The Crediton Killings

by Michael Jecks

To their left was the first of the ladders. Baldwin looked at it apprehensively. It seemed strong and heavy, constructed to take the weight of many men and their loads. Its solid rungs were hardly worn, and he noted that it must be of fairly new construction, but as his eyes followed its path skyward, he swallowed. It was a very long way to the top.

  Forcing down his fear, he cautiously made his way to its base, standing with his hands on either rail, and steeling himself, began to climb.

  The first quarter of the ladder was little problem. He refused to glance down, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the wall in front, and found that the mechanical effort of lifting one foot, setting it down on a rung, then repeating the operation for the other foot, was relatively simple and painless. Then he approached the middle, and things got a great deal worse.

  It was the rhythmic bumping that did it, he thought as he clung to the wobbling woodwork, eyes wide in horror. He felt as if he was moving yards at a time, in toward the wall, then away, with such force he was convinced the top of the ladder must spring from the scaffolding and hurtle away, pinning him and the other two underneath it as it fell.

  “What is it?” he heard Edgar hiss, and with a supreme effort he managed to raise a foot carefully and plant it once more on a rung. He dared not look down at his servant, or speak in case his voice carried to the other side of the church. And from that moment until he came to the top of the ladder, he loathed Edgar.

  At the top, he sidled sideways to fetch up on a plank, and here for a moment he allowed himself to catch his breath, still staring at the wall of the new church. He became aware of the two men coming up, and soon his heart lurched as the planks bounced under the weight of the others. Stifling a curse, he turned to motion to them to keep still, when he caught a glimpse of the scenery, and was held spellbound with fascinated terror at the height. He felt paralyzed, like a mouse freezing into immobility under the gaze of a cat. It was only when Edgar tapped him on the shoulder that he came to and prepared himself for the next stage of the climb.

  This ladder was lashed loosely to the scaffolding at its base, which at least offered some degree of security to the quailing Keeper. Once more the center section rocked and bounced, filling him with dread, convinced now that the whole structure, not merely the ladder but the entire scaffold, must collapse. He clenched his teeth as he crossed the threshold of panic and continued upward.

  There was only one more ladder, and this was shorter, but smaller in size, and considerably older. Hugh was after him, and he tugged his dagger free and tested the blade meditatively while they waited for Edgar.

  Hugh had never felt so cold and pitiless before. He had been involved in fights often enough, especially when thieves tried to steal his lambs for the pot when he had been a boy, but this was not the anticipation of a fight, this was the righteous determination to seek justice. Nobody had the right to take captive his mistress, yet this little man was holding her and threatening to kill her. Hugh was determined to protect her, and in so doing, the family of the master. If he had anything to do with it, Margaret would be safe, and the butcher would die for what he had done.

  It was not something in his blood which made him murderous; it was the memory of what had happened to Rollo after his mother had died, and the thought of how poor little Edith would react to hearing that her mother, her devoted mummy, had died. This made him tingle with animal anticipation, pricking the ball of his thumb on the point of his blade to see how sharp it was.

  Edgar looked from him to his master with a blank expression. Hugh, he could see, was in a black mood, a killing mood, while Baldwin was close to shivering with fear. He stepped so slowly and carefully he looked as if he thought he was going to fall through a plank at any moment. It almost made Edgar want to laugh—or weep with frustration.

  “Why didn’t you arrest him?” The thin voice floated down in the stillness before twilight with a curious calmness. “I tried to help you, you know. I tried to show you what he had done. First adultery, then the girl in the chest. The pauper was an old flame of his, and then my wife was a lover of his as well. I mean—it could hardly have been more obvious, could it? But you ignored all the hints. He must have paid you a fortune to keep away from him! That’s what you do, isn’t it? Take money to make sure that those who can afford it, avoid the rope. How can you justify your corruption?”

  “We didn’t know, Adam.” Simon cried, aware of the desperation in his voice. “We thought the first girl died during the robbery, and the second we just weren’t sure about. Then, when we found your wife, we were right to think it wasn’t him, weren’t we? It was you all along, after all. But this has nothing to do with my wife, has it? Why not let her go?”

