Hugh Corbett 15 - The Waxman Murders

by Paul Doherty

  ‘So you have no real description of him?’

  ‘None whatsoever,’ Castledene conceded. ‘Nor have we discovered anything about his habits, where he eats, drinks or sleeps. Does he own property? What shire or town does he live in? He is a veritable will o’ the wisp, Sir Hugh; he comes and goes like the breeze.’

  ‘But how can he be in two places at once?’ Ranulf asked. ‘A message was delivered at Dover on Monday to Paulents, and around the same time to you in Canterbury.’ He shrugged. ‘Of course, it’s possible for someone, despite the snow, to travel from Dover to Canterbury and deliver both messages.’

  ‘Or arrange for them to be delivered,’ Corbett declared. ‘I could go down into the street and hire a dozen boys who are prepared, in return for a penny, to take a missive to this person or that.’

  ‘But the abbey?’ Castledene asked. ‘How could he get into the abbey church of St Augustine?’

  ‘Again very easy,’ Corbett conceded. ‘I suspect our Master Hubert is well disguised. He can dress as a lay brother and scale the curtain wall. It wouldn’t be difficult. People are going to and fro, a busy place Canterbury, and St Augustine’s is no different.’

  Castledene nodded and stared at the crucifix on the wall.

  ‘And you believe he murdered your man Griskin?’

  ‘I do,’ Corbett replied, ‘but God knows where or how or why. Griskin would have made enquiries; sooner or later some of this must have reached Hubert. I suspect he pays taverners and alehouse masters to keep him informed. He would have to, wouldn’t he, if he was hunting an outlaw? Griskin is dead,’ Corbett declared. ‘That golden cross, he would never give it up! Not in this life.’

  He rose, stretching his hands above the brazier, savouring its warmth, then glanced at the window. He’d been in Canterbury for some time. He needed to think, to reflect, to discover where the enemy really was, and then plot.

  ‘Sir Hugh? What are you thinking?’

  ‘The business at Maubisson will have to wait a while. Lady Adelicia Decontet?’

  ‘She should be committed for trial,’ Castledene declared. ‘The King has asked me to delay it until you have investigated the case. However, come the New Year, certainly once Epiphany is over and the twelve days of Christmas are finished, I and two justices must sit, certainly no later than the Feast of Hilary.’

  Castledene got to his feet. A frightened man, he kept plucking at his fur-lined mantle, staring anxiously towards the door.

  ‘What I have done,’ he continued in a hurry, ‘is to invite Master Desroches and Lechlade here.’ He glimpsed Corbett’s mystification. ‘Sir Rauf Decontet’s manservant, though I am afraid you will not find him much use. He is a toper, a drunkard born and bred. Lady Adelicia will also be brought up. I have had fresh robes sent down to her, and she has been allowed to wash and prepare herself. Her maid Berengaria will accompany her.’ Castledene went across and stared at the hour candle fixed on its iron spigot. ‘The day is fading,’ he murmured as if to himself. ‘Sir Hugh, we’d best begin now.’

  Chapter 5

  Regis regum rectissimi prope est Dies Domini.

  The day of the Lord, of the most rightful

  King of Kings, is close at hand.

  Columba

  Corbett sat at the top of the table, Ranulf to his right, their sword belts on the floor beside them. Ranulf opened his chancery bag, taking out quills, ink pots, pumice stone, a sand shaker, fresh rolls of parchment and strips of green ribbon. The chamber became busy. Desroches bustled in. He smiled at Corbett and Ranulf and took his seat on the bench. He was followed by Lechlade, a grimy, grey-haired, shuffling figure, his swollen red face marred by a broken nose and ugly warts. He was unshaven, slobbery-mouthed, bleary-eyed and reeked of ale fumes. His cote-hardie was blotched and stained with dried food, his thick, dirty fingers protected by ragged mittens. He bowed towards Corbett and sat down next to the physician, who wrinkled his nose in disgust at the other man’s rank smell.

