by Dean James
Mistress Maud finished arranging some pastries in a basket upon the counter before replying. “Oh, my, yes. There was quite a commotion, woke up most of us, all that yelling and carrying on.”
“What happened?” I asked.
She sniffed. “It’s not all that unusual. Some of the lads get a bit het up sometimes, and they have to find a way to work off some of their excitement. There is usually a brawl or two before we all head our separate ways at the end of the week. But this was something different.” She shook her head.
“I gather someone attacked the king,” I said, prompting her when she remained silent
“Yes, that’s what they say,” she replied. “I’m not one to bear tales, mind you, but our king has made a number of people angry of late. Perhaps one of them decided to get back at him for one of the underhanded things he’s done.”
“You’d think he’d be more worried about retaining his crown,” I said mildly, “but if he’s playing dirty, he can’t expect people to put up with it for long.”
Mistress Maud busied herself, fussing with some loaves of bread on the counter next to the pastries. Her back to me, she continued, “The only way Harald knows how to fight is dirty, unfortunately. He learned that in business in the mundane world, and he thinks he can continue to get away with it here.”
“Oh, really,” I said, glancing at Giles, happily munching on his third pastry. “And what kind of business is he in?”
“He’s a glorified barrow boy, he is,” she said, sniffing like she detected a sour smell. “Oh, he’s very successful, quite well off, or at least he was, but he’s still a grocer, can’t get away from that.”
“He’s in the food supply business,” I said to clarify what she had told me.
Turning back to face me, she nodded. “Oh, yes, he deals with lots of fancy restaurants.” She grinned spitefully. “That’s why he disliked our late duke so much, wasn’t it? Poor Luke turned his nose up at Harald’s attempts to get him to buy the food for his restaurants from him. Wouldn’t have a thing to do with our king the grocer.”
Well, well, well, that was mighty interesting. It certainly did help explain at least part of the deep animosity between the two men. Though why had Luke taken so strongly against Harald? Why shouldn’t he have wanted to do business with the man, one of his fellow G.A.A. members?
I expressed that thought aloud to my amiable informant.
Mistress Maud glanced around, and since Giles was the only other occupant of her shop at that moment, she evidently decided she could speak freely. “I’m not one to bear tales, mind you,” she said again, and I did my best to keep a straight face. “It was all really that woman’s fault, you see. She’s a bit of a flighty miss, that one, forever buzzing about the men. She doesn’t stick with any one of them for long.”
“I gather you’re talking about Adele, Mistress?”
She nodded. “Oh, my, yes. What a flibbertigibbet that young woman is. A few years ago, she was flirting with Harald something fierce, and the idiot didn’t have the wit to see that she was just stringing him along. She does it with any man, doesn’t really matter how attractive—or not!—he is.” She grinned maliciously. “Harald fell for it, and he thought she was in love with him. With Adele in his pocket, so to speak, he could sign a lucrative contract with her family, and make even more money.”
“I take it that didn’t happen,” I said dryly.
“Not a bit of it,” Mistress Maud chortled. “Not a bit of it. Luke would have nothing to do with him, or his food, and Adele had lost interest by that point. So Harald got snubbed by both of them, and ever since he’s been hungry for revenge.”
Her eyes widened as she realized what she had said. She leaned against the counter as the color bled out of her face. “Oh, my goodness,” she said. “Do you think Harald could have murdered Luke?”
“Who said anything about murder?” I asked her curiously. From behind her, Giles raised one eyebrow eloquently.
“Well, it’s all over the encampment,” Mistress Maud said defensively. “Everyone seems to think it was no accident that Luke ate something that made him so ill he died from it.”
“I’m sure the police are taking everything into consideration,” I said piously. Giles struggled to keep from laughing behind Mistress Maud’s back.
Before she could say anything else, I steered her back to the original subject of the conversation. “Tell me, good lady, what happened this morning? Was the king physically attacked?”
I braced myself for another rambling answer, but this time she went straight to the point “Someone sneaked into his tent and tried to bash his head in.” She collapsed with laughter, leaning against the counter and making it shake.
Giles and I exchanged glances. The woman seemed far more amused than the situation warranted.
“Pardon me, my good sirs,” she said when she could finally speak again. “I doubt not you will think me totally without feeling.” The laughter threatened to bubble forth again, but she made an effort to quell it. “He might have been badly injured, even killed, but whoever attacked him had no idea the man sleeps with his hair in big fats curlers and wrapped in a thick scarf.” She hooted with laughter.
Exchanging startled glances, we waited a moment for the giggles to subside, then she continued. “From what I hear, the first blow stunned him but didn’t hurt him, because whatever hit him bounced off his head. He was roused enough to start yelling, and the attacker ran out of his tent before anyone could see who it was. Then Harald ran out of his tent and started screaming bloody murder, until he realized everyone would see his head. He went back in his tent and has refused to come out ever since. After rousing the whole camp, mind you!”
Neither Giles nor I could restrain ourselves any longer. We joined Mistress Maud in picturing the ludicrous sight, and it was several minutes before we had exhausted our mirth.
