A Holy Vengeance (11 page)

During the previous interviews, Bascot had seated himself on one of the barrels of nails stacked on the floor, with Gianni perched next to him. When Roget sent Wiger in, the Templar did not, as he had done with all of the previous employees, tell him to be similarly seated, but instead kept him standing for a good long moment while he regarded him. Although the newly made widower was making an effort to present a grief-filled countenance, the Templar saw that, unlike Robert Ferroner and Noll, there did not seem to be any sorrow in his eyes, only wariness.

Bascot was certain Noll’s opinion that Wiger had wed Ferroner’s daughter for pecuniary gain was a true one, and felt only scorn for the man standing in front of him. Quite often marital alliances were made for the material advantage the union would bring, especially in the noble classes, but usually both parties, man and woman, were aware of that purpose and no pretence of love was made between them. But with Emma, a plain-featured young woman who had been the daughter of a prosperous man, this was not the case, for both her father and Constance Turner had said that she was in love with him. Wiger had used his handsomeness to gain himself a wealthy wife; had he now, for some reason, wanted to be rid of her?

Bascot made no attempt to console Wiger for his loss and began his questions without preamble.

“I have been told that you had been wed to Master Ferroner’s daughter for almost two years. What was the date of your marriage?”

Wiger, a little startled at the brusqueness in the Templar’s tone, hesitated momentarily before replying. “We were married in the autumn of the year before last, lord.”

“And did you wed her out of love or for the fortune she would one day inherit?”

The bald question took Wiger aback, and he stammered out his answer. “I . . . I . . . wed her because I loved her, and for no other reason.”

His response lacked conviction and Bascot pressed him. “Then you found no need to take a lover?”
This time Wiger seemed to have regained some of his composure and answered carefully. “Emma was all that a man could want in a wife. She gave me no cause to seek out the company of another woman.”

The Templar had noted the ambiguity of the answer and again let a short silence reign before asking, “Do you know of anyone who would have wanted your wife dead?”

“No, lord, I do not.” The answer was, this time, a little more assertive, but Wiger’s face was etched with fear.

With an abrupt movement, Bascot took the murder weapon from his scrip and tossed it across the open space between them. Startled, Wiger fumbled a little as he tried to catch it, and it fell to the ground. With an apprehensive look at the Templar, he reached down and picked it up by the hilt.

“That is the blade that killed your wife,” Bascot barked. “Have you ever seen it before?”

Wiger turned the knife over once or twice in his hand, and then shook his head. “No, lord, I have not.”

The Templar leaned forward and spoke in a menacing tone. “In my experience, it is usually someone close to a victim that is guilty of their murder. You, Wiger, are high on my list of suspects.”

“But, lord,” the nervous man exclaimed, “I could not have killed her. I was here in the armoury at the time she was attacked.”

“That does not eliminate the possibility that you hired an assassin to despatch her,” Bascot declared. “If any reason is uncovered, even the slightest indication, that you had cause to conspire at your wife’s death, you will be taken to the castle gaol and questioned by the sheriff’s men. Do you understand?”

Miserably, Wiger nodded, fully aware of the rough treatment that would ensue from such an eventuality, and Bascot dismissed him.

“What think you of his testimony, Gianni?” Bascot asked after Wiger had left.

The lad waggled his fingers back and forth, and the Templar nodded. “A little truth, some evasion and the hint of a lie. And since that is the case, we must find out more about him, and whether, despite losing the profit he hoped to gain through his wife, there is still a motive for him to wish her dead.”

* * *

“It would seem there is no connection to the murderer to be found in the armoury, but there are still several lines of enquiry to follow,” Bascot said as he, Gianni and Roget rode back to the castle. “First, I would like to visit the alehouses in the area. Noll said that Wiger made a habit of drinking in the evenings; if we can discover which one he frequented, we might be able to learn from the alekeep or other patrons if he has ever mentioned having a paramour. I also think it might be profitable to speak to the woman who used to be Mistress Emma’s companion, Nan Glover. She may be able to tell us of any enemies the dead woman might have had.”

