The Grail Murders

what she had done, I found the window was rather narrow. Even I, slender as I am, found it difficult to squeeze through.' He paused. 'So it had to be someone young and supple and only Rachel fitted that description.
    'Finally, there was something else. Did you notice, Sir Edmund, when we were trying to force the door of the church, how Rachel and her mother hurried along shouting for Damien through the window? At the time I thought it was strange but, on reflection, Rachel was simply checking that no trace of her departure from the church remained. Once we were inside, she was also most assiduous in accompanying us as we searched for any secret entrance or passageway. I recall her being near one of the windows. I am sure it was then she either brought the latch down or, if it had already fallen, made sure it was in place.'
    'But the snow?' Mandeville interrupted. 'You said someone who had been travelling through snow stood at the back of the church.'
    'No, that was just a clever ploy to tangle matters even further. Rachel could have brought the snow in and let it melt so as to distract attention from herself. She had ostensibly stayed in the manor house all day.'
    Benjamin paused and we all stared at the young woman now sitting back in her chair looking up at the rafters, tapping the table top and humming a tune to herself. She was one of the most curious assassins I had ever met. Benjamin had levelled the most serious allegations against her, yet never once had she protested, objected or interrupted. Even my master seemed unnerved by her cool demeanour.
    'Daughter,' Sir John grated, 'have you anything to say against this?'
    'I am not your daughter,' she replied flatly. She then sat up straight and stared at my master. 'Where's your proof that I lit the slow fuse? Where is your proof that I garrotted two men, not to mention an old woman, in London? Where is the proof that I lurked in a church and killed Mandeville's servant with a crossbow bolt? Or that I killed and mutilated a half-mad witch?'
    Benjamin pulled a face. 'Aye, Mistress, you are correct. Other people could have bought the scarlet cord. Other people could have committed these terrible crimes. But, think carefully. Someone at Templecombe knew where to get gunpowder, oil and a slow fuse. Someone at Templecombe knew where to hide both herself and a scaling ladder in the church, as well as how to use that poor hag; first to deliver messages and then, as a warning to the rest of us, as a victim.'
    The same is true of Bowyer and Southgate,' I interrupted. Their horses were fed a meal of oats and bran to make them more fiery. Who else but someone at Templecombe could manage that? And then you changed their stirrups and tainted their spurs with mercury?'
    'So Bowyer's death was no accident?' Mandeville interrupted.
    'Of course not!' Benjamin replied, and gave a short description of what we had found in the stables and in Southgate's chamber. Rachel heard him out. She placed her elbows on the table, resting her face between her hands, nodding approvingly as if Benjamin was some favoured pupil who had learnt a poem by rote. 'But you have no proof,' she repeated.
    'There's the proof!' I snarled, pointing to her white-faced mother and the haggard Sir John. 'They know! They suspect!' The young woman shrugged.
    'Then there's the servants,' I continued. 'Those who carried out your orders. You dragged down everyone with you.'
    Rachel daintily arched one eyebrow as if I had mentioned inviting her servants to some feast or revelry. Benjamin watched her curiously. 'You are not afraid of death, Mistress?'
    'Why should I be frightened of the inevitable?' she replied. 'And why threaten me with death? As I keep repeating, you have no proof.'
    The King's torturers in the Tower will find it!' Mandeville retorted.
    Benjamin walked in front of Rachel and studied her carefully. I watched, fascinated, for this was the first time he had confronted a murderer with a plausible explanation but very little proof. The deaths of the agents, Cosmas and Damien, Bowyer and those terrible injuries inflicted on Southgate, would in a court of law puzzle any jury. They might declare there was a case to answer, but what proof? (Mind you, Mandeville was right! Henry VIII cared little about evidence or the finer points of law. I always remember him turning to Thomas Cromwell about the trial of an abbot who had refused to take the Oath of Supremacy. 'Give him a fair trial,' the fat bastard roared,