“Thank you, no,” said Geoffrey hastily. “And if you refer to the ring that he wore on his right hand, Henry has it.” He recalled vividly Henry wresting the ring from what he had believed to be Godric’s corpse some days before.
“Has he, now?” said Mabel harshly. “I might have known! Sir Godric always said he wanted me to have that. But no matter. I want nothing from the Mappestones anyway. Come nightfall, I will be away, and I will never return to these parts again. There is nothing to keep me here now. One sister died in childbirth at the end of last summer, and the other died of an ague just a month ago. Her poor corpse was not left in peace, though. Walter said it was dogs, although around here, who knows?”
“Your sister’s grave was desecrated?” said Geoffrey, bewildered by her wide-ranging monologue.
“I do not know about that, but it was disturbed, and it looked as though someone had been poking around in it a few days ago-since you returned, in fact.”
“Well, it was not me,” said Geoffrey firmly.
“Did I say it was?” demanded Mabel, hurling Godric’s stained nightshirt on the floor at his feet. “But I have heard strange things about you-that you read books and make secret signs on scraps of parchment with inks. Master Helbye told me about it.”
“It is called writing,” said Geoffrey. “And literacy does not automatically lead to grave-robbing.”
“I said nothing of grave-robbing,” said Mabel belligerently. “I said that my sister’s grave had been disturbed, but I did not dig it up to make sure she was still in it. Walter said he thought some dogs had scratched up the surface.”
It was not an uncommon occurrence, especially if a family was poor, and unable to pay a grave-digger for a sufficiently deep hole.
“Or maybe it was that Earl of Shrewsbury,” said Mabel darkly. “I have heard even worse things about the likes of him than of you. It is said that he dabbles in the black arts, and he may have needed to rob a grave for some wicked spell he was casting.”
“So, what will you do if you leave here?” asked Geoffrey, not wanting to pursue that topic of conversation when the castle was full of people who might inform the Earl that nasty things were being said about him. “Where will you go?”
“I have been offered the position as cheese-maker at Monmouth Castle, and I intend to leave as soon as Godric is laid out. My roof leaks and that miserly Walter will not pay to have it mended.”
Geoffrey sat on the chest and watched her, while Julian wrapped her arms over her head and crouched against the wall, out of hearing and out of sight.
“You are fond of him still?” he asked, noting the gentle way in which her rough, red hands stripped the corpse of its bloodstained hose.
She sighed softly, and would not look at Geoffrey. “I will always be fond of Sir Godric,” she said. “No one understood him like I did. And that Lady Enide was worst of all. She hated the arrangement I had with him.”
“Enide did? Are you certain? I was led to believe she was the most understanding of them all when it came to his whores … I mean his companions.”
He recalled Godric’s pleasure as he recounted Enide’s sympathy in his courting of Rohese, even giving up her own bedchamber so that Godric could seduce the girl in more conducive surroundings.
“She encouraged that Rohese all right,” said Mabel, vigorously scrubbing at the blood that stained Godric’s stomach. “But she made life so difficult for me that Sir Godric was obliged to tell me about the door. Oh!” Her hands flew to her mouth, and she gazed at Geoffrey in horror.
“What door?” asked Geoffrey, interested.
“No. Nothing. I mean window.” Mabel was clearly no liar. Her belligerent manner dropped, and she became flustered.
“What door?” asked Geoffrey again.
“No!” said Mabel firmly. “I will not tell you. Sir Godric made me promise that I would never tell anyone about it. Especially one of you!”
“But Sir Godric is dead, Mabel,” said Geoffrey. “And you might be able to help me catch the person who killed him if you tell me what you know.”
“Do you think so?” asked Mabel, uncertain. She looked down at the still features of Godric. “No. You are only trying to make me give up my secret. You are not interested in his killer-you only care about his wealth, just like the rest of them.”
“I am very interested in who killed him,” said Geoffrey softly. “He was my father. And I do not care about his wealth.”
Mabel regarded him long and hard. “That nice Sergeant Helbye says you only returned to pay your respects to Sir Godric. And young Barlow and Ingram have been telling everyone how you threw away so many chances to go looting because you have no taste for killing.” She paused, and continued her searching look at his face. “All right, I believe you.”
“Good,” said Geoffrey, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms. “Then will you help me catch my father’s murderer?”
“Oh, no,” said Mabel. “That would be far too dangerous. But I will tell you about me and Godric and Enide. That might help.”
She cleared her throat importantly, and perched on the edge of the bed. On the other side of the room, Julian pulled her hands from her ears and listened.
‘I took up with your father the summer after your mother died,” Mabel began. “That was fifteen years ago now. All was well at first. I think your brothers and sisters were just glad that I was able to soothe his ill-temper from time to time. But about a year or so ago, Enide began to object. She made life very difficult for us, and waited for me on the stairs to prevent me from going to him, urging him to take Rohese instead. In the end, Sir Godric told me about the door, but he said I should never tell another Mappestone about it, no matter what happened.”
She paused, and Geoffrey could see she was already having second thoughts about breaking her trust.
“Why did Enide take against you after so many years?” he asked, to distract her from her dilemma.
Mabel shrugged. “She said I was too indiscreet, and that Sir Godric should take up with a woman who lived in the castle and who could come to him when he needed her, rather than having to send a servant to the village to fetch me. And my husband did not always approve of that, anyway,” she added.
Geoffrey could see his point. Was that why Enide had been so accommodating over the business with the chambers, then? he wondered. To encourage Godric to make use of Rohese in the chamber opposite, rather than send for Mabel in the village?
“And the door?” he asked.
Mabel pursed her lips. “It was the only way I could get to him, but Sir Godric charged me never to come to him if there was anyone who might see me using it. He said word might get out to his neighbours that the keep of Goodrich Castle contained a secret entrance.”
“Where is it?” asked Geoffrey.
Mabel hesitated yet again, gazing at Geoffrey’s face as though she might be able to read there what were his true intentions. Finally, just when Geoffrey was beginning think he might have to think of better reasons to persuade her, she spoke.
“Come on, then. I will show you. Julian can wait outside while I do it, and make certain no one comes in and sees what we are doing.”
When Julian hesitated, reluctant to miss out on something that sounded so intriguing, Mabel put her hands on her hips, and Geoffrey bundled the girl out of the chamber and closed the door. Mabel led the way into the garderobe passage, and poked around at a wood-pannelled wall behind some shelves at the far end, where Godric had kept a few gowns and some rusty pieces of armour. She gave a hard tug and, with a groan, the entire wall slid back to reveal a dark passageway. Geoffrey shuddered, and closed it.
“Is that all you are going to do?” Mabel asked angrily, opening it again. “I betray a trust made to a man who lies foully murdered, and all you do is give it a quick glance and shut the door?”