Baynard's List (A Stephen Attebrook mystery Book 2)

by Jason Vail

  “I would make more if Clement didn’t interfere.”

  “What are you saying? Clement? What’s he done?”

  “It seems he’s making his own inquiries. He bashed the face in of the mother of the prime suspect — who may know where this man is hiding. Now she’s unable to talk to me, and even if she could I think Clement’s so frightened her that she would say nothing.”

  Valence barked over his shoulder, “Clement! Come here!”

  After a few moments, Clement’s square, solid figure emerged from the pool of dark surrounding the hearth. Behind him people were blowing out candles and going back to bed. “Yes, my lord?” he asked warily, having sensed Valence’s wrath in his tone.

  “What have you been up to?” Valence asked with silky menace.

  Clement’s eyes flicked from Valence to Stephen and back again. “Nothing, my lord.”

  “Don’t take me for a fool, Clement. You’ve been asking questions of your own, haven’t you.”

  Clement hesitated. “Yes, sir. Just looking out for your interests, sir. You can’t depend on him alone to help you.”

  “How very thoughtful. I had no idea you had a talent or an interest in investigation. That’s all to the good. Two noses on the trail will get results twice as fast. Well, then, what have you found out?”

  “In front of him?” Clement asked, gesturing to Stephen.

  “Yes. Share with us what you’ve learned. No reason for us to keep secrets from one another. We all want the same thing.”

  “Can’t say as I’ve learned a lot, sir. Unfortunately.”

  “Oh. Too bad. What’s this about a woman, bashed her face in, something like that?”

  “That would be Makepeese’s mother,” Clement said warily. “I didn’t bash her face in. She came at me with an axe. Wanted to chop my head off. Crazy woman. I was just defending myself. I can’t help it if she got hurt.”

  “Yes, yes, but did she tell you anything useful?”

  “No. She’s covering up for Makepeese, I’m sure. She always hated me. Wouldn’t tell me a thing. I think you’d learn more if you had her arrested and questioned her proper.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I do, sir.”

  Valence steepled his hands again. His rings, which he evidently wore even to bed for them to be on display now, seemed to wobble on stick-like fingers. “Very well. See that it’s done. Speak to the clerk. He’ll draw up the necessary writ.”

  “Very good, sir.” Clement grinned wolfishly at Stephen and withdrew into the dark. His footsteps came heavily on the stairs.

  “How’s your back?” Valence asked Stephen.

  “It’s fine.”

  “The scars still there?” Years ago, Valence had had Stephen savagely caned for what had seemed a trivial misdemeanor. The beating was the reason Stephen had run away from his apprenticeship.

  “They’ve faded. They’re not noticeable any longer.”

  “That’s good.” Valence rose and slid his bony hands into the sleeves of his nightshirt. “If you succeed instead of Clement, I will forgive this outrage. If not . . . well, the king will be displeased at your failure . . . it could show a certain lack of loyalty, don’t you think? They say his rages are terrible.” He shrugged. “Good night, Stephen. Enjoy the competition.”

  “Good night, your honor.”

  Now that he had had his talk with Valence, there was no longer any reason to remain in the castle. Although the wardens weren’t supposed to let anyone in or out after sundown, that rule was relaxed for men claiming to be on the king’s business. It was too bad that Stephen couldn’t have walked out with Christopher in his arms, as he did now. But the wardens had been under orders to ensure the boy remained inside.

  The main gate shut with a double thud: the closing of the door and the falling of the bar. Stephen’s footsteps on the wooden bridge over the castle’s outer ditch thumped hollowly in the night and then crunched on the dirt of High Street. The houses bordering the broad street, which in daylight rose tall and proud, were like the silhouettes of mountains in the grim dark.

