‘With God’s help. And I was given one more hint. There was a third man belonging to the little troupe, who was also sleeping in the wagon. He had known the other two for only five or six weeks, and he was left unharmed. It seemed unlikely to me that outlaws, killing for pleasure, would have spared him. All the same, I have no proof that Eudo Colet murdered either Martin Fletcher or Luke Hollis.’ My companion shook her head. ‘The names have no meaning for me, chapman. I told you earlier that I know nothing of Eudo’s companions. But I do recall one who was very, short and fat. A tumbler, surprisingly agile.’
‘Luke,’ I said. ‘So Eudo Colet would have known him, and therefore would also have known Martin Fletcher.’
The silk gown whispered faintly as Ginèvre shifted in her chair. ‘But surely they, too, would have recognized him had they met? Even if Eudo still wears the beard he grew while he was in this house, a man’s voice and the manner in which he walks never alter.’
‘But they did not meet, not face to face,’ I responded eagerly, forgetting myself once more and leaning forward to close one hand over her wrist, giving it a little shake. I told her, as briefly as I could, the circumstances in which Martin and I had gone to call on Grizelda Harbourne. ‘While we were talking at the door, I thought I saw someone move in the passageway behind her. Grizelda was holding a lantern, and its light was shining directly on me and on Martin Fletcher. Both our faces would have been plainly visible to anyone standing in the shadows.’
‘And you believe that person to have been Eudo Colet?’ The fingers of Ginèvre’s other hand crept up to cover mine, but I was too wrapt up in what I was saying to notice.
‘I’m sure it was, although, again, I cannot prove it.’ I frowned. ‘But why Grizelda denied that there was anyone there, I cannot fathom.’
‘A lover’s tryst, perhaps?’ My hostess gave a slow, lecherous smile and passed the tip of her tongue between her lips. ‘Eudo always had an eye for a handsome woman, and my recollection of Grizelda Harbourne is that she was passably well-looking.’
‘She hated him,’ I retorted angrily, at the same time becoming aware that our hands were linked, and withdrawing mine hurriedly. ‘And he disliked her as much as she disliked him. No, if he were indeed there …’
I broke off, realizing that Eudo must have been there that night, for what other chance would he have had to observe for himself the damage my fall had done to the gallery? He had been able to inform Oliver Cozin of it the following morning, for the lawyer had been in possession of the facts by the time of the muster in the Priory courtyard. Here was sure proof of my suspicions, if only to myself. But why, oh why, had Grizelda denied his presence?
Ginèvre Napier pouted and sat back in the chair, resentful of my abrupt rejection of her.
‘A jealous lover, is that it?’ she sneered. ‘Or would-be lover. Yes, now I begin to read the signs. You would have liked to bed Mistress Harbourne yourself.’
I rose stiffly to my feet and gave a cursory bow.
‘Madam, I thank you for your courtesy in receiving me, and for answering my questions, but now I must take my leave. There is nothing more to be said between us.’
Ginèvre made no answer, but watched with smouldering eyes as I returned my wares to my pack and closed it. As I would have taken my leave, she said quietly, but with venomous spite, ‘A weak man, Eudo Colet, easily led. If he and Grizelda Harbourne are lovers, then you must accept that it is by her wish more than by his.’
I replied, trying to suppress my anger, ‘I have told you, she hates him. She believes him guilty of a pact with the outlaws to get rid of Andrew and Mary Skelton. For some reason that I don’t understand, you are trying to turn me against her. You won’t succeed.’
It was Ginèvre’s turn to rise to her feet, trembling from head to foot, her eyes mere slits in the painted mask of, her face.
‘I’ve a good mind to complain of you to my husband. He’d soon see to it that you were whipped at the cart’s tail and put in the stocks. But it would be a shame to mark that splendid hide of yours, so get out now, before I change my mind!’
I needed no second bidding, and found myself in the street without having any idea of how I got there. I shouldered my pack and set off blindly along Paternoster Row. I had almost reached the Cheap, when I heard the patter of footsteps behind me. The next moment, a hand was laid on my sleeve, and I turned to find Ginèvre’s little maid at my elbow.
‘My mistress begs that you’ll return with me, sir,’ she panted. ‘There’s something, she says, she has to tell you.’
‘Then why did she not tell me earlier?’ I demanded. ‘No, no! She takes me for a bigger fool than she already thinks me, if she believes I’ll go back there.’
The girl tightened her grip imploringly. ‘Please come with me, sir.’ She added confidingly. ‘My mistress would never harm a man such as you. Take my word for it! I know her! It would go against her nature. She means what she says. She really does have something to tell you.’
I was unconvinced, but suspected that the girl would suffer if I did not do as I was bidden. For her sake, therefore, I retraced my steps, but not without great misgivings.
My fears, however, proved to be unfounded. Ginèvre had regained her composure and faced me calmly across the table.
‘I have been thinking,’ she said, ‘that the murder of two innocent children is not a thing to be lightly dismissed. There is something, therefore, that you should know about Eudo Colet. Perhaps, after all, he’s in league with the Devil, for he possesses a fiendishly clever talent. Sit down for a moment more, and I’ll tell you what it is’
Chapter Nineteen
I made my way to St Lawrence’s Lane, to Blossom’s Inn – so known locally because its sign showed St Lawrence Deacon surrounded by a wreath of flowers – and called for ale. Then I found a cosy corner and withdrew into the shadows, remote from the press of bodies all about me and the clatter of tongues, speaking in an alien brogue. For in those days, and maybe now, for all I know, that particular tavern was journey’s end for carters and carriers from the eastern counties. I had chosen it deliberately, needing to think, and not wanting, however remote the chance, to meet anyone I knew from my own part of the world, who might wish to engage me in conversation.
I managed to secure the end of a high-backed bench, where a party of carders from the fens were renewing acquaintance with much good-humoured chaff, brimming mazers and plates of steaming mutton broth. They had no interest in anyone but themselves, and once I was able to shut my ears to their talk – not difficult considering the thickness of their speech – I focused my thoughts on the events of the previous hour, and more especially on Ginèvre Napier’s final disclosure.
‘Eudo Colet,’ she had told me, ‘has the gift of being able to speak without moving his lips And when I say “speak” I mean with clarity, not in the imperfect, muffled way that you or I might, if we tried to do the same. I have seen him, at the fairground, invite an onlooker to stand at his side and make it sound exactly as though that person were talking. I watched him perform this trick many times during the three days that Rosamund and I visited St Bartholomew’s fair, for she was so infatuated, from the very first moment of clapping eyes on Eudo, that we returned again and again to gawp amongst the crowds around the mummers’ pitch. Until I tired, that is, and grew bored and went off to view the rest of the sights.’