  “NO!” The scream made the blood turn to ice in Simon’s veins. “Why should I, eh? Why should I let you have a life again? Why should I let you enjoy your woman again, when mine has been taken from me? Why should you deserve her when my own angel, my precious darling, is dead? Why should I let her live when you have ruined my life?”

  “But I haven’t,” Simon protested desperately, his hands held out. “All I did was try to help my friend seek out the truth. It wasn’t a deliberate attempt to hurt you, just a seeking out of the facts—”

  “Liar! You took his money to protect him, you can’t fool me!” To Simon’s horror, he began to edge his way nearer Margaret. “The Keeper is known to be fair and decent, I can’t believe he’d have tried to cheat me of justice, so who else could it have been, eh? Who else was with him day after day, investigating the affair, poisoning his mind by lies and treachery? There was nobody else—but you! You made him believe Sir Hector was innocent, that he was not the killer, that he hadn’t enjoyed my wife. It was all you!”

  “Adam, look, why don’t you let me explain, let me tell you how it really was?” Simon pleaded.

  “You—explain? But you’re a liar! How could I believe a word you told me?” Adam jeered. “The only one I could believe is the Keeper. He’s at least honorable, and maybe he should know the truth, so he can hold you in…” His voice faded as he surveyed the area before the church. “Where is he?” he screamed suddenly. “Where is he, the Keeper? He was here before, I saw him. Where’s he gone?”

  “Nowhere. He just went to—”

  “Now you’re lying again! You always lie—you’re corrupt! He’s gone, hasn’t he—but where to? Is he false too?” The tone of his voice had risen, and now he was screeching like an alewife. “Is he corrupt as well? He is, isn’t he?”

  With mounting despair Simon saw his wife give him a wan smile as the butcher got behind her, and put the point of his knife at her throat.

  “Please, please don’t hurt her! Look, I’ll come up myself—take me instead, don’t hurt her. She’s done you no harm, it’s me you want, so take me! Let me come up, I’ll bring no weapon, and you can do what you want with me. I’ll—”

  “No! No! No! I want to see you grovel, I want to see you in agony. I want you to realize what my life has become, to suffer like I’m suffering. My wife is ruined and dead, and the man responsible is free still, and it’s your fault—all your fault! Well, watch this, Bailiff. Let’s see how bravely your own wife dies!”

  From the bottom of the ladder, Hugh heard the conversation. Ignoring the others, he rushed up it; reaching the planking, he sprang forward, his dagger grasped firmly in his fist. He took in the situation at a glance; the butcher stood with his back to him on the opposite wall. Hugh sprinted to the corner, and then approached along the shorter wall. He was too far to attempt to throw his knife yet, so he grabbed his purse, sliced through the cords which bound it, and hurled it with all his might at the butcher’s back.

  Adam snarled like a terrier distracted from its prey, and turned, his teeth bared. He shook a fist, and was about to turn back to Margaret, but Hugh now was close enough. He tossed his dagger up lightly, catching it by the very tip of the blade, then hurled it, roaring as he pounded along the ramshackle planking.

  Dropping his own
knife, Adam stared angrily at the bone handle which protruded from his breast. He muttered, and caught at the handle, as if to tug it free, but a thin dribble of blood spat from his lips, and he seemed to have lost all energy. His fingers were heavy, so very heavy, and it was hard simply to grip the knife. He gibbered in impotent rage, letting his arms fall as Hugh came closer, and took a step back. With a hideous screech of blind terror, he stumbled too far and fell over the edge.

  Margaret watched his body fall. It took a long time to strike the ground, she noticed unemotionally, and his cry went on for ages until it suddenly stopped with a dull thud.