  He walked swiftly down High Street, head down and lost in thought, considering what he knew. It wasn’t much. He was convinced that William Muryet, the murdered butler, and Howard Makepeese had conspired to steal the list, although he couldn’t know that for certain. He still thought that the most plausible explanation was that they had fallen out and Makepeese had killed Muryet to acquire the list or all the money for himself. Yet if Lucy knew where Makepeese was, it meant he had gone into hiding somewhere nearby and had not fled as any murderer would be expected to. That must mean that he still had the list and had not sold it yet — had not sold it because he was waiting for the buyer.

  All he had to do was find Lucy and wring the truth from her. Before Clement found out about her.

  With that thought in his head, he paused at the mouth of College Lane. He considered whether to roust her now in the night. She had not been at the Baynard house when he had left in the evening, but she was sure to have returned.

  He was about to turn down College Lane when he caught the whiff of a sound behind him. A slow sound, a stealthy sound. The faint grind of shoe leather on a pocket of gravel.

  Someone was following him.

  He went round the corner and stopped. Ducking low so that his head was no higher than the tops of his boots and less likely to be seen, he looked back around the corner. A shadow detached itself from that of a house down the street. It was a small shadow belonging to a boy, but Stephen could make out nothing about him. He waited. There was the sound of running footsteps. The boy peeked around the corner. Stephen grabbed him.

  This close, Stephen knew who it was: the same boy he’d seen loitering outside St. Laurence’s the other day; the same boy who’d been with the men who’d attacked him outside the Broken Shield. “Got you,” Stephen said, giving the boy a rough shake. “Who sent you?”

  The boy did not reply. A hand came out from behind his back. It held a dagger. He thrust at Stephen’s stomach.

  Stephen pushed him away and backed up to gain space. Even boys with daggers were as dangerous as grown men.

  The boy backed up too. He did not run away. He didn’t seem frightened of Stephen at all. He calmly held the dagger at his hip where it stood ready to strike and could not be grabbed. He clearly knew how to use it.

  “Who are you working for, boy?” Stephen asked.

  “Fuck if I’ll tell you,” the boy said.

  “Fair enough, I suppose, in answer to just a question. But I’ll give you tuppence if you tell me.”

  The boy laughed. “What rot. You ain’t got tuppence. What that blonde lady sees in a poor fart like you I don’t know.”

  The reply startled Stephen. The boy must have been following him all day. At least he might think Stephen was going back to Baynard House to see Margaret.

  But he was not going there to see Margaret.

  He decided not to go there at all tonight. Lucy would be at Baynard House in the morning. Besides, there was somewhere else he needed to go. Lucy could wait till morning. This could not.

  But before he went there he had to lose the tail.

  Stephen edged around the boy, who pivoted to face him, then strode off fast across High Street to Broad. As he descended Broad Street he heard the boy behind him, who was no longer trying to remain invisible. All to the good.

  He turned into Bell Lane. He glanced backward. The boy was still there, a faint silhouette at the mouth of the street.

  The front door to the Broken Shield was barred, of course, as was the gate to the yard. Stephen leaped to the top of the wall and pulled himself up and over. He dropped into the yard, stifling a yelp of pain from his bad foot, which did not like the impact.

  Then he ran past the stables to the rear fence, which he climbed just as nimbly.

  He found himself in a grove of cherry and peach trees in the neighbor’s back garden. A stack of firewood taller than he was and almost reac
hed the height of the fence stood to the left. The stench of a latrine was strong, which meant it was nearby, although he couldn’t see it. The last thing he wanted was to fall in, least of all because of the possibility of getting filthy. Some latrine pits were so deep that people were known to drown in them after falling in at night.

  This garden was also home to at least three large, noisy dogs. They lived in a shed on the other side of the woodpile. Stephen waited nervously for them to start to howl, worried it would alert his young tail that he was going out the back door. But the dogs must have been sleeping, because there was no sound of alarm.

  Gingerly, Stephen made his way through the grove to the other side of the yard, which also was bordered by a high fence.

  He climbed that one too and dropped into the alley that ran between two yards, opening on the left onto Broad Street.

  At the corner, he peeked around to make sure the tail did not have Broad Street under surveillance. In the dark it was impossible to tell. Stephen just had to take the chance.