  A short while later, Lady Adelicia and her maid Berengaria entered, flanked by city guards. Corbett rose, bowed and gestured at them to sit at the other end of the table. He glanced sideways at Ranulf and suppressed a grin. The Senior Clerk of the Chancery of the Green Wax was known for his deep veneration of any beauty, and Lady Adelicia was certainly beautiful. She was of medium height, with a willowy figure and a lovely swan neck. Her face was almost perfect, framed by a simple white linen veil. She reminded Corbett of one of those damsels in a church fresco, with her smooth forehead, arching brows, beautiful wide-spaced eyes, pale ivory skin and lips as red as a luscious rose. She was dressed simply in a blue silver-edged gown bound by a gold cord; no rings or bracelets glittered, yet she seemed to brighten the room with her sweet smile and elegant gestures. Berengaria, her maid, was a complete contrast: red-cheeked, auburn-haired, with a mischievous face; her bold blue eyes fluttered at Corbett before she simpered at Ranulf and, turning sideways, glanced teasingly at him out of the corner of her eye.

  Finally Castledene entered the chamber in a cloud of scarlet robes of office. He sat opposite Ranulf as Wendover closed the door and took up guard against it.

  ‘Lady Adelicia,’ Corbett began, ‘I regret to find you in these circumstances, but as you well know, you have been charged with the foul crime of the murder of your husband. You have petitioned the King, so His Grace has asked me to investigate the matter. However, I must advise you that once the Holy Season in over, certainly by the Feast of St Hilary, you must go on trial before Sir Walter and two other justices of oyer and terminer.’

  ‘I know well the heinous allegations levelled against me,’ Lady Adelicia replied, her voice surprisingly strong, her face no longer sweet but hard and resolute. ‘I am innocent of any charge.’

  ‘Lady Adelicia,’ Corbett declared, his voice carrying, ‘that will be a matter for the jury and the royal justices. You were married to your husband for how long?’

  ‘Over two years.’

  ‘And your marriage?’

  ‘Was a May to December alliance,’ she snapped. ‘I was the King’s ward. I did not wish to marry Sir Rauf, but,’ she fluttered her long fingers, ‘I had no choice in the matter. The King was insistent.’ She paused. ‘I hated Decontet, I admit that. I found his touch foulsome.’

  ‘But not his money!’ Lechlade slurred.

  ‘Shut up!’ Lady Adelicia’s face became red with anger; she glared at Lechlade slumped against the table. ‘You are nothing but a toper drinking from morning until night. You stumble about, you smell!’

  Lechlade just smiled tipsily, rocking backwards and forwards on the bench.

  ‘Did your husband ill-treat you?’ Corbett asked. ‘Beat you?’

  ‘I told him that if he laid a finger on me I would kill him.’ Adelicia’s voice was steely.

  Corbett tried to hide his sense of despair. This was a beautiful young woman, married against her will to an old miser whom she had hated. If she repeated the same before His Majesty’s justices of oyer and terminer and a jury of twelve good men and true . . .

  ‘Lady Adelicia.’ Corbett held up his hands, aware of Ranulf’s quill skimming across the parchment. ‘I must advise you to be more prudent.’

  ‘I am prudent,’ she retorted. ‘I am also innocent. I may have hated my husband, disliked him intensely, his lewd ways, his meanness, but I did not murder him. I was not in the house that day.’

  ‘And this house?’ Corbett asked.

  ‘Sweetmead Manor.’ She laughed sharply, as if mocking the name. ‘A mansion, a fine town house, Sir Hugh; it stands between the Templar priory and the Abbot of St Augustine’s mill.’

  ‘And on that Thursday,’ Corbett asked, ‘the Feast of St Ambrose: what exactly happened?’

  ‘I rose early in the morning and broke my fast. I returned to my chamber to wash, change and prepare for the day. Afterwards Berengaria and I decided to visit the market outside St Andrew’s church. I left just before noon.’

  ‘And when you returned?’


  ‘It must have been between the hours of four and five. I remember the market bell tolling.’

  ‘So, on a cold December day,’ Corbett said, ‘you spent almost five hours in a market? You went nowhere else?’

  Lady Adelicia stared coolly back.

  Corbett saw Berengaria momentarily flinch and promised himself to return to that matter.

  ‘So what happened then?’

  ‘I came back to the house. Darkness was falling. Berengaria carried a lantern horn before me. We had hired two link boys from the market to escort us. When I returned to the main door of my house, Physician Desroches was waiting. He had roused Lechlade and summoned Parson Warfeld.’

