‘What did you do?’
‘What could any of us do? Mistress Perle was almost fainting in horror, and I had to give her the better part of my attention. It was Mistress Napier, I think, who told her husband to go for the apothecary who lives in Gudrun Lane. She has a cool head on her shoulders, I’ll grant you that. Before he could leave the room, however, Isolda and Meg came in carrying the trays of food. It took them a moment or two to understand what was happening but, as soon as they did, Meg screamed and dropped her tray with an almighty crash, exactly as one would expect her to behave.’
‘And Isolda,’ I asked, ‘what did she do?’
There was a silence of several seconds, then Miles said slowly, ‘She just stood there, as though turned to stone, while Gideon raised his hand and pointed a finger at her, his eyes filled with horror and absolute terror. Then he pitched headlong across the table. By the time the apothecary was fetched, he was dead.’
A
log crackled, the flames leapt up the chimney and shadows were sent scurrying and curtseying across the tapestried walls. After a moment’s silence, I cleared my throat and asked the question that had been gnawing away at the back of my mind for the past half an hour or more.
‘Master Babcary, was there –
is
there – any good reason why your daughter should be suspected of murdering her husband? So far, you have painted the picture of a couple happily, or at least contentedly, married, even if that marriage was not a love match.’
‘Who says it was not a love match?’ My companion’s bottom lip jutted dangerously.
‘Are you claiming that it was?’ I demanded, meeting his attack with counter-attack, a strategy that I have frequently used to good effect.
The lip was withdrawn, indicating defeat. ‘Perhaps not,’ he conceded. ‘But they both liked each other well enough. It’s true that Gideon drove a hard bargain; an equal partnership in the shop, although he knew nothing of goldsmithing, and senior status to Christopher, who had been learning the trade for a full year before Gideon’s arrival in the house.’ Resentment coloured Miles’s tone and, as if suddenly aware of it, he made an effort to laugh off his son-in-law’s presumption. ‘Of course, there was nothing in that, when all’s said and done! He was Isolda’s husband, and would one day inherit the shop and everything in it in her name. It was only natural that he would have to learn what was what, and that he should expect to be more important to me than my nephew.’
Nevertheless, you did not like him the better for it, I thought to myself. Aloud, I asked, ‘Was your daughter happy that matters should be thus arranged?’
‘She wasn’t consulted,’ Miles replied simply. ‘Her assured inheritance of all that is mine was a part of her dowry, along with the sum of money I settled on her and Gideon at the time of their wedding. These are men’s concerns, not women’s. She was sufficiently content to be married at last, after years of being a maid.’ He tried to compose his features into an expression of acceptance for a situation that had plainly irked him. Miles had not cared for his son-in-law, I decided, however much he might have tried to persuade himself and the world otherwise.
‘You haven’t yet answered my question, sir,’ I reminded him, as a further squall of rain spattered against the windows.
‘Question? What question?’ Brooding upon Gideon’s shortcomings, he had forgotten what it was that I had asked him.
‘Was there any good reason why Mistress Bonifant should have been suspected of murdering her husband?’
Once again, the short-sighted, pale blue eyes looked into mine while their owner debated whether or not to tell me the truth.
‘There was none on her part,’ Miles answered at last. ‘Isolda’s affection for Gideon in the weeks and months leading up to the murder appeared to be what it had ever been, I’ll swear to that. And so will everyone else in the house.’ Or incur his undying displeasure was implicit in his tone, although the words remained unspoken.
‘In that case, what can you tell me about Master Bonifant? Did you have any reason to believe that his affection for your daughter had altered in any way? Did he ever give you any hint that all might not be well between them?’
Rain pattered down the chimney and hissed among the burning logs like a plague of snakes. The silence stretched, thin as a tautly drawn wire, but at last Master Babcary shrugged resignedly.
‘Gideon had told me some weeks, maybe a month or so, before the evening of his death that he suspected Isolda of cuckolding him with another man.’
I was betrayed into a gasp, hastily suppressed. ‘And did he happen to mention this other man’s name?’ I asked.
‘No, not directly, but he did tell me on a separate occasion that he had overheard Christopher boasting to his sister of being in love with an older woman, and that he – Christopher, that is – was almost certain that his love was requited.’
I thought about this. ‘You were not the only person in whom Master Bonifant confided his doubts about your daughter and nephew, obviously.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Miles’s tone was accusatory. ‘Have you been talking to other people before you came here?’
