The False Virgin

by The Medieval Murderers

  So, the journeyman had also been absent. Either he or Alan could have stolen the statue from the house or from Edward. The journeyman certainly had the butchering skills to kill Edward, just as easily as Richard. But Grey still couldn’t see how he had got out of the Hutt without being seen by either Richard or the forest wardens, and Richard would surely have recognised Thomas if he’d seen him running away. There was something else nagging at the back of Grey’s mind. Something that didn’t fit, but he couldn’t seem to grasp hold of it.

  But neither Alan nor Thomas knew the statue was in Richard’s house. According to Richard, only one man did and that was Father James. Was Richard right to suspect him after all? The priest also knew Grey was going to Richard’s house to seize it later that day. Could he have got there first? But no, Richard said he arrived home in the afternoon to find the lock of the chest broken. His wife and maid saw him riding off shortly afterwards. The reliquary must already have been missing when Grey was talking to the priest in the church.

  Richard had said his wife hadn’t known the reliquary was in the house. Yet she and her maid had both told Grey it had been in the chest. And for a woman who claimed her husband had gone off on business she had seemed unusually distressed by his absence that night. Grey turned and hurried back up the road towards Richard’s house.

  When he arrived, he found a group of women standing across the street, talking earnestly, repeatedly glancing up at the casements as if they expected to see blood running from them or the Devil to come flying out of the chimney.

  After Grey had tolled the bell several times, the maid, Jennet, finally opened the door a crack. She shook her head when Grey asked to speak to her mistress.

  ‘She doesn’t want to see anyone. She’s in a terrible state. Been sobbing all night, she has, and she’s not eaten a bite.’

  Grey tried to sound sympathetic but firm. ‘Her husband has been accused of murder. It’s only to be expected she is distressed; nevertheless, whether she wants to see me or not, I must speak with her. This is the King’s business.’

  Reluctantly, Jennet opened the door just wide enough for Grey to squeeze through before slamming it shut again, as if she feared the entire village might force their way in behind him.

  ‘She’s in the winter parlour, sir,’ Jennet said, leading the way to a door at the back of the hall.

  Grey nodded. ‘I may wish to speak with you and William later. Do not leave the house.’

  Jennet gave him a frightened look before ushering him in with the briefest of announcements. Mary was sitting by the fire staring into the flames, twisting a kerchief in her lap. She did not look round as Grey crossed the room.

  ‘I told Jennet I can’t see anyone,’ she said. ‘Please have the goodness to leave me alone.’ Her voice was hoarse, as if her throat was dry and sore.

  ‘I understand your distress, Mistress Mary,’ Grey said, taking the seat opposite her without waiting for it to be offered. ‘You’re naturally worried about your husband.’

  ‘Husband?’ Mary lifted her head.

  Her eyes were swollen from crying, but they were dry now as if she was drained of tears. She gazed at him uncomprehendingly.

  ‘Your husband being accused of murder,’ Grey reminded her, wondering if shock and exhaustion had dulled her wits.

  She made a little gesture with her hand, which was almost one of dismissal. ‘I cannot think about that now.’

  He could understand that. She was probably more worried for her own future. If Richard was hanged she could well see herself evicted from the house and Grey had no idea if Mary had relatives who would take her in or who would even be prepared to acknowledge her after this disgrace. The guild, which was supposed to provide for the widows and orphans of its members, would hardly be prepared to provide for a murderer’s wife, especially when the victim was one of their own. Nevertheless, Grey could not afford to be too understanding. The longer that reliquary remained missing, the greater the chances of someone else finding it and spiriting it away.

  ‘Mistress Mary, I spoke this morning with your husband. He tells me that he returned to the house earlier than usual and found the chest broken into and saw Edward Thornton hurrying away. He gave chase, assuming that Edward had taken the reliquary. But he says he did not tell Edward the reliquary was in the house. Did you tell him?’

  She hastily turned her face back towards the fire, but not before Grey had glimpsed the expression of alarm that flashed across it.

  ‘I knew nothing of the reliquary.’

