10 - The Goldsmith's Daughter (16 page)

Isolda smiled serenely. ‘I should hold my father to his promise and remove to Paternoster Row, taking poor little Meggie with me. She’d never suit Mistress Perle’s notion of a kitchen maid, and, in any case, Barbara would undoubtedly bring her own highly competent servants with her. And I should ask Nell to live with me – that is, until she gets married. Which she undoubtedly will, because she’s so beautiful.’

‘Does she not care for Mistress Perle, either?’

My companion threw back her head and gave a hearty, full-throated chuckle.

‘Nell likes everyone,’ she said, dropping her hands back into her lap. ‘But you’re quite right with your “either”, Master Chapman. I’m not enamoured of my father’s choice of bride. Did I make it that apparent?’

I shifted uncomfortably on my stool. ‘Well––’ I was beginning awkwardly, but Isolda cut me short.

‘You mustn’t worry about it,’ she assured me. ‘People are always telling me that I’m not good at concealing my feelings. But please don’t mistake me. I know nothing against Barbara Perle. The truth is that I’m piqued because I never thought my father would consider marrying for a second time. Now, what else did you wish to ask me?’

‘Well, I know from Master Babcary that Mistress Perle finally agreed to his suggestion that she celebrate her birthday here, on condition that she could bring her friends, Gregory and Ginèvre Napier with her . . . Your father doesn’t care for the Napiers, particularly the lady, does he?’

‘No, indeed! If, that is, one can call her a lady!’ Isolda gave me a sidelong, somewhat shamefaced grin. ‘Now I’m being catty, Master Chapman. But you must make up your own mind when you see her. As you say, Barbara won the argument, and consented to my father’s proposal.’

‘The three guests arrived, or so I understand from Master Babcary, sometime around four o’clock, after the shop was barred and shuttered for the night. Prior to that, the merchandise had been removed from the windows and locked away, and then everyone but you retired to change into their Sunday clothes. Where were you, Mistress Bonifant?’ I enquired with an assumed ignorance.

‘I was still in the kitchen,’ was the somewhat tart reply, ‘cooking the food. My father had insisted that we have all Barbara’s favourite dishes and, as there are quite a goodly number of them, I had spent most of the day there. Meg was helping me, but her assistance is often more of a hindrance than otherwise.’

‘And, earlier, you had come upstairs to this room to lay the table. You had unlocked that cupboard over there and put out the special family goblets, each with its identifying set of initials worked into the gold around the rim. And you had filled them with wine.’

She did not respond immediately, and I began to wonder if she were going to answer at all. For a while, the only sounds to be heard were the crackling of logs on the fire and the rustle of the wall tapestries as they billowed in a sudden draught. From below, Master Babcary’s voice was raised, calling for Meg Spendlove, but after that all was quiet again until Isolda suddenly swivelled in her chair to face me.

‘Damning, isn’t it? Enough, probably, to have brought me to the stake but for my cousin’s intervention on my behalf with the King. Yet the fact is that I often filled our cups with wine – or ale, or water, or whatever else we were drinking – before we ate, because it meant that I could then top up the pitcher, so saving us from the annoyance of having to send down to the kitchen for more drink during a meal. And, in addition, on that particular evening, I wanted us all to pledge Mistress Perle’s health as soon as we were assembled.’

‘And afterwards, when you had finished laying the table, you returned to the kitchen?’ She nodded. ‘But when you eventually came upstairs again to change your gown, did you go straight to your bedchamber?’

‘No, I came in here for a last look round, just to make sure that I’d forgotten nothing. I knew how much the occasion meant to my father.’

‘And did you encounter anyone else while you were doing this?’

‘Yes, my father himself. He was coming out of his room just as I was leaving this one. His bedchamber, as you probably know, is next door, so we passed one another on the landing. I told him that everything was ready and he grunted. He was in a hurry to get downstairs. I think he said that the guests had just arrived.’

So far, her story tallied in most essentials with that of Master Babcary. Either they were both speaking the truth, or they were in collusion, and adept at telling lies.

I asked abruptly, ‘What did your husband think of your father’s intention to remarry?’

She seemed somewhat put out by this change of direction, but gave the impression of answering as openly and as honestly as she could.