I shook my head. ‘Only to Mistress Shore, but you know about that. No, I’m judging by the fact that if you had been the sole recipient of Gideon’s confidence, his accusation would not have become generally known. You would have said nothing that would in any way have incriminated your daughter, and certainly not once your son-in-law had been murdered.’
‘Why should I? I had no idea if the slander were true or false,’ was the indignant rejoinder. ‘Would you expect me to repeat something detrimental about my own child for which I only had Gideon’s word?’
‘I’m not blaming you,’ I said hurriedly. ‘I have a daughter of my own, and whatever might be right in the eyes of God or the law, I know that I could never do anything that might harm her.’
‘Not even if you thought she had committed some great sin?’ Miles Babcary asked in a voice so low that I almost failed to hear him.
‘No, not even then,’ I admitted, ‘for that’s the nature of the tie between my child and me.’ He nodded to show that he understood, and I continued, ‘So who else did your son-in-law confide in?’
‘In Gregory Napier, the last person in the world I should ever have wished to be privy to my family’s affairs.’ Miles spoke bitterly, and I could see that his hands had begun to tremble. ‘There were also one or two others who came forward to say that Gideon had made them free of his suspicions. One was his former master, Ford, the apothecary, whose shop is in Bucklersbury.’
‘And what was Mistress Bonifant’s response to these accusations?’
‘She just laughed at them. She said they were absurd and that we must be making them up. At first, she didn’t seem to grasp how serious they were, especially after Gideon had been poisoned.’
‘And when she did?’
‘She was completely bewildered, poor girl. She couldn’t begin to imagine why Gideon would have wanted to spread such lies about her, and demanded to know the identity of the man with whom she was supposed to have been unfaithful.’
‘And when it emerged that it was her cousin, what did your nephew have to say?’
Master Babcary rubbed the side of his nose with his finger. ‘Kit denied it furiously. He also denied that he had ever told his sister that he was in love with an older woman, and that the woman might be in love with him. Nell, of course, upheld his story.’
‘Of course! But did you believe her?’
Master Babcary pursed his lips. ‘Ye-es,’ he said, but with a lack of conviction that made me raise my eyebrows. Reluctantly he confessed, ‘Nell has led a very sheltered life, first with her father, then with me. She is inclined to get flustered when she is hostilely questioned, or feels herself under threat in any way.’ He stared long and hard into the burning heart of the fire. ‘Sometimes, she sounds as though she’s lying when she isn’t. There are people like that, you know,’ he added eagerly. ‘She’s very shy.’
I agreed that there were indeed people in whom the mildest interrogation aroused the strongest sensation of guilt, even when they were entirely innocent of any wrongdoing. Eleanor Babcary could well be one of them, but it was also possible that, on this particular occasion, she might
not
have been telling the truth in order to protect her brother. I suspected from his general demeanour that her uncle had thought her denial less than ingenuous. But when I suggested this possibility to him, Miles sprang hotly to her defence.
‘I’ll swear that she wasn’t lying. You don’t know that girl as I do, Master Chapman. She is as open and as honest as the day. She abhors untruths, I tell you. She simply gets confused, as I have already explained, when faced with a barrage of questions.’
‘And who questioned her?’
‘One of the Sheriff’s officers, naturally, for of course we were obliged to send for the Law as soon as we realised that my son-in-law had been poisoned. The officer wasn’t as gentle with Nell as he might have been, and consequently her attitude persuaded him that she was lying.’
‘But she stuck to her story?’
‘Oh, yes! That, more than anything, convinced me that she must be telling the truth.’
I refrained from pointing out that if Eleanor Babcary abhorred untruths, as her uncle had just maintained, he would have needed no convincing: he would have known for a fact that his niece was not lying. Moreover, I believe that the person has not been born who is totally incapable of telling a falsehood. Surely, if for no other reason, we all instinctively make the effort to protect those whom we love.
The door opened and Mistress Bonifant’s voice sounded calmly through the gloom, unperturbed by the fact that she knew we must have been talking about her.
‘It’s nearly four o’clock, Father. Will Master Chapman be staying to supper?’
‘I – er – I have no idea, my dear.’ He turned to me. ‘Master Chapman, would you care to share our evening meal with us? You would be very welcome.’
