The House of the Red Slayer

The terrible murderer who stalked his victims in the Tower?
    ‘Geoffrey?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes, Brother.’
    ‘You have known Philippa how long?’
    ‘About two years.’
    ‘And Sir Ralph liked you?’
    The parchment-seller grinned. ‘Yes, though God knows why. I can hardly ride a horse and the call of arms does not appeal to me.’
    ‘You were with him the night he died?’
    ‘Yes, as I have said, I was with him in the great hall. Sir Ralph was morose and became maudlin in his cups.‘
    ‘He was drunk?’
    ‘Very.’
    ‘You helped him across to his chamber?’
    ‘Well, again, yes and no. Master Colebrooke assisted me. I took Sir Ralph to the top of the stairs into the North Bastion tower but the passageway was so narrow Colebrooke helped him the rest of the way.’
    ‘And you stayed with Mistress Philippa that night?’
    The young man looked embarrassed and his eyes dropped. ‘Yes. If Sir Ralph had known, he would have been most angry.’
    ‘But,’ Athelstan intervened, ‘he favoured your courtship of his only daughter?’
    ‘Yes, I think he did.’
    ‘Why?’ Cranston barked. ‘I mean, as you have said, you’re no soldier.’
    ‘No, I am not. I am not a lord or a knight but a merchant, Sir John, and a very good one. I am one of those who lends money so the King can hire his knights.’ The parchment-seller gestured round his well-stocked shop. ‘It may not look much but my profits are high. I am a wealthy man, Sir John.’
    ‘One other matter.’ Athelstan smiled. ‘We have touched upon it before. You went to rouse Sir Ralph. What happened?’
    ‘The guards opened the passageway door and locked it behind me as Sir Ralph had ordered. I went down and tried to rouse the constable. There was no answer so I went back. I told the guards and took the key to Whitton’s chamber. I was going to open it myself but changed my mind and went for Colebrooke.‘
    ‘Why did you do that?’
    Geoffrey pulled a face. ‘I knew something was wrong by the silence, not to mention the cold draught under the door of Whitton’s chamber.’
    Athelstan remembered the gap under Sir Ralph’s door and nodded. Someone standing outside the room would have felt the powerful draught and know something was wrong.
    ‘Why didn’t you open the door yourself?’ Cranston asked.
    The young man smiled weakly. ‘Sir John, I was frightened. Sir Ralph was not a popular man. Looking back, I suppose I was worried someone might be in the chamber.’
    ‘And the night Mowbray died?’
    ‘I was with Mistress Philippa, drunk as a lord. Ask the others.‘
    ‘And you never left?’
    Geoffrey grimaced. ‘Like the rest, I went to use the privy along the corridor. When the tocsin sounded I lurched out with the others to see what was wrong. I didn’t do much. I was drunk and I hate those parapet steps. I wandered around, looking busy, and found Fitzormonde and Colebrooke standing over Mowbray’s body.’ The young man paused and looked sharply at Athelstan. ‘I know why you are here. There’s been another death in the Tower, hasn’t there?’
    ‘Yes, yes,’ Athelstan murmured and gave Parchmeiner the details of Horne’s death.
    Geoffrey leaned back in his chair and whistled softly. ‘I suppose,’ he said wearily, ‘you wish to question me about that?’
    ‘It would,’ Cranston observed, ‘be helpful to know where you were last night.’
    Parchmeiner shrugged. ‘I worked in my shop, then I got drunk as a bishop in a nearby tavern, the Golden Griffin. You could ask there.’
    Athelstan smiled. What would be the use? the friar thought. Horne could have been killed at any hour. He studied Parch-meiner’s girlish face. ‘You are London-born?’ he queried, trying to look at the parchment lying on Geoffrey’s desk.
    ‘No, Brother, I am not. My family are Welsh, hence my colouring. They moved to Bristol. My father traded in parchments and vellum in a shop just beneath the cathedral there. When he died I moved to London.’ Geoffrey picked up the piece of parchment. ‘My sister, now married, still lives there; she has just written inviting herself to town for the Yuletide season. She, her husband,’ his face grew mock solemn, ‘and their large brood of children will bring some life to the Tower.’ He turned to Sir John. ‘My Lord Coroner, you have more questions?’
    Sir John shook his head. ‘No, sir, we have not.’
    They rose, made their farewells, and stepped out into the cold, icy street.
    ‘What do you think,