met my cousin and came to me for verification of her appearance. When I was given the description and, even though, in my heart, I realised there could be no mistake, I came here with the person who saw the act, intending to bring my cousin before her so she could personally identify Margaret as the woman she had seen. If it was confirmed that it was she who carried out this morning’s assault, I knew it must have some connection with the murder-that perhaps the girl she attacked had, like Tercel, learned our family secret and threatened to expose it- and I intended to implore my cousin to give herself up to Sir Richard’s justice.”
The witness Adgate was referring to must be Merisel Wickson, the Templar surmised, for the chandler’s daughter had been with Adgate when he came into the bail. And the candle-maker’s manufactory was very near to the spot where Elise had been attacked. Recalling the hesitancy which Merisel had shown in answering the questions he had put to her on the day he had gone to the chandlery, the Templar now saw the connection and also why, if it had been she who saw Margaret stab Elise, she had gone to Adgate instead of reporting what she saw to Bruet, who only minutes later was at the spot where the stabbing had taken place, attempting to find a witness.
“I vowed, along with Margaret, that I would never reveal her sister’s shame,” Adgate said with abject resignation. “But now, I have no choice.”
“Let your conscience be easy, furrier,” Bascot said. “You do not have to tell me, for the truth is plain to see. The woman you and Margaret have been protecting is the chandler’s wife, Edith Wickson, is it not?”
“Yes, lord, it is,” Adgate confirmed miserably.
An hour later, Nicolaa and Richard, along with Petronille and Alinor, were in the solar, listening as Bascot related the details of his conversation with Adgate. Hugh Bruet was there as well and so was Gianni, the latter taking down notes of what his former master was recounting. The furrier had been left outside the chamber in the company of a man-at-arms.
When Bascot had finished, Nicolaa asked, “Do you think Adgate is telling the truth when he says that he and Mistress Wickson were not involved in the murder?”
“I cannot be certain, lady, but I think so. He is a very shaken man but also, I believe, an honest one. If you will recall, he has never told us an outright untruth, but has simply avoided revealing what he knows. As for Mistress Wickson, the furrier tells me that after he told her that her illegitimate son was searching for her, she feigned illness on the night of the feast out of fear that, if she came to the castle, Tercel might, because of some passing resemblance between them, recognise her as his mother. After he was killed, so Adgate says, the news of his death made her truly ill and she has not risen from her sickbed since. These facts bear out what we were told by her husband-who, apparently, is not privy to her secret-and led to the conclusion that she could not have been, at least actively, involved in the crime.”
“Did Adgate tell you how Tercel discovered that Edith Wickson was his mother?” Richard asked.
“He was not aware that she was,” Bascot said, surprising them all. “Adgate says that when he came and asked to speak to him privily, he seemed to believe that Margaret was his dam. He told the furrier that he had challenged the sempstress with his accusation, but that she would not admit to it, nor tell him who his father was. Adgate, of course, told him that Margaret was telling the truth, but his protestations fell on deaf ears. What happened next is only conjecture on the furrier’s part, but he thinks that Margaret killed Tercel because she feared he was getting too close to his objective, and would soon discover that it was her sister, not she, who had birthed him. She murdered him to prevent that from happening.”
“But what gave Tercel cause to think that Margaret, out of all the women in Lincoln, was his mother?” Nicolaa said.
Bascot shook his head. “Adgate spoke to Margaret only once before she committed the murder. That was shortly after she first arrived in Lincoln when he attended the second service of Christ’s Mass in the cathedral and saw her among the congregation. He was delighted to see her after all the years she had been away, and went over to her and asked why she had not contacted him when she arrived. He says she seemed distant and told him that she was very busy with her duties, but would try to visit his shop soon. When he asked if she intended to call on Edith, Margaret said that she would do so in her own time and asked him to convey her love to her sister, but asked that neither Adgate nor Edith try to contact her for the present. Even then she must have had some intimation of Tercel’s interest in her, but she never mentioned it to Adgate, nor did she do so when the furrier, alarmed by Tercel’s visit and his subsequent murder, defied Margaret’s request and sent a message to the castle asking her to meet him. How Tercel came to discover that Margaret was in Winchester at the time of his conception must, I fear, remain a mystery.”
