Day of Wrath

by Iris Collier

  ‘Thank you, Prior,’ she said. ‘I wish everyone was as charitable as you.’

  ‘I hate victimisation of innocent people,’ he said. ‘She’ll be safe there as long as I’m head of this house.’

  * * *

  The Prior went off to his bed. Nicholas turned to Jane. ‘You were right, Jane, as usual. I only wish I’d paid more attention to you before. Agnes knows something. Somebody wants rid of her, that’s for sure. When she wakes up, see if she can remember the names of anyone who’s been to see her recently. It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t think they’re of any importance. We might think differently. Now I must go back to her house and see that the fire is put out. I’ve sent for the Sheriff and asked Geoffrey to keep hold of anyone who refused to co-operate in putting out the fire. Tomorrow, the Sheriff will start an investigation. Have you got any ideas yet about who killed her cat?’

  ‘So you’ve already heard?’

  ‘Geoffrey told me.’

  ‘It was awful, Nicholas. They strung him up on a tree and hung an obscene notice round his neck. I’ve been to see two people today; one, the mother of the baby who died; she might have had it in for Agnes. The other was the churchwarden, who knows most things in the parish and can read and write. You see, whoever killed Ambrose knew how to write. But one thing’s certain, Edgar Pierrepoint would never kill anybody’s cat, not if it belonged to the devil himself, and Abigail had nothing but good to say about Agnes. Also, none of her family can read or write. However, Pierrepoint said he’d go down to the ale-house and talk to the regulars to see if they know anything. But at least Agnes is safe here. No one’s going to burn down the Priory to get at her.’

  He stared at her in admiration. ‘Jane, what would I do without you? Local knowledge is vital if we’re to fit all the pieces together. I go dashing round the county to talk to the Sheriffs and Southamptons of this world and you stay here and fill in the details. I always knew we’d make a wonderful team. Come and report to me tomorrow. Usual place. After your father’s midday meal. Now I must be off to Agnes’s house and see that it’s made secure. We don’t want thieves in to make the situation worse. Tomorrow I shall see the Sheriff. Jane, dear Jane, sleep well.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘This is a pretty kettle of fish you’ve got landed with, Lord Nicholas,’ said Sheriff Landstock, drawing a chair up to the kitchen table. It was Sunday morning and he’d just returned from checking out Agnes Myles’s house. ‘Who’d want to burn down an old woman’s shed? Not her house, mind you, her shed. Thanks to your prompt action last night Agnes Myles has still got a house to come home to. Now, I suppose we ought to take a look at these two wretches you’ve hauled in. Who are they, by the way?’

  ‘One’s called Bovet, Tim Bovet. The other’s a Will Perkins. Not from round here. Seem to be a couple of ne’er-do-wells. They earn a bit here and there and spend it in the taverns. They sleep where they can and help themselves to whatever they can lay their hands on and then move off before they get caught. However, that doesn’t make them arsonists.’

  ‘Why did you bring ’em in then?’

  ‘Because neither of them lifted a finger to help put out the fire and both shouted insults at Agnes Myles.’

  ‘Not enough to make an arrest. Do you want me to take them back to Marchester? I can hold them for questioning. They can cool off in my gaol and I can cross-examine them. If they’ve got anything to hide, we’ll soon get it out of them.’

  ‘That sounds the best idea. I can’t hold them here for ever in my cellar. Here, Richard, help yourself.’ Nicholas pushed the jug of ale across the table.

  ‘The thing is, my Lord,’ said Sheriff Landstock, pouring himself out a tankard of ale, ‘have these two got any connection with this fellow we’re looking for? The traitor who’s going to cause mayhem when the King arrives. The one with the damn silly name?’

  ‘You mean Ultor? The answer is, I don’t know. All I can say is that I’m uneasy about what’s going on here. One murder – we know who was responsible for that – one suspected murder, and now a persecution of a harmless old woman who’s never been threatened before. At the moment, I regard everyone as a possible suspect.’

  ‘That’s the best thing to do, but I can’t, for the life of me, see any connection between setting an old lady’s shed on fire and finding out who Ultor is. Sometimes people just gang up against someone for no particular reason. It takes just one rumour and the mob’s ready for action. Very nasty. It mustn’t be allowed to happen. We can’t have mob rule.’