  ‘But you and Jennet both knew that the chest had been broken into and the reliquary was missing, so you must have known it was there. Think, mistress, it’s important, could you have let slip anything by accident, perhaps to a friend or neighbour?’

  She shook her head vehemently, but still did not look at him. Grey gazed about the small chamber, thinking back over the exact words Richard had used. He suddenly leaned forward.

  ‘Your husband says when he returned to the house, he saw Edward’s horse tethered a little way from here and he rushed to this room expecting to find him here. Why this room in particular? Surely it is more usual for servants to leave guests waiting in the hall for their master’s return.’

  A slight flush crept over Mary’s pale cheeks. ‘My husband often entertained fellow guild brothers in here. It was more private if they had guild matters to discuss.’

  ‘But Master Edward knew that your husband would be about his business at that time in the afternoon. Why would Edward call on him here at a time when he knew Richard would not be at home?’

  ‘One of the men must have told Edward he’d returned here.’

  ‘And why did he return here?’ Grey persisted.

  ‘I don’t know! All I know is my husband is arrested and Edward is . . . dead.’ Mary sprang from her seat and paced over to the window, staring out at the bleak sky through the tiny diamonds of glass. Grey could see her shoulders shaking as she fought to stifle her sobs.

  He felt a twinge of guilt. He disliked harrying women, but she was lying to him. He knew that.

  ‘Edward came here to see you, didn’t he?’ he said sharply. ‘Was that why your husband returned unexpectedly, because he had his suspicions that you and Edward were playing him for a cuckold?’

  Mary’s legs buckled and she sank down onto her knees. For a moment, Grey thought she had fainted, but she remained kneeling at the casement, sobbing uncontrollably into her kerchief.

  He hurried over and lifted her up, settling her into the window seat.

  He waited, until she quietened a little.

  ‘Mistress Mary, you have my word I will not utter a word to any about your dalliance. That’s no concern of mine. But if your husband’s lawyer learns of it he might raise the matter at your husband’s trial. Juries tend to be sympathetic to husbands who’ve been wronged. They are, after all, husbands themselves. Although from what little I know of Richard, the fact that he didn’t mention it to me probably means he would sooner be hanged than have the world know he’d been cuckolded. But there is one thing that is my concern. Did Edward take that reliquary?’

  He saw the muscle in the side of Mary’s face twitch as she clenched her jaw.

  ‘Edward is dead, Mary. It cannot harm him now if you tell me the truth. And that reliquary has already brought enough misery to this household. Don’t force me to add more by having my men tear this place apart looking for it.’

  She swallowed hard, then took a deep breath. ‘I’m not as stupid as my husband thinks. I heard him lumbering up the stairs that night long after the servants were abed and I heard the chest in the solar being opened. It’s right next door to the bedchamber. Next morning, the rumour was all round the village that St Beornwyn had vanished from the church in the night. I know how much my husband likes to show off the reliquary for its gold and jewels. He wasn’t interested in her holy relics, just the statue that housed them. I guessed at once he had taken it and where he’d put it.’

  �
�And you told Edward.’

  Her head jerked up. ‘We were not lovers,’ she said fiercely, ‘at least not in the way you mean. Edward was kind and intelligent. He should have been Guild Master, not Richard, but half the men were afraid of Richard and dared not vote against him. I enjoyed talking to Edward. He didn’t treat me as if I was one of his apprentices. He took to calling on me and we enjoyed spending time in each other’s company. Richard came home unexpectedly one day and found us in here laughing together. He was convinced I was betraying him, but I wasn’t . . . not then. After that Richard began coming home at odd hours, trying to catch us, and his moods got worse. Edward could see how miserable I was, how Richard treated me, and asked me to run away with him.

  ‘But taking St Beornwyn was my idea. Edward would be giving up everything for me and we needed money to begin a new life far from here. Besides, Richard had taken all the money and property I brought with me as a bride, so why should he have the statue as well? He deserved to lose it!’ she added vehemently.

