“Must have. Filled an ewer for me, an’ I took it to Lady Margery.”
“I shall ask him. If he saw you leave with the ewer you will be blameless. There is another matter I wish to speak to you about, as you are here.”
I saw relief wash across the woman’s face as I spoke. But the worried expression returned with my next question.
“There is gossip about the castle that Lady Margery does not grieve overmuch for Sir Henry’s death. What say you?”
The lass did not soon reply, but cast her eyes about the chamber as if seeking some escape. I waited.
“M’lady wept when she heard of Sir Henry found dead.”
“As might be, but tears may sometimes be false. When she is alone in her chamber, with only you and other of her servants, what does she say? What does she do?”
“Why do you ask this of me?”
“Because I am Lord Gilbert’s bailiff, and ’tis my task to discover who murdered Sir Henry whilst he slept under Lord Gilbert’s roof.”
“M’lady believes your potion ended his life.”
“She no longer does, and perhaps never did. She and Sir Henry quarreled, I am told.”
Isobel was again silent, unwilling to report things which a good servant must keep concealed. Again I waited, ’til the silence in the chamber became uncomfortable. For Isobel, not for me. After some time, when I did not speak, she did.
“Most wedded folk quarrel upon a time.”
“What were these quarrels about?”
Another period of silence followed. “Money, mostly,” Isobel finally said.
“I’ve heard that Lady Margery wished herself free of Sir Henry.”
Isobel’s eyes grew wide and she sat upright upon the bench, as if I’d thrust a pin between her shoulders.
“She’d not slay him,” the maid said.
“I did not say I suspect her of doing so,” I replied.
“But… you said…”
“When a woman wishes to be free of her husband it often means she desires another. Who would Lady Margery have preferred to Sir Henry? What does the gossip say?”
Isobel was again silent, and this time my patience was not rewarded, for although I waited quietly for the maid to find her tongue she remained mute.
“Regarding Lord Gilbert’s silver,” I changed the subject. “Whoso did such a thing might hang.” I was silent for a moment, then continued. “Sir Roger may wish to speak to you further on the matter of the silver, you being the only person near the pantry, other than Lord Gilbert’s butler, at the time the silver may have gone missing.”
Isobel became pale again as the implication of my words sank in. But the woman was no fool. She quickly grasped the reason for my changing the subject back to stolen spoons and knives and desired to leave the topic forthwith.
“M’lady has said often what a fine figure of a man is Sir Geoffrey.”
“Do you and Lady Margery’s other servants agree?”
Isobel blushed. “Aye,” she agreed.
“Do Sir Geoffrey and Lady Margery seek each other in dalliance?”
The maid blushed again. “Not since Sir Henry was found dead.”
“But before, they were oft together?”
“Not often.”
“Sir Henry was in debt; did you know that?”
“Aye. M’lady spoke of it, an’ we who serve her haven’t had silk or even linen or wool for new gowns this past year and more.”
“Sir Geoffrey might have left Sir Henry’s service and attached himself to a more prosperous knight. Did lady Margery ever speak of him doing so?”
“Aye, both him and Sir John.”
“How long past did she speak of these things? Does she talk of it often?”
“Aye. Says what kind of knight has no retainers to serve him? Soon he’ll have no squires, nor pages, either.”
“Do Lady Margery and Lady Anne quarrel?”
Silence once again followed the question, which was answer enough. Isobel, I think, was considering how much she might say. Enough to satisfy my curiosity, perhaps, but no more.
“Not often. Sir Henry wed Lady Margery soon after Lady Goscelyna perished. Lady Anne thought it unseemly haste.”
“Not often, you say. What does that mean? Once each week? Once a fortnight? Every day?”
“Well, not quarrels, really. Disagreements, more likely.”
“So, then, how often did they disagree?”
Silence again, and when Isobel did finally speak she replied so softly I barely heard. “Near every day,” she said.
“What are these disagreements about?”
“Everything; gowns, how Lady Anne conducts herself, what man may be chosen as Lady Anne’s husband. If Lady Anne wished to light a fire in her chamber Lady Margery would tell her ’twas warm enough.”
Two of these subjects seemed ripe for controversy with little explanation necessary, but how a fire or Lady Anne’s conduct could cause dissention required some further comment. I asked.
“Lady Anne is comely, as you, being a man, well know,” Isobel replied. “She’s sometimes not so modest as might be expected of a lass of her station.”
“Leads men on, does she?”
“Doesn’t mean to, I don’t think. It’s just her way. But Lady Margery thinks so. And between you and me, Lady Margery’s not the beauty she once was. She resents Lady Anne, I think.”
“I have heard that Lady Anne is fond of one of Sir Henry’s squires. Is that another matter of contention between Lady Anne and Lady Margery?”
“Aye… but more like between Lady Anne and her father. Lady Margery only cared if Lady Anne was to wed a wealthy knight who could bring wealth to Sir Henry. She’d be pleased if Lady Anne did wed, and be gone. Of course, did she wed but a squire she’d have no place to go. Probably expect to stay under her father’s roof… except she’s got no father now, and so maybe no roof, either.”
“No roof? Why do you say so?”
“Lady Margery weeps. I hear her in the night. Sir Henry’s lands must be sold to satisfy his debts. What’s left, if anything, is to be divided between Lady Margery and Lady Anne. Won’t be much.”
“She weeps for her poverty more than for the loss of her husband?”
“Aye,” Isobel said softly. “What knight will wed a penniless widow? A comely face is no match for houses and lands, and Lady Margery will not have the last an’ is losing the first.”
“Has Lady Margery known of Sir Henry’s empty purse for long?”
“Nay, don’t think so. They were wed three years past. She’d inherited a house and business in Coventry from her first husband, but his will said was she to take another husband the house was to go to his younger brother.”
“Lady Margery’s father was a cordwainer, I have heard. What business did her husband pursue?”
“A grocer,” Isobel replied.
“She had no children of her first husband?”
“One. A lad. They was wed for little more than a year when plague returned an’ the babe perished, along with her husband.”
CHAPTER 8
It was well that I was nearly finished with the interview, for in the distance I heard agitated voices. Isobel looked up to me as if she expected me to explain the shouting, but the clamor was too far away to be understood.
Any such uproar within Bampton Castle walls is likely to be my business, as a bailiff’s duty is to keep the peace upon his lord’s manor. I dismissed Isobel and hastened through the echoing hall to the heavy door which opened from hall to castle yard. When I pushed it open I heard more clearly the tumult coming from near the marshalsea.
The din increased as I approached, and not simply because I drew near to the scene of the disorder. When I rounded the corner of the marshalsea I saw a crowd of castle folk gathered about some event which caused their animated attention. From the opposite side of the castle yard I saw Lord Gilbert and Sir Roger appear at the top of the stairs which led from the yard to the solar and Lord Gilbert’s private chambers. I saw my employer scowl and hasten down the steps. Soon his voice was added to the uproar.
Lord Gilbert and I approached the shouting crowd from opposite sides. I had at the time no sense of what had caused this noisy mob, but Lord Gilbert had looked down upon the throng from an elevated position at the head of the stairs and so knew the source of the tumult. Two men fought, their daggers unsheathed, the blades glinting in the afternoon sun.