“I take it no one has seen fit to inform the police?” Giles asked.
Mistress Maud shook her head. “My good husband, Master Elfwine, was all for calling them, but Harald ranted and moaned about it so that everyone finally gave up trying to talk to him about it.”
“And is the good king still sulking in his tent?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I doubt it not. The man is a flap-mouthed churl, and this proves it. As if we needed further evidence.”
“Thank you, Mistress,” I said, rising from my seat. “You have been most informative.” I waited while Giles paid her for his breakfast. She was giggling yet again as we left her tent.
“A strange story indeed, don’t you think, Simon?”
“Yes, Giles, it is. I wonder, though, if this whole thing might have been staged by Harald himself in order to divert suspicion away from him.”
“It’s possible, I suppose,” Giles said, “but do you think he would go through this much embarrassment to do that?”
“It’s possible,” I conceded, “but perhaps not probable. From what I’ve seen of the man, he is very much upon his dignity, and he wouldn’t embarrass himself lightly. ”
“What next?” Giles asked. “Are you going to let Chase know about this?”
“All in good time, Giles,” I said, smiling roguishly. “But if the king hasn’t seen fit to summon the constabulary, far be it for me to take it upon myself to do so. No doubt the police will be back here soon enough this morning. Someone can inform Robin then.”
Giles laughed. “I doubt Chase will be very pleased, Simon.”
“That’s his lookout,” I said. “Now, why don’t we see if the bereaved sister is awake and stirring. I would like to question her, discreetly, of course. I have a feeling she might be the key to this whole situation.”
Giles fell into step beside me as we made our way through the encampment toward the late Duke of Wessex’s pavilion. Along the way people had gathered in small groups, and the buzz of conversation and laughter followed us. Occasionally someone would call out a greeting, and Giles and I returned it No one seemed overly
curious about our presence in the encampment this morning, but perhaps they thought we were merely new members of the group because we were appropriately dressed. If this investigation took many more days, however, I might have to invest in another costume. That might help with blending in even better.
We passed by the scene of the crime, and it was rather jarring to see the crime scene tape fixed about Totsye’s tent. Talk about an anachronism!
As we neared the Wessex pavilion, I focused my hearing to detect signs that anyone was awake and stirring. Someone was definitely inside. In fact, there were at least two someones, because I could hear two different voices, one male and one female.
We were still about twenty yards away from the pavilion when a stumpy figure came hurtling out of the tent. His arms were crossed over his head, trying to protect it from the rain of utensils coming at him. Catching sight of us, he made a beeline for Giles and me.
“And don’t ever come back here, you little piece of slime!” Adele de Montfort appeared in the opening of the tent, her chest heaving with exertion. She held an iron pot in her hands and was preparing to throw it when she became aware of Giles and me. She dropped the pot on the ground and vanished inside the tent.
“Don’t go in there,” Sir Reggie Bolingbroke advised, cowering safely behind Giles and me. “The woman has gone mad, completely mad!”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Surveying Sir Reggie’s appearance, I had my doubts about Adele de Montfort’s madness, simply because she had chased her unwanted suitor from her tent. Good taste probably had more to do with it.
Sir Reggie was perspiring heavily, and his face had turned blotchy. One eye remained fixed, and the other goggled about wildly. When he had come running toward us, he was holding his leggings up to keep from tripping over them. Even as we watched, he struggled to pull them up to cover his undergarments and his jiggling belly.
“Just what were you doing in there, man?” Giles asked.
“Attempting to administer a little comfort in the woman’s time of need,” Sir Reggie said. His tights in place, he twitched his tunic about.
“With your pants down?” I asked, trying not to collapse with laughter. The man was truly a ludicrous sight.
“Everyone knows that hellcat will lift her skirt for anyone,” Sir Reggie muttered. “And I’ve seen her come-hither glances, don’t think I haven’t.”
“But not for you, eh?” I said, snickering. I couldn’t help myself; the situation was completely farcical. Giles could no longer restrain himself either, and the two of us had some hearty laughs at old Reggie’s expense.
Muttering something about poofters he doubtless considered scathing, he stalked away, much upon his severely bruised dignity.
When Giles and I could stop laughing, I saw Adele de Montfort peeking cautiously from the opening of her tent. “Adele,” I said, striding closer, “are you okay? Did that buffoon hurt you in any way?”
She tossed back her hair and pulled her wrap closer around her shoulders. “I should say not, the bumbling fool. How he ever thought I would fall for his little act of seduction, I’ll never know. The man’s an idiot. An idiot!”
I forbore to enlighten her with the idiot’s description of her reputation. “No harm done, then, I suppose. I apologize for calling on you so early in the day, but we took a chance you might be up and about like the rest of the group.”
“No thanks to another idiot,” Adele said. Then she burst into laughter. “Oh, if only I had been there to see Harald in his curlers. What a sight that must be!”
“Yes, it must have been something,” I agreed, following her as she waved Giles and me into the tent.
“You can see now why Luke was so eager to take this group in hand,” Adele said as she indicated the chairs where Giles and I should sit. “Harald has grown increasingly incompetent of late, and Reggie, well, need I say anything more?”
