“And now?”
“Elisabeth. We have been friends for nearly three years. But when she heard of my father’s death with the loss of his ship and all hands, she screamed and ran off to her Maman. I haven’t seen her since, although our steward told me she came back once for all her clothes and other possessions.”
“And now,” said another soft voice from the doorway, “you shall see her again, my little dove. Let me kiss you.”
Jemima accepted the kiss, and kissed her wet cheek back. “Oh Lizzie, it’s so good to see you again. But you don’t know any of these others do you, Lizzie dear, since they all preceded you. Let me lead you around, for there’s no jealousies here and we’re all friends with the one important thing in common.”
“That we adored Edward Thripp,” Alba said, walking over. “And miss him dreadfully. And are utterly and completely positive that he never killed those females in the attic, never did, never would have, never could have.”
“I had wondered,” the newcomer was immediately the centre of the twirling flurry of silks and lace, a clasping of hands and the pouting of disbelief, “whether no one killed those poor little creatures at all.”
“They are most definitely dead.”
“Silly. But what if they were servant girls, just perhaps, who went up there to hide for some reason, from an angry steward for instance, who had caught them thieving. So they hid. And then they couldn’t get out. I never saw the attic, but it must be right up in the roof. What if they were trapped and died of starvation?”
“Three thieving servant girls disappeared? And no one searched for them?”
“If they were due for a beating because of bad behaviour, everyone would have assumed they had run away.”
When their host reappeared an hour later, he discovered the six women sitting grouped around the hearth, having brought one of the benches from the table and the various chairs present in the hall, pulling them into a half circle where they all might talk. The hearth was a dying smatter of flames and ashes, and a faint whistle from the chimney. The grate, being mid-autumn, was still filled with dried flowers and grasses, showing barely a lift of a petal since no threatening draught slunk down from above.
Jemima, her gown a little immodestly hitched up as she curled in the largest chair, was listening eagerly and speaking not at all. Next to her, straight backed on the bench, sat her nurse. At their feet, leaning against the legs of Jemima’s chair, was the last to arrive. Mistress Elisabeth Dottle seemed to be the youngest of the group except for Jemima herself, and was perched cheerfully on the end of the bench with the plump Ysabel between herself and the nurse. Ruth sat nodding and agreeing, neat on the little wooden chair.
Alba, the eldest, dressed all in white silk, was elegant and eloquent. “It is absurd,” she said, “to speculate at this stage. All we can agree on is that dear Edward cannot have been the culprit. There are many other possibilities. The killer might be one of the servants who had the greatest access to the attic space. The girls might, as Elisabeth has suggested, have died of starvation while trapped up there by their own stupidity. Or – which seems the most likely to me – they were killed by the previous owner of the property, and poor Edward, having no cause to investigate the roof cavity, could never have known.”
Richard Wolfdon walked slowly forwards and stood between the women and the fireplace. “Two more women are about to arrive shortly at my invitation,” he informed them. “But I prefer not to wait any longer. We can begin.”
He had indeed changed his clothes. He wore, rather unexpectedly, a bedrobe. It swept loose from his shoulders to the floor, heavy black velvet which appeared to be fully lined with sable. It closed at the neck with a dark red cord, but was otherwise plain. What he wore beneath, if anything, was unseen. The women watched him in silence until Alba said, smiling slightly, “you might wonder, sir, that women who have all loved the same man, and yet have followed or superseded each other in that man’s affections, should be content to sit together in considerable harmony and without jealousy. Few of us have met before, yet we are indeed almost sisters. There is no antagonism.”
Richard lifted one thin eyebrow. “That is of no interest to me, madam. I understand that each of you disbelieves in Edward Thripp’s guilt as regards these crimes. That is my only concern.”
“Then I’m surprised you concern yourself with it at all, sir,” Jemima answered with a slight blush. Ysabel tittered. Katherine dug her elbow into Ysabel’s hip. The titter stopped with a hiccup. Jemima, the blush fading, continued, “Did you know my father, sir? Did you ever do business with him, or employ him in matters of trade? If not, I cannot see why you should interest yourself in my affairs at all.”