  Keeping next to the houses, he scurried down the hill to Broad Gate.

  He found Gip the warden asleep in his niche by the door. Going inside, Stephen prodded Gip with his good foot.

  “Whoa, what is it?” Gip sputtered, coming awake.

  “I need you to open the gate,” Stephen said. “I’m going out.”

  “Got your penny?”

  “This is king’s business.”

  “King’s business, my ass. You’re on a doxy hunt.”

  “Believe me or not, but put it on my tab, if you must.”

  “I don’t run tabs, lad.”

  “You’ll run one tonight, or it’ll be your ass indeed.”

  “Easy, easy, I was just having some fun.”

  “So was I.”

  “Fair enough, fair enough.”

  Gip grumpily opened the gate just enough for Stephen to slip through.

  “Sleep tight, old man,” Stephen said.

  “I would if it weren’t for young farts like you.” He pushed the gate shut.

  Instead of continuing down Broad Street, Stephen clambered into the ditch that ran around the town at the base of the wall. It was as good as any street for where he wanted to go now. He moved a little less quickly and without quite so much stealth. It was very doubtful the boy would get past Gip if he realized Stephen had left the town.

  Before long, he reached and crossed under the footbridge at Old Street, where a sally port ran out of Ludlow from the southeast. He stayed in the ditch, skirting piles of trash that people had dumped there. It was against the law to throw trash in the ditch, but people did it anyway.

  Soon he came to Galdeford Gate on the east side of town. He clambered up to the street and took the left fork in the road, counting the houses as he went. Before long, the little chapel loomed in the dark, and beyond it the large spreading oak. He crossed the ditch on the plank bridge and went into the Makepeeses’ yard. The house was silent, but the glimmer of a fire showed through cracks in the door. Stephen wondered if the old crone was still awake.

  He rapped on the door. The thuds seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet of the night.

  After a few moments, the old crone’s voice came through the door. “Who is it?”

  “Stephen Attebrook, the deputy coroner.”

  “What the hell do you want?”

  “Crack the door and I’ll tell you.”

  The old crone was some time making up her mind, but eventually the door eased open a crack to reveal one eye and a sliver of her face. “All right, talk. But don’t think about coming in. I’ll gut you sure if you try it.”

  Stephen laughed. “You’ll be the third person tonight who’s wanted to. But I’ll remain where I am, so rest easy. Now listen. Clement’s coming back to arrest Mistress Makepeese. He’s to take her to the castle for more questioning, and you can guess what kind that’ll be.”

  “The screw and the rack!” the old woman spat.

  “Right. So you’ve got to get her out of here. The sooner the better.”

  “She can’t move and I’ve not the strength to carry her.”

  “Have you got a place for her and the children to hide, at least for a few days?”

  “I’ve a hut across that field.”

  What field she meant he couldn’t tell. He said, “I’ll carry her then. Get the kids up.”

  The old woman stepped back and Stephen entered the house.

  Mistress Makepeese looked fearfully up at him from her pallet.

  The old woman said, “It’s all right, Beth. He’s come to warn us Clement’s on his way.”

  Beth Makepeese made a frightened moan.

  “We’ll go to my house,” the old woman said. “He’ll carry you.” She called up into the loft. “Sally! Get Edward and the others up. Right away. We have to go now. Hurry!”

  Stephen kicked dirt on the fire to put it out while the children clambered down from the loft, clutching a few odds and ends of belongings.

  Suddenly Sally, the oldest girl, said, “I hear horses — more than one, on the road coming from town.”

  Stephen strained to listen. At first he heard nothing. Then he caught the faint thudding of horses’ hooves. They had to be close — right outside the front gate. The sound stopped. A man’s voice carried across the yard. Clement hadn’t waited for morning after all.

  “Get them out the back — now!” he hissed. “They’re right out front.”

  He scooped up Beth Makepeese as the old woman ushered the children out the back door. With Beth on one arm, he closed the back door softly behind him, just as the front door gave way with a crash.

