‘What time do you expect the Queen, Richard?’ asked Bartholomew as they passed through the gate. The watchman wore his Sunday best, and had shaved for the occasion.
‘Probably this afternoon,’ replied Richard, his eyes bright with excitement. ‘She will want to be here well before the ceremony, so she can change into finery that reflects the importance of the occasion. Her coronation robes, perhaps. They would be suitable.’
‘What if she is late?’
‘Heselbech will wait until she is ready.’
‘That will not please the town,’ warned Michael. ‘Indeed, it is asking for trouble.’
Richard smiled. ‘They will not mind delaying for her. She is the Queen.’
‘Yes, but she will stay in the castle,’ Michael pointed out. ‘Not in the town. Ergo, you may find they are less accommodating than you expect.’
Richard frowned his concern, and they left him pondering the matter, for which Bartholomew was grateful. Complacency was the last thing they needed while Clare was in such turmoil.
The first person they met inside was Quintone, who had also dressed with care. He held himself with lofty dignity, clearly intending to make the most of the fact that he had been unjustly accused. He obeyed orders slowly, and brayed about claiming compensation for the suffering he had endured. A few servants nodded support, but most were unsettled by his defiance and contrived to keep their distance. Nuport watched him with a dark and brooding expression.
‘You court danger with this rash display of mutiny, Quintone,’ cautioned Michael. ‘It would be wiser to chalk it down to experience and forget about it.’
‘I was innocent and the Lady freed me,’ declared Quintone haughtily, then sneered in Nuport’s direction. ‘So he can sod off. He cannot touch me now, and nor can that stupid Lichet.’
‘Are you willing to bet your life on it?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Because that is effectively what you are doing with your imprudent swaggering.’
Quintone spat his disdain for the advice. ‘They dare not come anywhere near me! They will have to stay in Clare now that Albon cannot take them to France, but they will bully me no longer. I shall stand up to them, just like Master Marishal did yesterday. And I will win.’
Bartholomew was far from sure he would. ‘It is not–’
‘And while we are talking, let me take this opportunity to inform you that Bonde is the killer,’ announced Quintone with great confidence. ‘I was too frightened to mention it before, but my brush with death has made me a stronger, bolder man. Bonde is a lout, and I know it was him who killed Mistress Marishal and the scholar.’
‘You do?’ asked Michael warily. ‘How? What is your evidence?’
‘I do not have any – not as such. But talk to Katrina de Haliwell if you do not believe me. She will tell you what kind of man Bonde is, because she knows him better than any of us. She was all for taking him as a husband at one point, but then she changed her mind. Ask her why.’
‘You do it, Matt,’ ordered Michael, once the servant had strutted away. ‘I shall see what Ella and Thomas have to say, although I doubt either of us will learn much of value. Meet me here as soon as you have finished. And hurry – we do not have a moment to lose.’
Bartholomew was not averse to seeing Katrina again, although he was aware that time was of the essence. He hurried to the Oxford Tower, and began to climb the steps, taking them two at a time. He arrived to find Grisel contentedly chewing the head off a wooden soldier, while Blanche and Morel ripped a doll to shreds between them.
‘God save the Queen,’ muttered Grisel. ‘Hold the bring van down.’
‘I decided to do what you suggested and keep them amused,’ said Katrina, smiling delightedly. ‘It worked! There has not been a fight all morning. The Lady will have to give you the five marks she promised now, because you have cured them.’
‘Unfortunately, she is also concerned about the amount of expensive food they eat,’ said Bartholomew wryly. ‘And I have done nothing to reduce that. I imagine they will consume just as much wine, fruit, cakes and meat as they have always done.’
Amusement sparkled in Katrina’s eyes. ‘Perhaps they will. My charges have always had healthy appetites, and I would not see them go hungry.’
Bartholomew was reluctant to waste valuable time discussing what she did with the supplies she claimed from the kitchens, so he turned the subject to Bonde instead. ‘You said he was your chief suspect for the murders at one point, but you never did explain why. Will you tell me now?’
Katrina’s face darkened. ‘I would rather not.’
Bartholomew pressed on anyway. ‘Quintone mentioned that you considered marrying Bonde at one point, but then you thought better of it. Please tell me what you learned about him, Katrina. If you are right, and he did kill Margery, it may help us see that justice is served.’
Katrina raised her eyebrows. ‘I did not need to “learn” about Bonde, because I knew what kind of man he was the moment I set eyes on him. And I never – not once – entertained the notion of making him my husband. Quintone is wrong.’
‘So what kind of man is Bonde?’
Katrina’s face hardened. ‘He expects women to fall at his feet because he is a favourite of the Lady. When they resist his so-called charms, he forces them to give him what he wants.’
‘Did he force you?’
She smiled rather vengefully. ‘He came up here once to try, but he reckoned without Grisel, who bit off part of his nose – you may have noticed the scar.’ She stroked the paroquet fondly.
‘Nuts,’ said Grisel immediately, and Katrina obliged.
‘Did you tell the Lady?’
Katrina shook her head. ‘She will hear no bad word against Bonde, because he is useful to her – more so than his victims. And I like living here.’
Bartholomew was thoughtful. ‘Is he one of the reasons why Anne’s services were in such high demand? For Suzanne de Nekton, for example?’
Katrina met his gaze levelly. ‘Yes – he raped her. Then he slashed her face and threatened to kill her if she told anyone what he had done. That is why she did not want to bear that particular child, and why Anne agreed to relieve her of it.’
‘But Suzanne confided in you anyway? Or in Anne?’
‘She did not “confide” anything – the ordeal drove her out of her wits for several hours, during which she babbled uncontrollably. Stupid Bonde underestimated the impact his vicious assault would have on his victim.’
‘Then why was he not called to account for it?’
Katrina’s expression was bitter. ‘Because the Lady did not believe it of him. Thomas did, though. He cornered Bonde and issued a warning – not justice in the courts, but meted out quietly in the dark one night. Bonde has behaved since, but we all worry about what will happen when Thomas leaves.’
Bartholomew had difficulty seeing Thomas in the role of gallant protector, but supposed it explained why so many women seemed to like him. Moreover, Thomas – with Ella – claimed to have driven Suzanne’s unsympathetic father from Clare, so perhaps he had taken it upon himself to wreak revenge upon the people who had most hurt the girl.
‘Everyone thinks Suzanne was sent to a nunnery,’ he said reflectively. ‘But you told me that she is in “a place where she is safe from ruthless men” which is not quite the same. Where is she?’
‘I do not know what you are talking about,’ declared Katrina, holding his eyes in a way that made it obvious that she was lying.
‘The paroquets cannot possibly eat everything you take from the kitchens,’ he said patiently, ‘while you usually dine in the hall, so have no need for additional food. These baskets of meat, wine and fruit are for Suzanne – you are hiding her. So I repeat: where is she?’