Gianni made a few quick gestures with his hands. “Yes,” the Templar confirmed. “There is always the hope that Lady Nicolaa has discovered something of importance from the apothecary she sent for.” He tapped his horse lightly with his spurs to urge the mount on a little faster. “But if not, then we must wait for God to show us the way.”

* * *

As the trio rode up Mikelgate towards the bail, they noticed that the panic among the townspeople seemed to have been allayed by the presence of MacHeth and the other Templar brothers. The churches were beginning to fill up again as the hour for the service at Sext approached, and people were going into the places of worship without reserve. Many of those standing on the street smiled as Bascot passed by. They were grateful for his protection, and that of the other Templar brothers, while evil was threatening their town.

The man who had slain Emma Ferroner was among the crowd and was not so pleased. He had been delighted when he heard that the townsfolk believed the killing had been perpetrated by the Devil. He had not chosen the murder site for such a purpose, but it had, nonetheless, served him well by providing detraction to the discovery of his identity. But he had heard of the reputation of the Templar monk for solving secret murder and feared he might not be so easily gulled. There were obscure links between himself and the victim that, if uncovered, would reveal his culpability. For the first time the elation that had buoyed him after the slaying began to diminish. Killing the armourer’s daughter had been an act of loyalty and courage, and he had not expected to suffer punishment for it.

As he mused on the problem now confronting him, a plan slowly came to him and he smiled as he realised that its commission would safely eradicate any trace of his involvement in the murder. Such a scheme would not only reinforce the townsfolk’s mistaken notion about the Devil, but also lead the monk down a false trail.

“Let us sum up the information we have,” Nicolaa de la Haye said a short time later, after Bascot had given her a report of his visit to the armoury and she had told him and Gianni of her conversation with Drogue. “Firstly, the victim was a plain-featured woman who was heiress to a goodly fortune, wedded to a husband who married her for financial profit. While that may be despicable, it would appear he cannot be considered a suspect, for, now that she is dead, he will lose all that he might have gained had she lived.”

The castellan tapped the table with a forefinger as she continued, “Secondly, we have a grieving father who claims his daughter was killed by a witch who placed a curse on him twenty-five years ago. But no one knows where this woman lived at the time of his liaison with her; it will be almost impossible to locate her so many years later in order to determine whether or not she has any connection with the death.

“Lastly we have the witness to the crime, Constance Turner, who, although protesting her innocence, still lied to us when she concealed that she had recently been estranged from the victim. We can exclude her from being the actual assailant by means of the scrap of material St. Dunstan’s ravens gave us that proves, just as she claimed, that the murderer was chased away by them, but even so, it does not exempt her from collusion in the deed.”

Nicolaa leaned back in her chair and expelled her breath in disgruntlement. “There is not much there to lead us to the killer, de Marins. What do you suggest we do next?”

“I would like to continue with the search to discover more of a personal nature about Emma Ferroner,” he replied. “Mistress Turner was able to tell me a little, but I feel there is more to be learned about the victim, especially in regard to her relationship with her husband. To that end, I would like to go and speak to Nan Glover, the woman who was Emma’s attendant after her mother died. Apparently she was not only an intimate of the armourer’s daughter while she was growing up, but continued to be a friend to Emma until her death. She may have some information that proves helpful.”

“Very well,” Nicolaa agreed. “Anything else?”

“Yes. I would also like to investigate the husband, Wiger, more fully. Although the colour of his hair indicates that he cannot be the killer, that does not, as in the instance of Constance Turner, exempt him from complicity in the crime. It may be that he has a lover who is getting impatient with his married state, or been keeping company with some other wealthy woman who would be willing to marry him if he were free, and so hired a murderer to despatch his wife. We need to find out more about him before he can be completely exempted. I was told by one of Ferroner’s employees that Wiger had lately formed the habit of visiting alehouses in the evening, so I would like to go to those closest to the armoury and, if we can determine which one he patronised, question the alekeep and other customers. A man often grows careless with his speech when he in his cups, and he may, in conversation, have revealed some fact that is incriminating.”

“Very well,” Nicolaa said. “It will, of course, be best to visit the alehouses in the evening when they are full of patrons who have stopped by to quench their thirst after finishing the day’s work. You will go tonight?”

