Baldwin shook his head. ‘If the miller had meant to do that, why tie a cord about his victim’s neck?’
‘To kill him.’
‘He struck, surely with anger, in the heat of the moment, but didn’t kill the fellow. No, someone else did that. Someone who was starving, who came along afterwards and found an unconscious man, and who hated that man enough to want to destroy him.’
‘I didn’t find him, sir!’ Vincent said quickly, anxiously.
‘No. If you had, you’d have used that,’ Baldwin said, pointing to his knife. ‘But a woman? Some women find the thought of stabbing too messy and unpleasant, while slipping a thong about a throat and stopping the breath – why, that is clean and tidy, isn’t it?’
‘A woman?’ Simon breathed.
‘Yes,’ Baldwin said flatly. ‘You were right yesterday when you suggested a woman could be responsible, Simon. One who was jealous of others, one who could easily win the confidence of her young victims. One who was hungry and found a source of meat, then learned that she liked the flavour.’
He tossed the skull into the air and caught it so that the empty eyes faced him. ‘Ansel,’ he told it, ‘I think you have just explained your death to us. You shall be avenged.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Gunilda stood beside her fire, kneading dough. It was settling to her spirit, to be engaged on a task which she had performed nearly every day of her life. She knew she must prepare the bread before Samson came home. He would be cross if she hadn’t got his food ready. He would beat her.
With a start she realised that the pottage wasn’t in the pot over the fire. It made her squeak with alarm, especially when she looked out at the sunlight. He must be home soon, and his food wasn’t waiting. Gunilda knew what he was like when she was late, and she dreaded the feel of his lash over her back. ‘Soon, soon,’ she muttered as she pushed her whole body’s weight against the dough.
Felicia was watching her anxiously, picking at her faded green tunic. Gunilda was driving her up the wall; she was mad, quite mad. Her brain hadn’t been able to cope with the horror of the night before. When the men appeared at the open doorway, she was glad for the interruption. ‘Lordings, how can I serve you?’
Baldwin entered and smiled at her, studying her with interest. ‘We are just come from discovering the body of the murdered Purveyor.’
‘Yes?’
‘Would you mind answering some more questions? Only a few, Felicia.’
‘Yes, but get the dog outside. Dogs upset my mother, and she’s in a bad enough way as it is.’
‘Of course.’ Baldwin took Aylmer out, and the dog sat and waited, but even as Baldwin closed the door, he caught a glimpse of a large cat, all striped brown and orange fur, with arched back and hissing mouth. Aylmer stood and Baldwin saw him slowly stalk the cat.
‘Tell me, Felicia. When Ansel de Hocsenham died, you would have been about fourteen, wouldn’t you?’
‘I suppose. It’s hard to keep track.’
‘Of course. And you were hungry then, too, weren’t you?’
‘Everyone was.’
‘Except your father. He had enough to eat.’
Felicia pulled a face. ‘My father always made sure he was all right.’
‘He loved you, didn’t he?’
‘Most of the time, if you could call it that.’
‘Did he?’
Felicia sighed. ‘He never said anything to me.’
‘He merely raped you,’ Baldwin said understandingly.
‘Baldwin, shouldn’t we be including Gunilda in this?’ Simon said quietly, indicating the woman at the fireside. He was vaguely uneasy about questioning this young woman about the incest in her family.
‘I think we shall hear little sense from your mother. What do you think?’ Baldwin asked Felicia.
‘You’re just worried I’ll be upset,’ she said. ‘I don’t care. You know he took me almost nightly. What of it? Mother was unhappy, though. He didn’t want her any more.’
‘And not just you. He raped other girls, didn’t he?’ Baldwin said.
Felicia’s face froze. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Of course you do. He was a strong man, full of blood and lust.’
Gunilda had stopped her restless kneading, and now she stared at them with a frown on her face. Baldwin tried to give her a reassuring smile, but his lips wouldn’t work. Instead he turned his attention back to Felicia. ‘Tell me,’ he said: ‘which window was your father using to grease the machine when he fell under the wheel?’
Felicia jerked her head towards the machinery. ‘The one behind there.’
Baldwin walked to the wall behind the turning shafts. There was an unglazed window there, a good-sized hole in the wall which was designed to light the great cogs. He stood on a wooden step beneath the window and looked up. Just within reach was the timber axle, but if he tried to touch it, he would be slightly overbalanced. An easy target for someone who wanted to push him out.
‘Your father couldn’t swim, could he?’ he asked mildly as he returned.
‘No. He had other things to do than waste his time on frivolous pursuits like that.’
‘Of course. Now – your mother. You say she was jealous of you?’
‘He preferred me.’
‘Naturally,’ Baldwin said. ‘You were younger and more attractive. I suppose he was always affectionate to you?’
Felicia laughed shortly. ‘When he wanted my body, he was. Otherwise, he would beat me, and even then he wanted me afterwards.’
‘Were you upset when he wanted these other girls?’
‘Me? No. I was glad. It meant he left me alone!’
‘But accidents happened. Like when Aline became pregnant.’
‘She was a strumpet. She had no shame,’ Felicia said scathingly.
‘And Mary, the orphan girl. She was no better.’
‘She threw herself at Father.’
‘Of course it was terrible to kill them. But understandable.’
Felicia almost nodded, but stilled her head.
‘Poor little Emma, though. It was sad to kill her.’
‘She was as bad as the others, showing off in front of my father,’ Felicia said. Then: ‘Why are you saying all this?’
‘It was odd that she should be found in Thomas Garde’s yard.’
‘She deserved her end. She thought people wouldn’t notice, but she was always after men in the vill. Not only Father. I saw her with–’
Baldwin watched her with a faint smile as she snapped her mouth shut. ‘She was a plump little thing. Do you know what? If a man had killed her, I would wonder whether she had been killed somewhere else and then planted in Thomas’s yard; if she was killed by a woman, though, why – I would think she had been lured into Thomas’s yard and killed there. Why should Emma mistrust a young woman?’
‘She was very trusting,’ Felicia agreed. ‘In some ways, Emma was innocent, you see. But you mustn’t blame her murderer. She couldn’t help it.’
‘Why should she be killed there, Felicia?’
‘Because she thought that it would point the finger at Thomas. She heard Ivo Bel talking about how his brother had a terrible temper, and she thought that either Thomas would get blamed or Ivo would, for trying to make Thomas look guilty. But it was her.’
‘Who?’
Felicia threw a fearful look at her mother. ‘She couldn’t help it!’
‘Me!’ Gunilda gasped.
Baldwin ignored her. ‘Why do you think Aline was buried when the others weren’t? Denise and Mary were left out in the open, weren’t they?’
Felicia set her jaw. ‘It was her own fault. Aline wanted his child and Mother couldn’t bear that, so she dug a hole to stop her getting a Christian burial. I think that was cruel.’