A Holy Vengeance (19 page)

Then Mabel had asked Aliz if she knew what had become of their mother and her half-sister replied that she, too, had passed away, just a short time earlier. “When Gar died, she and Garson, our half-brother, disappeared, but recently a chapman who had been in Gainsborough came to the alehouse saying he had been paid to bring me the news that our mother was dead. He said he was approached by a man in Gainsborough and asked if he would be going anywhere near Lincoln this summer and, when he said he was, asked if he would be willing, for a small payment, to deliver the message. The pedlar knew no more than that; not how she died or when, or even the name of the man who gave him the commission. It might have been Garson, but if it was, he did not tell the chapman his name.”

Aliz did not seem much grieved that their dam was dead, and neither did Mabel, who now changed the course of the conversation, saying to her half-sister that although she was very glad to see her, she would rather their relationship to each other was kept between themselves. “Old secrets are best left unshared,” she had said confidingly. “There might be unpleasant repercussions if they are repeated to all and sundry.”

Aliz’s eyes, so chillingly similar to his wife’s, had narrowed in response to Mabel’s statement and then she had given a mirthless laugh. “You have not changed, Mabel, since you were a child. You were insufferably arrogant then, and still are. But do not worry, I will not tell anyone you are kin to a prostitute—at least not yet. And never will, unless I find there is no profit in keeping it to myself.”

Her words had brought a ripple of foreboding to John that had soon proved true, for Aliz had not waited long to claim a reward for her silence and, just recently, had increased her demands to an unacceptable level. Now, as he plodded miserably up Mikelgate towards home, he rued the day he had so foolishly asked Mabel to be his wife.

Bascot, Gianni and Ernulf reached the castle gate just after the evening meal had been served. Leaving their tired mounts in the hands of the grooms in the stables, they hurried into the keep.

Lady Nicolaa was seated alone on the dais—the big chamber seemed empty without the presence of her husband and the contingent of household knights he had taken with him on his hunting trip—and, having finished eating, was about to rise from her seat and retire to the solar. Roget was there, too, at one of the lower tables, and quickly followed the Templar and his companions as they hurried up to the dais to speak to the castellan.

“I can tell by the expression on your faces that the trip to Newark proved worthwhile,” Nicolaa said when they stood before her. “There has been a development here, too. Come, let us go up to the solar where we can discuss these matters in private. Roget, you will attend me as well.”

As they all followed her up the stairs in a corner turret, Roget quickly told Bascot and the others of the child prostitute he had found in the alehouse and how he had arrested Dern and the jade he called sister. “Even if they aren’t involved in these murders,” he said, “they are a pair of filthy
cochons
that merit a punishment
très sévère
.”

When they entered the solar Nicolaa invited the Templar to take a seat beside her. Once Gianni had taken out his tablet and seated himself on a stool, and Roget and Ernulf were standing in front of their mistress, Bascot related what had been discovered in Newark.

“Mabel Glover has kept her relationship to Lorinda hidden, I am certain, from her husband’s mother, Nan, and possibly from her husband as well. That in itself arouses suspicion, so we need to question Mabel as to why she has been reticent.”

Roget, at mention of John Glover, gave an exclamation of surprise. “But he was there in Dern’s alehouse, de Marins, on the evening that we went there. I know him well from seeing him about the town.”

After Roget had given a description of Glover, Bascot recalled noticing him amongst the patrons in the alehouse. The principal reason he had done so was because of a light sprinkling of ash on the customer’s tunic that suggested he was a soap-maker. At the time, the Templar had wondered, in passing, if the man might, in fact, be Nan Glover’s son. But he also remembered that the strands of hair showing beneath the rim of Glover’s velvet hat had been light in colour, a sandy hue that was nearer to blonde than auburn.

“He is too fair-haired to be the murderer, lady,” the Templar said. “But even so, it seems he has a connection with Dern. He should be interrogated along with his wife.”

The castellan issued her orders quickly. “I tire of this coil and the lies that have been told by all and sundry. Ernulf, take two men-at-arms and fetch the soap-maker and his wife back here immediately and place them in a separate cell alongside Dern and the prostitute. Roget, find Wiger and bring him in and incarcerate him as well—we are still not certain his testimony has been truthful. Keep them all apart until I instruct you as to the order in which I wish to question them. If at all possible, I intend to get to the heart of this mystery before another day has dawned.”