Bascot nodded. “Yes, after Gianni and I have spoken to Nan Glover. And I would appreciate it if Roget could accompany me. I am not familiar with the locations of the alehouses outside the southern walls of the town and will need a guide to show me where they are.”

“I will tell the captain to make himself ready to attend you,” the castellan promised.

The house where Noll had said that Mistress Glover now lived with her son and his wife was not far distant from the castle and so Bascot and Gianni decided to walk there. As they made their way down Steep Hill and past the market at the bottom of the incline, the Templar glanced at the lad, concerned that he seemed downcast. He had been that way since shortly after they had arrived at the armoury, and although he had taken down the information given during the interviews with Ferroner’s employees in a competent fashion, and listened with seeming attention during the discussion with Nicolaa de la Haye, Bascot was certain he had, nonetheless, been distracted.

“You seem preoccupied, Gianni,” Bascot said, as they left behind the busy throng in the marketplace and turned down Danesgate, the side street where the house belonging to Mistress Glover’s son was located. “Does something ail you?”

Miserable, Gianni began to shake his head in negation when he stopped in his tracks, suddenly realising that his fear of the
strega
had almost caused him to lie to the man who had always shown him the love of a father. He could not allow his dread to cripple his mind, he decided, especially while he was carrying out the very important task of helping to investigate a murder. Taking a deep breath, he nodded at Bascot.

With the help of words written on his wax tablet, accompanied by gestures, Gianni told Bascot how Robert Ferroner’s mention of a
strega
had frightened him and the reason why.

Bascot pondered what Gianni had told him and how terrifying the experience must have been. Sicily, like the rest of Christendom, had a deep belief in the existence of witches, and it was referenced in many places in the Bible that such creatures were real. Nonetheless, the Templar was certain that many who claimed to be witches were spurious, using the false reputation as a means of controlling others or, if they were alone or elderly, as a means of protection against those that might wish them harm.

The latter could easily be the case with the old crone of whom Gianni had spoken. She had brandished her supposed talent for magick as a defence against any who might be tempted to steal from her pitiful stock of fruit. If that was the case, then the boy’s death was easily explained—the sailor whom the youngster had tried to rob had lashed out in a drunken stupor and accidentally thrown the boy off the pier with no intent to kill him and, afterwards, still mazed by the ale he had drunk, had not retained any memory of the act. As for fighting off the guards and fatally wounding two of them, his strength could have been born of desperation rather than evil genius. The other frightening part—of how wicked fairies had been seen dancing at the moment of the sailor’s demise—could merely be due to embellishment by a few over-excited spectators at his hanging. If that was the case, then the old fruit-seller had not actually possessed any devilish powers, but must have revelled in the outcome. Her reputation as a witch had been enhanced and her wares made safe from thievery.

The same could be true of Ferroner’s rejected lover. After failing to entice him into marriage with her natural charms, she had resorted to the implied knowledge of her grandam’s witchery to try to force him into wedlock. That her scheme had not worked had been her misfortune, but she had, nonetheless, succeeded in laying a yoke of trepidation on the armourer that was still plaguing him many years later. Just as Ferroner’s fear of the curse was real, so was Gianni’s dread of witches. Such burdens were crippling to the soul and the Templar knew he must try to find a way to help the lad.

Laying a hand on Gianni’s shoulder, the Templar first commended him for having the courage to reveal his disquietude and then said, “I fully understand your apprehension, Gianni, but ofttimes the only way to quell an anxiety is, with Our Lord’s aid, to face and overcome it. If you do not, you will never be free of it. If it should become necessary to search for this woman, it is my hope that, for your own well-being, you will accompany me, but I will not censure you if you do not. What say you?”

Gianni looked into the Templar’s pale blue eye, which had the clarity of a cloudless dawn, and knew that with this man at his side, he had no cause to be frightened
.
Slowly and gravely he nodded his willingness to go
.

Bascot gave the boy’s shoulder a final firm clasp and Gianni, his confidence restored, now walked with steady steps beside his former master to the house where Ferroner’s employee Noll had told them they would find Nan Glover.

It was a well-maintained building that belonged to Mistress Glover’s son, John, who was proprietor of a soap-making manufactory on the riverbank near Robert Ferroner’s armoury. Of modest proportions, it was two stories high, the lower one of stone and the upper of wood, and the casement shutters had been painted an attractive shade of blue.

