I returned to our apartment to face Filomena and my mother, knowing that they would be desperate to hear more news of the murder. They pretended to be warming themselves by the fire when I opened the door, but it was obvious they had been lying in wait.
‘Is it true?’ asked Filomena, even before I had untied the clasp of my cloak. ‘Has Godfrey been killed?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m afraid it is.’
She crossed herself. ‘And is it also true that his body was left in the clockmakers’ chest?’
I nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Poor man,’ said Filomena, as she flopped down upon the bed, giving Mother the opportunity to launch into a well-prepared speech.
‘I told you there was death in this place, didn’t I, Oswald?’ she said, wagging a bony finger at me. ‘I said it was a bad decision to come here. We should return to Somershill immediately. Before somebody else is killed.’
‘We can’t leave, Mother,’ I said. ‘You know that. We’re surrounded by plague.’
‘I’ll take my chances, thank you very much,’ she blustered.
‘Well, that’s up to you,’ I answered. ‘But you’ll be going home on your own, as the rest of us are staying here.’
Filomena looked up again. ‘But perhaps your mother is right, Oswald,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to stay here either. There’s a murderer in this castle.’
Mother gave a surprised smile that soon turned into a gloat. It was not often that my wife agreed with anything she had to say.
‘Please don’t worry,’ I told them both, hoping to sound confident. ‘There’s no reason to think that anybody else is in danger. Especially as we’re going to start looking for the murderer straight away.’
Filomena stiffened. ‘What do you mean by that?’ she snapped.
I hesitated. ‘I’ve offered to help Edwin with the investigation,’ I said.
‘Why?’
‘You know why, Filomena,’ I replied. ‘Edwin is a fool. I couldn’t trust him to find a killer on his own.’
‘Let Edwin take care of this himself. It is his castle.’
‘I can’t do that,’ I answered. ‘It’s too dangerous.’
She gave a huff. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘So you do think this person will kill again.’
‘I’m not saying that,’ I protested, as Mother interrupted our argument.
‘Goodness me,’ she exclaimed, pointing down into the inner ward. ‘Come and look at this, Oswald. Edwin of Eden is addressing a crowd from a stool.’
I joined Mother at the window, peering down to see Edwin below, surrounded by the other guests. He cut a strange figure, as he had thrown a very long cloak over his nightshirt. It was a garment that covered his feet and created the illusion that Edwin was floating above the cobblestones. I wondered if this cloak had belonged to Godfrey, because it certainly hadn’t been made for Edwin’s frame. Godfrey may have been short in stature, but Edwin was barely taller than Sandro. I couldn’t hear what our new lord was saying from our window, but I could see that he was being harangued by Lord Hesket, Old Simon and the knight, Robert of Lyndham. The three men were launching questions and hardly giving him the opportunity to answer.
‘Just look at that fool,’ said Mother. ‘Waving his arms about on that stool. Who does he think he is?’
‘He’s Lord Eden now,’ I replied.
She gasped. ‘Goodness me, Oswald,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ She continued to peer down. ‘Well, I wonder what he’s saying to them all?’
‘Why don’t you go and listen?’ I suggested. ‘Sandro can help you down the stairs.’
‘No, no,’ she said. ‘I’d rather stay here with you and Filomena.’
‘Very well then,’ I said, knowing better than to insist. ‘Edwin isn’t telling them anything that you haven’t heard from me.’
We continued to watch for a while longer as Old Simon staggered towards a door, with the aid of Alice Cross. Behind him, the argument continued to rage between Hesket and Edwin, culminating in Hesket attempting to push our new lord from his makeshift podium on the stool. The excitement was now of the highest quality and far too good for Mother to miss.
‘I think I will go down after all,’ she said blithely. ‘A dash of fresh air might do me some good.’
‘Do you think you should?’ I asked, a little mischievously. ‘It does look very boisterous down there.’
‘A woman of my age must take her daily exercise, Oswald. I will not be talked out of it.’ She looked over her shoulder. ‘Now where is that small Venetian?’ she said. ‘Sandro, Sandro.’ She called out his name until my valet ran into the room, trailed by Hugh, who was beating the floor with a long stick – blissfully ignorant of the drama that was unfolding about us.
When Mother, Sandro and Hugh had departed for the inner ward, I went immediately to my strongbox, with the intention of retrieving the two letters that Godfrey had given me the previous night.
Filomena watched me with suspicious eyes. ‘What are you doing, Oswald?’ she asked, as I turned the key in the lock, and then delved into the coffer that contained all of our most valuable possessions.
