By Murder's bright Light

ice-cold hands.
    ‘You did murder your father?’
    ‘God forgive me, Father, yes I did. How did you know?’
    Athelstan looked down the nave. Marston, who had apparently seen how agitated Aveline had become, now began to walk slowly forward. Athelstan rose and went to meet him.
    ‘Can I help you?’
    ‘I’m here to protect the lady Aveline from that murderer.’
    ‘Lady Aveline is safe in my hands,’ Athelstan replied.
    ‘I am also here to see that bastard doesn’t escape.’
    ‘Don’t swear,’ Athelstan replied. ‘Not in God’s house.’
    The man stepped back, crestfallen.
    ‘Please wait outside,’ Athelstan said. ‘You may wait on the steps. Be assured no one will leave this church without you knowing.’
    Marston was about to object.
    ‘Sir John Cranston would like that,’ Athelstan added sweetly.
    Marston shrugged and left, closing the door behind him.
    Athelstan went back into the sanctuary where Ashby and Aveline were sitting, heads together, talking conspiratorially. Athelstan unceremoniously sat down between them.
    ‘How, when, did you know?’ Ashby asked.
    ‘Oh, this morning during Mass,’ Athelstan replied. ‘It is a matter of logic. First, you were found with your hand on the dagger. Why? Because you were getting ready to pull it out. But why should you do that? It wasn’t yours, it was, as you claimed, Sir Henry’s. Yours is still in its sheath hanging on your belt. I noticed that yesterday morning. Secondly, if you didn’t kill Sir Henry, then who did? Who had the right to approach such a powerful lord whilst he was still dressed in his nightshirt? Certainly not Marston. He made that very clear. So, if it wasn’t you or Marston, who else? Now, when I arrived in Sir Henry’s room, I discovered the window had been locked until you used it to effect your escape. Accordingly, I doubted if anyone had broken into the room. Moreover, Sir Henry was a powerful man and there was no sign of a struggle. To conclude, the murderer must have been someone who had every right to be close to Sir Henry. And who does that leave but you, Aveline?’
    ‘Oh, my God, she’ll hang!’ Ashby whispered. ‘No one would ever believe her story.’
    ‘Let me try,’ Athelstan replied. ‘My lady?’
    ‘Yes, I killed my father,’ she replied. ‘To be precise, he was my stepfather. My mother’s first husband, my real father, was killed in the king’s wars in France . At first, all was well. I was an only child. I think my mother regretted her re-marriage, but she died eight years ago. In the main, Sir Henry left me alone. He looked after me. I was spoilt, even pampered. But’ — she began to play with the bracelet on her wrist — ‘as I grew older, he began to take more notice of me. Nothing much at first, just asking me to sit on his knee while he stroked my hair. Sometimes he would touch me in a privy place and say it was our secret.’ Aveline blinked to hold back her tears. ‘I had everything,’ she continued. ‘Or everything except a maid. He wanted it that way. As I grew older his attentions became more demanding. I avoided him, though there were times I could not. On the evening before he died, as he sat at table at the Abbot of Hyde inn, he told me to come to him at first light because he wanted to give me something precious that had belonged to my mother. I should have known.’ Aveline’s lower lip quivered and her eyes brimmed with tears. ‘He was filthy!’ she whispered. ‘Obscene! He tried to embrace me, place his hand on my breast. He claimed he had lain awake all night thinking about me. Then—’
    Athelstan sensed Ashby’s growing tension. He patted the girl on the wrist.
    ‘Just tell me,’ he said gently.
    ‘He said he hoped I was as good as my mother and tried to pull me across his lap. As he did so, I saw the hilt of his dagger sticking out from a pile of clothes on a chair. Everything moved so quickly. I grabbed the hilt, the next second the dagger was deep in his chest. He just stared at me as if he couldn’t believe what had happened, then he slumped to the floor. I must have stood for some time just staring down. I thought it was a dream. I kept pinching myself to wake up. It was so clean, so swift, not even a speck of blood on my hands or clothes. I heard a knock on the door—’
    ‘That was me,’ Ashby interposed quickly. ‘I was in the room next to Sir Henry’s. I heard Aveline go down the passageway and the sound of a faint disturbance, of something