  She was aware of Hugh at her side, his hands taking her by the shoulders and turning her to face him, while he studied her throat anxiously, giving a huge sigh of relief when he saw that there was no damage. She stared up at him lethargically, wanting to stand, but the effort was too much, and even when he offered her his hand, she could hardly grip it. He had to heave her up to her feet, and even then she found her legs simply could not support her. She had to lean against him for fear of following Adam over the edge.

  Soon Edgar and Baldwin were there with them. Baldwin cut the thongs binding her wrists, and between the three of them they managed to get her to the ladder and gradually helped her down with the aid of a rope.

  At the bottom, Simon groaned as he caught her up in his arms and buried his head in her shoulder. Baldwin and the others left the couple to themselves.

  25

  “As to why he killed them, I suppose we’ll never know,” Baldwin said.

  They were back in Peter Clifford’s hall, drinking Hippocras. The strong fumes of the wine, mingled with the ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves, gave off a scent which dispelled their fears and calmed their nerves.

  Simon needed it. He sat by his friend, but still held the hand of his wife firmly. Right now he felt that he would never dare leave hold of it. He had learned in a very short space of time how much he adored her. The events of the afternoon had nearly shattered his mind, as the butcher had hoped. Glancing at Margaret and squeezing her fingers affectionately, he noted the lines on her brow, the heavy bruises under her eyes and the paleness of her face. It was only with an effort that he stopped himself kissing her.

  Stapledon frowned. “From what you say, it was all done in an attempt to frame the mercenary.”

  “Yes, as far as we can tell. From what he said, it was in order to put the blame directly on Sir Hector that he murdered the women, including his own wife.”

  “A hideous act.”

  “As you observe, an appalling deed. By all accounts he was very much in love with Mary, and when he discovered she was having an adulterous affair—and there appears to be no doubt whatever on that score—he went quite mad. To kill two innocents, and his own wife…Well, it beggars belief.”

  Simon nodded. The little butcher must have been quite demented. He picked up his goblet and sipped, then froze. “Baldwin, have you given any instructions for releasing Cole or Sir Hector?”

  “Oh…” Baldwin met Peter Clifford’s eye shamefacedly and decided not to curse. It always offended the priest. With a slight grin, he continued, “No—thanks, for reminding me.”

  “I should send someone to invite them both here for a celebratory drink. Wat is still holding Sir Hector, isn’t he? Let the message go to him. Ask Wat to bring his master under guard.”

  “Simon, are you planning something?” Baldwin asked suspiciously.

  “Me? Of course not. The very idea!”

  Stapledon watched them bemusedly. What were they planning now? It was hard to tell, but he thought he could discern something in their bantering tones, though they were too far away for him to see their expressions.

  He was staggered that Margaret Puttock had been prepared to remain with her man. If he’d been her, he would have retired immediately to his room and slept, he was sure, for the story of how she had been captured and hauled aloft had been told and retold many times already, and all the servants in the house were treating her with huge respect after her ordeal. He was surprised that she had not lost her sense after such a trial, and was uncomfortably aware that his own conduct in similar circumstances might not have been so praiseworthy.

  Now the two men were talking in undertones, nodding as each confirmed points with the other, and Stapledon strained his ears. They were not being quiet to hide anything, but more because their speech was an extension of each other’s thoughts. For these men, talking to the other in a low voice was indistinguishable from carrying on a sequence of logical mental processes, Stapledon thought to himself. They were almost as close as a husband and wife in the way that they appeared to be able to anticipate the words of the other and counter an argument before it had been fully expressed.

  Accepting a fresh goblet of Hippocras, he wearily sank back in his chair. His head still hurt abominably, but he had suffered no long-term damage, as the surgeon had assured him. There was no loose bone where he had been struck, and for such an old man, the surgeon had implied, it was a miracle that he had suffered no worse injury. He curled his lip wryly as he recalled the highly un-Godly words he had used to drive the skinny medico from his room bawling the man out for his nerve.