I lifted the two letters aloft. ‘Godfrey gave me these last night,’ I said. ‘For safekeeping.’
Filomena paused for a moment, and I could see that she had not fully forgiven me for our last disagreement, but curiosity got the better of her in the end. ‘Why was that?’ she asked me.
It was my turn to hesitate. My wife was no delicate flower, apt to wilt at the first chill – but was it a good idea to involve her in this investigation? ‘Come and sit with me,’ I said, once I had made my decision. ‘Then I’ll explain.’
She didn’t move. ‘Do those letters have something to do with Godfrey’s murder?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ I replied honestly. ‘They could have.’
I had piqued her interest at least. ‘Why did Godfrey give them to you?’ she asked, as she slowly walked across the room to join me by the fire.
‘He wanted me to deliver these letters in the event of his death,’ I said.
She sat down and then drew her stool close to mine. ‘The event of his death?’ she repeated, wrinkling her nose. ‘Did he think his life was in danger, then?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Though the death he feared was from the Plague, not murder.’ I hesitated again. ‘Even so. These letters might tell us something. So we need to read them.’
She laid a hand on my arm. ‘Are you sure about that, Oswald?’ she said. ‘Remember, if you open those letters, then you are caught in this tangle. You cannot escape.’
‘It’s too late,’ I said. ‘I’m already trapped, whether I like it or not.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because Godfrey told me a secret last night,’ I said.
‘Oh yes?’
‘He told me that he was planning to leave the castle today and bring two people back with him.’
‘Who?’
‘He wouldn’t say,’ I replied.
She withdrew her hand from my arm and laid it gently over the other in her lap. ‘You’re right, Oswald,’ she said solemnly, ‘we should read them now.’
I broke the seal on the first letter, unfolded the parchment and then read the contents aloud. The first one was addressed to the priest, John Cubit, in Oxford.
‘My dearest John. I have asked Lord Somershill to deliver this letter to you in the circumstances of my death. You must know that I have never swerved from our path. To the end, I have laboured tirelessly upon our shared vision, knowing this to be the way of righteousness. I have taken the greatest pains to hide our work from prying eyes, but you will know where to find it. May God go with you. Your true friend, Godfrey, Lord Eden.’
Filomena frowned. ‘Shared vision?’ she said. ‘What does that mean, Oswald?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
‘And who is this John Cubit?’ she asked, pointing to his name on the letter. She was learning to read English and liked to show me that she was making progress.’
‘He’s a priest,’ I said. ‘A radical.’ She pulled another face in response, and I knew that this word had confused her. ‘Cubit wants the church to change,’ I said. ‘There is a group of such men in Oxford. Led by a man named John Wyclif.’
‘Was Godfrey part of this group?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I think he was,’ I said. ‘At least, he tried to foist a book by Wyclif onto me last night.’
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘I deliberately left it behind.’ When she arched an eyebrow, I added, ‘I didn’t want to read this book, Filomena. I’m not interested in Wyclif’s dangerous beliefs.’
‘Dangerous?’
‘Wyclif’s not popular with the church,’ I said. ‘But he’s able to speak his mind because he’s protected by a powerful friend.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘It’s the Archbishop of Canterbury, Simon Islip,’ I said. ‘They were once fellow students at Oxford. But Islip’s protection cannot last forever. As soon as Islip is dead, the church will decide that Wyclif is a heretic.’ I paused. ‘And we all know what happens to heretics in the end.’
She crossed herself. ‘This work that Godfrey has hidden from prying eyes?’ She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Do you think it’s heresy?’
‘Probably,’ I said.
She paused. ‘But we don’t know where it’s hidden?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And we don’t know what it is.’ Filomena drummed her fingers upon her knees for a moment. ‘We should open the second letter, Oswald. It might tell us more.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Especially as this one is addressed to Islip.’
I tore at the seal and unfolded the second square of parchment, and then began to quickly scan the words. ‘Godfrey begins with best wishes to the archbishop’s household,’ I told her. ‘And then . . .’ I let my finger run along the words. ‘God’s bones, listen to this.’
‘What is it?’ she said.
I read the letter aloud.
‘I am writing to request your assistance. Calling upon our history of friendship and common interest. I know you to be a man of the greatest honour. A person whom I can trust without fail.’
I paused for a moment, almost unable to speak the words of the next sentence.
‘What is it?’ said Filomena urgently. ‘Please, Oswald. Read the letter to me.’
I turned my eyes back to the words.
