10 - The Goldsmith's Daughter (18 page)

‘Meg,’ I said gently, not quite sure where I should begin, ‘what . . . what were your feelings about Master Bonifant?’ She stared at me blankly. ‘Did you like him?’ I asked.

I had expected prevarication, and was unprepared for her blunt, ‘No! I didn’t. I hated him.’

‘Now, Meggie dear!’ Isolda interrupted hurriedly. ‘You know that’s not true. You didn’t always get on well with him, I agree, but you didn’t hate him.’

‘Yes, I did,’ was the uncompromising retort. The little face was suddenly filled with loathing. ‘I’m glad he’s dead. I thank God every night for it when I say my prayers.’

There was no arguing with such conviction, and Isolda stood, irresolute, not knowing what to say for the best, nor how to put Meg on her guard for what she probably guessed would be my next question.

‘Did you know that the liniment used by Master Babcary to ease his aches and pains is poisonous?’

Meg nodded vigorously, a belligerent gleam in the brown eyes.

‘Yes, ’cause Missus Isolda told us all when the ’pothecary first brought it to the house. And I know where it’s kept, and where the key to the cupboard is.’ Having made this admission, however, all her bravado seemed to desert her and she burst into noisy sobs. ‘But I didn’t kill Master Gideon. I didn’t! I didn’t!’

Isolda flew to her side, putting a protective arm around her shoulders.

‘Of course you didn’t, Meggie! Nobody would ever accuse you of such a thing, would he, Master Chapman?’ And she stared at me defiantly, daring me to contradict her.

This assurance seemed to have the opposite effect on Meg to the one intended, and the sobs grew louder. I had to wait several minutes for the noise to abate, but the delay afforded me an opportunity to ignore Isolda’s question without her realising it.

‘Meg,’ I said, even more gently, when the fit of crying had eventually subsided, ‘I know that you and Mistress Bonifant spent most of the day in the kitchen, preparing the food for Mistress Perle’s birthday feast but did you, for any reason, go up to the parlour after the table had been laid?’

‘I’ve already told you that she didn’t,’ Isolda put in quickly.

I tried to recollect whether she had done so or not, but I need not have worried. Meg Spendlove was too simple to take a hint.

‘I didn’t go up
after
the table was laid,’ she answered, frowning slightly. ‘But I did go up with the Missus aforehand. She said if I was good, she’d let me put the special cups on the table. Missus told me where to put them, so I shouldn’t get ’em mixed up again.’

Isolda sighed resignedly. ‘She loves those goblets. She likes to look at the carving around the rims, the clusters of grapes and vine leaves, the nymphs and shepherds dancing.’ She glanced at the girl and shook her head. ‘Why did you have to go and blurt that out, Meggie? No one need have known you were there.’

Meg seemed puzzled. ‘Toby knew,’ she said. ‘He peeped round the door while you were telling me where to put the things on the table.’

It was Isolda’s turn to frown. ‘I didn’t know that. I didn’t see him.’

‘You wouldn’t. You had your back to him,’ Meg answered. ‘But I saw him and he saw me. He winked at me, then went away again.’

‘Was he there for long?’ I asked. ‘Long enough, say, to overhear what Mistress Bonifant was saying and to watch where you placed the goblets?’

‘I dunno. I suppose so.’ Meg had stopped being frightened and was beginning to grow surly at all this questioning.

But I hadn’t quite finished with her yet.

‘Later on,’ I said, ‘after Mistress Perle and her friends had arrived, Toby came down to the kitchen to have his supper with you, as he always did when there were guests. Mistress Bonifant has told me that when she entered the kitchen, you and he were whispering together. Toby was laughing. What were you talking about?’

The colour surged into her face. ‘Nothing!’ she exclaimed fiercely. ‘Anyway, I can’t remember.’

‘Then how do you know that it was nothing? Something must have amused Toby,’ I urged. ‘What was it?’

Meg’s face, from which the tide of red had now receded, became expressionless. ‘Can’t remember,’ she repeated.

‘Try,’ I pleaded.

Meg simply shrugged her thin shoulders and looked away.

Isolda smiled mockingly. ‘Master Chapman, you might as well save your breath. You’ll get no more out of her now that she’s made up her mind not to tell you. She can be as obstinate as a mule.’

I had no doubt that she was right. I have invariably found that simple people, like Meg Spendlove, possess tremendous strength of will and determination.