  Clearly, Grey thought, Mary cared as little for the relics as her husband. Her only thought was to use the reliquary to finance her new life with her lover, and to spite Richard too, of course.

  ‘William always slips out to his mother’s in the afternoon, so I arranged that Jennet and I should sit with a friend, so that if Richard checked, we could prove we were not in the house when it was robbed. My husband had warned us there was a gang of robbers come to this village, so I knew if the house were left empty Richard would be bound to think it was them. Edward was to take the reliquary and hide it. In a few days, after the fuss of the reliquary had died down, I would join Edward and we’d disappear. But Richard returned early in the hope of finding us together. He must have seen Edward and followed him, and then . . . then he killed him. He . . . he cut his throat as if Edward were nothing more than a pig in his slaughter yard!’ She broke down into sobs again.

  Grey thought that it was as well for Richard that a wife could not be called as a witness against her husband, for she’d surely put a rope around his neck herself, and probably offer to kick the ladder away, too.

  ‘You said that Edward intended to hide the reliquary. Where?’

  Mary scrubbed at her tear-stained face. ‘He didn’t tell me in case I was questioned. He thought it would be easier to deny everything if I didn’t know.’

  Grey could understand that, and he was inclined to believe her, but once again he felt a growing frustration.

  ‘Then where were you to meet?’

  ‘The village of Linby; it lies beyond Newstead Priory. Edward has a distant cousin who owned a watermill there, but it’s not been running these past few years, since one of the landowners diverted the stream and put him out of work.’

  So, in all likelihood, Edward was planning to hide the reliquary in the disused mill – a good hiding place – but plainly he never got that far. Realising that Richard was about to overtake him, he turned aside to the Hutt. But where was Beornwyn’s statue now?

  As Grey walked back down the street towards the inn, the last of the goodwives were clustered around the stalls, bargaining for bread, fish and meat, and anything else they thought the shopkeepers might be persuaded to sell cheaply on the grounds that it would not keep over Christmas Day. Apart from at the baker’s they were having a hard time convincing the shopkeepers to bargain, for in this cold weather even meat and fish would stay fresh for several days.

  Dusk was settling down over the village and icy mist, heavy with wood smoke, curled itself around the houses. Grey was anxious to get back to the inn’s fireside. He was so hunched up against the cold that he found himself walking past the butcher’s yard without even realising it, and would have carried on but for the bellow of anger that caught his attention. He paused and glanced through the open gateway.

  The journeyman was nowhere to be seen, but the slovenly woman he’d spoken to earlier had trapped someone in the corner and was giving him a good drubbing with her tongue, punctuated by several smart raps to the head. Grey couldn’t see much of the figure cowering under her blows, but he guessed it was probably the errant apprentice. He strode in and pulling the woman away from Alan, seized the lad firmly by his jerkin and marched him out of the yard.

  Momentarily stunned by having her victim snatched from her, the woman recovered herself and ran after them down the road.

  ‘Here, where do you think you’re taking him? The little bugger’s been gone half the day. I need him here to clear the meat and fetch water from the well to sluice down the slabs.’

  Grey ignored her and hurried the boy on.

  They heard her voice rising to a shriek behind them. ‘Bring him back here! You’re not leaving me to do it all myself again!’

  As soon as they had turned the corner safely out of sight, the boy tried to wriggle free, but Grey pushed him up against the wall of a cottage.

  ‘Alan, isn’t it? You’re not in trouble. I just want to talk to you.’

  The boy looked plainly terrified.

  Grey tried again, softening his voice. ‘I don’t think you want to face that woman tonight, do you? Why don’t you come along with me and I’ll buy you a good hot supper? We can sit by the fire and I’ll ask you a few questions. That’s all, just a few questions, then you can leave or stay as you please.’

  He saw the look of temptation on the boy’s face and guessed it had been some while since he’d eaten and probably only scraps when he had.

  ‘What if I don’t know the answers to your questions?’ Alan said warily.

  ‘As long as you speak the truth I’ll be content with that, and you’ll still have your supper . . . I believe there is meat pie tonight and green codling pudding. I saw a man delivering woodcock too.’