  ‘Quite right, Richard. We must nip it in the bud.’

  They drank their ale in silence, both men lost in thought. Suddenly, Sheriff Landstock looked up and glanced across at Nicholas.

  ‘It’s possible, of course – though I can scarcely believe it – that Agnes Myles could’ve been a witness?’

  ‘It certainly is possible. I’m coming round to thinking that she might have seen or done or heard something that could incriminate Ultor. Once she loosens her tongue we might learn what it is. She needs protection and that’s why I’ve put her in a safe place.’

  ‘You said she’s in the Priory. Is that safe enough?’

  ‘I’ve put her in the anchorite’s cell and Jane’s got the key.’

  ‘Jane?’ The Sheriff raised a bushy, ginger eyebrow.

  ‘My accomplice.’

  ‘You’ve got an accomplice, and she’s a woman? I’m amazed, my Lord. You do like making things difficult for yourself. Murder, treason, arson – these are not things a woman ought to get involved in.’

  ‘Jane Warrener’s the best spy anyone could have. She can go where none of your men could go. People talk to her.’

  ‘I can see that. But watch out she’s not the next victim. If she asks too many questions she’ll end up face down in the village pond.’

  Nicholas winced. It was what he most feared. As soon as possible he’d have her off the case; not that she’d take a blind bit of notice, he thought ruefully.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Landstock, getting up and going over to the fire, ‘that’s your affair, and I hope you know what you’re doing. But, back to Agnes Myles. If she really is a witness, then why doesn’t Ultor simply bump her off like he did with the other witness, Bess Knowles, if you’re right about her? Why go through all this charade putting it about that she’s a witch? Why not burn her house down when she’s asleep? It’s easy to make it look like an accident.’

  ‘I’ve thought of that. I think that if Ultor’s behind this, he wants the mob to do his dirty work for him. If he did kill Bess Knowles, he won’t want to kill again too quickly. We’ve got a cunning devil here, Sheriff. He knows he’s running out of time. It’s only nine days before the King arrives. He doesn’t want the finger of suspicion pointing in his direction. One old lady, who might have heard something that could incriminate him, could blow his cover sky high. He’ll be wanting the mob to take over and whilst we’re trying to restore law and order in the village the heat will be taken off him.’

  ‘God, let’s hope that woman starts talking soon.’

  ‘At the moment she’s in such a state of terror that she’s still drifting in and out of consciousness. Jane’s going to try and get her to talk when she recovers. When she does, it could take a long time before she gets her wits together. It’s more than likely that she’ll have lost her memory. A shock can do that, as you know. Also, she has a constant stream of people coming to her house for healing herbs and to ask advice about all sorts of problems. She’s known all over the county. I doubt whether she’ll remember who they all were.’

  ‘If she can tell us anything it would help. At the moment it’s all supposition. In the meantime, let’s take a look at these two wretches you’ve got in your cellar. Maybe they can tell us something.’

  * * *

  They went over to the keep and Nicholas unlocked the door. Taking a lighted torch from the bracket on the wall, they went down a steep, spiral staircase to what had been the dungeons in t
he days when country houses had to double up as castles. Geoffrey Lowe now used the dungeons as cellars to store produce, but one of the rooms was too small and too damp to be much use as a food store. Nicholas unlocked the door and they went in. Lifting up his torch, as the room had no window, he saw the two men huddled together against the far wall on a layer of straw.

  ‘Well, you two, here’s the Sheriff come to see you. Now tell him why you wouldn’t help us save Mistress Myles’s shed last night? You know you’ve got a duty to help put out fires. And you also know it’s an offence to slander a person without proof.’

  ‘We don’t need any proof,’ said the older man, Will Perkins. ‘Everyone knows she’s an old witch.’

  ‘Who said so?’

  ‘Everyone says so.’

  ‘Who’s everyone?’ said the Sheriff coming closer to peer at them.

  ‘How should I know who they are? People you talk to in the ale-house, those sort of people.’

  ‘Which ale-house?’

  ‘One in Marchester. Down near the new cross they’re building.’

  ‘So why did you come to Dean Peverell?’

