‘Not for long,’ Corbett replied cheerily. ‘Elizabeth Buchan was now alone but unconcerned. She believed that Margaret had fled, probably with the help of someone in Godstow. However, the days passed, weeks came and went. She received no message, no news of her friend. Then the situation turned ugly. Margaret’s kinsfolk were concerned. The king was petitioned and Ranulf Atte-Newgate arrived here. Elizabeth now realised that something dreadful had befallen her friend. She recalled Margaret’s remarks. She did not know who to trust, so she approached you with her anxieties. You must understand, Lady Joan, how difficult it is for anyone to imagine that you of all people are a murdering bitch, your hands stained with the blood of innocents.’ He shook his head as she made to protest. ‘Once again you spun your web and drew an unsuspecting victim into its treacherous tendrils. I cannot say what Elizabeth Buchan knew. Perhaps you showed her the passageway to gain her confidence and she too went down it to her death. I don’t know whether she struggled or not, but her end was swift. A crossbow bolt through her forehead. But then,’ Corbett clicked his tongue, ‘something happened that you and your murderous paramour had not planned for.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You enticed Elizabeth Buchan down there and killed her, intending to take her corpse and bury it as you did Margaret Beaumont’s further down the tunnel, perhaps where it debouched into the woods beyond the walls. Now it may just have been that the tunnel is ancient, or maybe it was an act of God, but that part of it that stretches on from the centre of the maze and out under the walls of the nunnery abruptly collapsed.’ He paused. ‘Oh yes, that’s what I have been told. It is very easy to establish, since the fallen earth has still not hardened. On the night Elizabeth Buchan died, you were left with a choice. Either you could take the corpse back out through the secret entrance somewhere in the nunnery. However, that would be highly dangerous, as it would be to take it through the maze, so you decided to leave her above ground, as if she had wandered there and been raped then killed. Elizabeth Buchan was not ravished when she was alive; her corpse was abused after death to make it look as if she had been. One of Ranulf’s quarrels was used to kill her.’
‘The crossbow was also his.’ Lady Joan sighed and swiftly looked away as she realised the trap she had blundered into.
‘How do you know that? Who told you,’ Corbett pressed the point, ‘that Elizabeth had been given Ranulf’s crossbow? How could you know that unless you met her carrying it and managed to take it off her? You used it to muddy the waters to create a mystery. Ranulf Atte-Newgate might take the blame, certainly for Elizabeth’s death, and neither murder could be placed at your door. However, it’s time I saw to something. You must wait here.’
Ignoring the abbess’s protests, he rose, went to the door and summoned two of the sheriff’s men.
‘Watch her,’ he warned, ‘as hawks would a coney.’
He left the Magdalena chamber. He’d hardly gone far when a breathless Ranulf called his name and hurried up.
‘Sir Hugh, we have found the entrance.’
‘In the lady abbess’s quarters?’
‘No. In the sacristy of the church, beneath one of the aumbries.’
‘I wonder …’ Corbett gasped. ‘Yes, Margaret Beaumont was stealing those albs when she saw the abbess and her lover not only meet in loving embrace but open the secret passageway. She may well have been hiding in the sacristy at the time. Yes, that would be logical.’
‘Master, what is all this?’
Corbett swiftly summarised his indictment. Ranulf listened in astonishment.
‘The great high-born Lady Joan,’ he exclaimed, ‘nothing better than a priest’s whore!’
‘Both will be trapped by deceit,’ Corbett replied. ‘We must now close the trap and seal it. I have left the lady abbess with her thoughts. Now it’s time for Chaplain Norbert.’
They found the priest sitting in his well-furnished, lavishly decorated chamber. All arrogance and hauteur had drained from him. Corbett immediately decided he was the weaker of the two and crouched down beside him.
‘She has confessed,’ he said softly. ‘Listen to what I put to her.’ He then presented his case against the abbess, including details about the entrance to the secret passageway beneath the sacristy. He described how Margaret Beaumont had hidden there and discovered not only his illicit affair with the abbess but where they conducted their lovemaking, hidden from all eyes except God’s.
‘You also used that secret passageway to attack myself and others as we left the maze,’ he continued. ‘You cut the cord and laid an ambush. Easy enough. I suspect you know that labyrinth like the back of your hand. Afterwards, you raced back to the bower and the secret passageway out. You made a mistake, however: you weren’t hunting Vicomte but me. You then made a second mistake. You hastily loosed a second bolt and injured your fingers; that’s why you were wearing those doe-skinned gloves when I met you in the sacristy. You claimed you were wearing them because you had been in the chantry chapels examining missals and psalters with dried, cracked parchment pages, but that was a lie. When I walked up the nave of the church, I saw no one, I heard no one, nor did Ranulf. Moreover, darkness had fallen. Why carry out such a task when the light was so poor? You would have to light many candles, and I didn’t see any …’
The priest sat, head down.
‘I will hand you over to Ranulf,’ Corbett whispered. ‘Vicomte was his friend, his comrade. He will put you to the question. Some of the sheriff’s men will pinion you to the ground. Ranulf will fasten a leather funnel over your face and pour water in, one jug after another, so you think you are drowning. Of course, as I said, your paramour has already confessed. You should do likewise.’ He got to his feet and walked to stare out of the window, as if absorbed by the small enclosed rose garden.
‘I plead benefit of clergy,’ the chaplain declared hoarsely.
Corbett closed his eyes and smiled in satisfaction. ‘I will ensure that is the case,’ he replied over his shoulder. ‘You will not be tried by the secular courts.’
‘It was not my fault. She was mistress in all matters,’ the chaplain sobbed. ‘She told me how dangerous you were, Sir Hugh. How you had to be stopped. She murdered both women. She tricked them into believing our relationship was one of courtly romance, of playing cat’s cradle in Rosamund’s bower. She told them she would show them everything. She promised that each of them would be favoured. She persuaded them of her benevolence. Buchan even handed over the arbalest, but then she panicked and wanted it back.’
‘Where was this?’
‘In the tunnel beneath Rosamund’s bower. Lady Joan had taken her there to wait for me. Anyway, a struggle ensued. The abbess broke free and loosed the bolt, killing her immediately. We intended to take her corpse further down the tunnel, which ends beneath a rocky outcrop deep in the woods.’ The chaplain wetted his lips. ‘Perhaps it was the struggle, the movement, but there was a crack and the tunnel just collapsed.’
‘You had taken Beaumont through there?’
‘Yes, the abbess cracked her skull. We buried her in a pit.’
‘God’s judgement,’ Corbett murmured. ‘I suggest that when you buried Beaumont, you disturbed that tunnel. The situation was worsened by the struggle and murder of your second victim. The soil and earth gave way as the struts and timbers cracked, and of course, you daren’t bury Buchan there. The tunnel is ancient; further disturbance could mean more falls, so you brought the corpse up.’
‘Yes, yes we did.’ The chaplain’s voice faltered. ‘The lady abbess told me to abuse the body. I …’
Corbett stared at this corrupt young man. He curbed his anger; his task was to obtain confessions. Punishment would be left to others. He patted the chaplain on the shoulder and pointed to the chancery desk.
‘I want a full confession. Sit there and write it. Ranulf will stay with you until it is done.’ The chaplain, now sobbing, nodded his agreement.