‘Don’t mock me, madam,’ Athelstan snapped. ‘I shall tell you what happened. You took that flask when it was empty and put the arsenic in. Captain William filled it with usquebaugh. It would take more than one swig for the poison on the bottom to mingle and make its presence felt. As you planned, it eventually did, but only when he was at sea. Any apothecary will tell you that white arsenic is not a poison that kills immediately. It takes time to build up in the victim’s body.’ Athelstan shrugged. ‘When the flask was brought back here, you washed and scoured it. You then found some usquebaugh and refilled it, placing it back among your husband’s possessions as if it had never been disturbed.’
Emma Roffel just gazed coolly at him.
‘Now, the death of your husband,’ Athelstan continued, ‘was reward enough for you, but when Bracklebury brought his corpse back you noticed something amiss. Perhaps Bracklebury made one last search of the corpse? Or did you study the pages at the back of your husband’s book of hours and realise that "in S.L." stood for "in secreto loco, in a secret place". The last entry was fresh, so you knew that your husband had recently taken some-thing precious and hidden it away.’ Athelstan paused to wet his dry lips. ‘It wouldn’t be hard to make Bracklebury talk – his only thought was to find that silver.’
‘And?’ Emma Roffel asked, in mock innocence.
‘You knew, God knows how, about this secret place of your husband’s and so you entered into an unholy alliance with Bracklebury. You would find the silver and share it with him. You’d then act the grieving widow, maintaining your cool mistress-and-servant relations with Tabitha until you could both disappear and go to some other city in England or Scotland under new names.’
‘But I never went aboard the God’s Bright Light that night,’ Emma Roffel scoffed. ‘I was in the church of St Mary Magdalene, mourning for my husband.’
‘Nonsense!’ Athelstan replied. ‘You did go aboard that day. You disguised yourself as one of the whores and Bracklebury hid you in the cabin so that you could begin your search – or rather pretend to, because you already knew where the hiding place was. Bracklebury told you about his agreement with Cabe and about the signals that had to be passed between the ships and between himself and Cabe on the quayside.’
‘But how could I do all this,’ Emma insisted, ‘if I was in a church mourning for my husband?’
‘You were not,’ Athelstan retorted. ‘Your maid Tabitha was. Father Stephen is old, his eyesight is failing and you, of course, are no church-goer. So you sent Tabitha to the priest’s house pretending to be you. Father Stephen accepted her for what she claimed to be. It was Tabitha who was there that night.’
‘But the funeral?’ Tabitha interrupted. ‘Both Mistress Roffel and I attended the funeral and Father Stephen was there.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you did.’ Athelstan smiled, noting how the maid had lost her cool appearance of severity. ‘Both of you attended, cowled and hooded. But you, Tabitha, maintained the pretence of being Mistress Roffel and she acted the part of your maid. You knew that Father Stephen would soon forget, time would pass. Anyway, you planned to leave the city. And if Father Stephen should visit the house then you could sustain the pretence, even explain away any confusion.’ Athelstan pushed his tankard aside; he had not drunk from it, nor would he. ‘Of course, when Father Stephen came today while I was here you realised that it was no coincidence. Father Stephen was given clear sight of whoever answered that door.’
‘Do continue,’ Emma Roffel whispered. She sat back in the chair, tense, her chin thrust forward aggressively. ‘Oh, yes, on board the God’s Bright Light?’
Athelstan paused to collect his thoughts but kept his eyes carefully on Emma Roffel’s hands hidden up the sleeve of her gown.
‘On board the God’s Bright Light,’ Athelstan continued, ‘you remained hidden from the other two members of the watch as well as from Sir Jacob Crawley when he visited the ship. Nevertheless, the admiral was uneasy. After he left, you carried out your plan and murdered Bracklebury and his companions.’
‘Me, a frail woman?’
‘Who mentioned anything about frailty?’ Athelstan asked. ‘You may not be young but you are vigorous, strong, a fisherman’s daughter. Anyway, it’s not difficult to deal with the bodies of drugged men. Only Bracklebury had access to the cabin where you were hidden. You would declare little success in your search but hold out hope. In fact, you were only waiting to kill Bracklebury and any witnesses and so deepen the mystery further.’ Athelstan paused, hoping that Cranston would soon appear. ‘You laced the cups from which Bracklebury and the other two men were drinking with a powerful sleeping draught. They fell into their drugged sleep, you fastened the weights around their necks and slipped their bodies over the side. I doubt if the poor souls would have regained consciousness.’ Athelstan stared at the lantern over the hearth. ‘Your movements would have been concealed by a heavy sea mist. The same mist, as well as the speaking trumpet, disguised your voice. You had heard Bracklebury say the password and wink the lantern and you kept matters on an even keel. However’ – Athelstan tensed in the chair – ‘that sailor returned, laughing and singing, with his whore. You left at about the same time, a misty, cold dawn when the sailors from the two nearest ships were drowsy and the quayside deserted.’
‘And what did I do?’ Emma cried. ‘Fly!’
‘No, Mistress Roffel, you put the silver belt round your neck, slipped over the ship’s side away from the quayside, and followed the river current downstream, before swimming into shore well away from Queen’s hithe and the watching eyes of the Fisher of Men. You then stripped. Tabitha was nearby with a fresh set of clothing and you returned to your house to continue the role of the withdrawn, grieving widow.’ Athelstan paused, listening to the creaks and groans of the old house. ‘You must have enjoyed yourself, Mistress Roffel, watching everyone run around, allegations being laid, Cabe wondering where Bracklebury was. You are a powerful woman, Mistress Roffel.’
‘Not powerful enough for the swim you have credited me with!’
‘Nonsense!’ Athelstan replied. ‘You are a fisherman’s daughter. You could swim before you walked, out at sea helping your father with his nets. I felt your hand as you left the Fisher of Men’s warehouse – it was rough, rather callused. You were born with the sea in your blood. You can probably swim better than any man on board those ships waiting in the Thames.
‘You watched us all run around like mice in a cage. You thought you would muddy the water still further as well as take vengeance on the whore Bernicia. Tabitha wrote that note to Cabe, pretending it came from Bracklebury, pointing the finger at Bernicia. All the time you were preparing to leave. You disguised yourself as a sailor, cowled and hooded, and took some of the silver to a goldsmith. This not only deepened the mystery but provided you and Tabitha with the necessary monies to leave London.’ Athelstan leaned forward accusingly. ‘The only flaw in your plan was that Bracklebury’s corpse was discovered.’
Tabitha clapped her hands mockingly. ‘You are right, mistress. A clever, clever little priest!’
‘How did you know Bracklebury’s sign for the letter to Bernicia?’ Athelstan asked. ‘I suppose you found it among your husband’s documents.’ He looked around the room. ‘So tidy,’ he murmured. That’s what Sir Jacob Crawley said. He meant that the galley was so tidy. All the cups and goblets cleaned! As if a good housewife had been there, as well as an assassin, hiding what she had done!’
‘Clever!’ Emma murmured.
‘Not really,’ Athelstan replied. ‘More a motley collection of scraps – finding Bracklebury’s corpse, feeling your callused hand, the cleaning of the galley cups, your talk about your youth, your husband’s book of hours. And, of course, the sheer weight of logic.’