“I hope you will find this man soon, monsieur,” he said, through clenched teeth, as he passed me. “Then you can both leave us in peace.”
“I will do my best,” I said, with forced politeness. Hélène’s gaze flickered briefly upwards to my face, then quickly back to the floor; I reached out and touched her gently on the arm and she flinched as if I had hit her.
“Pardon me,” I said, in French, “but why did you ask if a child had been killed?”
Her red-rimmed eyes filled with tears; she shook her head tightly and bunched the handkerchief harder against her lips. Olivier glared at me again as he put a protective arm around her and led her to the door.
“I have said the wrong thing, somehow,” I observed when they had gone. “Why is she so distressed?”
Sophia sat down at the table again and rubbed the back of her neck. She looked suddenly weary.
“That poor girl. Widowed at eighteen—her husband was killed during the massacre in Paris. She was pregnant when they fled to England and her son, Denis, was born here. Six months ago, he disappeared.”
“How do you mean?”
“Just that—he went out on an errand for his grandparents and never returned. He was only eleven.” She bit her lip and I noticed how she knotted her fingers together, though she kept her expression controlled, her gaze concentrated on a point on the wall. I guessed she was thinking about her own lost son and the sorrow of a mother.
“So that was what Olivier meant when he said they had enough grief already.” I pulled up a stool opposite her. “They reported it, I suppose? There was a search for the boy?”
“They reported it to my husband as the local justice—that was how I first met Olivier. He refused to give up —he came to the house every day until finally Sir Edward had to threaten him with arrest for trespass. There was a search, but since the Huguenots are not regarded by many in the town as true citizens, you may imagine how little effort was made. They told the family he had probably just run off to be a ship’s boy.”
“But you don’t think so?”
She shrugged.
“I never met the boy. The family say he would not have done so. But Hélène has talked herself into believing the worst, because of the other child that was found.”
“What other child?”
“It was last autumn, before I arrived here, a few months before her son went missing. The body of a young boy, around the same age, was found dismembered on a midden outside the city walls. He was a beggar child, they said. But Hélène has seized on it to fuel her belief that her son has been killed too.”
“What do you think?”
She gave me a long look and sighed heavily.
“I think it’s terrible, naturally, but …” She reached out and laid a hand gently over mine. “Bruno, you don’t need to unravel every unsolved death in this town. Just the one you came for, remember? Have you spoken to Nicholas Kingsley yet?”
“I will be a guest at his house tonight.”
She squeezed my hand, her eyes bright. “I knew you would manage this, Bruno. You will find something there to clear me, I’m certain of it.”
I regarded her with a serious expression.
“You are very determined that it should be Nicholas. And he is equally determined that it was you.”
“Well, obviously.” She removed her hand. “As I have said, if I am convicted of killing his father, he will inherit instead.”
“But if I find evidence to incriminate him, you become a wealthy widow. Am I right?”
She leaned across the table and fixed me with that look, her eyes flashing.
“And would I not deserve that, after everything I have suffered?”
“Of course. But you will inherit regardless of who the real killer turns out to be, surely, provided it can be proved? I can’t produce evidence against Nicholas just because you want it to be him.”
“But who else would have a motive for killing Sir Edward and ensuring I am blamed, if not him? Especially after his father’s will was changed.”
“Tell me about the will, then.”
“Before Sir Edward married me, Nicholas was his only next of kin and stood to inherit everything. But about a month before my husband was murdered, he made a new testament. Rights to his property and all the income from his estates was made over to me to be passed to our children, whenever they should arrive.” She broke off and made a face of disgust at the idea. “Nicholas was given a small allowance—barely enough for the lowest kind of food and board.”
“But your husband had no affection for you. Why would he do that?”
“To humiliate his son, I suppose. He had spent so much on Nicholas’s education, only for him to drink and gamble away his chances of a profession in the law. He said he had given Nicholas ample chance to change his ways, and the best way to make him grow up was to close his purse.”
I nodded. “I can see that would have made Nicholas furious. But angry enough to beat his own father to death?”
Sophia rested her chin on her hand.
“I could believe it. To murder his father and have me executed for it would have been a fine revenge on both of us—with the advantage of removing any obstacle to his inheritance.”
“And it rests entirely between you and Nicholas? No one else stands to benefit from Sir Edward’s will?”
“Not that I know of, but then, I never read the document. I only know because Sir Edward took great pleasure in telling Nicholas and me of the changes over dinner. Perhaps he thought it would encourage me to hurry up and give him a better son.”
“Then why did Nicholas mention the Widow Gray?”
“I don’t know. What did he say?”
“She was one of the people he said would not take his inheritance from him, when he was in his cups last night.”
Sophia looked uncomfortable.
“There is gossip about her in the town …” Her voice trailed off. “But who knows if there is any substance to it.”
“Your husband knew her?”
She nodded.
“Could she have been his mistress?”
She shrugged, expressionless.
“Maybe. She has a son, I know that much. A boy of about twelve.”
I nodded. If the boy was Sir Edward’s bastard, that might explain why Nicholas Kingsley thought the widow wanted money from the estate.
“Sir Edward’s friends—the ones who visited him for those secretive meetings. Might any of them have wanted him dead? Had they fallen out, perhaps?”
Sophia looked at her hands for a long moment. Eventually she raised her head.
“Bruno, those are powerful men you are talking about. If you start poking into their business, you’ll draw unwelcome attention to yourself and they’ll find a way to stop you.”
“I thought you wanted me to ask questions?”
“Yes, but—what good will it do anyone if they have you arrested? Better that you concentrate your search —”
“On Nicholas Kingsley?” I stood up, and took a few paces, before rounding on her again, frustrated. “But what if it isn’t him? What if someone killed your husband, not for his money, but for some other reason—revenge, or because he crossed them? You would not want an innocent man to die, surely, however obnoxious he may be. Think—who else might have wanted him dead? What about Tom Garth?”
“Tom Garth? Oh—from the cathedral. What has he to do with it?”
“He held a grudge against the Kingsley family. Last night I heard him talk of taking the law into his own hands. And he is gatekeeper at the cathedral—he could easily have killed Sir Edward that night.”
“But Tom Garth had resented Sir Edward for years, since his sister died. Why would he suddenly take it into