* * *

After some discussion Nicolaa and Bascot decided that they would interrogate John Glover first. Accordingly, when Ernulf reported that all of the suspects had been arrested and incarcerated, the castellan directed that the soap-maker be brought before her.

The serjeant escorted Glover up directly and, when he came in, his appearance was haggard; his spare frame sagged dejectedly and his complexion was pasty white.

“Do you know why you have been arrested, Master Glover?” Nicolaa asked.

“No, I do not, lady,” he responded.

“Then I will tell you. We have been searching for a woman named Lorinda in the course of our investigation into the two murders that have recently been committed, and have only just discovered that she is your wife’s mother. Are you aware of this relationship?”

“I am,” Glover said. “Mabel told me about her shortly after our marriage.”

“Since it was your own mother who gave us information enabling us to locate this woman, I am surprised that she did not seem to know of this.”

“Mabel was ashamed of her bastardy, and of the woman who bore her, so she asked me to keep it a secret, even from my own dam,” he explained.

The castellan then asked if his wife knew of her mother’s whereabouts.

“We have been told she is dead,” Glover replied.

Disappointed, Nicolaa glanced at Bascot.

The Templar leaned forward and continued the questioning. “Who was it that told you about Lorinda’s demise?” he asked.

“My wife’s half-sister,” Glover replied.

“Then your wife must have stayed in touch with her mother and half-sister after she went to live in Nottingham?”

“No, she did not,” Glover said. “She knew nothing of what had happened to them until just after we were married and I brought Mabel here to Lincoln. It was only then, when we happened to meet her half-sister purely by chance, that she learned of her mother’s demise.”

“And what is her half-sister’s name?”

“Aliz.”

Roget muttered an oath under his breath and Bascot, in a sharp tone, rapped out his next question. “Is this Aliz a prostitute?”

“Yes,” Glover replied shamefacedly.

“And where does she ply her trade?”

“In an alehouse down on the riverbank operated by a man named Dern.”

* * *

At the soap-maker’s statement, Nicolaa ordered Ernulf to bring Mabel Glover to the solar at once. As the serjeant hurried off, Bascot continued to question her husband.

“Is that not the same place in which I saw you sitting at a table just after Emma Ferroner was murdered?”

“It is, lord,” Glover replied.

Then I assume that Dern is a friend of yours?” Bascot said.

The soap-maker was aghast. “No, he is not, I swear to you. It is true that I used to go in there occasionally before I married Mabel, but ever since I learned that her half-sister is a jade there, I have never returned except for that one evening.”

The Templar was certain that the man before him was not telling all he knew and shot his next words in a scathing manner.

“I do not believe you, Glover. In the course of our murder investigation we have been conducting a search for Lorinda, a woman whose relationship to your wife has been kept secret both by her and by you. And now we learn that you seem to be on intimate terms with Dern—who we are told is called ‘brother’ by your wife’s half-sister and is possibly another relative of your wife’s—and is even now under arrest and about to be questioned as to possible collusion in Mistress Ferroner’s death. There are too many connections to you in this matter for me not to believe that you are also involved.”

“Murder Emma?” Glover burst out unbelievingly. “You suspect me of conspiring to kill her?” He lifted pain-filled eyes to Bascot. “I would never have countenanced such a heinous crime, I promise you. Emma was my good friend—we had known each other since we were children and I loved her dearly, like a sister, as did my mother. Why would I want her dead?”

At that moment the door opened and Ernulf led in Mabel. As she walked across the room, she made an attempt to carry herself with the same haughty stance that the Templar remembered from when he had met her on his visit to Glover’s home. When she saw the abject state of her husband, however, her boldness vanished and was replaced by trepidation.

“Bring Mistress Glover to stand by her husband,” Nicolaa instructed Ernulf and, as Mabel came forward, high spots of colour appeared on her cheeks and she began to tremble.

The soap-maker turned to his wife. “They suspect me of killing Emma, Mabel, and all because of you and your secrets. I am going to tell them all of it, wife, and be damned to you and your relations. I have had enough of all of you.”

