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situation to de Wolfe. ‘I do not know how much you know of this tragedy, Sir John. I doubt that Hubert Walter was very informative, knowing his nature.’
    John nodded his agreement. ‘He told me virtually nothing, prior, other than that a ward of the king had been found dead and as the regular coroner of the verge was gravely ill I was to get here with all speed.’
    Northam sighed and steepled his hands beneath his chin as he prepared to tell the story yet again.
    â€˜This house is blessed – or possibly cursed – with a reputation for being a refuge or perhaps a lodging for ladies of high rank. Sometimes I think we should have been a hostel rather than a priory!’ He sounded more resigned than sarcastic, but John sensed a certain bitterness in his tone.
    â€˜We are too conveniently placed for London, virtually within sight of the great city across the river. When the king, God bless him, or one of his high officers ofstate has a lady in need of protection or safe accommodation, they tend to get landed on us here. We seem to specialize in royal wards, of which there seems an endless supply!’ He folded his arms and leaned on his table, bending forward so that his dark eyes were fixed on de Wolfe.
    â€˜A month ago we had a message from the Archbishop that yet another ward of King Richard was to be housed here, though thankfully Hubert Walter said it was only to be for a short period – in fact, until she was married in the great church of St Paul on the other bank.’
    John felt it was time he broke into the monologue. ‘Was that an unusual request, prior?’
    Northam turned up his hands. ‘It has happened before – we are within easy riding distance of both the abbey of Westminster and the city’s cathedral. This particular lady was from the midland shires and thus a more local domicile was needed for her to be prepared for the nuptials.’
    John waited with more than his usual patience for the prior to continue.
    â€˜The lady – or really girl, for she was not yet sixteen – arrived in mid-January, with her tirewomen and some of her guardians. She was Christina de Glanville, distantly related to Ranulf de Glanville, the renowned former justiciar of England, who died six years ago at the siege of Acre in the Holy Land.’
    De Wolfe grunted. ‘I was there myself, as was my officer Gwyn. We well remember de Glanville and his tragic death.’
    The prior rapped his table with his fingertips. ‘Then tragic death seems to run in the Glanville family, for two days before the wedding his great-niece was found dead in one of our cellars!’
    â€˜Why was she a royal ward, prior?’ asked de Wolfe.
    â€˜When she was a child, her mother died giving birthto a son, who would have been the heir except that the infant died as well. Christina was the only child of Sir William de Glanville – and to complete the tragic circle, he also died alongside his uncle while fighting the Mohammedans at Acre.’
    â€˜Is the Glanville family not from Suffolk, sir?’ ventured Thomas from across the room.
    Robert Northam nodded. ‘They are indeed – and the girl’s father left a very substantial estate there, as well as other property elsewhere. As there was no heir of the age of majority, it all escheated to the Crown on his death and his only surviving child was made a ward of King Richard.’
    â€˜But presumably she was placed in the care of a guardian, unless she was sequestrated in some other religious house?’ suggested the coroner.
    â€˜Indeed she was, Sir John. At first she was placed in the Gilbertine convent of Sempringham in Lincolnshire, being only ten years of age at the time of her father’s death. Then her uncle, her late mother’s brother, arranged for her to live with his family as a more congenial home for a young girl.’
    â€˜Wasn’t that a long way from her own estates in