‘Gideon was a little – what can I say? – a little worried by the idea at first. But when my father explained to him that I should in no way be the loser by the marriage – that although he would have to make provision for his wife, the shop and all its contents would still be left to me – my husband grew more reconciled to the match.’ She added hastily, ‘You must understand that Gideon was only concerned with protecting my interests.’

I assured her that I did. And she might well have been right: I was in no position, just then, to judge the truth of her assertion, even though I might doubt it.

‘How did Master Bonifant get on with the rest of the household?’ I asked, startling her once again and making her uneasy.

‘He – he got on well enough, why do you ask?’ And when I refrained from answering, she added defensively, ‘Gideon was a very reserved man, who only made friends with difficulty. Even after five and a half years of marriage, I can’t pretend that I ever really knew what he was thinking. Nevertheless, he was a kind husband: considerate, f-faithful.’ She stumbled slightly over the final word.

I pretended not to notice. ‘What about your cousins?’ I queried. ‘Was Master Bonifant fond of them? Were they fond of him?’

There was another infinitesimal pause before Isolda could bring herself to reply.

‘The three of them rubbed along together, but I don’t know that there was any deep affection on either side.’ She scratched one cheek consideringly. ‘You have to remember that when Gideon came to live here, after our marriage, Kit wasn’t quite fourteen years of age, while Nell was only eleven. They were children in the eyes of a man of thirty-four, and so they have remained ever since.’

I thought that while this might well be true on Gideon’s side, Eleanor Babcary, whose flower-like innocence made her appear a lot younger than her years, was now a young woman of seventeen and, after her outburst just now, I couldn’t help wondering yet again what her feelings had been towards her cousin’s husband.

‘What about the young apprentice?’ I asked. ‘Tobias, isn’t that his name? And your maid, Meg Spendlove, how did Master Bonifant get along with them?’

‘Oh, come now!’ Isolda was incredulous. ‘You can’t possibly imagine that either of those two had anything to do with Gideon’s death!’

‘I rule no one out who was in the house that evening. Someone killed your husband, Mistress Bonifant and, if, as you claim, it wasn’t you––’ I broke off, shrugging.

She looked unhappy and began to fidget with the leather girdle that encircled her waist. It was fully a minute before she answered, and I had time to wonder what her response would be. Eventually, she gave herself a little shake and sat up straighter in her chair.

‘So be it,’ she sighed. ‘I didn’t murder my husband, Master Chapman, however black things might look against me, so I’ll tell you what you want to know.’

‘To be honest with you,’ I said, ‘your father has already informed me that Master Bonifant found Meg’s slatternly ways difficult to tolerate, and that you and he had had differences of opinion on the subject.’

My companion seemed vexed, but admitted reluctantly, ‘Father’s right. Gideon was extremely neat and orderly in all his ways. A girl like Meg was bound to irritate him, and he couldn’t understand why I didn’t dismiss her and employ someone more efficient.’

‘Why didn’t you?’ I queried.

Isolda was indignant. ‘Meg has been with us since we took her from the Foundling Hospital when she was ten years old. And if you had seen her then, you’d know how happy and well fed she is now, in spite of her appearance. I could no more turn Meggie into the street to fend for herslf than I could Eleanor.’ She looked away from me, staring once again into the heart of the fire, and added in a low voice, ‘I know what it is to be plain and unattractive.’

I was at a disadvantage. If I refuted her statement, my protests would ring hollow, and the more I tried to convince her of their sincerity, the less I would be believed. It was better, I decided, to say nothing on the subject.

Instead, I asked hurriedly, ‘Do you know if Master Bonifant had had cause to take Meg to task shortly before he died?’

Her head turned sharply in my direction, and I could see the answer in her face.

‘Who told you?’ she demanded accusingly. ‘Was it Father?’

‘No, nobody told me. I merely drew a bow at a venture.’ And the arrow, I added to myself, has found its mark.

Isolda tapped one of her feet angrily, annoyed with herself for falling into the trap.

‘Yes,’ she conceded at last. ‘There had been an unpleasant scene between my husband and Meg some few weeks before the murder.’

‘What was it about?’ I prompted when she seemed disinclined to continue.

