The Canterbury Murders (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-nine

When they were shown into the sitting room of the queen’s apartment in the guesthouse, Isabella was effusive in greeting her husband, expecting that he had come to take her back to Canterbury. When told that he had not, it was plain to see that she was disappointed, and that it took effort to keep a courteous smile on her face as she welcomed Nicolaa and was introduced to Bascot.

“What then, my lord, is the purpose of your visit?” she asked as she and John seated themselves on the high-backed settle near the fire and Nicolaa and the Templar took chairs facing them. The Scottish nun came in quietly as they did so, accompanied by another sister, and placed a flagon of wine and cups on a small table in front of the royal pair before gliding silently from the room. Isabella’s two attendants were standing quietly to one side, and at the queen’s bidding, the youngest of them, whom Isabella called Yvette, came forward and poured cups of wine for the king and her guests.

Gianni, standing unobtrusively behind the castellan’s chair, stared at the girl, filled with admiration for her loveliness. About his own age, she reminded him of the women of his homeland, with a rosy-tinted olive complexion and laughing brown eyes. Her lips curved sweetly as she gave Nicolaa a smile while filling her cup. It took all of his concentration to turn his gaze away from her so that he could follow the instructions that his mistress had given him—that he was not to take notes while in the presence of the king and queen, but to listen attentively to all of the conversation at the meeting and commit it as best he could to memory and record it later. Resolutely he avoided looking again at Yvette as the king told his wife that besides wishing the pleasure of her company, he had brought the Templar with him to put some questions to her and her ladies about the night the washerwoman had been killed, in the hope that they had seen or heard something that might help identify her murderer.

“It may be some small incident you did not consider of enough importance to mention to me, Isabella,” John added. “A detail that is incriminating but did not, at the time, seem so.”

As Isabella gave some thought to the matter, Nicolaa could sense the Templar’s frustration with the roundabout way in which John was explaining the purpose of their visit to the queen. Before they had come into the guesthouse, and while they were outside in the yard waiting for admission to the queen’s quarters, the king had told Bascot to take an oblique approach in asking whether either of Isabella’s companions knew of anyone in the royal retinue, beside themselves, that spoke
langue d’oc
. “They are both from Angoulême,” he had said, “and fiercely loyal to my wife and her country. For this reason they might feel they are betraying her if they point the finger of suspicion at a fellow countryman, especially if they are convinced he is innocent of any wrongdoing. Pose the question, but lead up to it in a fashion that makes it seem innocuous.”

Bascot was unhappy with the deceit, but since he had never met the attendants and John was, presumably, well acquainted with them, he agreed to comply, hoping the restraint did not prove obstructive.

“I do not believe I saw anything untoward,” Isabella said in response to her husband’s query, but directing her answer to Bascot. “The king and I went to our bedchamber immediately after the evening meal and were sharing a cup of wine in our bedchamber when the washerwoman was murdered. . . .” She gave a tiny shiver. “It was a terrible sight—her throat had been slashed and the water in the tub was red with blood. . . .” She paused for a moment and took a deep breath before continuing. “My husband, concerned for my safety, ordered one of the guards to take me to the bedchamber Yvette and Marie were sharing and keep watch in there over all three of us while the house was searched. We stayed in the room all night until morning came, and then went back to Dover. So none of us, you see, could have seen or heard anything that may help you.”

Bascot glanced at the queen’s attendants. “But it could be possible, could it not, that one of your attendants might have noticed something untoward
before
the murder took place? They were in another part of the house from yourself and may have seen a servant somewhere he or she should not have been or, perhaps, heard a noise that was unusual, without realizing it was connected to the killing.”

Isabella gave a shrug. “I suppose so, although I think it unlikely.”

“All the same, Your Majesty, may I have your permission to question them?”

Isabella inclined her head in assent and bid her two women come forward. “Tell Sir Bascot what he wishes to know,” she directed. “The sooner this villain is discovered, the quicker I will be able to return to Canterbury, so search your memories well before you answer.”

