might be good to spread the word now that these objects have been found and watch to see who seems uneasy at the rumor.”
“Will we say where they were found?” Sir Roger asked.
“Nay. Should we do so, folk will wonder why one or both of the squires are not arrested.”
“Wonder about that myself. The squires and Lady Anne seem mixed together in Sir Henry’s death. Put the lot of ’em in Oxford Castle dungeon and soon one will tell who is guilty, so to free themselves.”
“They will implicate each other, and we will be no nearer to discovering a murderer than we are now,” I replied, “or William will play the man and take blame to save Lady Anne, whether he is guilty or not. We must be patient and alert.”
“Not too patient,” Lord Gilbert said. “Lady Margery wishes to return to Bedford and I wish the matter resolved to be rid of her.”
Murder and stolen goods vexed my mind as I left the castle. I stopped at the bridge over Shill Brook to gaze into the stream, but this wool-gathering did nothing to clear my thoughts or suggest a solution to my problems.
Kate greeted me with an embrace and a supper of arbolettys and a maslin loaf. Bessie watched her mother clasp me close and lifted her arms to me to do the same. The babe was beginning to cut teeth, and so slobbered upon my shoulder as I held her close. This did not trouble me. There are fathers who would give much to have a babe drool upon their cotehardie rather than occupy a small corner of St Beornwald’s churchyard.
I told Kate of the day’s events while we ate our supper, and concluded by saying that, unlikely as it seemed, Lady Anne may have had something to do with her father’s death.
“Perhaps she stuffed the portpain up a sleeve, before taking the spoons and knives,” I said. “When the page saw her with the silver his attention was drawn to the utensils and he did not notice the bulging sleeve.”
“You think she then gave the cloth to the squire… what is his name?”
“William. It may be. The sheriff believes it so, but ’tis all too simple, and who else would have known of their conspiracy?”
“Why would some other need to know of their connivance?”
“The message, slid under the sheriff’s door.”
“Oh, aye. Neither Lady Anne nor the squire would have done it were they guilty… or if they did, they would have named the other squire.”
“And I do not know of a certainty that the bloodstains on the linen cloth came to be there at Sir Henry’s death, or if the bodkin in the base of the lampstand was a murder weapon. ’Tis all conjecture, because we were directed to search the squires’ chamber.”
“How then will you find the truth of the matter?”
“It would be well if the Lord Christ would come to me in a dream and tell me how the felony was done and who did it, but that is unlikely.”
“How, then?”
“There is not yet enough information for anything but supposition. I must learn more of Sir Henry and his life, as well as his death. Then my speculation will be less flimsy, and I may discard unworthy theories until but one remains.”
“And then you will know who murdered Sir Henry?”
“Aye. When the impossible and the unlikely are all discarded, the felon will appear.”
“Well,” Kate said while munching thoughtfully upon the remains of her maslin loaf, “I think you can discard already thoughts of Lady Anne in collusion with her squire.”
“Why so? Not that I believe you to be mistaken. I have my own doubts, but I would hear yours.”
“The lass would not be so foolish as to return stolen silver in a cloth which could be identified with another used at the slaying of her father.”
“I agree. But perhaps she is weak-minded.”
“Have you seen sign of this?”
“Nay.”
“She does not behave oddly at table, or scratch herself when and where she itches, or speak foolishness out of turn?”
“Nay,” I replied.
“Then you must assume Lady Anne wise enough that she would not
“Will we say where they were found?” Sir Roger asked.
“Nay. Should we do so, folk will wonder why one or both of the squires are not arrested.”
“Wonder about that myself. The squires and Lady Anne seem mixed together in Sir Henry’s death. Put the lot of ’em in Oxford Castle dungeon and soon one will tell who is guilty, so to free themselves.”
“They will implicate each other, and we will be no nearer to discovering a murderer than we are now,” I replied, “or William will play the man and take blame to save Lady Anne, whether he is guilty or not. We must be patient and alert.”
“Not too patient,” Lord Gilbert said. “Lady Margery wishes to return to Bedford and I wish the matter resolved to be rid of her.”
Murder and stolen goods vexed my mind as I left the castle. I stopped at the bridge over Shill Brook to gaze into the stream, but this wool-gathering did nothing to clear my thoughts or suggest a solution to my problems.
Kate greeted me with an embrace and a supper of arbolettys and a maslin loaf. Bessie watched her mother clasp me close and lifted her arms to me to do the same. The babe was beginning to cut teeth, and so slobbered upon my shoulder as I held her close. This did not trouble me. There are fathers who would give much to have a babe drool upon their cotehardie rather than occupy a small corner of St Beornwald’s churchyard.
I told Kate of the day’s events while we ate our supper, and concluded by saying that, unlikely as it seemed, Lady Anne may have had something to do with her father’s death.
“Perhaps she stuffed the portpain up a sleeve, before taking the spoons and knives,” I said. “When the page saw her with the silver his attention was drawn to the utensils and he did not notice the bulging sleeve.”
“You think she then gave the cloth to the squire… what is his name?”
“William. It may be. The sheriff believes it so, but ’tis all too simple, and who else would have known of their conspiracy?”
“Why would some other need to know of their connivance?”
“The message, slid under the sheriff’s door.”
“Oh, aye. Neither Lady Anne nor the squire would have done it were they guilty… or if they did, they would have named the other squire.”
“And I do not know of a certainty that the bloodstains on the linen cloth came to be there at Sir Henry’s death, or if the bodkin in the base of the lampstand was a murder weapon. ’Tis all conjecture, because we were directed to search the squires’ chamber.”
“How then will you find the truth of the matter?”
“It would be well if the Lord Christ would come to me in a dream and tell me how the felony was done and who did it, but that is unlikely.”
“How, then?”
“There is not yet enough information for anything but supposition. I must learn more of Sir Henry and his life, as well as his death. Then my speculation will be less flimsy, and I may discard unworthy theories until but one remains.”
“And then you will know who murdered Sir Henry?”
“Aye. When the impossible and the unlikely are all discarded, the felon will appear.”
“Well,” Kate said while munching thoughtfully upon the remains of her maslin loaf, “I think you can discard already thoughts of Lady Anne in collusion with her squire.”
“Why so? Not that I believe you to be mistaken. I have my own doubts, but I would hear yours.”
“The lass would not be so foolish as to return stolen silver in a cloth which could be identified with another used at the slaying of her father.”
“I agree. But perhaps she is weak-minded.”
“Have you seen sign of this?”
“Nay.”
“She does not behave oddly at table, or scratch herself when and where she itches, or speak foolishness out of turn?”
“Nay,” I replied.
“Then you must assume Lady Anne wise enough that she would not
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