A Murder too Soon Read online

  As I searched, from all parts of the palace there came the sound of shouts and clatterings of armour. The palace was being searched for the murderer, as if there was some foreigner with a bloody dagger in his hand, hiding in a cupboard and waiting to be found. Well, I had no desire to be tested once more. That last interview had been enough for me.

  Hoping that perhaps Master Blount had already had the same idea, and had taken my pack for me, I determined to scuttle out of the palace as quickly as I may. After all, Blount had ordered me to murder the woman and now she was dead. I wanted to get clear away and keep my head low. I did not fear that my alibi could fail, but an innocent man could be broken on the rack as easily as a guilty one for plotting the murder of a lady above his station. Many could be keen to learn why I had been determined to assassinate the poor woman … indeed, whether I had succeeded or not.

  So I squared my shoulders and strode out into the yard and towards the gate like a clerk who’s discovered a theft from his bishop’s wine stores, intending to make my way down the muddy road towards Woodstock itself and thence somewhere else. I had no idea where just now, but I hoped that by putting distance between me and Woodstock, the ‘somewhere’ would occur to me.

  Except that when I approached the welcoming, wide-open gates, they began to swing shut. I would have hurried and attempted to bluster my way through, but even as I did so, the fair-haired young man was there already. After removing the peremptory finger jabbed in his broad chest, he was keen to leave the palace as well.

  Now I was closer, I could study him in more detail. He had the sort of thick neck muscles that compensate for an empty skull. You see these pretty fellows in London near the court often enough. Men with brawn but very little brain, who prefer to spend their time finding the best hair-stylist and the best supplier of fine silks and hosen to show off a perfectly turned leg. As well as fair hair, he had a fine, straight nose, and cheekbones that any woman would crave for herself, but his language, as he was pushed away from the gates, was not the kind I would expect from a lady.

  ‘You pox-ridden cock-bawd! Open that gate for me, at once!’

  The porter, whom I had seen earlier in the day, was an amiable enough fellow. He stood now, a half-foot shorter than the fair man, and stuck his thumbs in his belt in a friendly enough manner. ‘Ah, now, my apologies, Squire, but there has been a murder, so I’ve heard, and you know full well that means I have to lock the house while we wait for the Coroner to come.’

  ‘The Coroner? What do I care about this murder! Open the gates! I have an urgent mission.’

  ‘You can have an order from the Archbishop, for all I know, but the gates stay shut.’

  ‘Open the gates, you addled whoreson; open them, I say, or I’ll run you through!’

  The porter shook his head and made no effort to move. The fair man shrugged his cloak aside and grabbed his sword hilt. With a slither of steel, he pulled the blade free of the sheath, but before he could point it at the porter, one of the gate’s guards, who had been watching with interest, brought his staff on to the man’s head with full force. The fair man seemed to hesitate, and then took a half-step forward and turned. I saw him smile with a confused air, like a man on his second gallon of strong ale trying to remember his joke’s ending, before he toppled slowly into the mud.

  It was enough to lighten my mood, but my day was about to turn black. I noticed John Blount watching me from the top of a short flight of stairs some yards from the gates. The steps led up to a door that opened into a room built into the outer wall. It served as a chamber for my master. He beckoned me.

  I obeyed. It was not as though I was going to be able to get back to the inn where I was staying. I took one final, sad look at the gates as the last of the enormous bolts was slid across, two guards turning and standing in that slouching, bored stance of the professional soldier set to perform a tedious task.

  At least I could be hopeful that my master would let me sleep on his floor since I couldn’t get back to my own bed.

  ‘Have you got my pack?’ I asked as I approached.

  John Blount was the sort of man who few would try to argue with or fight. He invariably dressed in black: a dark jerkin, with dark scarlet decorations, belt, grey hosen and boots of some soft, soot-coloured leather, all set off with a broad-brimmed hat that left his face in shadow. His figure beneath the shades of black was hard to discern, but there was something in his careful economy of movement that spoke of strength. Yet few would guess how hard his body was. I’d learned soon enough that he was as tough as cured leather, his muscles quick and hardy as a smith’s, and his mind as relentless as any man of politics and deceit. He could strike like an adder, with no warning. I’d seen it.