“Your brother would certainly have made a far more impressive monarch, and no doubt a far more competent one, than either of them,” I said.
Tears welled in her eyes. “Poor Luke! I still can’t quite grasp the fact that he’s gone and that I shall never see his dear face again. Who could have done such a horrendous thing to him? Who could have hated him so?”
“Then you are convinced his death was no accident?” I said.
“Yes,” she said, and her tone grew hard. “It was murder. Deliberate and willful murder.”
“Pardon me for asking in your time of distress, Adele,” I said, “but do you have any idea who might have hated your brother enough to poison him?”
“It had to be Harald,” she said, fairly spitting out the name. “He and Luke despised each other. Luke was everything Harald was not—handsome, dashing, successful.”
“I’ve heard that Harald is actually a successful businessman himself,” I said, “a grocer, I believe.”
Adele emitted a most unladylike snort. “That’s what he would have everyone believe, the nasty sod. He tried to get Luke to offer him a contract with our family business, but Luke turned him down flat Harald was livid.” She smiled with malice at the memory.
“Well, it does seem rather natural,” Giles said, “his being a grocer and your family being in the restaurant business. You do need food for your restaurants, after all.”
“Naturally,” Adele said, “but Harald simply couldn’t offer the quality that the Cuisine d’Amboise restaurants demand. His business has been in deep trouble for at least two years now, and apparently he was counting on a contract with us to get him out of it.” She sniffed. “Luke didn’t want to link an old and highly successful business with one teetering on the brink of bankruptcy.”
“I can understand that,” I said, “even if it is rather hard on poor old Harald. I suppose the kingship here is about the only thing he has left.”
“And he won’t have that for long,” Adele said, her voice dripping with gleeful spite. “He has traded on his membership in this society long enough. We all try to help one another out within reason, in the mundane world, but Harald counts too much on such loyalties.”
Thus far she had made no mention of her own alleged relationship with Harald. Perhaps Mistress Maud had been wrong about that but I somehow doubted she was. I could think of no delicate way to ask Adele herself about it.
“Then it does sound as if Harald had a motive to harm Luke,” I said. “But pardon my asking this so bluntly, Adele, is there anyone else with such a strong grudge against Luke?”
Adele moved restlessly in her chair. “Could I offer either of you something to drink? Some tea, perhaps, or even coffee?” When both Giles and I had politely declined, she made a visible effort to be still. I could feel her mind working, and I could also feel the fear emanating from her.
What was frightening her, I wondered. What was it that she didn’t want us to know? She was under no obligation to tell us anything, and I was surprised that she didn’t suddenly ask us to leave her tent.
Finally Adele spoke. “Not really a grudge, I suppose, unless you count Reggie. He didn’t care for Luke at all, for several reasons, but mostly because Luke was going to keep him from taking Harald’s place as king. Reggie was campaigning for it when Luke suddenly decided, about six months ago, that he wanted to be king himself. When Reggie found out about it, at our winter gathering, he was livid.”
“I see,” I said. What was so worrisome about this? It had to be something else. “I hadn’t realized that the kingship was such a highly prized office.”
Adele laughed sourly. “To the outside world, I suppose it appears very foolish to expend such time, money, and energy on what is really nothing more than play-acting. I have never taken it all as seriously as my brother does... er, did. But you know how you men can be.” She laughed coquettishly. “It’s all a competition with you, isn’t it, and you cannot abide the thought of someone else beating you at any game, even a game as foolish as this.”
“I cannot disagree, Adele,” I said, smiling. “Man i
s a very competitive creature, as you say. What matters is which of them will go to extreme lengths to get what he wants.”
“Murder, you mean,” Adele said bluntly.
“Yes, murder,” I replied. “You say Harald would have murdered your brother, and you have given him two rather compelling motives. You’ve even ascribed a motive to that prat Sir Reggie. Anyone else? Did your brother have no other enemies?”
Adele thought for a moment “He most definitely had some business rivals who will not be in the least grieved that he is gone. Though they may soon learn to their regret that I am not the weak-willed female they might think,” she added almost as an afterthought.
“But are any of those business rivals here among the members of the G.A.A.?” Giles asked.
“No,” Adele said. “I suppose one of them could have hired someone to do this, but that is not very likely. They didn’t hate Luke that much.” She shook her head. “No, the answer lies here, somewhere. I have no doubt whatsoever that Harald is responsible for my brother’s death, either directly or indirectly.”
“That may very well be,” I said, “and I also have no doubt that Detective Inspector Chase will soon find out who is responsible.”
“He did seem like a very competent man,” Adele sighed. Her eyes had a dreamy aspect “And, my, isn’t he absolutely scrumptious?”
Giles coughed. He had no interest in discussing Robin’s charms.
“I wonder, Adele,” I said, “if I might ask you something else.”
“And what is that, Simon?” she said.
“It’s about what Harald had to say to Totsye Titchmarsh last night in her tent” I paused, trying to find a tactful way to rephrase Harald’s accusation.