‘Damning, isn’t it? Enough, probably, to have brought me to the stake but for my cousin’s intervention on my behalf with the King. Yet the fact is that I often filled our cups with wine — or ale, or water, or whatever else we were drinking — before we ate, because it meant that I could then top up the pitcher, so saving us from the annoyance of having to send down to the kitchen for more drink during a meal. And, in addition, on that particular evening, I wanted us all to pledge Mistress Perle’s health as soon as we were assembled.’
‘And afterwards, when you had finished laying the table, you returned to the kitchen?’ She nodded. ‘But when you eventually came upstairs again to change your gown, did you go straight to your bedchamber?’
‘No, I came in here for a last look round, just to make sure that I’d forgotten nothing. I knew how much the occasion meant to my father.’
‘And did you encounter anyone else while you were doing this?’
‘Yes, my father himself. He was coming out of his room just as I was leaving this one. His bedchamber, as you probably know, is next door, so we passed one another on the landing. I told him that everything was ready and he grunted. He was in a hurry to get downstairs. I think he said that the guests had just arrived.’
So far, her story tallied in most essentials with that of Master Babcary. Either they were both speaking the truth, or they were in collusion, and adept at telling lies.
I asked abruptly, ‘What did your husband think of your father’s intention to remarry?’
She seemed somewhat put out by this change of direction, but gave the impression of answering as openly and as honestly as she could.
‘Gideon was a little — what can I say? — a little worried by the idea at first. But when my father explained to him that I should in no way be the loser by the marriage — that although he would have to make provision for his wife, the shop and all its contents would still be left to me — my husband grew more reconciled to the match.’ She added hastily, ‘You must understand that Gideon was only concerned with protecting my interests.’
I assured her that I did. And she might well have been right: I was in no position, just then, to judge the truth of her assertion, even though I might doubt it.
‘How did Master Bonifant get on with the rest of the household?’ I asked, startling her once again and making her uneasy.
‘He — he got on well enough, why do you ask?’ And when I refrained from answering, she added defensively, ‘Gideon was a very reserved man, who only made friends with difficulty. Even after five and a half years of marriage, I can’t pretend that I ever really knew what he was thinking. Nevertheless, he was a kind husband: considerate, f-faithful.’ She stumbled slightly over the final word.
I pretended not to notice. ‘What about your cousins?’ I queried. ‘Was Master Bonifant fond of them? Were they fond of him?’
There was another infinitesimal pause before Isolda could bring herself to reply.
‘The three of them rubbed along together, but I don’t know that there was any deep affection on either side.’ She scratched one cheek consideringly. ‘You have to remember that when Gideon came to live here, after our marriage, Kit wasn’t quite fourteen years of age, while Nell was only eleven. They were children in the eyes of a man of thirty-four, and so they have remained ever since.’
I thought that while this might well be true on Gideon’s side, Eleanor Babcary, whose flower-like innocence made her appear a lot younger than her years, was now a young woman of seventeen and, after her outburst just now, I couldn’t help wondering yet again what her feelings had been towards her cousin’s husband.
‘What about the young apprentice?’ I asked. ‘Tobias, isn’t that his name? And your maid, Meg Spendlove, how did Master Bonifant get along with them?’
‘Oh, come now!’ Isolda was incredulous. ‘You can’t possibly imagine that either of those two had anything to do with Gideon’s death!’
‘I rule no one out who was in the house that evening. Someone killed your husband, Mistress Bonifant and, if, as you claim, it wasn’t you-’ I broke off, shrugging.
She looked unhappy and began to fidget with the leather girdle that encircled her waist. It was fully a minute before she answered, and I had time to wonder what her response would be. Eventually, she gave herself a little shake and sat up straighter in her chair.
‘So be it,’ she sighed. ‘I didn’t murder my husband, Master Chapman, however black things might look against me, so I’ll tell you what you want to know.’
‘To be honest with you,’ I said, ‘your father has already informed me that Master Bonifant found Meg’s slatternly ways difficult to tolerate, and that you and he had had differences of opinion on the subject.’
My companion seemed vexed, but admitted reluctantly, ‘Father’s right. Gideon was extremely neat and orderly in all his ways. A girl like Meg was bound to irritate him, and he couldn’t understand why I didn’t dismiss her and employ someone more efficient.’
‘Why didn’t you?’ I queried.
Isolda was indignant. ‘Meg has been with us since we took her from the Foundling Hospital when she was ten years old. And if you had seen her then, you’d know how happy and well fed she is now, in spite of her appearance. I could no more turn Meggie into the street to fend for herslf than I could Eleanor.’ She looked away from me, staring once again into the heart of the fire, and added in a low voice, ‘I know what it is to be plain and unattractive.’
I was at a disadvantage. If I refuted her statement, my protests would ring hollow, and the more I tried to convince her of their sincerity, the less I would be believed. It was better, I decided, to say nothing on the subject.
Instead, I asked hurriedly, ‘Do you know if Master Bonifant had had cause to take Meg to task shortly before he died?’
Her head turned sharply in my direction, and I could see the answer in her face.
‘Who told you?’ she demanded accusingly. ‘Was it Father?’
‘No, nobody told me. I merely drew a bow at a venture.’ And the arrow, I added to myself, has found its mark.
Isolda tapped one of her feet angrily, annoyed with herself for falling into the trap.
‘Yes,’ she conceded at last. ‘There had been an unpleasant scene between my husband and Meg some few weeks before the murder.’
‘What was it about?’ I prompted when she seemed disinclined to continue.
My companion slumped back in her chair as though suddenly very tired.
‘It was the occasion of Nell’s last birthday feast,’ she said wearily, ‘on the thirty-first of October, All Hallows’ Eve. I wasn’t very well that day, and had left the setting of the supper table to Meg while I lay down upon my bed. Woman’s trouble,’ she added, looking me straight in the eyes before I could embarrass her by asking a tactless question. ‘I had given her the key of the corner cupboard and told her to be especially careful when putting out the gold and crystal goblets. (I have discovered over the years that if you trust Meg to do something, she will give of her best. What she resents most is being treated as though she’s a fool.)
‘I had gone over with her again and again where everybody sat, so that each person would get his or her own goblet. But, unfortunately, Meg still managed to make a mistake, although, as I insisted at the time, she could be forgiven for it. She had mixed up Gideon’s and Christopher’s goblets, but the initials G.B. and C.B. are very alike, especially with all that carved foliage surrounding them.’
‘But Master Bonifant was angry with her?’
Isolda frowned. ‘He was excessively angry for a man who normally showed his displeasure merely by folding his lips together and walking out of the room. He ranted and raved, saying the most appalling things to poor little Meg, just as though all the frustration of years had suddenly burst into the open. I can remember Father and Nell and Kit, and even Toby Maybury, staring open-mouthed, as though they couldn’t believe their ears; as though Gideon had suddenly taken leave of his senses. Of course, after a few minutes, when he saw how everyone was looking at him, he took himself in hand, calmed down and apologised to Meggie.’