‘I wish to inform you that I have married a local woman in the past year, but have yet to announce this union to my family. Her name is Abigail Franklin, and though she is not born of nobility, she is a God-fearing woman from a good family. I have decided to keep my marriage a secret from my own family thus far, but please do not doubt that Abigail is my true wife. We were married by the priest John Cubit, according to God’s law.’
Filomena stood up. ‘Did you know about this marriage, Oswald?’ she asked.
I shook my head. ‘No. Of course not. Or I would have told you about it before. But listen. There’s more.
‘In the month of August in this year of 1361, my wife gave birth to our first son, a boy named Simon. I beg of you to acknowledge Simon as the rightful heir to Eden, as my younger brother Edwin will oppose Simon’s claim to the estate. I ask you, as my friend and previous benefactor, to both recognise and protect Simon’s position. At my death, it is my son, and not my brother, who becomes the true lord of this estate.’
I folded the letter again and paused for a moment. ‘This makes sense now, Filomena,’ I said. ‘The two people Godfrey intended to bring back to the castle must have been his own wife and son. No wonder he was behaving so secretively.’
‘Are you sure that nobody else knew about them?’ she said.
‘You mean Edwin?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. I do mean Edwin. Didn’t you tell me that he was also called to Godfrey’s library last night? Perhaps Godfrey told Edwin the truth, before he brought two new members of the family into the castle? It might have made Edwin very angry.’
‘Are you suggesting that Edwin killed Godfrey?’ I said.
She paused. ‘Well, it’s possible, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. It is,’ I said, standing up and reaching for my cloak. ‘I’ll go and speak to him now.’ I poked Godfrey’s letter to Simon Islip under my belt, and then patted it. ‘I’ll ask him what he knows about this.’
I put on my cloak and reached the door, when she called after me. ‘Be careful, Oswald,’ she said. ‘I don’t like that man.’
I found Edwin lying on his bed, with the long cloak now draped across his head. He didn’t stir when I entered the room, so I nudged him gently at first and then with more urgency. ‘Edwin,’ I said. ‘Wake up. I need to speak to you.’
He groaned and turned away from me. ‘Go away, de Lacy,’ he said. ‘I did as you asked. I spoke to the household, and was pushed over for my troubles.’
I pulled the cloak back, exposing his face to daylight. ‘I said, get up. I need to speak to you.’
‘What’s the matter with you?’ he squealed as he jumped up from the bed to avoid a shaft of light. ‘I told you to leave me alone. So off you go!’ When I didn’t move, he added, ‘You have to do what I say now, de Lacy. I own this castle. I’m Lord Eden.’
I ignored this remark and pressed on with my questions. ‘Did you know that Godfrey was planning to leave the castle today?’ I said.
Edwin squinted at me. ‘What?’
‘Is that why Godfrey called you to his library last night?’
Edwin continued to stare, his mouth hung open like a fish gulping for air. ‘Uh?’
‘For goodness’ sake, Edwin,’ I said, ‘just listen to me. Did Godfrey tell you that he was planning to leave the castle today? Yes or no.’
‘So why did Godfrey want to see you last night?’
Edwin let out a long groan. ‘Oh God, I don’t know,’ he said, pushing the hair out of his eyes. ‘It was just the usual stuff,’ he said. ‘Stop getting drunk. Leave the maids alone.’
‘He didn’t tell you that he was married and had a child?’
Edwin drew back. ‘Godfrey was married with a child?’ he repeated. ‘Says who?’
I pulled the letter from my belt. ‘It’s in here,’ I said. ‘Written by Godfrey himself.’
He let his mouth hang open again, before he shook his head and rubbed his eyes. ‘Where did you find that?’ he said.
‘Godfrey gave it to me last night. For safekeeping.’
‘Let me see it,’ he said, trying to snatch the square of parchment from my grasp. I pulled the letter away quickly, until he held out his hand politely. ‘Look, de Lacy,’ he said. ‘You can’t say that you have a letter like that and then not show me. If I can’t read it, then I won’t believe you.’
I hesitated, because he was right. Edwin needed to see this letter, if only to acknowledge its existence. I passed the folded square of parchment to him with some reluctance, but made sure to stay close in case he made an attempt to destroy it. After all, its contents were hardly in his interests.
Edwin ran his fingers along the writing, mumbling the words aloud as if he were a child learning to read. He went through this same process three times in a row before he flung the letter back to me in disgust.
‘So you knew nothing about this woman and child?’ I asked him.
Edwin sank down upon the side of his bed. ‘What is this, de Lacy? An interrogation?’
‘I just need you to be honest with me,’ I said.