‘Did you poison Master Bonifant, Meg?’ I asked abruptly, hoping to catch her off her guard.

She thrust out her underlip and her eyes sparked with anger. ‘No! But I wish I had,’ she answered.

There seemed nothing more to be said. Meg was in a thoroughly recalcitrant mood and I should get no more from her. I could have persisted, but it would have done no good. I glanced at Isolda, who gave an almost imperceptible, discouraging shake of her head.

‘We’ll leave you alone then, Meggie,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll come back later and give you a hand with the dirty dishes.’

‘No need to,’ Meg replied, her tone surly. ‘I can do them on my own.’

‘Well, at least she isn’t frightened of you any longer,’ Isolda smiled as we left the kitchen. There was a crash from somewhere behind us as an iron cooking pot was carelessly dropped on the stone-flagged floor and we both laughed. ‘Now, what do you want to do next? Do you wish to speak to Toby Maybury? If you’ll return upstairs, to the parlour, I’ll see if Father can spare him from the workshop.’

‘I do want to speak to him,’ I agreed, ‘but I also need to speak to both your cousins.’

Isolda pursed her lips. ‘I suppose Nell
might
be feeling well enough to answer a few questions by now,’ she said doubtfully. ‘I’ll ask her if you like. But don’t be surprised if she declines. She’s not very strong, you know. She has always suffered from delicate health.’

It was on the tip of my tongue to protest that a girl who had such a hearty appetite was probably as strong as a packhorse, but I restrained myself. I should gain nothing by antagonising these people, and it was obvious that Eleanor Babcary was a privileged person in the household.

‘I should be very grateful for your help in this matter, Mistress Bonifant,’ I said. ‘I should like to have a word with Mistress Eleanor, if I may. Master Toby can wait a while.’

Isolda accompanied me up the first flight of stairs, leaving me outside the parlour to continue on up to the second storey, where her cousin’s bedchamber was situated next to her own. I pushed open the door, closing it carefully behind me, and once again approached the fire, thankful for its warmth after the dank chill of the kitchen.

I sat down in the armchair, recently vacated by my hostess, and stared into the heart of the flames. So far, I had no idea who had killed Gideon Bonifant, but was very much inclined to think that Isolda was innocent of the crime. Yet I was well aware that this was to ignore the most telling evidence, and was simply because I liked her. Moreover, I knew that my judgement was often at fault, and on several occasions before this, I had been drawn to women who had turned out to be far more evil than any man. Her apparent frankness might mean that she was just a clever dissembler, and it was therefore vital that I remain on my guard where Isolda was concerned.

I had guessed that Eleanor Babcary would take some persuading to leave her bed, but it now seemed a very long time since my hostess had left me at the parlour door. I got up from my chair, stretching my arms and legs, which were beginning to ache from inactivity, unused to this cloistered, sedentary life. I turned my back to the fire, letting its heat seep into my bones, and it was while I was standing thus that I suddenly realised how quiet, all at once, the house was. It was true that the door of the room was closed, but surely I had previously been able to hear some sounds through it. But now there was nothing; not so much as the echo of a distant voice, not even the creak of a floorboard. I could hear no footfall from the rooms overhead, no faint crash from the kitchen regions.

The hairs began to rise on the nape of my neck, and I again felt as I had done the night before last, on my way back to the Voyager. It was as though some evil presence was very close at hand, and I reflected with dismay that I had left my cudgel downstairs, in the shop. So I clenched my hands into two sizeable fists and rocked forward on the balls of my feet, ready to launch myself at whatever was threatening me.

The silence seemed as impenetrable as ever. Then the latch of the door was slowly lifted.

Y
et again, my worst fears were not realised. It was Eleanor Babcary who entered the room, closely followed by Isolda. I breathed a sigh of relief, but, at the same time, wondered why my imagination was playing me such tricks.

It was plain that Eleanor had accompanied her cousin against her will. There was a pout to the soft lips, a sullen expression in the blue eyes that clearly indicated her reluctance, and I wondered what arguments Isolda had used to cajole her into talking to me. Perhaps she had pointed out that it would be wiser to submit to my questioning now and get it over with, than to wait in uneasy anticipation of the ordeal still to come.

