his murder. Richard!’
The Duke stirred in his chair and slewed round to look at her.
‘My dearest sister, calm yourself. Roger is right to ask such questions. As you say, he knows nothing of Fulk Quantrell. Therefore, he has to find out. And how can he find out if he doesn’t ask the people who knew the lad best? Just answer him. Tell him the truth.’
I nodded agreement, smiling blandly; but, personally, I considered the Duchess had already revealed more than she would have wanted me to know. Her furious defence of the dead man suggested that he was far less perfect a character than she would have me believe. She, too, had been under his spell, and had deliberately ignored the flaws in his nature. And if what Lionel Broderer and his mother had said of Fulk were true, then he could have been a very unpleasant and ruthless young man. On the other hand, the Broderers were undoubtedly biased against the favourite.
The Duchess pouted, looking mutinous, and I could see what she had been like as a girclass="underline" pretty, used to getting her own way, petted by her older brothers and finding a close, kindred spirit in the brother next to her in age, George of Clarence; the pair of them both handsome, both conscious of their own importance and their place in the scheme of things. Both spoiled. But, also like the late duke, Margaret of York could just as suddenly dispel the impression of conceit and arrogance with a self-deprecatory laugh. Or, as now, with a smile.
‘Forgive me, Master Chapman! Of course you need to ask questions about Fulk’s true character. So, yes, he had faults, but then, who doesn’t? He would have been unbearable had he been too perfect. But in general he was a good boy, a loving son to his mother, kind and in tune with the world around him.’
I considered this. ‘You don’t think then that he could have brought any pressure to bear on his aunt to persuade her to alter her will in his favour?’
The Duchess grew indignant again, even more so than before. ‘What sort of pressure are you suggesting?’
‘Could he have played on her love for her sister? Mistress St Clair must have been deeply shocked and distressed by news of that sister’s death. She might even have felt guilty that she hadn’t accompanied you and Mistress Quantrell to Burgundy after her first husband’s death.’
The Duchess’s anger evaporated. ‘No, no!’ she said gently. ‘However upset Judith may have been by Fulk’s tidings, she would never have let anyone force her into something she didn’t want to do. Judith has always been very strong-willed. When I left for Burgundy, twelve years ago, I did my best – and so did Veronica – to persuade her to accompany us. We told her that with Edmund Broderer dead, she had nothing to keep her in England. (There were no children of the marriage.) She resolutely refused. She said she couldn’t go back to being a seamstress after being mistress of her own establishment.’
‘An understandable point of view,’ Duke Richard murmured, still staring into the heart of the fire where the flames, blue and red and orange, licked the bark of the pine logs, filling the room with a thick and heady scent. He leaned forward, throwing two more logs from the pile at the side of the hearth on to the blaze.
‘You should have summoned a lackey to do that,’ the Duchess reproved him sharply. ‘Understandable? Perhaps, but Veronica said that during the six years she and Fulk lived with Judith and her husband, her sister never ceased to complain about the smallness of the house – don’t forget that the twins had been used to living in palaces – the smell from the river and the dampness and chill in winter. I expected her to be as eager as Veronica to accompany me to Burgundy.’
Duke Richard regarded the Duchess thoughtfully, but said nothing. It was left to me to point out that there was all the difference in the world between being dissatisfied with one’s lot and exchanging independence for a life of service.
‘Veronica didn’t think so,’ was the indignant rejoinder.
‘But she hadn’t been independent,’ the Duke demurred, once again entering the fray. ‘After a very brief marriage, she had lived for six years on her sister’s and brother-in-law’s bounty. She had simply exchanged one form of servitude for another.’
‘I’m sure you do Judith an injustice, Dickon! She would never treat her sister like a servant.’ The Duchess was outraged.
Her brother smiled and again refrained from stating the obvious; that being the poor – or poorer – relation in an affluent household like the Broderers’ was almost bound to entail some form of subservience.
‘Did Mistress St Clair offer you any particular reason for declining your request?’ I asked, choosing my words with care. It was plain that even after twelve years, Judith’s refusal still rankled with her former mistress, who had been used for most of her life to commanding loyalty amongst those she regarded as ‘her’ people.
The Duchess grimaced petulantly. ‘Oh, the usual high-flown nonsense about owing it to her late husband to carry on his work. Although it seems now that this young cousin of his was perfectly capable of doing so without Judith’s assistance.’