  ‘We often come here, don’t we, Tim,’ Will Perkins said to the younger man, who was shivering on the straw next to him. ‘There’s work to do at this time of the year. The Prior lets us help with the lambs. We pick up pieces of wool from the shearing and the monks let us keep them. Comes in useful for covers for the winter. So we comes down here, drinks a few jars at the ale-house, and we sleep in one of the Prior’s barns. Then we hears that there’s a bit of a rumpus about an old woman down the road, and there might be a chance to see a bit of fun. Nothing like a good witch baiting. You should see them swing up on Marchester Heath with all their petticoats flying up over their heads in the wind. So we comes here and went along last night to join in the fun. But we don’t help an old woman to save her shed where she makes up all those evil spells. We don’t care if her house is burned down, and what’s more, neither does anyone else. We weren’t the only ones to stand back from the flames. If that old busy-body hadn’t come along and got everyone organised with buckets of water the village would have been rid of its witch.’

  ‘So you didn’t go near the fire?’ said Nicholas, going closer to the two men and shining the torch in their faces.

  ‘Nope. Nothing to do with us. We got there after it was started.’

  ‘So why is there a big scorch mark on your sleeve?’ said Nicholas, indicating with his torch a large burnt area on the sleeve of the man’s jacket.

  Perkins peered at the patch. ‘That’s because I got too near to the blaze and nearly set myself on fire.’

  ‘And yet you said you didn’t go near the fire?’

  ‘That was later, when that bossy fellow tried to get us organised. I did take a peek at it when we first got there. Now are you going to let us go? We’ve got nothing to tell, nothing to hide. We didn’t see who started the fire. In fact I can’t see why anyone would want to burn down her old shed. If you want to kill a witch, you burn down her house with her inside it. Now that’s what I call fun. You’ve got to let us go, you know. We’ve got our rights, haven’t we, Tim?’

  ‘Yes. We’ve got our rights,’ echoed the younger man.

  ‘Now don’t start on about your rights,’ said Sheriff Landstock impatiently. ‘You didn’t do your duty last night did you? You refused to help put out the fire and I’m going to take you into Marchester for further questioning. If you can tell us who started the fire, you’ll be released and back in your taverns again by nightfall.’

  The two men looked indignantly at the Sheriff. ‘We don’t know nothing. You can’t take us in for not knowing nothing.’

  ‘Yes, I can. Nothing easier. Now don’t give us any trouble and you’ll soon be off the hook.’

  They left the two men protesting vociferously and went back up the stairs into the daylight. Nicholas put the torch back in its bracket.

  ‘Think they’re going to be any use?’ he said to Landstock.

  ‘Miserable-looking bastards. No, I can’t see that they’re going to be much help. But there is that burnt patch on that fellow’s sleeve. He didn’t give us a convincing explanation as to how he got it.’

  ‘This all seems a far cry from our main task, to catch Ultor before the King gets here,’ said Nicholas leading the way back towards the main house.

  ‘If Agnes Myles talks or these two men give us the name of the person who started the fire, we could be home and dry sooner than you think.’

  ‘I’d like to be able to share your optimism. But what bothers me is, is there any connection between Ultor, someone who’s literate and writes letters to Reginald Pole, and two women living in a small Sussex village? Wait a minute…’ Nicholas stopped.

  ‘Well, what is it?’

  ‘Let’s try this for an idea. Just suppose that Ultor is Gilbert Fitzroy. No, don’t look so surprised; it’s not as way out as it sounds. We know he went to see Mortimer. They discussed various treasonable activities. Then we know Fitzroy shopped Mortimer; the King himself told me that. Maybe he shopped Mortimer, whom he could see was doomed, in order to ingratiate himself with the King. Now we know Matthew and Bess Knowles overheard one of their conversations. That’s why Matthew was murdered. Let’s suppose that after Mortimer was arrested, Fitzroy, having made it quite clear that his sympathies were with the King, took over the leadership of the conspiracy. He called himself Ultor – the Avenger. Maybe he planned it all from the start. Maybe Mortimer was just his side-kick. Maybe he wanted Mortimer out of the way so that he could get his hands on his estate, and also be the power behind the throne if a Yorkist became King. He told the King he had nothing to do with Mortimer’s scheming and it suited the King to believe him because Fitzroy, as Lord Lieutenant of the county, is important to him. Now, after Mortimer’s arrest, Fitzroy would want Bess Knowles finished off. Perhaps he sent someone down to Agnes Myles to get a deadly potion to put in Bess’s drink. He wouldn’t go there in person, of course, but he could have sent one of his servants. And now he’s got to get rid of Agnes before she remembers that servant coming to see her. She’d certainly remember one of Fitzroys’ servants; and he’d have to tell her who he was because she wouldn’t give her lethal potions to just anybody. Agnes has got to talk to us.’