He looked at her without smiling. “What you cannot see, madam,” he replied softly, “will become apparent in time, according to your powers of intellect and understanding. For the moment, I would suggest you remain simply grateful. Although your father can no longer be hanged for the offence, his reputation would suffer even more than it is already, should he be accused and assumed guilty of a triple murder. The killing of one man by another during a heated argument, or by drunken louts brawling outside a tavern, may be forgotten over a short period. But the slaughter of three young women is immediately more salacious, more cold hearted and more worthy of gossip and rumour. Your father, although entirely unknown to me except by reputation, was no hero, I gather. But if he is to be long remembered as a calculated murderer, then you will most certainly suffer for it.”
She gulped. Katherine spoke quickly before Jemima could answer. “You said you had questions, sir. You’ve brought us all together for this reason?”
‘Questions indeed,” Richard said, looking down at her without expression. “And discussion. And I will answer this one point myself, although I have no intention of explaining myself unnecessarily. My business is, in general, my own.” He turned slightly, addressing Jemima. “Should your father be innocent then the probability is that suspicion will slide backwards towards the previous owner of the property. That previous owner was my own father. He did not ever reside there, but he owned it, and housed a particular friend there. Had he wished to slaughter his acquaintances, then I imagine the attic space would have been an ideal hiding place. Whether he was capable of such activities, I am none too sure. But I have every intention of finding out.”
Chapter Five
The corridors of Eltham Palace lay wide, brightly lit and sumptuous with thick tapestries along the high walls, and floors of patterned tiles. Unlike those wandering shadows at Wolfdon Hall in Holborn, the royal palace welcomed more than a hundred guests and nearly a thousand liveried servants. The king’s favourite, Eltham was grand without the creeping gloom of antiquity.
At some distance from the royal quarters, Lord John Wright, Baron Staines, strode Eltham’s sparkling corridors and barked at his young page who scampered close behind. “Wine, boy. I am expecting a visit from an important and powerful colleague. The best wine. Two cups. In my chambers now. Make sure the jug is full.”
“Of course, my lord. At once, my lord.”
The page ran quickly in the opposite direction, but he was smiling. It was known amongst the servants that Lord Staines pretended powerful visitors when all he wanted was the best wine for himself, generosity of his majesty, and so thought it diplomatic to speak of necessity rather than covetous and drunken greed.
Lord Staines sat on his less than glorious bed, drank his superior wine, and cursed the day he had ever met Edward Thripp. When the wine jug was entirely empty, he threw his cup at the closed door and yelled for his page to get in and build up the fire. Autumn was seeping into winter and the long evenings were bitter. The palace chambers’ high ceilings encouraged draughts.
“I threw good coin after bad,” spat Lord Staines once the page had left and the fire blazed high. “I was fool enough to back a filthy pirate and expect profit from a thief.” He leaned back against the pillows with a sigh, his face painted scarlet from
the reflections of the flames, and from the exertion of his own temper. “And,” he continued under his breath, “now the toad-arse is dead, I can no longer kill him myself.”
His supper, also eaten at royal expense, sat like a stone within his gut, trapped by lard and ill humour. Having expected no visitor, either important or otherwise, he was therefore surprised when the door to his tiny apartment creaked and opened, and a sniff from the corridor made him sit up in a hurry. The digestive juices swirled, and he both hiccupped and farted.
The voice from the doorway whispered, “My lord, are you alone?”
His lordship sighed in relief. “It’s you, Praghston. Come in and be quick about it before someone sees you and reports back to Cromwell. Shut the damned door, man.”
The small Jimmy Praggston crept in and shuffled to the fire, holding out his hands for warmth. “My lord, I have been sent to ask if arrangements have yet been – finalised. My master expects assurances.”