  Chapter 15

  The children and the old woman were out of sight. Only the rustle of their footsteps in the grass gave evidence of their presence, and soon that faded to nothing.

  Beth Makepeese was not a large woman, but she felt like three sacks of grain. There was no chance he could take the same route as the others and hope to be out of sight before Clement or one of his companions thought to open the back door.

  Stephen turned left and lumbered toward the corner of the house. Inside, the men rattled around, cursing. Someone threw open the shutters of a window just as he passed. Stephen froze against the house, clutching a trembling Beth, not daring to breathe. If the man stuck his head out . . .

  But apparently he did not, for there was no cry of alarm.

  Stephen dared to move again. He slithered to the corner of the house and glanced around it. No man-shape moved there. He thought it was safe enough and reeled across the open ground to a lean-to that stood about twenty feet away, visible as only a black blob in the greater dark. As he reached the lean-to, two men came round the side of the house. Stephen, standing in the open, froze again. If he didn’t move, they might mistake him for a tree or a post. As an experienced hunter, he knew that motion betrayed the target, which might remain unseen if it was still.

  The two men went past into the rear yard. Stephen eased behind the lean-to. “There’s no one here!” one of the men called.

  Clement emerged from the back door and kicked a bucket that Stephen must have just missed in his flight. It clattered off into the dark, unseen. “Shit!” he snarled. “Shit and damnation!”

  “Where do you suppose they went?”

  “I don’t know,” Clement said angrily, “but it ain’t right. Somebody’s warned them we were coming. I’m sure of it.”

  “But who?”

  “Attebrook,” Clement spat. “It had to be him. He’s the only one who knew.”

  “There’s one way to find out. See if he’s at the Shield.”

  “We’ll do that, but I’ve had a tail on him for the last couple of days. They’ll know what he’s been up to.” Clement stalked round the house. “Let’s go, boys. We’ve another house call to make.”

  When they had gone, Stephen put Beth down so he could rest a moment. Now that he could breathe freely, he could not seem to catch his breath and his arms felt like they
were made of string. Beth sank to the ground and began to cry, but it seemed more with relief now than from fright.

  “It’s all right, Beth,” he said. “They’re gone.”

  “El buh bah,” she said several times. It took a few moments before Stephen realized she was saying, “They’ll be back.”

  “Yes, but you won’t be here.”

  Still crying, she blubbered, “Nah safe ever.”

  Stephen knelt beside her, his face close to her’s. “You’ll never be safe as long as Clement thinks you have the list. You know about the list, don’t you?”

  Beth’s crying subsided, but she said nothing. Finally, she nodded.

  “Howard took it, didn’t he,” Stephen said.

  “Yeah.”

  “He and Muryet.”

  She nodded again.

  “Where is it?”

  “Don’ kno’.” Don’t know.

  “Does Howard have it?”

  “Don’ kno’!”

  “Where is Howard?”

  She shook her head. “Di’n nev-uh tell uh wheah he’s going.” He didn’t never tell us where he’s going.

  “But Lucy knows.”

  Beth nodded.

  “How does Lucy know?”

  “She luh heah.” She loves him. “He sayuh i’ah make uh rish.” He said it would make us rich.

  “He was wrong. It will be your death. Did Howard kill Muryet?”

  “Duh nuh. He di’ah cum ba-ah tha’ nigh’.” He didn’t come back that night.

  It was clear Stephen wouldn’t learn anything more that might be useful, but what he had learned brought him much closer than he had been half an hour ago. He now knew for sure that Howard Makepeese had taken the list — that was now fact and not an educated guess. Since he was in hiding, he probably still had it. All Stephen had to do was find Howard, and this ordeal would be over.

  “Where did they go?” meaning the old woman and the children.

  “Tha way.” Beth pointed across the field to the rear of the house.

  “Let’s go find them, then.”

  Stephen hoisted her on his back and began the long trudge across the field toward the black woods beyond.