  Corbett held up a hand. ‘You, sir.’ He pointed at the manservant, who was busy wiping his nose on the back of his hand. ‘Your mistress left at noon. What did you do then?’

  ‘You should ask her where she went!’ Lechlade replied.

  Corbett had to bang the table to restore order. ‘Sir, limit yourself to my questions otherwise you will spend some time in the dungeons beneath this Guildhall. What did you do that afternoon?’

  ‘Well,’ the man sniffed, ‘I knew my mistress had left and that Sir Rauf would be in his counting house, so I went down to the Green King – it’s a nearby tavern – and bought myself a jug of ale.’

  ‘Didn’t Sir Rauf have ale in his house?’

  ‘No, sir, just wine in his cellar, and he kept a very strict eye on that. Anyway, I brought the ale back, took it to my chamber, locked the door, drank and fell asleep. I was as happy as a pig in its muck until this busybody,’ Lechlade jabbed the physician on the arm, ‘turned up banging on the doors.’

  ‘Were all the doors locked?’

  ‘All. My master was very strict on that. Morning, noon and night, whatever the weather, if we were in, the doors were locked and bolted. If somebody left, the doors were locked and bolted after them. The same was true of Sir Rauf’s chamber, though only he had the key to that.’

  ‘And Lady Adelicia’s chamber?’

  ‘Oh, she owned a key to that, as did the master.’

  ‘Continue,’ Corbett demanded.

  ‘Well then, I am aroused from my sleep. I open the window. I look down. I see the physician here shouting up at me. “Lechlade,” he calls, “what is the matter? I wish to see Sir Rauf!” I reply, “There is nothing the matter.” I come downstairs, unlock the front door, and in he comes, all high and mighty, sniffing like he always does.’

  Desroches remained impassive in the face of such insults.

  ‘And?’ Corbett asked. ‘Master Desroches, perhaps you had best explain why you were there.’

  ‘I was Sir Rauf’s physician,’ Desroches replied slowly. ‘I often visited him. He paid me good silver. He was worried about this ailment or that. I would just sit there and chat to him, then I would leave. Now, Sir Hugh, Rauf Decontet very rarely left his house. I decided to visit him mid-afternoon on the Feast of St Ambrose, but when I arrived there was no Sir Rauf to greet me. I believed something was wrong. I eventually roused Lechlade, who came down and let me in. To the right of the entrance is the hall of the house. Sir Rauf had his chancery chamber on the left. I knocked on this door but there was no reply. The windows were all shuttered, but going outside and looking through a gap, I caught the glow of candlelight. Sir Rauf would never leave a candle glowing if he had gone out. He was a very careful, how shall I say, prudent man. We banged on the door, but again, no answer. I suspected something terrible had happened. However,’ Desroches gestured at Lechlade, ‘he’s a born toper. I wanted another witness present. I left the house and hired a farmer’s boy. I gave him a penny and dispatched him across the wastelands to fetch Parson Warfeld from St Alphege’s.’

  ‘Why?’ Corbett asked.

  ‘As I said, I wanted a witness. Decontet was a very wealthy man. I did not wish, later on, to face spurious allegations about my own honesty.’

  ‘Very well,’ Corbett soothed. ‘Do continue.’

  ‘Once Parson Warfeld arrived, Lechlade and I took a bench from the hall and forced the chancery door. Inside, on the floor near his counting table, was Sir Rauf. He lay face down in a widening pool of blood. The back of his skull,’ Desroches tapped his own head, ‘was smashed like a jug. Nearby was a set of bloodstained fire tongs, powerful pincers used to move coals in the fire, which, by the way, had died down. Sir Rauf was obviously dead. His flesh was cold, the blood beginning to congeal. I glanced quickly around but noticed nothing missing or disturbed.’

  ‘And the keys to the chamber?’

  ‘They was still on Sir Rauf’s belt. Lechlade and Warfeld will testify to that.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Parson Warfeld immediately knelt down and whispered the act of absolution into the dead man’s ear to shrive him of whatever sins he carried.’

  ‘But he was definitely dead?’ Corbett asked.

  ‘Oh yes. The soul had gone, though perhaps it still hovered there, hungry for absolution, if God’s mercy permitted. Sir Rauf,’ the physician added wistfully, ‘certainly had a great deal to answer for.’