The Templar spoke first to Yvette, pursuing the question of her movements within the townhouse, hoping that, while doing so, he would be able to introduce the subject of a servant in the townhouse speaking
langue d’oc
. “Let us start with the day you arrived at the townhouse with your mistress. Did you keep apart from the other servants, or join in their company?”

“We spoke to some of them, but not all,” Yvette replied. “When we first came, one of the maids took Marie and me up to the room in which we were to sleep and then to another chamber where the queen’s clothes were to be kept so we could unpack them. She was most helpful and offered her assistance, but no one is allowed to touch my mistress’s clothing except ourselves, so she left. I do not remember seeing her again. There was also a manservant that came to light the brazier in our room. He told us his name—I cannot remember it now—and said to call him if we should require anything further.” She stopped for a moment in thought and then said, “Oh, and after we had finished unpacking the coffers, we went to the kitchen and spoke to the cook. I went with Marie to give him instructions on how to prepare the dishes our mistress prefers. But apart from that, neither of us had much congress with the rest of the household, for we were always with the queen, or in our bedchamber or the little room on the lower floor where we ate our meals together. A maidservant brought the food to us there, but we never had a conversation with her.” She looked uncertainly at the Templar. “Is that what you wish to know?”

Bascot nodded. “And you are certain you spoke to no one else?”

Yvette began to shake her head, and then stopped. “Well, I did exchange a few words with the steward,” she said, “but not many. He was
un homme sévère
, that one, and he frightened me.”

“Why?” Bascot asked, surprised.

“He was very annoyed with Marie for going into one of the rooms without his permission when she went to look for a clean
pot de chambre
for our mistress. I was just coming down the stairs when he was reprimanding her, and I ran back up to our bedchamber lest he become angry with me, too.”

The Templar turned to the other companion, who was standing alongside the younger girl. She was older, and had far less mobile features than Yvette. Her face had a faded attractiveness that might have been called beauty when she was younger, but now her skin was sallow and her eyes, of a muddy hazel colour, had numerous creases radiating from the corners.

“This altercation you had with the steward—when was it and which was the room that you went into?” Bascot asked. He had been told that Inglis did not allow anyone into the chamber where the wine was stored without his permission, so if that was the one she had entered, and at the right time, there was a chance she might have seen the person who had placed the poison in the flavouring mixture.

“It was on the second day after we arrived, the one on which the woman servant was murdered,” Marie replied. “As to which room . . .” She shrugged. “I went into two or three of them looking for the
pot
before the steward came upon me. I do not remember exactly which ones they were. I was unfamiliar with the townhouse, and had yet to get my bearings as to how the rooms were situated.”

This older attendant was much less animated than Yvette and did not seem much interested in answering Bascot’s questions, but since she could be possessed of important information he pressed her.

“Do you recall if one of the rooms held a store of wine?”

Again, Marie gave a Gallic twist of her shoulders. “It is possible.”

“Was there anyone else in any of the chambers you went into—one of the servants, perhaps, or a person you had not seen before?”

“Non,”
she replied.

Isabella was growing restless at the seeming pointlessness of the interviews, tapping the tip of one tiny slippered foot on the floor in an impatient cadence, so Bascot felt it would not be wise to wait any longer to ask the women if they knew of any other person in the household that spoke their dialect.

“You and Marie must miss being able to converse with those who speak the language of your homeland,” he said to Yvette, “or are any others of the king’s servants familiar with it?”

To Nicolaa’s surprise, it was the seemingly taciturn Marie who answered his question.

“Unfortunately, there are no others in the household from Angoulême. But we speak in our own tongue with our mistress and that gives us much comfort.”

The queen’s impatience was rising even further; she could not see the purpose of his questions. As far as she was concerned, they seemed to have no relevance as to whether or not either of her women had noticed anything that might be helpful in apprehending the murderer. Bascot knew it would not be long before she decided to end the interviews and, unwilling to leave before he had fulfilled his purpose, made his next question a direct one.

