Free 10 - The Goldsmith's Daughter by Kate Sedley Page A

creamy-skinned peach of a girl, obviously cherished by all who knew her. Miles Babcary’s face lit up at the mere sight of her face, and Isolda went forward to kiss her cheek.
    ‘Nell, my love, you must be chilled to the marrow. Was it very cold outside? Come to the fire and warm yourself.’
    At the same time, Miles Babcary turned to me and said, ‘This is my niece, Eleanor. You have already met her brother, Christopher, downstairs. Nell, my sweetheart, this is Roger Chapman who has been sent to us by Mistress Shore. He has agreed to try to solve the mystery of poor Gideon’s death.’
    Eleanor Babcary gave me a smiling, incurious glance, putting back the hood of her cloak to reveal an abundance of chestnut-brown hair. An effort had been made to tame it into two long plaits that hung down over her shoulders, but a profusion of little curls were everywhere escaping their confinement, tendrils that she vainly, if absent-mindedly, tried every now and again to smooth into place.
    ‘I wasn’t at all cold,’ she said in answer to Isolda. ‘This lovely fur-lined cloak that you and Uncle Miles gave me for Christmas has kept me warm.’ She reached out to take one of Master Babcary’s hands in hers, pressing it gratefully to her cheek.
    My host’s smirk of pleasure reminded me of nothing so much as a callow schoolboy who has been praised by a favourite tutor, and my suspicions were confirmed that Eleanor Babcary was the darling of the household. What I was not so sure of was whether she was aware of this fact, or if she used the knowledge for her own advantage. Only time would tell. What was plain, however, was that Isolda, like her father, doted on her cousin, and somehow I did not think her a lady who would be easily fooled by a pretty face and a charming manner.
    ‘Was Mistress Perle at home?’ Miles Babcary demanded. ‘Did you speak with her? Did she agree to take supper here this evening?’
    ‘I saw her, yes, and spoke with her.’ Eleanor tenderly squeezed her uncle’s hand which she was still holding in one of her own. The blue eyes filled with facile tears that spilled over and ran down the velvety cheeks. ‘But she still refuses to eat with us, Uncle. She repeated that she thinks it better that she sees us as little as possible until this business of Gideon’s death is satisfactorily resolved. Those were her very words: I took particular note of them. “Until this business of Gideon’s death is satisfactorily resolved.”’
    Disappointment and bewilderment were visible in every line of Miles Babcary’s face. ‘Why does she persist in this answer?’ he asked angrily of no one in particular. ‘It’s over a month and a half now since the murder, and still she refuses to set foot across my threshold. Why?’
    Neither of the women seemed inclined to answer this question, Eleanor looking sympathetic, but vacant, Isolda closing her lips tightly as if there was much she could have said, but chose not to do so. It was left to me to offer a solution.
    ‘Master Babcary, your nephew said in my hearing that your son-in-law died during Mistress Perle’s birthday feast, so I presume that the celebration took place in this house?’
    My host nodded. ‘That is correct. It was the fourth of December, the feast of Saint Barbara, after whom Mistress Perle is named, and I had invited her to sup with us that evening.’
    A slightly foolish smile curled his lips and he sighed sentimentally. I began to understand his attachment to this Mistress Perle. My guess was that he had been courting her, hoping to make her his wife, and that the lady had not been unwilling. Her present rejection of him was therefore all the harder to bear.
    I said gently, ‘Don’t you think that her reluctance to see you might be the result of your fierce protestations concerning your daughter’s innocence? As Master Christopher was saying to you a short time ago: if Mistress Bonifant didn’t commit the murder, then someone else who was in the