“I think that perhaps I may be able to explain it,” Bruet said quietly and they all turned towards him.
“How so?” Nicolaa asked.
“It is something that puzzled me at the time but, since I did not know you were searching for a woman who had travelled to that town all those years ago, I dismissed it.” The taciturn knight seemed uneasy at being the focus of attention, but continued without hesitation. “It happened the day after we arrived in Lincoln, just before Christ’s Mass. As Margaret and I were walking into the hall to break our fast, she mentioned how tired the journey had made her, saying it had fatigued her far more than a much longer trip she had made to Winchester when she had been a young girl. She laughed, saying it must be because her bones had grown old and were not so resilient. Tercel was just behind us when she made the remark and the next day I heard him ask her in what year she had made the journey of which she had spoken. I did not hear her reply, but just a few days before Tercel was killed, I saw him and Margaret in conversation with each other. She was angry and I heard her castigate him for eavesdropping and making a ridiculous deduction from a chance statement.”
Bruet looked solemnly around the company. “With hindsight, the exchanges between them now reveal their significance, but it was one that I was not aware of at the time. I did, I confess, ponder on their conversation later but, as I said, came to the conclusion that the matter was of no importance.”
“Nonetheless, Tercel must have somehow discovered that Adgate was related to Margaret, for even though she took the precaution of trying to hide their relationship as best she could, he still went to question the furrier about her,” Nicolaa said to Bascot. “Does Adgate know how that came about?”
As Bascot began to shake his head, Petronille spoke up. Still in shock from learning that the woman she had held in such close company had committed murder, her voice was slightly tremulous as she explained, “I fear I am to blame for that. I knew that Margaret still had some family in Lincoln and that one of them was a furrier although, in all the years she has served me, she never mentioned a sister. When I instructed Tercel to obtain some fur samples for me to examine, Margaret was there, and I asked her if her relative still had his furrier shop in the town and that, if he did, I would be pleased to give him my patronage. I recall now that she was somewhat noncommittal in her reply, saying that she had lost touch with him many years ago and did not know if he still lived here, but I did press her for his name and told Tercel to ask among the fur merchants he visited for Adgate’s shop and, if he found it, to select some of his wares for my approval. I am afraid it must have been that conversation that led him to the furrier.”
“I wonder if that is why he paid his attentions to Clarice Adgate?” Richard suggested. “Perhaps he hoped to find out more about Margaret through the furrier’s wife.”
“I asked Adgate that same question,” Bascot replied. “But he said that while that may have been Tercel’s initial intention, he would soon have discovered it to be a fruitless quest, for Clarice did not know that Margaret, or Edith Wickson, were related to him.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Alinor said. “When you marry a man, it is natural to meet his relatives, or at least be told their names.”
“I agree it would be commonplace for most brides,” Bascot replied, “but apparently, according to Adgate, he is not on friendly terms with Edith’s husband and visits her only rarely, so she was not present when he and Clarice took their vows. He also told me that, very soon after their marriage, his new wife made it evident that her sole reason for agreeing to marry him had been for the material advantage she would gain and that she showed no interest in meeting the wives of the other members of his guild, let alone enquiring about any family he might have. Because of her attitude, he never mentioned any details of his relationship with either Edith or Margaret to her. If that is so-and I cannot see any reason to doubt Adgate’s words-then Tercel must have soon realised he would gain no useful information from Clarice. Since he appears to have had continued his affair with her for several weeks, it is more than likely that he continued the association purely out of lust.”
“There still remains one last piece of the puzzle that has yet to be explained,” Nicolaa said, “and it is at the crux of the matter, for it is the one that prompted Tercel to begin his ill-fated quest. How did Lionel Wharton come