Mabel made no response to her husband’s outburst, and stood silently as Glover told of the events that had taken place since he had brought his new wife to Lincoln—how they had met Aliz on a pathway near the manufactory, how she had recognized Mabel and that, in the ensuing conversation between them all, Aliz had told them that she had received a message that Lorinda was dead.

“Just before we parted from Aliz,” he added, “Mabel asked her to keep their relationship a secret and it seemed that she agreed. But a few days later, and at regular intervals thereafter, she came to the manufactory to extort money and other favours from me, threatening to break the promise she had given if I did not meet her demands. On the evening that you saw me there, Sir Bascot, I had tired of her scheming and had gone to tell her that I intended to make an end to her extortion. When I went in, Dern told me that she was with a customer upstairs and that, if I wished to wait, I could speak to her when she was done with him.”

He lifted imploring eyes to Bascot. “That is why I was seated at the table, but after you and the captain left, Dern disappeared upstairs and never came back. Tired of waiting, I left the alehouse, thinking that I would instead confront Aliz on her next visit to my manufactory. I have not seen her since.”

He paused and again appealed to his interrogators. “I had no hand in Emma’s murder, I swear to you. Nor would I, if I had known that you were seeking Lorinda, have kept hidden the fact that she was Mabel’s mother.”

The castellan spoke to the soap-maker’s wife. “Your half-sister calls Dern her brother. Is he yours also?”

Mabel nervously shook her head. “Even though she calls him such, he is no blood relation to either of us. His father was the man that my mother went to live with shortly after she left Nottingham and took Aliz and I back to live in Coleby.”

At this information, Bascot leaned forward; Aliz could be the child that Nan Glover’s husband had seen with Lorinda in Nottingham.

“Is Aliz older than you by a year or two?” he asked Mabel.

She nodded.

The Templar paused for a moment. Could Aliz’s father be involved in this coil? A man who, perhaps, had enmity for the armourer and had conspired with Dern or the prostitute to bring him grief by murdering his child?

“What is the name of the man who sired your half-sister?”

“She does not know, Sir Bascot,” John Glover replied. “She told me that her mother would never reveal the identities of their sires to either her or Aliz and that she only discovered the name of her own father due to overhearing a conversation between Lorinda and her grandmother.”

The Templar looked at Mabel. Although the soap-maker might believe what his wife had said, he was not so certain she was telling the truth. As Glover had said, she liked to keep secrets; might she not have kept this one as well?

“If you know the name of your half-sister’s father, mistress, you had better speak it now, for if it is proved that you are lying, you will be charged with withholding important evidence from this murder enquiry.”

Mabel went white. “Lord, I am sorry for my reticence,” she said beseechingly. “I did not realise his name would be so important else I would have told my husband. I did overhear who Aliz’s father was; his name was said, along with my own father’s, when my mother and Granny Willow were speaking together about them.”

Glover looked at her in astonishment. “It is past time for me to be surprised at your schemes and machinations, Mabel, for it seems they are endless,” he railed at her, “and I grow exceedingly tired of them as, I am sure, do Lady Nicolaa and Sir Bascot. Reveal what you know or I swear before God, wife or not, I will turn you out of my home before this day is done.”

Never had Mabel seen her mild-mannered husband in such a rage and she had no doubt his threat was not an idle one. Hanging her head, she reluctantly did as she was bid.

In a hesitant whisper, and with downcast eyes, she told the Templar what he wished to know. “My mother said that Aliz’s father was Robert Ferroner.”

After obtaining a sworn assurance that she had never told her half-sister, or anyone else, the name of Aliz’s father, the castellan ordered the Glovers to be taken from the room. Once they were gone, she and the Templar discussed the implications of what they had just learned.

“If Aliz somehow found out that Ferroner is her father,” the castellan said, “it would give her a motive to murder Emma. Once the armourer’s legitimate daughter was removed, the way would be open for Aliz to reveal her parentage to him and lay a claim on his affections and his fortune.”

“It is possible, lady,” Bascot replied. “But I cannot see how such a need would have arisen. Ferroner is a good-hearted man, well-known for his philanthropy. He would have given Aliz pecuniary assistance whether Emma was alive or not.”

“But Emma was his heir,” Nicolaa protested. “Aliz could never step into that enviable position, and all the wealth it would bring her, unless Ferroner’s legitimate daughter was no longer living.”

