“No word,” he said. “Information… in a way.”
“Then come upstairs, Mr Shapman.”
They all trailed up the staircase to the old nursery. Sandy sat down and reached for pen and ink to take notes. Luce took up her sewing and sat unobtrusively in a corner. Michael waved Shapman to a chair, but he shook his head.
“Very well, Mr Shapman. What is it you wish to tell me?”
“I’ve come to confess.”
“I… beg your pardon?”
“I’ve come to confess,” he said, loudly enough that Luce jumped in surprise. “I killed him. I killed Mr Nicholson.”
The stunned silence lasted for several heartbeats before Michael recovered his wits.
“Why?” he said sharply.
“Because he wouldn’t allow me and Tess to marry, that’s why.”
“She will be of age in a few months, and you could have married then.”
“Aye, and he’d still make life difficult for us. He said he’d make sure I never got any more work round here. This way, Tess would be left some money, and we’d be free to marry.”
“So she persuaded you to—?”
“No! She knew nowt about it. It were just me.”
“Why the axe?”
“So it would look like a madman on the rampage. But you kept asking questions and getting nearer, and my conscience was troubling me.”
“As it should!” Luce said in shocked tones.
“Aye, ma’am. I didn’t want to sit through another of Mr Dewar’s sermons with this burning inside me, so here I am.”
His tone was level, as if he were describing a routine matter, and not a brutal murder.
“Very well,” Michael said. “Describe what happened. How did you get in, for instance?”
“Through the scullery window with the broken latch. The back stairs are right by the scullery, but they’re pitch black at night and I didn’t want to light a candle, so I came out at the great hall where there was a bit of light, and up the main stairs.”
“Where you picked up the axe?”
“Aye. Then up to Mr Nicholson’s bedroom. I’d mended a window in Lady Alice’s room just a few weeks earlier, so I knew she slept apart from him, so I… well, you know what I did. Then back the same way and out.”
“Was there any blood on your clothes?”
“Aye, quite a bit, but I wore an old smock. Burnt it when I got home. There was blood on my shirt sleeve, too, but I was able to wash it well enough. I can’t afford to burn a good shirt.”
Michael watched him pensively. He had met quite a few murderers over the years, but he had never seen one as impassive as Tom Shapman.
“Show me,” he said eventually. “Show me exactly what you did. Sandy, you will need to unlatch the scullery window, since the broken latch has been fixed. And bring the axe with you.”
Michael led Shapman downstairs, and out of the castle’s front door and down the steps to the kitchen level. “Now, Shapman, show me this window.”
Unerringly, Shapman turned in the right direction and strode round the corner. “That’s the one. There’s a bit of stonework jutting out to put a foot on.”
Michael knew that very well, having climbed in that way himself. “Up you go, then.”