“Your master,” growled Lod Staines, “can go to hell. You know damn well my investments lie at the bottom of the narrow sea. Well nigh every penny I’d planned for backing your master’s venture is now lost.”
The small shivering visitor nodded. “But have you no other sources, my lord? My master houses two priests, both in fear of their lives from Cromwell’s spies.”
“Then let God answer our prayers,” muttered Staines. “I support Rome and His Holyness the Pope, and will do what I can to help. But I was led astray. Double your coin, the bastard said. But that damned Captain Edward Thripp, buccaneer and cheat, has drowned and I’ve no chance of getting my money back, not lest God himself intends a miracle.”
“Our work is God’s work.”
His lordship spat into the hearth and farted once again. “Then I can only hope the thief Thripp is now squirming in the fires of hell for eternity.”
Wolfdon Hall was some miles distant and neither as grand nor as bright, but the wine was just as fine as any poured in the palace, and the fires were hissing with the sweet perfumes of wood smoke and brilliant with rising heat,
“So it’s in your interests to prove my father guilty and your own innocent,” glowered Jemima, going pink again. “I am – am completely – I am appalled.”
“What you are, madam,” Richard replied with expressionless disinterest, “is mistaken. Which appears to be a habit. I intend discovering the truth, and my personal opinion at this stage is that neither of our fathers were guilty, although my own was certainly guilty of other crimes and yours was as guilt ridden as any ocean-going pirate is likely to be. But it is the truth which interests me, as always. Not slander, nor rumour, nor assumption. Nor am I interested in maidenly exclamations made without insight or consideration.” He looked up and around, turning to the company in general. “And, I will now repeat, I am not here to exonerate, explain, or otherwise speak about myself and my private life. I have stated my personal involvement concerning my late father for motives of clarity. But this is an investigation of another kind entirely.”
Ysabel seemed content, smiling and nodding, though her attention was on the cup of wine she still held. Jemima scowled silently.
“I do feel, however,” said Alba at once, crossing her ankles and leaning back with a sigh, “that some description should first be made of dear Edward himself. An explanation of why we are all prepared to believe utterly in his innocence even before any investigation takes place. His reputation, as it seems you know, was not so good. But that was not how we saw him.” Her sigh, outspread hands, turned to smile. “I, naturally, having been the first and considerably prolonged love of dear Edward’s life, am the woman most suitable to make such a description. But we all loved him. We all have – something – to say.”
“You may have been the first,” Ruth muttered, “but hardly the most recent.”
“Madam,” Richard said with growing impatience, “the world is a fool. But I am not. It is perfectly clear to me that since you are all here, you are all convinced of the man’s innocence. But the impression of her lover which a woman gains between the sheets is rarely the one I would consider relevant.” He also leaned back, his elbow to the lintel. “However, my father had an excellent reputation but was generally loathed. Your father had an appalling reputation but was clearly well liked. That is merely an indication of the stupidity of judgements given by the masses and of no interest to me. Nor does it prove guilt or innocence.” He paused, but no one else dared speak. “Now,” he continued, ignoring Jemima’s deep red glare, “we will begin with dates and a short history of each of your involvements with Edward Thripp.” He nodded, and added, “Without, of course, any unwarranted detail.”
It was considerably later when the women gathered in Jemima’s bedchamber, and collapsed, exhausted on whatever cushioned comfort they could squeeze onto. No daylight squeezed its way through the window and only a sliver of blowing leaf could be seen through the thickened glass. The fire hissed across the hearth and the chamber sizzled within its confines.
“Oh, for love and mercy, bring me the wine jug,” Ysabel begged. “I need no cup. I’ve every intention of drinking direct from the pot and finishing every drop.”
“You might be capable of it, but you certainly won’t do it,” Ruth objected, reaching for the large earthenware jug, glazed in white and painted with pansies. “We all need this.”
“It’s such a pretty jug.” Ysabel giggled.
“It’s a highly superior wine. Expensive.”