  Now he gave me a cold stare: ‘Is it my place to look after the pack of a careless ruffian?’

  His face was strong. Clean-shaven, he was moderately good-looking, with grey, serious eyes under a strong brow. Together with his down-turned mouth, his expression was invariably fixed in a glower, although whether of concentration or active dislike I was never sure. Generally, when his eye lit upon me, I was confident that it was mostly disgust.

  ‘You have done magnificently well,’ he said with hissed malevolence when I was near enough. He pulled me into his small room. It smelled of old horses. Saddles and bridles were stored on racks and hooks, and there were blankets piled on a shelf. A low bed was over on the right, and a small stool. There were two benches, and on one sat Blount’s servant Will. Blount pushed me against the blankets and glared. ‘Do you recall my orders? To kill her quietly, to make it look like an accident, and under no circumstances bring attention to yourself?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘So what did you do? You killed her here, in a public space, with great violence, and raised such an outcry that even the blockhead Bedingfield was alarmed!’ He was not shouting, but somehow his hissed words carried more emphasis than a bellow.

  ‘You blame me?’ I said, outraged.

  ‘You killed her, didn’t you?’ he demanded.

  This was a tricky one. I didn’t wish to admit immediately that I had failed in his command, but then again I didn’t want to accept the blame for this atrocious murder. I held my tongue as he continued.

  ‘I ordered you to kill Lady Margery, but I said you should keep it low-key, so that as few people as possible would be perturbed. I said I wanted her to disappear without fuss, didn’t I? And instead, what did you do? Caused the whole palace to come to uproar, and the gate to be closed so we’re locked in!’

  ‘It’s not my fault!’

  ‘I suppose it was someone else’s? Whose? The man who found the body?’

  ‘He found me there. It wasn’t—’

  ‘“It wasn’t me!” “It’s not my fault!”’ he mimicked. There was no need for that.

  ‘I was going to say—’ I began, but he cut me off.

  ‘I shall have to give you an alibi,’ he said. ‘Else you’ll never leave here alive. You were so incautious that they’ll have to keep the gates shut until the Coroner’s been to visit.’

  ‘Where shall I sleep? I have a room at the inn at the town. If they hold me here, I’ll have nowhere to rest!’

  ‘Will can do it. You were gambling, understand? You were in the orchard with Will here, if anyone asks you. He will corroborate your story.’

  I glanced at Will. My nickname suited him, for he truly was a bear of a man, with a thick black beard and the build of a wrestler. At his side was Blount’s other companion, a shorter, wiry fellow with fair hair and a constant smile. I didn’t trust either of them.

  ‘What of all the people who didn’t see us there?’ I asked sourly.

  ‘Don’t be a fool! I was in the yard a little before the woman was killed and saw no one who could deny you. There was no one in the orchard.’

  ‘You think me the fool?’ I said. ‘We are here, locked in this palace until the Coroner can come, and you seem unconcerned, yet you could be accused of her killing!�
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  ‘Me?’

  ‘You have told others to commit this assassination!’

  ‘Not I,’ he said with a quiet smile.

  I glared at him. There was nothing written, and although a man could be tortured into a confession, Blount would no doubt be safe. He had friends.

  ‘What shall I do while we wait?’ I said, pointedly looking at the bed and two benches in the chamber.

  ‘If you’re worried about your bed, you can sleep in the hall. Or there are plenty of haylofts, if you don’t mind the rats.’

  Neither was overly appealing.

  ‘So you remember the story? You were …’

  ‘Did you not listen? The tale of sitting in the orchard cannot work.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I was not there, and many can confirm it. You assume that I would be foolish enough not to have thought of an alibi,’ I said with hauteur. It was meant to sting. ‘You don’t want to know my genuine alibi, then?’