‘I was unaware that the day was so far advanced,’ I said, getting to my feet. ‘Thank you for your offer, Mistress Bonifant, but I must go back to the Voyager and take supper with my wife. This visit to London was to have been a holiday for both of us, and I cannot neglect her any further this evening. Tomorrow being Sunday, I shan’t disturb your Sabbath peace, but, with your permission, Master Babcary, I’ll return on Monday and question the other members of your household.’
‘If you think you can solve the riddle of my son-in-law’s death, we shall be glad to see you,’ he answered heavily. He glanced somewhat shamefacedly at his daughter, where she still stood framed in the open doorway. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, but I’ve had to tell Master Chapman everything.’
‘If by that you mean that Gideon seems to have gone around accusing me of adultery,’ Isolda replied evenly, ‘it’s only what I should have expected you to do, Father. There’s no need to apologise. Thanks to the testimony of Gregory Napier and Master Ford, the apothecary, everyone in Cheapside has heard about it.’
I half expected her to plunge into a hot denial of her late husband’s allegation, but she did no such thing, and I began to realise that heat and Isolda Bonifant were strangers to one another. She was a woman of even greater self-control and self-containment than my Adela but, then, according to Master Babcary, Gideon had been of a similar temperament, and they seemed to have been eminently well suited to one another. It was possible, however, that one of them had been acting a part.
I took my leave of Mistress Bonifant and was conducted downstairs again by my host. As we turned towards the inner shop door, Meg Spendlove emerged, and at the sight of me, she shied like a startled horse. The tin tray she was carrying by her side clattered against the wall, and her thin, white face puckered as though she were about to burst into tears.
‘There, there, my good child,’ Miles Babcary said soothingly, ‘that will do. There’s no need to be frightened. No one’s going to hurt you. Have you taken Master Kit and young Toby their ale? That’s all right, then. Off you go to the kitchen before something boils over and puts out the fire.’ He added, so that only I could hear, ‘Not an infrequent occurrence, I do assure you, Master Chapman.’
Christopher Babcary and Tobias Maybury were still at their work, the interior of the shop lit now by lamps and candles, the flames reflected a hundred times over in the depths of the various gold and silver objects and precious gems. Many more of the sparkling golden medallions had been made, ready to be bought and sewn on the silk and velvet gowns of London’s wealthiest ladies, so that they could ripple with light whenever they moved. No doubt, I thought bitterly, there was some sumptuary law that restricted the medallions’ use to noblewomen only, but then I had to smile as I considered that probably no such law was necessary. For what good would these fragile, wafer-thin golden discs be to women who wore homespun and coarse, thickly woven linen?
Master Babcary was looking around in obvious satisfaction, his troubles momentarily forgotten. He was a man who plainly loved his trade, and who was never happier than when he was in his workshop. He would have had little time, then, for a man like Gideon Bonifant, who seemed to have regarded the art of goldsmithing merely as a means of making money. And as if to confirm that impression, Miles had taken my arm and was drawing me towards a small table where a coronet of entwined gold and silver ivy leaves was taking shape.
‘For my kinswoman, Mistress Shore,’ he said, picking it up and holding it lovingly between both hands, ‘to be worn next week at the Westminster Tournament, in honour of the new little bride and bridegroom. It is to be set with these Scottish pearls and Egyptian emeralds.’ He sighed wistfully. ‘I would have designed a grander circlet if only she would have permitted it. But Jane gave strict instructions that I should make nothing for her that would in any way outshine the jewels to be worn by the Queen or any of Her Highness’s sisters.’
He replaced the coronet on the table and linked one of his arms through mine, giving it a little squeeze, well away by now on what was obviously his favourite hobby horse. ‘One of the finest examples of the goldsmith’s art that I have ever had the privilege of seeing was the wedding coronet of our own Princess Margaret, when she married the Duke of Burgundy ten years ago this summer. Alas, I had no hand in the fashioning of it – I only wish that I had – but it was put on display with other items of her dowry, including all her jewellery, in the Goldsmiths’ Hall in the weeks before her wedding. It was small and was meant to perch on the top of her head to show off that beautiful long, fair hair of hers. It was made of gold and decorated with enamelled white roses, rubies, emeralds and sapphires. In the front was a diamond cross and a huge pearl set in another white rose; and all along the lower edge, “C”s and “M”s were wrought in gold and linked by lovers’ knots. Oh, it was a splendid piece of work, Master Chapman, I can tell you! It made me proud of my calling and of my fellow goldsmiths who had made it.’