She was not accustomed to drinking over much, but Jemima took her cupful in both hands, as though warming her fingers. “The wine may be good. But that rude pug of a man is vile.”
Alba paced, her white silk catching the moon’s glimmer through the unshuttered window. “I like him,” she said. “Although he is neither the most polite or the most charming of men, I trust him. I like his approach and I like his motives. He was honest about his own father. And after all, he is a man who is famed as all-knowing – decisive – a lawyer in all but name and he deals with the courts, advises on the passing of laws, and is known as a gentleman of justice. We are here because we want justice” She walked forwards and patted Jemima’s clenched fingers. ‘Had you never heard of him before, my love? He is a notable figure, and even the common folk of the city know about him, even when they cannot know him personally.”
Jemima unclenched her fingers. “I know of him from Peter, who’s a friend from years back. Peter’s his half-brother. Same mother, different fathers. Peter seems a little in awe of him, but doesn’t actually seem to know him all that well. I don’t think he likes him either.”
“It seems this Richard Wolfdon is not a simple man,” Alba said, sitting beside her. “But then, nor was your father, my dear.”
Jemima stared down at her toes. “I’m not the baby you remember,” she mumbled. “I know Papa’s faults. But he wasn’t arrogant or rude or conceited.”
“Conceited?” Ruth turned away. “Of course he was, little dove. But he had reason so we all forgave him.”
“I’m hungry,” mumbled Ysabel. “This man may be arrogant but he lays an excellent table with fine wines, and offers the most generous hospitality. We smile. As his guests we do not object to his rudeness. We eat. We drink. And we save dearest Edward from the accusation of murder.” She drained her cup. “What’s not to like?”
Ruth turned her head away. “I need more from a man than food before I can trust him.”
“Bed him then.”
Ruth sat on the window seat, looking down into the treetops that crowded the sides of the house. “Perhaps I would. I love his eyes. But I doubt he’s a man given to romance or seduction.”
Ysabel had not noticed his eyes. “Handsome indeed. And every man can be tempted, if a woman wants to try. Me – I’ve grown fat. But you, Elisabeth. He’d never resist you.”
“Lovely brown eyes,” Elisabeth nodded, giggling. “But a long straight nose, and he looks straight down it like a raven staring down his beak. That’s arro
gance.”
Jemima shook her head, leaning back against the pillows. “His eyes are hazel. Almost green. They have little golden lights like devils that dance.”
Every other woman turned to look at her. “Well, my love,” Ruth said, “it seems you’ve looked very hard and close since you’ve noticed something the rest of us have missed, however much you say you hate the man.”
“Best get to know the man you distrust,” Jemima said, closing her eyes. “Only by knowing the one you hate, can you keep yourself safe.”
“Words from your father, little dove?”
Elisabeth sighed. “We are all arguing over a man who has given us nothing but rich food, great wine, warm comfort, and the opportunity to exonerate dearest Edward.” She was ignored.
“Master Wolfdon’s not the type for rapine or abduction,” Alba said, smiling. “What do you need to be safe from, little dove?”
“I’ll ask Peter about him,” said Jemima to herself. “Peter will tell me the truth.”
A servant came, raised the shutters and lit three candles around the chamber. The twilight was shut out with a snap and the flickering light turned golden. The women continued to talk but shortly a page announced that supper was served downstairs, and waited until they were ready to follow him. It was while they sat once more in the smaller hall eating their supper, when the next arrival was announced. Philippa Barry swept in with the rain, flung her arms in the air, and exclaimed, “Such a gathering and I have missed the hilarity and the food too. Give me ale, I’m cold and tired. It’s as wet and chilly out there as a winter’s day.”
“It’s well nigh October. And we have no ale.”
Jemima stood at once. She took the new arrival’s hand. “Come and meet all Papa’s friends, Pippa. No one has come to bicker or pick, but only to combine and swear to my dear father’s innocence. I shall introduce you to each of my beautiful mothers.”
The Deception of Consequences Page 5