‘I am being honest with you,’ he protested. ‘I knew nothing about this Abigail Franklin and her child. Or Godfrey’s plan to leave the castle.’ He ran his fingers through his hair, forming valleys across his scalp. ‘I’d like you to leave now, please,’ he said. ‘My brother has been murdered and I’m grieving.’
I ignored this instruction and made my way to a table on the other side of the room, where I filled two cups from a jug of Malmsey wine. ‘This news about Godfrey’s son must be a shock for you,’ I said, returning to Edwin’s side, and passing him one of the cups.
‘I’ll get over it,’ he replied, as he took the wine from me. ‘Now, as I keep saying, I’d like you to leave.’
I sidled up to him instead – even though he smelt very stale at this close proximity.
‘You have to obey me,’ he said. ‘This is my castle.’
‘Do I?’ I replied. ‘You see, now we know that Godfrey has a son, it turns out that you’re not Lord Eden after all.’
He bristled. ‘Not necessarily,’ he said.
I tapped the letter that was once again tucked beneath my belt. ‘Well, that’s what this says, Edwin. And Godfrey gave it to me himself, so we know it’s genuine.’
Edwin stood up to get away from me. ‘Well, let’s see if this boy survives the Plague, shall we? Then we can argue about who is the rightful Lord Eden.’ He stalked over to the door and opened it. ‘Now please leave.’
‘Aren’t you concerned about Godfrey’s wife and son?’ I said.
‘No,’ he answered, letting go of the door for a moment. ‘Why should I be?’
‘Because this child is your nephew, after all. And the rightful Lord Eden. He’s somewhere on the island, at risk from the Plague. Don’t you think that you should bring this boy and his mother to the castle? It’s what Godfrey was planning to do.’
‘No. Of course I don’t, de Lacy,’ he said. ‘I’m not going out there.’ He then paused, allowing time for a smile to cross his face. ‘But if you’re volunteering to leave the castle to find this woman and her son, then I wouldn’t stand in your way. In fact, you would have my blessing for such a selfless and noble act.’
We stared at each other for a while, both knowing that I would not make such an offer – not for the sake of a woman and child I’d never met. I might have looked down my nose at Edwin of Eden, but we were not so very different at heart. We were both ruthless and self-centred, when it came to the people that we loved most. The difference was that my love was for my family, whereas he only cared for himself. But did this quality make Edwin a murderer, as Filomena had suggested? I didn’t think so. I had investigated other murders and learnt to trust my instincts. My instincts told me that Edwin was too stupid to be guilty.
‘What are you going to do with that letter?’ he asked, before looking away, unable to meet my gaze when he made the next suggestion. ‘Perhaps I should have it, for safekeeping?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I said, almost wanting to laugh out loud at this preposterous idea.
‘Are you going to tell everybody what it says, then?’ he asked me.
I hesitated. ‘No, Edwin,’ I replied. ‘I’ll let you do that yourself.’ I paused. ‘But please do not doubt me. If you have not said anything about Godfrey’s son by the time we are ready to leave in the spring, then I will tell them all myself.’
We raised the portcullis for a short period the next morning, in order that a party of men from within the castle could dig a shallow grave for Godfrey in the graveyard of the family chapel – the small, stone building that lay just beyond the gate of the castle. We had no option but to bury Godfrey’s body outside, since we could not dig up the cobblestones of the inner ward and lay him to rest within the walls. Leaving the castle was a risk we had to take, so we acted quickly to make sure that we kept our time outside to a minimum.
The gravediggers were myself, Pieter de Groot, his nephew Hans and the knight Robert of Lyndham. Sandro joined us to watch out for any strangers as we worked, but we felt safe enough. The castle sat on top of a steep bank of land at the southern tip of the Isle of Eden, and was surrounded by the marsh on three sides. To the other side there were open fields, with the nearest woodland being about three hundred yards away. It was unlikely that anybody could approach us without being seen. Our real enemy that morning was the harsh wind, battering us as we dug at the hard, icy soil. Consequently the pit was a shallow hole for this unexpected burial. The true gravediggers would have to return in the spring, as this temporary grave would not suffice as a permanent resting place.
Once we’d lowered Godfrey’s coffin into this hole, the other guests and servants from the castle briefly joined us for the most rapid service of committal that I’d ever attended. As Old Simon sprinkled holy water onto Godfrey’s coffin, I wrapped my cloak about my shoulders and then looked around the grave at my fellow mourners, studying their faces, one by one. Each wore a respectful, if frozen, expression. Some were even shedding a tear, but there was deceit here as well as grief. One of these people was a killer – a person with the self-composure to watch their victim being buried, without displaying even the slightest tremble of guilt.