  He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Will roared with laughter and slapped his thigh, and glanced at me with an expression of near admiration. ‘Master John, you didn’t expect that, did you?’

  Blount glowered. ‘You had this planned all along? That is good. What is your alibi, then?’

  ‘I was in the hall with three of the maids. We heard a noise, I ran to it, and found the body of the woman.’

  ‘That sounds well. So three people can confirm that you were with them while you were killing Lady Margery. Excellent. You are quite sure that they are reliable?’

  I grunted my agreement. ‘I was with them until after we heard the noise. I went with one of them and found the body. She went to raise the alarm and a moment later this one-eyed man came in, saw me and the woman, and assumed I’d killed her.’

  ‘Yes, that works,’ Blount said. He was seemingly content with my tale, although he clearly believed it to be a fiction.

  I was dismissed, plainly. He turned away and sat at Will’s side near the small hearth. I stood undecided, looking from one to another.

  ‘You want something more?’ Blount asked. He was pouring wine. It looked rich and flavoursome.

  ‘Well, I …’

  ‘Shut the door when you leave.’

  I left Master Blount’s chamber and stood at the steps, leaving the door ajar, hoping the next breeze would open it wide. Sadly, the noise it made scraping on the flagged floor was enough to convince me that it would take a strong Whitstable wind to move it, and the sort of mild breaths of wind that were to be found here, so far inland, would be inadequate for the task.

  A pair of carters were arguing with the porter, demanding to be released, but the porter and his men were obdurate. Two servants were helping the fair-haired man over to a bench as I watched. The poor fellow was obviously still mazed from the knock on his head, and he shook his locks dazedly from time to time, then sat and covered his face in his hands. I cast a glance at him, and then at the two at the gates as I descended the steps from Blount’s room, but there was little to gain by waiting there. They were not going to open the gates for me, it was clear. Instead, seeing the door open to the chamber where I had fallen over Lady Throcklehampton’s corpse, I went over and was about to peer inside when I heard voices.

  I could hear them before I could see anything in that malodorous little room: a man and a woman. Leaning against the nearest buttress, I found myself concealed in its shadow from the people in the yard, while also hidden from those inside. I listened intently.

  ‘Well? What should we do? In the name of God, that I should have had such an affair!’ Ah! I recognized that voice. It was Sir Henry again, I realized.

  ‘Please, you must keep a firm grip on yourself!’ I jerked back from the door. I knew that voice too. It belonged to the lady who had clubbed One-Eye with her stick and threatened to do the same to me!

  ‘Why not, Maid? In the name of all that’s holy, it was my damned idea to bring her here! I was the man who pushed out the other noisome woman!’

  I felt the blood drain from my face. Had I heard that right? Bedingfield had killed the woman who was here before Lady Margery?

  ‘Mistress Sands? You had to remove her. She was too deeply engaged in manipulating people here. And you know full well that she was concealing correspondence from Lady Elizabeth. Lady Elizabeth is a clever woman, and she knew how to get what she wanted at all times. You know that.’

  So he had! They wanted to remove an impediment to their spying on the Queen’s sister.

  ‘I am glad she left the place,’ he continued, and I sagged with relief to hear that he had not ordered her death. It’s one thing to know that Lady Margery’s killer remained at large, without thinking that this apparently harmless old fool was also a murderer.

  ‘Good!’ the woman said.

  I could hear him tutting. He continued, ‘I’ve heard she is living in France now.’

  ‘They are welcome to her.’

  I mused over that. This woman Sands had been loyal to the Princess, so she was evicted in favour of Lady Margery, who would be more compliant about spying.

  ‘Lady Elizabeth has me twisted so tightly about her little finger, it’s a miracle my backbone is unbroken,’ Bedingfield said.

  It was intriguing listening to him. He sounded full of remorse, and deeply affected by the death of Lady Margery. Perhaps he was a decent enough fellow. The woman, on the other hand, was composed of sterner stuff.

