‘Nell, sit down!’ Isolda commanded. ‘And stop fiddling with that thing around your neck. It’s so delicate that you’ll break it, if you’re not careful. Draw up a stool, Master Chapman, and ask us what you want to know.’
I did so reluctantly, as Eleanor Babcary, with equal reluctance, resumed her seat by the fire, but perched on the very edge, as though ready for instant flight. I could see the pendant clearly now, a fragile circle of gold holding a true lover’s knot set with tiny sapphires.
‘That’s very beautiful,’ I said.
‘It was a present from all of us on her seventeenth birthday, last October,’ Isolda told me. ‘My father made it, but we all had a hand in it somewhere. Even I was allowed to help in a very small way, although my big hands are so clumsy that Gideon was doubtful about letting me anywhere near it. He-’ She broke off, staring in dismay at her young cousin’s trembling underlip. ‘Nell! Dearest! What’s the matter? What have I said to upset you?’
She had half risen from her chair and would have gone to Eleanor, but the younger woman was already on her feet.
‘It’s nothing! Nothing!’ she protested, in a voice choked with sobs. Then she fled from the room, and we heard the patter of her feet as she ran upstairs, followed by the slam of her bedchamber door.
Isolda slowly sank back into her seat. ‘Now what on earth’s got into Nell?’ she wondered.
Eleven
There was a moment’s reflective silence while Isolda Bonifant and I were busy, each with our own thoughts. I had no clue to my companion’s, for her face gave nothing away but, for my part, I was wondering what had been said to provoke such a violent reaction on the part of the younger woman. Had it been the mention of Gideon? Had Eleanor Babcary been fonder of her cousin’s husband than she had a right to be? Or was it simply that the manner of his death had distressed an impressionable young girl to such a degree that any allusion to him upset her? But the answer, of course, was not apparent and would have to wait until I knew more about her.
I decided to make no mention of the incident. There was no point in wasting my time listening to Isolda’s lies and prevarications.
‘Mistress Bonifant,’ I said, leaning across and reclaiming her attention with a gentle tap on the arm, ‘your father has made me free of his recollections concerning the evening of your husband’s death. Will you now give me yours?’
She had jumped at my touch, startled out of her reverie, blinking at me for a second or two as though uncertain where she was.
‘Master Chapman! I’m sorry, I was daydreaming. Firelight sometimes has that effect on me.’ She drew a deep breath and smiled bravely. ‘Please forgive me. What is it that you want to know?’
‘Will you tell me what you remember about the evening Master Bonifant died?’
‘Very well,’ she agreed after a slight hesitation. ‘What exactly has my father told you?’
‘I’d rather hear your version of events first, if you please, independently of his.’
She sighed and looked down at her hands, which were clasped loosely together in her lap. Absent-mindedly, she began to twist her wedding band round and round on her finger.
‘It was Mistress Perle’s birthday,’ she began at last, ‘which is also her saint’s day — December the fourth, the feast of Saint Barbara. My father had asked her to celebrate the occasion here, with all of us, and I think she would have agreed at once but for the fact that she wanted her friends and neighbours, Gregory and Ginèvre Napier, to be of the party.’ The heavy lids were suddenly raised and the cool blue eyes looked directly into mine. ‘Perhaps you may have realised for yourself, since your talk with my father, that he is hoping to make Mistress Perle his wife.’
‘Master Babcary admitted as much. He also told me that, if such an event took place, he intended to buy the Widow Perle’s present home in Paternoster Row for you and your husband to live in. He believed you both to be happy with such an arrangement. Indeed, he implied that you, in particular, were more than happy, that it was your wish to have an establishment of your own.’
Isolda cradled her chin in one hand, supporting her elbow with the other.
‘I shouldn’t have objected,’ she agreed after a moment’s contemplation of the fire. ‘That is to say,’ she added honestly, ‘I couldn’t possibly have remained here if Father had married again.’ Once more she raised her eyes to mine. ‘I’ve been mistress of this house too long — ever since the age of sixteen or thereabouts — and I couldn’t share the management of it with another woman.’
My curiosity got the better of me. ‘What would you do if Master Babcary and Mistress Perle were to be married sometime in the future?’
Isolda smiled serenely. ‘I should hold my father to his promise and remove to Paternoster Row, taking poor little Meggie with me. She’d never suit Mistress Perle’s notion of a kitchen maid, and, in any case, Barbara would undoubtedly bring her own highly competent servants with her. And I should ask Nell to live with me — that is, until she gets married. Which she undoubtedly will, because she’s so beautiful.’
‘Does she not care for Mistress Perle, either?’
My companion threw back her head and gave a hearty, full-throated chuckle.
‘Nell likes everyone,’ she said, dropping her hands back into her lap. ‘But you’re quite right with your “either”, Master Chapman. I’m not enamoured of my father’s choice of bride. Did I make it that apparent?’
I shifted uncomfortably on my stool. ‘Well-’ I was beginning awkwardly, but Isolda cut me short.
‘You mustn’t worry about it,’ she assured me. ‘People are always telling me that I’m not good at concealing my feelings. But please don’t mistake me. I know nothing against Barbara Perle. The truth is that I’m piqued because I never thought my father would consider marrying for a second time. Now, what else did you wish to ask me?’
‘Well, I know from Master Babcary that Mistress Perle finally agreed to his suggestion that she celebrate her birthday here, on condition that she could bring her friends, Gregory and Ginèvre Napier with her. . Your father doesn’t care for the Napiers, particularly the lady, does he?’
‘No, indeed! If, that is, one can call her a lady!’ Isolda gave me a sidelong, somewhat shamefaced grin. ‘Now I’m being catty, Master Chapman. But you must make up your own mind when you see her. As you say, Barbara won the argument, and consented to my father’s proposal.’
‘The three guests arrived, or so I understand from Master Babcary, sometime around four o’clock, after the shop was barred and shuttered for the night. Prior to that, the merchandise had been removed from the windows and locked away, and then everyone but you retired to change into their Sunday clothes. Where were you, Mistress Bonifant?’ I enquired with an assumed ignorance.
‘I was still in the kitchen,’ was the somewhat tart reply, ‘cooking the food. My father had insisted that we have all Barbara’s favourite dishes and, as there are quite a goodly number of them, I had spent most of the day there. Meg was helping me, but her assistance is often more of a hindrance than otherwise.’
‘And, earlier, you had come upstairs to this room to lay the table. You had unlocked that cupboard over there and put out the special family goblets, each with its identifying set of initials worked into the gold around the rim. And you had filled them with wine.’
She did not respond immediately, and I began to wonder if she were going to answer at all. For a while, the only sounds to be heard were the crackling of logs on the fire and the rustle of the wall tapestries as they billowed in a sudden draught. From below, Master Babcary’s voice was raised, calling for Meg Spendlove, but after that all was quiet again until Isolda suddenly swivelled in her chair to face me.