There was the chink of metal against metal as Isolda slipped the key from the ring attached to her girdle; then, having come back into the room and again shut the door, Miles proceeded to unlock the fretted panels of the corner cupboard, behind which could be seen the gleam of gold and silver. He stooped to one of the lower shelves and, when he stood upright once more, he was holding a crystal goblet with a silver foot and stem and a carved golden rim, very like the one from which I had drunk at Crosby Place. He carried it over to the fire and handed it to me.
‘This is mine,’ he said, resuming his seat. ‘If you look carefully, you will see amongst the chasing around the lip my initials, M.B.’
Turning it slowly and reverently between my hands, watching as the flames from the fire struck myriad rainbow-hued sparks from the crystal bowl, while a hundred reflected lights burned deep in the heart of the golden rim, I saw amidst the carved bunches of grapes, gambolling nymphs and trailing swags of vine leaves the intertwined initials M and B, just as my host had claimed.
‘I see them,’ I said. ‘Master Babcary, this is as beautiful a piece of craftsmanship as I have ever beheld.’
A faint flush of pleasure mantled his cheeks, although he must have been used to such praise, and from far greater connoisseurs of the goldsmith’s art than I was.
‘It’s one of six,’ he told me. ‘And I hope that one day it will be one of seven.’ He went on, by way of explanation, ‘When I was first married, I embellished two goblets as a wedding gift for my wife; one with her initials carved into the rim, the other with mine. Then, when Isolda was born, I decorated another such goblet for her as a christening present. When my nephew and niece were orphaned and came to live with me, I did two more, and, finally, the following year, one for my son-in-law. Susannah’s I have put away at the back of the cupboard and no one uses it now, but I am hoping to replace it soon with one bearing the initials B.B. For Barbara Babcary,’ he added, in case I was in any doubt as to his meaning.
‘And each member of the household uses his or her own goblet,’ I murmured.
‘Not every day! They are not for everyday use,’ he reproved me. ‘They are taken out only on special occasions.’
‘And Mistress Perle’s birthday was just such an occasion,’ I suggested.
‘Of course! The five goblets were set out on the table along with others that I keep for guests.’
‘I understand. Pray continue,’ I urged.
‘After the shop was closed for the night, and all the merchandise removed from windows and locked away, we retired to our bedchambers to change into our Sunday clothes before the guests arrived; all, that is, except my daughter, who was still downstairs in the kitchen, helping Meg prepare the food. It. . it was very unfortunate that this should have been so, but you’ve seen Meg Spendlove, Master Chapman, and can probably guess that she is not the most reliable of servants. But Isolda won’t hear of turning her out, and says it’s not important that Meg is simple because she — Isolda — prefers to keep an eye on everything herself.’ He sighed. ‘And that is true. My daughter is a most efficient housekeeper.’
‘You say you all retired to your bedchambers. Where are these rooms situated, sir?’
My host bent down and threw another log on the fire. Some resin caught alight and flared up in a bright blue flame.
‘My chamber is on this floor, next to the room we are now sitting in. Isolda’s room — and Gideon’s room as it also was then, of course — is on the next floor at the front of the house, immediately overhead, while my niece, Eleanor, sleeps in the bedchamber behind it, above mine. Finally, the two rooms on the third floor, beneath the eaves, are occupied by my nephew at the front and Tobias Maybury, my apprentice, in the little attic at the back. Meg has her own bed in a cupboard in the kitchen.’
‘And do you know at what time Mistress Bonifant eventually came upstairs to change her gown?’ I asked.
My companion’s mouth suddenly shut like a trap and he began drumming with his fingers against the arms of his chair. He looked distressed and uncomfortable, and, to my mind, was silently debating whether or not to lie.
I leant forward. ‘Master Babcary,’ I pleaded, ‘you must tell me the truth if you want my help in finding an answer to this mystery. Concealing what really happened won’t benefit either you or your daughter, and falsehoods may result in my pointing the finger of suspicion at an innocent person. I feel sure you wouldn’t want that.’
For a moment or two he made no answer, merely passing his tongue between his lips as if they needed moistening. At last, however, he said reluctantly, ‘I heard Isolda come upstairs just as our guests knocked at the outer door. She must have come in here to check that all was well, because as I quit my room she left this one. We passed each other, she going towards the upper flight of stairs as I was going towards the lower.’
‘Did she say anything?’ I asked.
Again there was that hesitation while he once more considered the advisability of a good round lie. But he decided, sensibly, against it.
‘Isolda told me that everything was ready, that the table was set and that she had poured wine into the goblets so that we could drink Mistress Perle’s health as soon as we were all assembled. She said that there was only the food to bring up from the kitchen, and she would help Meg with that whenever we decided to sit down to eat, but she thought I might want to give Barbara her birthday present first.’
‘Did you make any answer?’
Master Babcary lifted suspicious eyes to mine, patently uneasy that I had made no comment on the information I had just been given.
‘I think I agreed with her, then went downstairs to the shop to let in our guests.’
‘Did you meet anyone coming up?’
Master Babcary shook his head. ‘No, I told you that with the exception of Isolda, everyone had already retired to his or her room to change into Sunday clothes.’
‘Not everyone,’ I pointed out. ‘Meg Spendlove was still below.’
‘Oh, Meg! Meg doesn’t count, surely! What reason would she have to murder Gideon? Besides, as I said, her bed is in the kitchen. She’d have no reason to go upstairs until the food was called for.’
‘In a case of murder,’ I retorted, ‘I’ve found it wise to discount no one. Meg might have had some cause to dislike your son-in-law, hate him even, that the rest of you know nothing about.’
My companion shrugged and got up to light the candles in a branched candlestick of latten tin that stood in the middle of the table. The January day was growing dark outside, with rain now drumming steadily against the window panes. ‘Oh, as to that,’ he replied, resuming his seat and drawing it a little closer to the fire, ‘I can tell you that there was no love lost between them. Gideon was a man who put great store by good order and hard work. Now, Meg is hard-working enough, and more than willing to do her fair share of domestic chores if supervised and treated kindly, but she tends to be untidy and careless if left to her own devices. Her slatternly ways irritated my son-in-law, sometimes beyond endurance, and he could never understand Isolda’s tolerance in the matter. There were disagreements between them on the subject. I won’t call them quarrels, because Gideon was a difficult man to quarrel with, simply folding his lips and walking away when any one of us did something that angered him.’
‘And had there been any unpleasantness between him and Meg in the days before the murder?’ I asked.
My host frowned. ‘I don’t think so; nothing, at least, that I can recollect. But then, I have so many calls upon my time,’ he added self-importantly, ‘that I probably wouldn’t remember. You must quiz the women about that sort of thing. Those events loom larger in their lives than they do in men’s.’
‘But was there any chance,’ I persisted, ‘that while you were welcoming your guests and letting them into the shop Meg could have crept upstairs and put poison in your son-in-law’s wine? For I am assuming that that was what happened, that the monkshood was put into Gideon’s cup as it stood, unattended, on this table.’