The Canterbury Murders Read Online Free PDF Page B

Christ’s Mass that she had ever spent away from her home. But even though she would be sorry for it, she had to admit the wisdom of John’s proposal. She had met the queen for the first time in Lincoln, three years before, and had found her to be a pampered and willful young woman sadly lacking in tact. She was also inclined to be condescending—a trait that would not sit well with many of the barons’ wives, especially those of mature years—and was in sore need of an intermediary to smooth any sensibilities she inadvertently ruffled.
    â€œAs I said, Nicolaa, that was my original intention,” John continued, his voice full of frustration, “but this murder has complicated these arrangements. Since the villain who killed my poor washerwoman managed to slip past the mercenaries’ guard, I cannot now be certain, even with their protection, that Isabella will be safe in Canterbury. That is why I have taken her back to Dover. Until the matter is resolved and she is able to return—which I hope will be soon—I would ask that you stay here, in the town, until you can take up the duties I have described.”
    â€œOf course, sire,” Nicolaa answered. “Do you wish me to reside at the Stour Street townhouse?”
    â€œNo, at the moment I have ordered it sealed off and the staff placed under guard until I am certain none of them is responsible for my servant’s death. I do not intend to stay there myself and, in the interim, shall do as Marshal had done and take up residence at the cathedral priory. But there is another royal townhouse, on Watling Street, that will be suitable for you. It is not as large as the one on Stour Street, but it is still capacious enough for you and your retinue to lodge in reasonable comfort.”
    Nicolaa nodded and, the audience seeming at an end, she waited for John’s dismissal, but instead he returned to the subject of the murder.
    â€œAs I said, I am not content to leave the town bailiff in charge of the investigation and it has occurred to me, Nicolaa, that the last time I was in Lincoln, there was a Templar knight in your household who possessed a remarkable talent for solving crimes of secret murder. His name, I recall, was Bascot de Marins. Is he still in your service?”
    â€œNo, sire. He rejoined the Templar ranks not long after your visit,” Nicolaa replied.
    â€œA pity,” John said ruefully. “He would have suited the task well.”
    â€œI have heard of this monk,” Marshal said. “He has solved more than one murder in Lincoln town, has he not, lady?”
    â€œYes,” she replied, “and earned my everlasting gratitude for doing so.”
    John had remained silent throughout their exchange, but his expression was thoughtful and he suddenly said, “Was de Marins posted abroad after he rejoined the Order?”
    â€œNo, sire,” Nicolaa replied. “He has been in the Lincoln preceptory ever since, and now holds the office of draper.”
    John smiled with satisfaction. “Excellent. In that case, it may be that all is not lost. The English master of the Templars, Amery St. Maur, is a reasonable man and may be willing—if I offer a donation of substantial size to their cause—to grant me a loan of de Marins’ services for a space.”
    Nicolaa heard the king’s suggestion with mixed feelings. The Templar would not be pleased if John’s request was successful; Bascot had no love for the king and would not welcome secondment to his service. But at the same time, it was also true that the Templar’s rare ability would be an asset. She, as much as John, wished the murder solved, for the duty John had assigned her of keeping company with the queen would be impossible to fulfill while Isabella remained in seclusion at Dover, and to pass the season of Christ’s Mass alone, and without a