‘Hard work,’ she grimaced, ‘but, luckily, I’m strong. Even luckier, I’ve only had to do it twice since my return to the cottage in January.’
‘I’ll fill the barrel to the brim before I leave,’ I promised. ‘It’s the least I can do as repayment for your patience.’
‘It’s a kindness to myself,’ she answered. ‘It’s a relief to be able to talk about what happened to someone who knows neither the participants nor the story, and so, as yet, has no theory to offer which distracts my own thoughts in the telling. It helps me to recall events as they unfolded with greater clarity.’
When we had at last finished our meal and were sitting contentedly, lapped about by the bright stillness of the morning, the succulent spring grass starred with primroses, the leaves of the forest trees rustling in a little breeze with a sound like rain, I asked her to continue, to explain why she had been so worried for the children’s safety after their mother died.
Grizelda glanced down at her hands, long and strong with workmanlike fingers, folded together in her lap, and thought for a moment. Then, she raised her head, looked straight in front of her and said, ‘I think it was Sir Henry Skelton’s will which made me uneasy. I was in London with Rosamund and her father when it was drawn up in the spring of 1469, just before Sir Henry rode north to fight the rebels.
‘It was Sir Jasper who insisted that proper provision be made, in the event of his son-in-law’s death, for Rosamund and the children, that Sir Henry’s intentions should be legally set down and witnessed. Sir Jasper declared he had seen too much litigation, which benefited no one except the attorneys, because of lack of written evidence of the legator’s wishes. The manor in Yorkshire would naturally be inherited by Sir Henry’s elder son, but he was a very wealthy man, with money to spare for Andrew and Mary, who, at that time of course, was still unborn. Sir Jasper sent for Oliver Cozin to come up from Exeter to represent Rosamund during all the legal wrangling, and, believe me, it went on for days.
‘In the end, however, it was agreed that the revenues from various business ventures in which Sir Henry had some holding would provide for the offspring of his second marriage. But Master Cozin, not content with that, was anxious to keep so considerable a sum of money in his client’s family. Supposing, said he, the children should die before Lady Skelton, one or the other or both. What then? Why should the money revert to their half-brother, who was already plenteously provided for? The money settled on Andrew and the expected child must go to Rosamund or – lawyers’ minds being so tortuous that they foresee every eventuality – should she predecease them and they die while still minors, to her next of kin. And, after much legal haggling, he carried the day. Such a provision was inserted in Sir Henry’s will.’
I drew in my breath. ‘Surely a clause which could have hidden dangers? At least, so it seems to me.’
Grizelda smiled bitterly. ‘And to me. But that, Master Chapman, is because we are simple people who live among other simple people, and are acquainted with their failings. We understand the greed and cupidity of our fellow human beings. But if you are an attorney, living within the ivory tower of the law, obsessed only with torts and malfeances and other suchlike practices, how can you possibly understand what goes on in the world around you? According to his lights, Master Oliver Cozin did well for his client, and Sir Jasper was mightily pleased, boasting to us all, one evening at supper, that no one in the kingdom, not even the King himself, had a more skilful lawyer.
‘And, I suppose, to give both Sir Jasper and Master Cozin their due, neither could be blamed for not anticipating Rosamund’s marriage to a man such as Eudo Colet. For I don’t need to point out to you, Master Chapman, that once she was dead, only the children’s lives stood between him and a very substantial addition to his fortune.’
‘I told you yesterday,’ I interrupted, ‘that my name is Roger. Now that we know one another better, could you not bring yourself to use it?’
She smiled. ‘Very well, if, in return, you will promise to call me Grizelda.’
‘You have my solemn word. Now, having settled that, are you trying to tell me that you suspect Eudo Colet of murder?’
She shrugged, spreading her hands. ‘He was the only person who gained by their deaths. And as I explained earlier, he had grown much greedier since Rosamund died. Money for its own sake had begun to excite him.’
‘But …’ I hesitated, loath to condemn any man of so horrible a crime without having more evidence of his guilt than had so far been offered me. I continued, ‘There seems no evidence to suggest that he killed the children. Unless you believe Jacinta’s accusation of witchcraft.’ I took another long draught of water to clear my head of lingering ale fumes. ‘Tell me about the day they disappeared, or as much of it as you can remember.’
Grizelda tilted her head back against the cottage wall and closed her eyes, shielding them from the glare of the sun.
‘Eudo Colet and I had never got on. He could not fail, from the first, to sense my dislike of him, as did Rosamund, who grew colder towards me. We lost our closeness and became almost like strangers to one another. But I have told you this, already. After my cousin’s death, the household was in disarray, as you might well imagine, but when the first shock had passed, Master Colet made it plain that he wished us all to remain as members of the household. As far as I was concerned, he would have rid himself of me if he could, but Andrew and Mary were too attached to me, and he had no affection for either child. I was still useful to him, while I swore to myself that nothing would make me abandon my dearlings.
‘But things went from bad to worse between us. Master Colet and I had terrible arguments about the children. More than once, I had to protect them from his wrath, because’ she sighed – ‘there is no denying that they were often very impertinent to him. They liked him no more than I did and had always been as disobedient as they dared, flouting his orders. When Rosamund was alive, he had not cared overmuch, leaving them to her to discipline. Now, however, there was only myself between him and their… I’m afraid I can give it no name except naughtiness. But I knew how unhappy they both were, how desperately they missed their mother, and I defended them as best I could, often drawing away Master Colet’s wrath towards myself until his temper had had time to cool a little.
‘Christmas was an uneasy season, but a sort of truce prevailed between us all, so that the festivities, such as they were so soon after Rosamund’s death, should not be marred. But once Twelfth Night had come and gone, and the bitter January winds and rains kept us mewed up indoors, it was as though all the evil which had festered, unspoken, over the Nativity, burst and spewed forth like the breaking of a leprous sore.
‘It was a Thursday, about the middle of the month, and I had been to worship early at the Priory. I recall that as I returned home it began to snow a little, and I was hungry, wanting my breakfast. As I entered the house, I heard voices, raised in anger, coming from the upstairs parlour, Eudo Colet shouting and the children wailing. Bridget and Agatha were huddled together at the foot of the stairs, listening and wondering whether or not they ought to interfere.
‘I pushed them to one side and rushed upstairs like a Fury! Oh, I admit it! It was foolish, I should have had myself more in hand before tackling Master Colet. I can’t remember now precisely what we said to one another, but enough for me to feel that I could stay in the house no longer. I yelled down to Bridget to run and fetch Jack Carter. I had urgent need of his services. Then I packed my box, although by that time, with the children clinging to my skirts and begging me not to go, I was regretting my rash decision. But it was too late. Eudo Colet would not permit me to remain in the house, even had I really wished to do so.