  The first of the two men to arrive was Cole. He looked dreadful, with his greasy hair flat on one side, and almost vertical on the crown where he had run his fingers through it. His complexion was pale and he looked as if he had been suffering from a fever, his skin was so waxy, and the general impression of illness was added to by the nervous twitch at the corner of his mouth. Tanner stood behind him, waiting for confirmation from Baldwin that he was permitted to free his prisoner, and he cut the thongs that bound Cole’s hands as soon as Baldwin nodded to him. Thankfully, and for the first time in many days, Cole dropped onto a stool, wondering what had happened to cause his miraculous release.

  Less than a quarter of an hour later Sir Hector arrived with Wat and another guard. His appearance was in every way the reverse of Cole’s, making the distinction even more marked. His face was ruddy from exercise, his eyes clear and steady, his stance firm and assured.

  “You asked me to come and celebrate. I understand you have ended this unhappy affair, and that Adam Butcher is dead?”

  “Yes,” Baldwin smiled. “He fell from the church’s scaffolding…” He glanced at Margaret, and chose to forego a more precise description of the afternoon’s events.

  “It is good to hear. I will drink to celebrate with you. Here’s to the end of a murderer!”

  Simon watched him speculatively. “Would you drink the same toast for any murderer?” he enquired.

  “Of course. Anyone like that is a loose brick in the wall of our society; they can bring the whole building down around us all. Society needs protection from such as they.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Do you know why this madman decided to kill the women? Did you discover it?”

  “Ah, yes,” Simon cleared his throat. “I forgot you wouldn’t have heard. Basically, he was trying to set you up as the scapegoat.”

  “He intended that?”

  Baldwin nodded. “Very definitely. He wanted to ensure that you were arrested, and hanged.”

  “You see,” Simon continued, before his friend could carry on, “he knew you were having an affair with his wife, and he wanted revenge.”

  “He would kill all those women just to get at me? It seems hard to believe!”

  “Nonetheless, it is true. He killed Judith because he knew you had…er…been her lover when you were last here.”

  “It is true,” Sir Hector admitted. “She even alleged that her boy was my bastard!” He laughed, but nobody joined in.

  “Quite,” Baldwin said. “Anyhow, Butcher saw you having your altercation with her, we think, and could see that we had witnessed it as well, so he stabbed her, knowing that this second murder would be bound to make us think you were the guilty party. After all, most murders are committed by men who kill their lovers or their wives—jus
t as Butcher himself did with his own wife.”

  Sir Hector sipped his Hippocras, nodding. “I see. And he knew I was not at the inn because I was waiting to meet his wife. He must have found out we had planned to meet. The evil devil must have forced her to tell him where and when, so that he could make me look suspicious.”

  “Very likely,” Baldwin agreed. “The murder of his own wife was intended, I think, to be the sweet glazing on the fruit, the crowning proof which would lead us to arrest you. It was meant as the final evidence, and it certainly was compelling. Yet we had doubts, for she must have died some days before, and we had seen you waiting for her. You might have been trying to establish your innocence, but it did appear odd. You would have been better served to make sure that everyone knew where you were all the time.”

  “I am glad you realized,” said Sir Hector gravely. “Knowing I was suspected of killing my Mary made a bad situation even harder to bear.”

  “What about me?” Cole demanded. “I’ve been locked up for days, held under suspicion of murder as well as theft. What happens now? Am I truly free?”

  “Oh, yes,” Simon smiled. “Our apologies for your confinement, but the evidence was extreme against you. You were new to the group, and at first all we knew of you was that you had been found with incriminating items on your person. It was natural to suspect you. Then we learned that the men who had found you were the two whom the company generally mistrusted and despised, and it was better, it seemed to us, to leave you in the jail for your own safety. You had been picked out, if you like, by two who were capable of stirring up others against you and causing your death.”

  “And, of course, we had to wonder whether you might have killed Sarra,” Baldwin murmured, pouring more drink into his goblet. “There was no reason to suspect you in particular, except we had heard about you arguing with her. The only evidence, likewise, against Sir Hector at first was that he had argued with Sarra and forced her from his presence.”