When they knocked at the door and asked the maidservant who answered for Emma’s former attendant, they were shown into a small hall where a woman of late middle years was sitting in a comfortable padded chair stitching at a tapestry. With her was a much younger, and very handsome, female companion, wearing a fine silken gown and bedecked with expensive jewellery. She had a slightly haughty cast to her expression, but when the maidservant announced that one of the visitors was a Templar knight, she rose quickly from her seat and gave him a fulsome welcome.

“I am honoured, Sir Bascot, to have you in my home,” she said, introducing herself as Mabel Glover, the wife of Nan’s son. “How may I serve you?”

“It is your husband’s mother that I wish to speak to, mistress,” he informed her and then turned to the older woman. “You are Nan Glover, are you not?”

“I am,” she replied. “Please excuse my not rising, Sir Bascot. I have a weakness in my joints that makes it difficult for me to move.” As she spoke, she gestured to a wooden cane that rested on the arm of her chair.

“Do not trouble yourself, mistress,” Bascot said to her kindly. “I will not take up much of your time but, with your permission, would like to speak to you privately about Emma Ferroner. At Lady Nicolaa’s request, I am investigating her murder and, having been told that you attended her for many years, am hoping that you can answer some questions I have about her background.”

Nan Glover readily gave her assent, and Mabel, after asking if the Templar wished any refreshments to be brought, hovered for a moment or two until it became obvious that he was not going to speak to her mother-by-marriage until she had left the room.

Annoyed, and with a barely concealed moue of resentment at not being included in the forthcoming interview, she flounced out of the door.

Once she was gone, Mistress Glover said, “I beg your forgiveness for Mabel’s brashness, lord. She is from Nottingham and, having only been here for the short time that she and John have been wed, has still to learn that our Lincoln ways are not so forward. I am sure she meant no disrespect.”

After the Templar had assured her that he had not been offended by Mabel’s manner, Mistress Glover bade him take a seat beside her and tell her what it was he wanted to know.

The Templar sat down, and when Gianni took up a position standing behind him, his writing tablet in his hand, asked Nan Glover if she would mind notes being taken of their conversation. She nodded her acquiescence and then he said to her, “I would like to find out more about Mistress Ferroner’s character—what kind of person she was and if she had any enemies. Will you tell me what you knew of her?”

“Of course,” Nan Glover said with tears springing in her eyes. “I was so sorry to hear of her death, and the manner of it, as was my son, John. He and Emma played together often throughout the years when she was in my charge and he looked upon her as a younger sister. We both loved her well. But, to my regret, I have not seen much of her recently, so I can only tell you of her circumstances during the time she was in my care.”

“That is all I expect,” Bascot told her.

The elderly widow settled herself more comfortably in her chair and laid aside the tapestry on which she had been working. “I was a friend of Robert Ferroner’s wife before she died; Emma was only a baby when her mother was taken from her and a suitable woman was required to tend to her needs. I, like Robert, had been made bereft of my spouse when my child was very young. My poor husband, who was a glove maker, cut himself with a pair of scissors one day in his workshop and it festered. ’Twasn’t long after that his whole arm turned black and his heart stopped, God rest him.”

She wiped her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve. “But you won’t want to hear my sorry tale,” she said and staunchly resumed relating the history of her association with the armourer and his daughter. “After my husband died, I couldn’t continue with his business for I had never learned the skill. And, as our son had been born late to us, I was no longer a young woman. I sorely needed employment to sustain myself and John, but the aching in my joints had already begun to plague me and I had not the strength to carry out more than the easiest of labour. Robert Ferroner knew of my straitened circumstances and offered me the post of his daughter’s attendant, which I gratefully accepted. I left my son in the care of my husband’s brother—who had just then started up in the business of soap-making—and although he could not afford to take both myself and John into his care, he and his wife had no children of their own and kindly agreed to shelter my son. The arrangement turned out most happily in the end, for my husband’s brother made a great success of his manufactory and a few years ago, when he died, he left the business to John. But, as I said, at the time we were all undergoing a degree of hardship and so, with my child safely housed and cared for, I was able to take up my duties as Emma’s companion.