My companion slumped back in her chair as though suddenly very tired.

‘It was the occasion of Nell’s last birthday feast,’ she said wearily, ‘on the thirty-first of October, All Hallows’ Eve. I wasn’t very well that day, and had left the setting of the supper table to Meg while I lay down upon my bed. Woman’s trouble,’ she added, looking me straight in the eyes before I could embarrass her by asking a tactless question. ‘I had given her the key of the corner cupboard and told her to be especially careful when putting out the gold and crystal goblets. (I have discovered over the years that if you trust Meg to do something, she will give of her best. What she resents most is being treated as though she’s a fool.)

‘I had gone over with her again and again where everybody sat, so that each person would get his or her own goblet. But, unfortunately, Meg still managed to make a mistake, although, as I insisted at the time, she could be forgiven for it. She had mixed up Gideon’s and Christopher’s goblets, but the initials G.B. and C.B. are very alike, especially with all that carved foliage surrounding them.’

‘But Master Bonifant was angry with her?’

Isolda frowned. ‘He was excessively angry for a man who normally showed his displeasure merely by folding his lips together and walking out of the room. He ranted and raved, saying the most appalling things to poor little Meg, just as though all the frustration of years had suddenly burst into the open. I can remember Father and Nell and Kit, and even Toby Maybury, staring open-mouthed, as though they couldn’t believe their ears; as though Gideon had suddenly taken leave of his senses. Of course, after a few minutes, when he saw how everyone was looking at him, he took himself in hand, calmed down and apologised to Meggie.’

‘And how did she react to this burst of temper?’

‘Very much as you might expect. There were floods of tears and instant denials. But then, that’s Meg’s way of dealing with every unpleasant situation in which she finds herself. Nothing is ever her fault, but always that of some other unidentifiable person.’

‘Did she accept Master Bonifant’s apologies?’

Isolda smiled sadly. ‘Of course not! He had always made his disapproval of her plain, although in his customary austere fashion, and, as a consequence,
she
had never liked
him
. She was, I think, even a little afraid of him. But,’ my companion added hastily, seeing the trap into which she was falling, ‘her dislike was not enough to make her poison him, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

I said nothing in response to that. A simple soul like Meg Spendlove was just the sort to harbour a grievance and brood upon injustice. For most of her short life she had been the butt of other people’s unkindness, and it would not be surprising if, one day, a particular act of hostility had proved too much for her. Had she, after weeks of turning the incident over in her mind, found herself, on the occasion of Mistress Perle’s birthday, with the opportunity to get rid of her tormentor once and for all, and taken it? But that posed another problem. Where had she obtained the poison?

That question, however, would have to wait. ‘What were your feelings,’ I asked Isolda Bonifant, ‘about your husband’s uncharacteristic outburst?’

She answered, this time without any hesitation whatsoever. ‘I thought it all part of a general deterioration in Gideon’s health that had been worrying me over the preceding two or three months.’

‘He was ill?’ Master Babcary had mentioned nothing of this. ‘What was the matter with Master Bonifant? Had anyone else noticed that he was ailing?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’ Isolda answered my last query first. ‘It wouldn’t have been so obvious to other people. But Gideon hadn’t been eating as well as usual. He had always been a hearty trencherman, even though he put on no flesh to show for it, yet for many weeks before his death, he had started to leave food on his plate at every meal. It’s true that Kit remarked on the fact to me one day, asking what was wrong with Gideon’s appetite, but I don’t think he assumed it to be a sign of poor health, only that my husband was preoccupied about something or other.’

‘You thought differently, however?’

‘I might not have done so had it not also been for his broken nights. Gideon had always been a sound sleeper, but quite suddenly, about the same time that he started losing interest in his food, he began to be very restless. I would wake in the small hours to find him gone from my side, and when I went to look for him, he was prowling about the house, unable, he said, to sleep.’ She had a drawn, unhappy look that I had noticed once or twice before during the course of this conversation. ‘But when, on the first occasion that this happened, I begged him to come back to bed and to tell me if there was anything troubling his mind, he answered with such savagery, at the same time raising his hand as though ready to strike me, that I never interfered again. When I woke and he wasn’t there, I just waited until he returned. And I learned to pretend to be asleep when he did so.’