The Templar nodded, but was still not convinced. He rose from his seat and walked over to the casement. He always found that looking at the world from a high place helped him to think. As he gazed with his sighted eye through the gathering gloom of the evening out over the bail and the Minster, he concentrated on what Mabel had revealed.

“Mistress Glover could also have a motive for using a hired killer,” he said. “It is very apparent that her husband is impatient with her and the trouble she has brought on him since their marriage, and we have just heard him relate how fond he was of the victim. Perhaps Mabel became jealous and, fearing she might lose his affections to her rival, paid an assassin to slay her.”

Nicolaa had to admit that this theory, too, had merit, but was still more inclined to think that the prostitute was the culprit, and said so.

“But how would Aliz have known that Emma would be at the shrine on that particular day?” Bascot argued. “In the case of Mabel, Nan Glover gave witness that Emma paid a visit to her a few days before she went to pray to St. Dunstan and revealed her plan to go there. Mabel could easily have overheard their conversation and decided to arrange for the murder to be carried out on that day, but Aliz, removed as she was, from any contact with Emma, or anyone else in the armoury, would not have been privy to the information.”

He paused for a moment, and then said, “We have yet to identify the woman that was seen by Ferroner’s housekeeper in intimate conversation with Wiger in the town. If it was Aliz, then he may have told her of his wife’s intention, thereby enabling her to make the arrangements for the murder to take place in the dell. He must be more hardly questioned if we are to find out the truth.”

As he was speaking, Ernulf and Roget returned to the solar, and the castellan gave the captain instructions to bring Wiger before them without delay.

* * *

When Roget had earlier gone in search of Wiger to take him into custody, he had found him in Selso’s alehouse, sitting with the rough customers he had shunned after his marriage. He must have been there for some time, for he was cup-shotten when Roget arrested him, but his brief spell of incarceration in a holding cell seemed to have sobered him, for he walked with a reasonably steady gait as the captain escorted him across the solar to stand in front of Nicolaa and Bascot.

“You are here to be questioned further about your possible involvement in your wife’s murder,” Bascot advised him. “Answer me truthfully and you will go free. Lie, and you will suffer.”

Wiger nodded warily and the Templar barked his next words at him. “We have been told that you were in the habit of frequenting an alehouse near the armoury run by a man named Dern. Do you dispute that?”

Carefully Wiger shook his head in negation.

“Then you will also not deny acquaintance with Aliz, the prostitute who works there?”

Again, there was a shake of Wiger’s head.

“Have you ever paid for her services?”

The armourer’s son-by-marriage swallowed once or twice before answering. “Yes, lord, before my marriage I did.”

“But not after?”

“No.”

The Templar leaned back in his chair and decided to use a gambit he had often employed before, that of making a suspect believe he had knowledge of facts that, unknown to the person he was questioning, had yet to be substantiated.

He nodded to Roget, who had moved a little apart once the interrogation had begun, to come forward and stand beside Wiger. “I warned you what would happen, Wiger, if you did not tell the truth. We have a witness who saw you in intimate conversation with the harlot in Lincoln town recently. Now, do you wish the captain to take you back to the cells and question you more roughly, or are you ready to admit you continued your liaison with her after you were wed?”

Wiger’s knees began to tremble and it was only with a great effort that he stayed upright. “I . . . I . . . I did bed Aliz after Emma and I were married,” he stammered, “but only once or twice.”

“When was the last time?”

The question came at him like an arrow shot and he stumbled over his answer. “A few . . . a few days before Emma was murdered,” he finally admitted.

“And did you tell the jade of your wife’s intention to visit the shrine and the day on which she would do so?” Bascot rapped out.

Wiger hesitated for a moment, but the Templar did not intend to allow him time to fabricate a response that could extricate him from the damning situation he was in. “I am running out of patience, Wiger,” he snapped. “Answer my question.”

“I may have done, lord,” was the shaky reply. “I recall Aliz asking me if there was any sign of Emma bearing a babe and I said we were hopeful it would be soon because Emma was going to St. Dunstan’s shrine to ask for the saint’s aid.”

“And did you tell her on what day your wife’s visit was planned?”

Wiger gave a miserable nod. “I said she was intending to go with Constance Turner at the end of that week.”