Then the light that had been slowly dawning at the back of my mind burst into full and glorious radiance. Of course! I had been intended for the part of the murderer. Bartholomew had been detained here on the pretext that he owed me an apology and then I had been invited to pass the night in the stable. I was the one who would have been found there with the body this morning, but for the unwitting intervention of Robert Steward. Who, then, was the real villain? For me, there could only be one answer: Beric Gifford.
But if this were so, it meant that both Berenice and her maid must be party to Bartholomew’s murder; that they had had prior notice of Beric’s intention. Why he needed to dispose of his future brother-in-law I as yet had no idea, but that puzzle could wait. First, I had to work out the details of the deed itself, and my guess was that Bartholomew had never left the manor, but been stabbed to death within minutes of his arrival at the stables. Katherine had been dispatched by Berenice, under the pretence of making sure that he had quit the premises to establish that the killing had been successfully accomplished and the body concealed in one of the stalls, so that I should not accidentally stumble across it when I put in my expected appearance. I recalled Berenice’s raised eyebrows and Katherine’s answering nod, both of which now took on a new significance.
There had been an element of risk involved, it was true, for I might have chosen to sleep in the very stall where the corpse was hidden and, having discovered it, raised the alarm. But would that really have made any difference? Yesterday evening or this morning, I could still have been accused of the crime.
My appearance at Robert’s window, and the subsequent revelation that I had been locked in with him all night, must have been a great blow to the two women. It explained the expression of anger and frustration that I had glimpsed on Berenice’s face, and why another scapegoat for the murder had to be found, and quickly, before the suspicions of the Sheriff’s officer could begin to centre on Beric Gifford. Like manna from heaven must have come the memory of all that I had said in Modbury churchyard concerning Jack Golightly and his hatred of the Champernownes. Berenice gave me the impression of being an intelligent, perceptive woman, and no doubt she, too, had sensed that the Sheriff’s officer wanted a swift arrest; something with which he could confront Sir Walter and Lady Champernowne when he informed them of their son’s untimely death. Moreover, and of great importance to Berenice, who had been the object of their disapproval, the culprit would have no connection with Valletort Manor.
Which brought me back to the reason for Bartholomew’s murder. Assuming that I was right, that Beric Gifford was indeed the killer, why had his death been necessary? And why would Berenice concur? I recalled again Mistress Trenowth’s words when she told me how happy Berenice had seemed the day she announced her betrothal. So what could possibly have happened in the meantime to make it necessary for her to agree to his being killed? What threat had he posed to her beloved brother, or to Katherine Glover, that she accepted he must forfeit his life?
‘Are you still here, chapman?’ asked a voice behind me. ‘I thought you would be on your way by now.’
I glanced round, startled, to find Berenice standing just behind me, dressed from crown to toe in funereal black. I could see nothing of her face except as a pale oval behind her gauze veil, and there was something so sinister about her sudden appearance that a shiver of apprehension coursed down my spine. Nevertheless, nervous as I was, I felt compelled to say something in defence of Jack Golightly. I rose clumsily to my feet and turned to confront her.
‘Why have you sent the Sheriff’s officer on a fool’s errand?’ I asked accusingly. I drew a bow at a venture. ‘You know Master Golightly didn’t kill Master Champernowne. You know it was your brother.’
There was a moment’s silence, during which the air was charged with menace. Then Berenice laughed, a low, musical sound, and put back the veil from her face. I was struck anew by her unusual looks; the dark complexion, the deep brown eyes and the strong, almost mannish cast of countenance. No, she was not beautiful in any accepted sense of the word, but beside her, the small, flower-like features of Katherine Glover paled into insignificance.
‘I’ve told you before, Roger — ’ the use of my name was almost sensuous — ‘Beric’s long gone. Why should he stay? It would be madness. I assure you, he isn’t here. And even if he were, why would he want to kill Bartholomew? He has no reason to wish him dead.’ She moved closer to me as she spoke and laid a hand against my chest.
I recoiled from her touch as if stung. I could not explain my reaction, except that, just for a second, I had the impression that I was looking into the face of someone, or something, not quite human.
She laughed again, but this time it was a harsher, less pleasant sound.
‘Don’t worry, I have no wish to seduce you. Well? You haven’t answered my question yet. Why should my brother want to kill my betrothed, even if Beric was here, instead of far away, in Brittany or France?’
‘That’s not true,’ I blurted out. ‘He’s in neither of those places, and I think you know it. I don’t understand why he murdered Master Champernowne, but I do know that he hasn’t fled abroad.’
‘And what makes you so certain of that fact?’ Berenice demanded, descending the two steps of the dais, so that we now stood on a level.
‘Because,’ I answered recklessly, ‘I witnessed Mistress Glover’s meeting with your brother five nights ago, outside the Bird of Passage Inn at Oreston.’
The strong, well-marked eyebrows flew up in surprise and I heard her sharp intake of breath. ‘Did you, indeed?’ the lady asked softly. Her eyes shifted to a point beyond my right shoulder. ‘Ah! Kate! Your arrival is most opportune. The chapman here has just informed me that you met my brother at midnight, five nights ago, outside the inn at Oreston. What have you to say to that?’
I had turned as soon as she addressed her maid, in time to see Katherine emerge from a small door in the tapestry-covered wall behind the dais. This was the same entrance that Berenice must have used a few minutes earlier, and explained her abrupt, almost magical appearance behind me. But there was nothing supernatural about it, after all, and immediately I began to feel better. I had allowed myself to become the prey of foolish fancies.
Katherine Glover was also arrayed in unrelieved black, although she had released her hair from beneath its hood, letting it flow in a golden-brown mane across her shoulders. She was indeed a very pretty woman, and the luminous grey eyes that she turned on me were brimming with innocence.
‘I’m sorry, chapman, but you’re mistaken. I was tucked up in my bed and fast asleep from the moment that my head touched the pillow.’ The soft red lips curled into a smile. ‘My aunt and uncle will tell you that they heard and saw nothing. You dreamt it. There’s no other explanation.’
I opened my mouth to argue with her, then realized that to do so was pointless. It was Katherine’s word against mine, and in any case, Berenice would pretend to believe her, even though she knew the truth. There was nothing further I could do here for the present, and I needed to find out what had happened to Jack Golightly. Perhaps he could prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that he was miles from Valletort Manor the previous evening. But then again, perhaps he couldn’t. Suddenly it was imperative that I should leave as soon as possible in order to pursue my own enquiries.
‘I must go,’ I said. ‘With your permission, Mistress Gifford, I’ll retrieve my pack and stick from Robert Steward’s room and then be on my way. Thank you for your hospitality. I’m deeply sorry that my visit here should have ended in such a tragedy. You have my sympathy.’ I tried to sound sincere, but failed miserably.