  The boy hesitated, but Grey could see from the excitement in his eyes that he needed no more persuasion.

  As soon as he ushered the boy into the inn, Grey asked for food to be sent up to the small chamber where he slept. There was a good fire burning in the hearth in there and he thought Alan might be more inclined to talk if they were well away from the curious eyes of the villagers who’d come to sup their ale. He saw the innkeeper and serving maid exchange knowing glances, and guessed he was not the first guest to take a village lad up to his bedchamber, but he was too weary to bother explaining. Besides, he’d learned long ago that men and women always preferred their own imaginings over the truth.

  He let the boy eat his fill in silence, though that took quite some time. The boy was still stuffing himself long after Grey was replete, having devoured a woodcock basking in a rich wine sauce, a wedge of meat pie and several slices of cold pork and bread. Alan was eating at such an alarming speed he was certain to give himself a belly ache, but Grey had known hunger himself at that age and knew that no word of caution would stop the boy taking another slice. When have warnings of future pain ever prevented the young from succumbing to temptation?

  When Alan finally pushed his wooden platter from him and refilled his beaker from the jug of cider, Grey finally permitted himself to speak. He didn’t look at the boy, but leaned forward, spreading his hands over the blaze in the hearth as if addressing himself to the flames.

  ‘The churchwarden tells me that you often visited the statue of Beornwyn. You must have been upset when it was removed.’ He heard only a noncommittal grunt. ‘Do you know who took it from the church?’

  Silence.

  ‘It was your master and your priest who removed it. Did you know that, Alan?’ He risked a sideways glance at the boy and caught a brief nod.

  ‘Did you know Master Richard had the statue of Beornwyn in his house?’

  ‘He shouldn’t have taken her,’ the boy said savagely. ‘She didn’t belong to him.’

  ‘No, he shouldn’t,’ Grey agreed, ‘but later someone else stole the statue from Master Richard’s house.’

  ‘I didn’t do it! I swear it.’ The boy was half-way out of his seat.

  ‘I know you didn’t,’ Grey said
soothingly. ‘Master Richard believes it was another butcher who took the statue, Master Edward Thornton, and that night he was murdered at the Royal Hutt in the forest. You’ve probably heard people say it was Master Richard who killed him, but that is not yet proved. Someone else might well have slain Master Edward.’

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ Alan said sullenly. ‘I was in the church all night.’

  ‘All night? Are you sure?’

  The lad grunted. ‘Thomas said he’d tell the master I’d refused to cut a sheep’s throat and I’d run off again. He said the master’d kill me this time for sure. I was too afeared to go back to the master’s house, so I ran to the church and hid behind the altar. Yarrow never checks there. I knew old Yarrow’d come and lock the door soon as it were growing dark. Then even if Master came to the church looking for me, he’d not be able to get in.’

  Grey frowned, puzzled. ‘Are you sure it was the night Master Edward died? You’re not confusing it with the evening before? Because on the night Master Edward was murdered, Master Yarrow said he drove you out before he locked up.’

  The boy took a swig of cider and burped loudly, rubbing his belly. ‘Nah, he didn’t lock up at all. I lay awake half the night, ready to creep out in the dark if the master came looking for me, but he didn’t come neither. Church was still open next morning when I left, and that afternoon Master Richard was brought into the village in the wagon. I saw them pushing him into the gaol.’ He bit his lip. ‘St Beornwyn prayed for those who slew her, I suppose I should pray for him.’ He didn’t sound as if he was eager to do it, whatever the example the saint had set.

  To console himself the lad reached for the remains of the leg of pork, but realising that not even he could manage any more meat, he sliced off the sweet honey crackling, which was evidently his favourite part, and chewed happily on the crispy wedge.

  Grey idly watched the blade of Alan’s knife as he sliced off yet another piece of golden-red crackling. Then as if the wisp of mist at the back of his head had frozen into a solid and tangible form, he suddenly realised what had been troubling him all this time. The meat that lay on the platter was sliced with a straight, smooth edge.