“Ah, then whoso took the silver also did murder,” Sir Roger said triumphantly. “Catch a thief and we’ll have the man who has slain Sir Henry, eh?”
“Perhaps, but I think not.”
“Oh?” Sir Roger seemed dismayed at my response. No doubt he wished the matter resolved so he might return to Oxford.
“Would Lady Anne murder her father?” Lord Gilbert muttered.
“Lady Anne?” the sheriff said. “What has she to do with this business?”
“’Twas she,” Lord Gilbert said, “who made off with my silver.”
Lady Petronilla had also risen from her chair and crossed the chamber to see the two pieces of linen. She spoke next.
“Lady Anne seems most eager to leave Bampton and return home. The matter has arisen often when we are together, and she continually urges Lady Margery to be away.”
“No wonder,” Sir Roger growled, “if she did murder and took silver spoons as well. I’ll take a sergeant an’ arrest her this minute. Where will she be? Where is her chamber?”
“Not yet,” I said. “We might learn more of this if we allow Lady Anne to roam free. She may do or say something which, without this knowledge, we might overlook. With these scraps of linen we may have answers to questions not yet asked. If, in a few days, we discover nothing more, you may then arrest the lass. If she is guilty only of theft, then the murderer may reveal himself, perhaps to save her, especially if it is William Willoughby.”
“William? The squire?” Lord Gilbert said. “You do then suspect him of murder?”
“Sir Henry’s valet said that William and Lady Anne wished to marry, but Sir Henry would not permit it, being eager to see his daughter wed to some wealthy knight.”
“To help fill his empty purse, no doubt,” Lord Gilbert said. “Though where he’d find coin for a dowry I cannot think.”
“Are we then but to wait and watch for some man to do or say that which will incriminate him?” Sir Roger asked. The sheriff is a man of action. Patience is not his strong virtue.
“Lady Margery knows I have discovered the bodkin,” I said. “She saw it in my hand yesterday. Whether or not she knows it might have been used to slay her husband we do not know. But I believe she does. When she saw it in my hand she took fright.
“No one yet knows we have found this bloody linen, unless the man who hid it has searched to see if it is gone from the fireplace. It might be good to spread the word now that these objects have been found and watch to see who seems uneasy at the rumor.”
“Will we say where they were found?” Sir Roger asked.
“Nay. Should we do so, folk will wonder why one or both of the squires are not arrested.”
“Wonder about that myself. The squires and Lady Anne seem mixed together in Sir Henry’s death. Put the lot of ’em in Oxford Castle dungeon and soon one will tell who is guilty, so to free themselves.”
“They will implicate each other, and we will be no nearer to discovering a murderer than we are now,” I replied, “or William will play the man and take blame to save Lady Anne, whether he is guilty or not. We must be patient and alert.”
“Not too patient,” Lord Gilbert said. “Lady Margery wishes to return to Bedford and I wish the matter resolved to be rid of her.”
Murder and stolen goods vexed my mind as I left the castle. I stopped at the bridge over Shill Brook to gaze into the stream, but this wool-gathering did nothing to clear my thoughts or suggest a solution to my problems.
Kate greeted me with an embrace and a supper of arbolettys and a maslin loaf. Bessie watched her mother clasp me close and lifted her arms to me to do the same. The babe was beginning to cut teeth, and so slobbered upon my shoulder as I held her close. This did not trouble me. There are fathers who would give much to have a babe drool upon their cotehardie rather than occupy a small corner of St Beornwald’s churchyard.
I told Kate of the day’s events while we ate our supper, and concluded by saying that, unlikely as it seemed, Lady Anne may have had something to do with her father’s death.
“Perhaps she stuffed the portpain up a sleeve, before taking the spoons and knives,” I said. “When the page saw her with the silver his attention was drawn to the utensils and he did not notice the bulging sleeve.”
“You think she then gave the cloth to the squire… what is his name?”
“William. It may be. The sheriff believes it so, but ’tis all too simple, and who else would have known of their conspiracy?”
“Why would some other need to know of their connivance?”
“The message, slid under the sheriff’s door.”
“Oh, aye. Neither Lady Anne nor the squire would have done it were they guilty… or if they did, they would have named the other squire.”
“And I do not know of a certainty that the bloodstains on the linen cloth came to be there at Sir Henry’s death, or if the bodkin in the base of the lampstand was a murder weapon. ’Tis all conjecture, because we were directed to search the squires’ chamber.”
“How then will you find the truth of the matter?”
“It would be well if the Lord Christ would come to me in a dream and tell me how the felony was done and who did it, but that is unlikely.”
“How, then?”
“There is not yet enough information for anything but supposition. I must learn more of Sir Henry and his life, as well as his death. Then my speculation will be less flimsy, and I may discard unworthy theories until but one remains.”
“And then you will know who murdered Sir Henry?”
“Aye. When the impossible and the unlikely are all discarded, the felon will appear.”
“Well,” Kate said while munching thoughtfully upon the remains of her maslin loaf, “I think you can discard already thoughts of Lady Anne in collusion with her squire.”
“Why so? Not that I believe you to be mistaken. I have my own doubts, but I would hear yours.”
“The lass would not be so foolish as to return stolen silver in a cloth which could be identified with another used at the slaying of her father.”
“I agree. But perhaps she is weak-minded.”
“Have you seen sign of this?”
“Nay.”
“She does not behave oddly at table, or scratch herself when and where she itches, or speak foolishness out of turn?”
“Nay,” I replied.
“Then you must assume Lady Anne wise enough that she would not offer evidence of her guilt so carelessly.”
“I agree, but I have no other direction for suspicion.”
“Women can be as wrathful as men,” Kate said.
“I suppose, although their temper does not usually result in the use of daggers and swords, or bodkins, either, I think. I am confused. Do you now say that Lady Anne might have slain her father in a fit of anger?”
“Nay. A resentful woman will seek to destroy her enemy with her wiles rather than blades. Being the weaker sex, she must use her wits for lack of brawn.”
“So if Lady Anne is not stupid, you say she may be shrewd… enough so to devise ways to throw me and Sir Roger off her trail? But what I have learned points to her. How can that be shrewd?”
“There is another woman involved,” Kate said. “Do Lady Margery and Lady Anne seem friendly?”
“Ah, I see your point. They cast no daggers with their eyes when at Lord Gilbert’s table, but Lady Anne is Sir Henry’s heir by his first wife, Lady Goscelyna. If Lady Anne went to the scaffold for her father’s murder Lady Margery would not have to share the estate, such as it is.”
“Such as it is? What do you mean?”
“Sir Henry went to his grave in debt. His valet is unsure if his possessions are of greater worth than his debts.”
“So he was not likely slain for an inheritance.”
“Nay. Lady Margery and Lady Anne would know there would be little profit to balance against the risk of discovery. A wife who slays her husband is considered guilty of treason against him, and likewise a daughter, I believe.”
Kate shuddered. “They would be hanged, drawn and quartered?”
“That is a punishment reserved for men… but hanged, surely.”