  ‘It’s a good theory, my Lord, but too many “maybe’s”. You can’t invent a plot and then arrange the facts to suit it. We know Fitzroy shopped Mortimer but the rest’s just guesswork. Also, I just can’t see Fitzroy getting involved with the Pole family. He’s got everything to gain by remaining loyal to Harry Tudor. He’s not a fanatic. He couldn’t care less whether the monks go or stay, or if the King makes himself head of the Church. He’s only interested in Fitzroy. I agree he might have wanted Mortimer out of the way so that he could buy his manor, but I can’t see him as Ultor. He’s not devious enough. And he hasn’t one jot of imagination. And what makes you think Fitzroy’s capable of carrying on a correspondence with Reginald Pole? I had to read a letter to him the other day and he had a job writing his signature.’

  ‘Fitzroy must have his own clerks. He keeps a big household,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘Even so, Fitzroy’s more interested in his hunting dogs than writing letters. But we ought to play safe. We’ll keep him out of the King’s way when he comes. He didn’t say whether he intends to pay Fitzroy a visit on his way back to Hampton Court, did he?’

  ‘No, he intends to go straight back to London. The Queen’s expecting a child any time now. And he’s quite sure this time it will be a boy and nothing must go wrong.’

  ‘Good. As a matter of fact, I can’t see the King wanting to pay Fitzroy a visit. I can’t see him trusting him.’

  ‘He doesn’t trust anyone, Sheriff.’

  ‘Oh yes he does. He trusts you, my Lord. He knows you’d never make a traitor. You haven’t got the stomach for it.’

  ‘Thanks for the compliment, Sheriff. You certainly know how to put a man down. However, you’re
right about me not being a traitor; but not because I’m a coward. With all his faults, King Henry will keep the country together. God knows what would happen if the Yorkists came back in power. We’d slip back into anarchy. Also, it’s a relief to have an easy conscience. At least I can sleep soundly at night.’

  * * *

  Sheriff Landstock left after a hearty midday meal. His two assistants carted Perkins and Bovet away to Marchester. Geoffrey grumbled about how much they’d depleted his stocks of food which he was building up for the King’s visit; and Nicholas thought about Jane’s visit that afternoon.

  * * *

  They both arrived together at the gate leading into the gardens. Nicholas took her hand and led her into the inner garden where the fruit trees were in full blossom and the spring flowers made bright punctuation marks in the lush green meadow grass. Nicholas took her over to a stone seat under the fruit trees and they sat down. Yesterday’s storm had passed away and the air was fresh and full of the scents of the newly washed plants. He looked at his beautiful assistant and once again felt that painful rush of fear at the thought that anything unpleasant could happen to her.

  ‘Jane, I think you should let this case drop now. You’ve been very useful to me, but now I think things are getting dangerous. Let the Sheriff and me find out who this Ultor is.’

  She stared at him in blank astonishment and her face flushed scarlet. ‘I can’t back out now, Nicholas. I’m just as much involved in this as you are. You’ve lost a steward. I’ve lost a friend and could lose another if we’re not careful. Agnes is safe for the moment, but she can’t stay there for ever.’

  ‘She must stay there until we find Ultor. Have you been to see Agnes today?’

  ‘Of course. What kind of person do you think I am? Do you think I would let an old woman go without food and bedding? The monks won’t go near her, that’s for sure, and the villagers think she should be dragged out and hanged. The rumours haven’t stopped because the fire was put out. In fact they’ve got worse. People are now saying she started the fire herself to burn the evidence of her wicked spells. They think she’s in league with the devil, and they blame the Prior for sheltering her.’