‘Oh, it wouldn’t affect everyone who ate it,’ my hostess replied with confidence. ‘First, you have to make a pact with the Devil.’
‘I’ve never heard that before,’ I said, but found myself shivering, none the less, and hurriedly crossed myself to ward off evil. ‘And you think that’s what Beric Gifford has done? But why? Why didn’t he simply run away, to France or Brittany? Or go north, to Scotland?’
‘And become a penniless fugitive, having to shift for himself?’ Anne Fettiplace was scornful. ‘By staying here, by being able to make himself invisible at will, he can remain close to his home, to his doting sister and her newly inherited fortune and, most importantly, close to Katherine Glover.’
‘And for such a reward, you think he’d sell his soul?’
‘I think,’ my companion answered solemnly, ‘that Beric Gifford would do anything that that young woman told him to do. She has him in thrall.’
‘You mean Mistress Glover?’
‘I do indeed! He’s a handsome lad and had girls in plenty before his sister was seized by the fancy to take that fisher-girl into her employ as lady’s maid. Lady’s maid! I ask you! But as soon as Beric set eyes on Katherine, or so I’ve been told, no one else existed for him. It’s my belief she cast a spell on him, for the boy’s besotted and that’s a fact, as anyone around here who’s seen them together can testify. One arm always draped about her neck and barely able to keep from fondling her, even in public.’
I pushed away my empty plate and swallowed the dregs of my ale. ‘You said that he would do anything she asked of him. Are you suggesting, Mistress, that it was Katherine Glover who wanted Oliver Capstick dead, and that Beric Gifford was simply her instrument?’
Anne Fettiplace shrugged her ample shoulders. ‘I think it possible. She may come of humble stock, but she’s as proud as a peacock and thinks herself as good as the Queen, I dare say. She’d have been beside herself with rage when she learnt that Master Capstick thought her not good enough for his great-nephew. And according to my sister Trenowth, the old man spoke his mind in no uncertain terms, all of which I’m sure Beric would have reported to her.’
Here was a fresh view of the reason for the killing, one that I had not previously considered. And it might explain why Beric, having thought better of murdering his great-uncle one day, had returned the next in order to finish the job. So when my hostess had refilled my beaker and resumed her seat, I asked, ‘What do you think happened after Beric returned to Valletort Manor on that last day of April?’
Mistress Fettiplace pursed her lips and gave the matter serious consideration. Then she nodded two or three times to herself and took a deep breath.
‘I believe that when he returned home, he told Katherine and his sister all that had passed between him and Master Capstick; told them that his great-uncle wanted — or, rather, according to Mathilda, demanded — that he marry the granddaughter of some old friend of his, who had recently come back to Plymouth after years away; told them what he had said in reply, what the old man had answered and how, after that, there had very nearly been murder done.’
‘And then?’ I prompted.
‘And then,’ Mistress Fettiplace continued in a low and thrilling voice, her eyes widening in enjoyable alarm, ‘Katherine Glover was so angry with old Master Capstick for insulting her in such a fashion that she insisted he deserved to die. She told Beric that he must avenge her, that he must kill his uncle the very next day. And also,’ my hostess added in a far more practical tone, ‘if Master Capstick had indeed carried out his threat to alter his will, Berenice would inherit his fortune without delay. They would all three of them be rich instead of having to pinch and scrape for every penny.’
‘But,’ I argued, ‘could Katherine Glover have been so certain that Berenice Gifford would be prepared to share her great-uncle’s money? Her future husband might, after all, have something to say to that.’
‘Oh, yes!’ Anne Fettiplace answered firmly. ‘I told you, Berenice has always doted on her brother. Although she’s only two years older than he, she has looked after him from the time that she could toddle. Without a mother, and with a father who was in his cups as often as he was sober, the two children were thrown into each other’s company more than was customary for brother and sister. Neither was ever sent away from home; and since the death of Cornelius Gifford, the bond of affection between them seems to have tied them even closer. There were whispers at one time that the strength of their affection was abnormal.’ She flushed slightly and went on, ‘You know what I mean. But I never took any notice of such talk. And since Berenice announced her betrothal to young Champernowne, and since Beric became a slave to Katherine Glover’s every wish and whim, the rumours have died a natural death,’ she finished triumphantly.
‘But surely,’ I cavilled, ‘if Berenice’s affection for her brother is as great as you say it is, then she would never have allowed him to put his life in jeopardy by killing their uncle. Reflect a moment! This was not a murder carried out secretly, but in the full light of day with everyone looking on. There’s little doubt in my mind that Beric’s likely to end his life dangling at the end of a rope.’
‘Not,’ Anne Fettiplace urged excitedly, ‘if he’s never caught! And if he can make himself invisible at will, why should that happen? As for why his sister would let him do it, the money must have been an almost irresistible temptation. Here was a chance for Berenice to inherit all Master Capstick’s wealth, and quickly.’
I was still unconvinced. ‘But if one or the other of them had managed to murder Master Capstick by stealth, then both would have inherited his money and maybe no one would ever have been the wiser.’
My hostess considered this argument. ‘Perhaps,’ she suggested at last, ‘Master Capstick had never said how he intended to leave his money until he told Beric that afternoon. The Giffords may have suspected they were his heirs, but did not know for certain.’ She regarded me with bright, birdlike eyes. ‘Don’t you think that’s possible?’
‘Anything is possible,’ I conceded with a sigh. ‘Nothing about this murder seems to me to make sense.’
‘That’s because you’re tired and in need of sleep,’ Mistress Fettiplace smiled, rising to her feet. ‘By your own telling, you’ve had precious little for the past three nights. First, trespassing,’ she went on, not without a note of disapproval creeping into her voice. ‘Then being a witness to Beric and Katherine Glover’s midnight meeting. And, finally, someone trying to kill you while you slept.’ She frowned. ‘You know, I find it hard to believe that Master Champernowne would order his groom to do such a thing. And why?’
I shrugged. ‘The why is easy enough. He doesn’t want me making enquiries, jogging people’s memories just at a time when the murder is beginning to fade from their minds. If Beric remains untaken, a year from now, perhaps less, it will be all but forgotten. That, I should guess, is Master Bartholomew’s reasoning. And however fond he is of Berenice Gifford, he would prefer not to marry a woman so closely connected in the public consciousness with the murder of her uncle.’ I got up from the table, stretching my cramped limbs. ‘I must admit, I should be glad of an early rest. Tomorrow, I intend making my way to Valletort Manor, if you can give me directions how to get there.’
‘Of course.’ My hostess indicated the narrow stairway that twisted its way to the upper storey. ‘My husband and son are both away from home at present, so you can use my son’s chamber without the inconvenience of having to share it with him. It’s the one facing you at the top of the stairs.’