“Are you quite certain that is true?” he said to Marie. “We have been told that at least one other in the townhouse is familiar with
langue d’oc
, and it seems strange that such a person would have escaped your notice.”

Isabella frowned at the implication Marie was lying and, before the attendant had a chance to respond, demanded, “Who is this other servant of whom you speak?”

“I do not know his identity, lady,” the Templar answered quietly. “That is what I am trying to find out.”

“Then why did you not ask forthrightly?” Her tone was imperious. “There was no need for this circumlocution.”

Bascot made no answer, merely looked at the king, who after a moment said in a conciliatory manner, “There is a possibility, Isabella, that this man is the one who committed the murders, and if he is, it is equally possible that he comes from Angoulême. Until we can be certain, I did not want to place your attendants in the unenviable position of naming one of your countrymen a suspect.”

Isabella stamped her foot in anger. “As ever, John, you choose the devious course instead of the direct one. You had only to ask openly; I can assure you that neither of my attendants has anything to hide.”

The queen looked towards the two women and gave a stiff nod. “Marie, Yvette, tell Sir Bascot what he wishes to know,” she commanded.

Marie was the first to speak. “To my knowledge, none of the servants in the royal household is from Angoulême or speaks our dialect. Had there been any, I would have mentioned it to the queen.”

Isabella gave a brief nod of satisfaction and then looked to Yvette. The younger maid vacillated for a moment but, after flashing a quick glance at Marie, and with the suggestion of a frown on her smooth young brow, she confirmed the other companion’s claim. “The only other person I have spoken to besides my mistress and Marie in
langue d’oc
during the last few months was a troubadour in the court in Rouen and, as far as I know, he is still there. Apart from him, there has been no one else.”

Bascot thought he saw a flash of confusion on the girl’s merry little face as she made her statement, but Isabella, once the girl had finished speaking, turned to her husband and, with exultation in her voice, declared, “You see how easy it is to get at the truth, John? There was no need for artifice.”

She paused for a moment and took a deep breath, her colour high. “I suspect you believe this murderer was sent by Hugh of Lusignan,” she said, having made an astute assumption about the true reason behind Bascot’s questions. “If so, then I sincerely hope your reluctance to ask these questions straightly is not because you doubt my loyalty.”

Isabella’s tone was full of prideful disdain, and Bascot suspected she was enjoying the opportunity to chastise her husband. Unfortunately, however, she had misgauged the extent of John’s forbearance. After an initial moment of shock at her effrontery, John’s face clouded with anger and he stood up, his demeanour regal and forbidding, and fully reminiscent of the Plantagenet line from which he was descended.

“If I have unwittingly given you offence, Isabella, I apologise, but I would advise you to curb your tongue in future.” His voice was quiet, but chilling. “The men of my family do not easily suffer impertinence from their wives.”

The threat was obvious, for it was well known that John’s father, Henry, had kept Eleanor of Aquitaine immured behind stout castle walls for many years because of her defiance. Isabella went rigid at the menacing words, her beautiful eyes widening with incredulity as her husband swung away from her and left the chamber, motioning for Nicolaa and Bascot to follow. As the Templar rose from his seat, he saw a look of loathing on Marie’s face, directed at the king’s back. The expression was intense, and deeply hateful, and only disappeared when a shaken Isabella called for her to come and fetch a cup of wine.

As the furious king led the party back to Canterbury, Bascot, riding beside Nicolaa, remarked quietly, “I am not satisfied that Isabella’s ladies are telling the complete truth. Yvette’s statement could be construed as ambiguous. She did not state outright that none of the other servants spoke the
langue d’oc
dialect, only that she, herself, had not had a conversation with any.”

“I agree,” the castellan responded. “But if she is lying by omission, it is hard to determine why. Did she do so in order to avoid contradicting the queen, or was it because she did not want to betray a falsehood told by the other attendant?”