  ‘You must be firm with her. Do not submit to any more embarrassments. Lady Elizabeth is a strong woman, and she will use any laxity in the regime here as a sign of weakness. The fact that she has somehow managed to effect the murder of this poor woman is a proof of her deviousness and danger.’

  ‘What of the man who did this?’

  My ears pricked.

  ‘We don’t know who it was,’ she said.

  I felt a thrill of relief. I had thought someone could have accused me.

  She continued, ‘There was one poor fool in here – the First Finder – but he didn’t have the intellect to harm her, nor anyone else. I did question him, but he barely had the brain to understand my meaning.’

  I thrilled with a very different emotion.

  ‘Who, then, could be responsible for this?’

  ‘I would think someone who has recently arrived at the palace and who is already engaged with Lady Elizabeth. The man I spoke with arrived here earlier with the messenger for the Lady. The messenger’s name is Blount, I think. I would have him watched to prevent him from escaping.’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘You have done all you should. You have locked the gates, you have ordered all those within the walls to remain here, and you have sent for the Coroner and a strong force to help keep the palace secure.’

  ‘Secure!’ The man gave a hollow laugh. He sounded utterly defeated. ‘How can we be secure when forces gather outside all the while? There will be an assault on the palace before long. With no possible means of locking the doors, how can we prevent their intrusion?’

  ‘Please do not be so defeatist. You sound like a man who has seen the conquering army on the hilltops all about. There is no one here yet – only a few wandering brigands who are held back by our walls. When the Coroner arrives with the Sheriff’s force, we shall be better able to guard the buildings – and her!’

  I was thinking about this, when I heard footsteps approaching from inside the room. Stepping quickly to the other side of the buttress, I waited. Bedingfield and the woman came out and hesitated in the sudden bright sunshine, then walked off towards the kitchens, Bedingfield bemoaning his troubles and difficulties, while the woman at his side patted his arm and spoke soothingly.

  It occurred to me that I should see whether I could learn more from them, and perhaps I should pursue them and try to overhear their conversation, but discretion prevailed. Even as I was considering how best to follow them, the giant appeared – the one like Friar Tuck. He ambled along behind the two, his head dow
n, hands hooked in his belt once more, oblivious to others in the court, I thought. Just then he turned and stared back in my direction.

  There was no accusation in his eyes, but I was transfixed by that look. It was like a priest at the altar bellowing about fire and brimstone, and pointing at me, saying, ‘Yes! I mean you!’ It happened to me once, and I could feel the rest of the congregation shuffling away from me. This time, there was no one else watching. I turned away from him, but as I walked away, I could feel his eyes boring into my back like a pair of awls.

  I was to be stuck there for some days, and I suppose this is as good a time as any to describe Woodstock, because so many have said it was thus or not thus: that it was a richly decorated, lovely palace or a crumbling hovel Queen Mary wouldn’t have used for her pigs.

  Neither was entirely true. The house did have many failings: only four doors held locks or bolts, so many guards were needed to prevent rascals from entering at will; the slates of the roofs were old, and in the winter many had slipped, so one of the first sights to confront me when I entered the chamber where my master was to be installed was a bucket where drops from leaks were collected. The wind seemed to howl in about the house, because even when the doors were closed, the leads in the windows were so ill-maintained that glass was perpetually falling and smashing.

  Yet, for all that, it was a strong building.

  Blount had told me it was first built as a hunting lodge. That was in the day of Henry I. He had a wall set about it, too, of some seven miles in circumference, in which he could hold his collection of lions and leopards. Well, not much of the original wall survived by the time I reached the place, but there were still plenty of vicious animals stalking the grounds. These walked on two legs rather than four.

  I’ll never forget my first view of the palace as we rode along the single road from Woodstock itself.

  It became visible glimpsed only dimly, a pale ochre viewed between trees, no more than a yellowish haze at first that served to define the woods. But then, as you approached the oaks and chestnuts, you began to make out details.