  ‘He did indeed!’ Lady Adelicia snapped. ‘His treatment of me.’

  ‘And then you arrived, my lady?’ Corbett continued.

  ‘Yes. I went into my husband’s chancery chamber and saw his corpse sprawled there. I was shocked.’ She gestured at her maid. ‘Both of us were.’ She paused to clear her throat. ‘When I’d entered the house, I’d taken off my cloak and laid it over a bench.’ She pointed to Castledene. ‘Physician Desroches had sent for him and the city guard. It was . . .’ Her voice faltered.

  ‘It was dark when I arrived.’ Castledene took up the story. ‘I found Master Desroches, Lady Adelicia, Parson Warfeld and Berengaria sitting before the fire in the small parlour. I too checked the chamber and had the corpse immediately taken to the mortuary chamber at St Alphege’s church so it could be dressed for burial. I then questioned Lady Adelicia about where she had been, what she had done and what time she had arrived home. I carefully checked the house; there was no sign of any forced entry. The windows were shuttered, the rear and front doors had been locked and bolted. I could see very clearly where Master Desroches and Lechlade had broken down the chancery door.’

  ‘And the key?’ Corbett intervened. ‘The key to Sir Rauf’s chamber?’

  ‘It was certainly on a hook on his belt when I discovered the corpse,’ Desroches repeated. ‘Lechlade and Parson Warfeld can testify to that.’

  ‘I saw it too,’ Castledene added, ‘and took it into my keeping.’ He chewed on his lip. ‘Sir Hugh, you, as a royal justice, know the forma inquisicions – the kind of formal interrogation I must carry out. Lady Adelicia’s answers about her whereabouts were ambiguous. I asked to see her hands and examined the gown she was wearing. She objected—’

  ‘I am a lady!’

  ‘Hush.’ Corbett held a hand up warningly.

  ‘I found no bloodstains,’ Castledene continued, ‘but when I demanded to see her cloak, I found dried blood on both the right side and the left sleeve.’

  ‘I don’t know where they came from.’ Lady Adelicia was flustered. ‘I must have brushed a butcher’s stall or a flesher’s wall in the shambles.’

  ‘So that’s where you were!’ Lechlade slurred mockingly.

  Corbett quickly quelled further outbursts.

  ‘I then asked to see her chamber, which is above the stairs,’ Castledene continued. ‘This was locked. Lady Adelicia declared there were two keys to that chamber, one held by herself, the other by her husband. I asked her for the key and she handed it over. I unlocked the chamber and went in. It looked as if someone had left it in disarray.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Lady Adelicia protested. ‘I never—’

  Corbett gestured at her to be silent and nodded at Castledene to continue.

  ‘I found a bloodstained napkin on the floor and more pushed behind the bolsters on her bed. I gave these to Master Desroches to scrutinise. He agreed th
e napkins were blood-soaked so I returned to Lady Adelicia and asked her where she had been? What part of the market? Whom she had conversed with? Could anyone bear witness that when her husband was killed, she was still in the city? She could not reply. I then asked Berengaria if she could support her mistress’s story. I reminded her that she would go on oath and that punishment for perjury in such matters is a horrid death. She could easily be cast as an accomplice.’

  ‘I told the truth!’ Berengaria interrupted, her voice rising to a screech. ‘I told you, Sir Walter, I left my mistress for a while. She went to make her own purchases, and so did I.’

  ‘How long?’ Corbett asked. ‘How long were you absent from your mistress?’

  Berengaria gazed fearfully at Lady Adelicia, then stared down at the table.

  ‘Hours?’ Corbett asked.

  Berengaria nodded without raising her head.

  ‘The bloodied rags,’ Sir Walter declared, ‘are in a canvas bag in my own private chamber here; they will be produced in court. Lady Adelicia has recognised them as napkins from her own store. She cannot explain how the blood got on them.’

  ‘So.’ Corbett straightened up in the chair and glanced across at the thick mullioned glass window. Even though it was early in the afternoon, the darkness was creeping in. He stared around the chamber. Despite its luxurious hangings and costly furnishings, this was a sombre place, made more so by the young woman at the end of the table whose life now hung in the balance. Corbett disguised his own unease. According to the evidence, Lady Adelicia must be lying. She could not explain where she had been or what she had been doing that fateful afternoon.