“She was a lovely girl, lord,” Mistress Glover continued earnestly. “Robert doted on her, and gave her everything she wanted—new dresses, sweetmeats, pretty ribbons and toys. But I think that even if she had not been so pampered, her sunny nature would have been the same—always laughing and loving to all around her and never any crying or a cross word at all. At least she was that way until . . .”

Her words ground to a halt and her expression turned sad. “What is it, mistress?” he asked. “Did something happen to change her?”

Nan Glover did not answer him directly but said instead. “I take it you have not seen her visage?”

The Templar shook his head, but recalled Clare’s description of Emma as being uncomely and was not surprised when Mistress Glover gave a sad sigh. “Emma was not exactly ill-favoured, but she was very plain. She had none of her mother’s prettiness, but instead inherited her father’s height and large bones along with the strong cast of his features—which are becoming in a man, but not a woman.”

She looked up at Bascot. “To put it straightly, she was not very attractive in either features or form, but I think that would not have proved an insurmountable barrier to her self-esteem until the time when she was about seven years old and was stricken with the pox. She nearly died, Sir Bascot, and we all gave thanks to God that she survived, but the illness left her face and parts of her body badly marked. Nonetheless, the scars did not trouble her at first—and all of us who cared for her made light of them for they seemed a small penance to pay in exchange for her life—until one day soon afterwards I took her to church and, while we were standing among the congregation, she heard a neighbour—who was not aware of Emma’s presence behind her—make an unfortunate remark about her appearance, something along the lines that Robert Ferroner’s daughter was now so ugly that only a frog would find her pleasing.

“Oh, she was so upset, Sir Bascot,” Nan Glover said sorrowfully. “She ran out of the church before I could stop her and when she got home she cried for hours. I tried to tell her that a kind heart and a loving nature—both of which she had—were far more important than an attractive face, but she would have none of it.” She shook her head sadly. “Girls of that age are so impressionable; one unkind word or glance can blight their lives forever.”

“And after that?” Bascot prompted.

“She became very shy and withdrawn,” Nan Glover told him. “She would not go out at all with me, even to the shops in the market, saying what need had she of new ribbons, or gewgaws and the like, for nothing would ever make her pretty. When we went to church she made me stand with her at the very back of the nave and never spoke to anyone in the congregation, insisting that we leave immediately the service was over. I tried to tell her father of what had happened but, in his eyes, even though her visage was marred, she was still beautiful and he dismissed her behaviour as a girlish whim she would grow out of.

“And so Emma became somewhat of a recluse,” Nan Glover continued. “I despaired of her ever having any friends and indeed, to my knowledge, she only ever made one, a perfumer in the town named Constance Turner.”

She looked at Bascot with a worried expression. “I have been told that Mistress Turner is suspected of murdering poor Emma. I cannot believe she would do so, lord. She is a gentle soul, and not capable of such a deed.”

“I have been told that it was you who introduced Emma to Mistress Turner,” Bascot asked. “Is that correct?”

“Yes, I did. A neighbour had mentioned to me that a new perfumer had come to town and made fragrances that were wonderful and, thinking that a comforting scent might lift Emma’s spirits, I finally persuaded her to visit Mistress Turner on one of the days she came here to visit me. I was very pleased when they took to each other straightaway and later became friends.”

She paused for a moment in thought. “It seemed to me that the perfumer is a lonely girl, too; perhaps that was the attraction between them. But whatever the reason, she was good for Emma. Not only did she suggest a fragrance that was suitable; she also provided an unguent that could be applied to the disfigurements on her face and help to cover them and then gave her, gratuitously, a lotion to darken her eyebrows. Emma was most pleased with the results.”

Nan looked up with a smile on her face. “However unattractive the rest of Emma’s features were, she had beautiful eyes. Does not the apostle Matthew say in the Bible that the light of the body is in the eye? That’s how Emma’s were. She was possessed of a pure heart and it shone through whether she was unhappy or not. Mistress Turner immediately noticed this, and the darkening of Emma’s eyebrows made all the difference, for they framed the radiance of her soul. I was very grateful they became friends and it made my heart easier for them both.”