‘I hope you’re feeling better, Mistress,’ I said with as much concern as I could muster, convinced in my own mind that there was nothing really wrong with the girl except for an irritation of nerves which I could not, at present, explain. ‘Won’t you sit down?’ And I pointed to the armchair nearest the fire.

She glanced over her shoulder at Isolda, who nodded encouragement.

‘Do as Master Chapman says, Nell. I’ll sit here, opposite you, and then you’ll have no need to be afraid.’

‘I hope Mistress Babcary knows better than to be afraid of me,’ I responded with some asperity. ‘I’ve done nothing that I’m aware of to inspire fear in any member of this household.’

‘You’re looking for the truth concerning a murder,’ Isolda answered drily. ‘That’s enough, surely, to frighten us all.’ She moved to the other armchair and sat down.

Her cousin followed suit, but held herself erect, fidgeting nervously, as she had done earlier, with the pendant around her neck. I drew forward a stool and seated myself midway between the two women.

‘Mistress Babcary,’ I invited, ‘tell me all you can – anything that you remember – about the evening that Master Bonifant died.’

Eleanor’s story, told haltingly, agreed with both her cousin’s and her uncle’s version of events, and was recounted with almost no prompting from the former, and with very few glances in her direction.

Eleanor had, she said, gone up to her bedchamber to change from her workaday into her best clothes at the same time as the other members of the family – excepting, of course, Isolda – and had returned here, to the parlour, to see Mistress Perle presented with her birthday gift and to drink her health.

‘Mistress Bonifant was late putting in an appearance because she had been delayed in the kitchen,’ I pointed out. ‘What did you all talk about while you were waiting for her arrival?’

The younger woman furrowed her brow. ‘I can’t remember. Mistress Napier spoke to me, but I have no recollection of what she said, because I wasn’t listening to her very closely. Toby was winking and mouthing something at me from behind her back, but I couldn’t make out what it was he was saying.’

I leant forward a little, my interest quickening. ‘Winking and mouthing, was he? And did you ever find out what it was that he’d been trying to tell you?’

Eleanor shook her head. ‘I never asked him.’ Her face grew bleak. ‘With everything that . . . that happened afterwards, I’d forgotten all about it until now.’ She had at last stopped tugging at her pendant and was gripping the arms of her chair so hard that the knuckles of her hands gleamed white.

‘He wasn’t supposed to be here, was he? When your uncle entertains guests, Toby takes his meals in the kitchen.’

‘Yes, with Meggie.’ Eleanor raised her lovely eyes to mine. ‘I don’t know why he was in the parlour. He shouldn’t have been.’

I did not press the matter. I could winkle the truth out of young Toby later. Meantime, I had a more important question for Eleanor Babcary, but one which I was loath to put to her in Isolda’s presence. Fortunately, just at that moment, there was the sound of feet pounding up the stairs and, a second or two later, Toby himself put his head around the door. The sound of distant wailing reached our ears.

‘You’d best come, Mistress,’ he said to Isolda. ‘Meg’s dropped half a dozen eggs on the kitchen floor and is crying her eyes out. She won’t be comforted by anyone but you.’

My hostess stifled what could have been an unladylike curse as, with a better grace than I think I could have mustered in the circumstances, had I been in her shoes, she rose and accompanied the apprentice downstairs. She did falter as she reached the parlour door, but, to her credit, her hesitation was only momentary. A second later, I heard the click of the latch.

I turned back to Eleanor to find her eyeing me askance. It was almost as if she knew what I was going to ask her.

‘Mistress Babcary,’ I said, ‘what were your feelings for Gideon Bonifant?’

‘My feelings for him?’ Her eyes were warier still.

‘Yes. Did you like him? Were you . . . Were you fond of him?’

I noticed with interest that at my reference to the murdered man, one of Eleanor’s slender white hands had risen, almost unconsciously, to finger yet again the pendant on its thin gold chain. Her voice, when she answered, was somewhat constricted.

‘He was Isolda’s husband. Of course I liked him, for her sake.’

‘Was that the only reason? Did you not like him for his own sake?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ She sounded slightly breathless. ‘I – I didn’t think much about him. He was years older than I was. He was ten years older than Isolda. Gideon always seemed to me to be more of Uncle Miles’s generation, although I suppose he wasn’t really.’ She blinked unhappily. ‘Kit and I had only been here a year when he and Isolda were married and he came to live here, too. So . . . Well, I was used to him, you see. He was just another member of the household.’