by Kate Ellis
Katheryn looked at him and nodded. It was the first time he had used her Christian name. "I shall not leave Liverpool until our task is done."
"Will Mistress Moore allow you to stay at Old Hall now that Agnes is gone?"
"I had words with that lady an hour since. I feel I have outstayed my welcome so I should be grateful if you could recommend a respectable inn where we can stay until this matter is resolved."
" The previous tenant of my shop had a large family and many relations and the accommodation is too large for my needs. There are two spare chambers, clean and swept. If I may offer you and your servants the hospitality of my humble house..."
Katheryn smiled. What Valentine suggested may not have been wise, but she felt a recklessness that she had never experienced before. Outwardly calm, she thanked Valentine for his kind offer and said that she was delighted to accept. It was not that she was unused to the ways of the opposite sex: she had three brothers and it had been her duty, as Abbess of a great religious house, to entertain the landowners and noblemen of Oxford. But none of the self opinionated grandees at Godstow had ever been particularly welcome companions.
"I will send Will for our horses and baggage. Thank you," she said simply.
*
Father James hurried from the church where he had spoken with Valentine about the arrangements for the girl's burial. It was the same girl, he was sure of it; the one who had been in St. Mary del Quay that day. Now she was dead and Father James was afraid.
There were few people about, only the last stragglers returning from market; a group of sailors just arrived in port wandering aimlessly looking for drink or women; and a handful of drunken men returning from the inns of the town to their long suffering wives. As James entered the chapel of St. Mary del Quay, shutting the door quietly behind him, he was sure he had not been observed.
Francis Wells, once cellarer of Birkenhead Priory, was waiting for him in the chapel, standing next to the altar in the flickering candlelight. With him was another man. James shot Wells an enquiring look and Wells smiled as the stranger opened his cloak. There pinned on the inside was the familiar badge: the badge of the five wounds of Christ. The stranger was one of their fellowship. James relaxed as the man was introduced.
Then Father James returned to the chapel door and wedged it firmly shut. What was about to happen was for the eyes of the initiated only.
CHAPTER 8
Katheryn's new chamber was smaller and humbler than the one she had been given at the Old Hall, but the room was spotless with clean linen and fresh rushes provided by Matilda, Valentine's cheerful cook and maid of all work. Jane was to sleep on a small truckle bed in the corner and Will was to share with young Ralph. Matilda, a large and talkative woman, seemed pleased to welcome the new visitors. The house was quiet, she complained, with just Master Valentine and young Ralph. She was glad of female company.
Matilda was an excellent cook: the fish pie she presented to them for supper proved that. After they had eaten (Ralph, Jane, Will, and the cook herself sitting at table with them - a social situation that would have filled Mistress Moore with horror) Katheryn complimented her on her skill. Matilda, blushed, taking a liking to their new guest at once, fine lady or no fine lady.
When the meal had finished and the others got up to go about their business, Valentine poured Katheryn some ale and they drew their stools closer to the fire. The nights were growing chilly.
They sat in amicable silence for a while, gazing into the flames. The events of the day had tired them both. Valentine spoke first. "Agnes was seen going to the castle you say?"
"Last night after curfew. A young lady of the night from the Mermaid was about her work and saw her, thinking her another of her calling. She thought that Agnes was being followed but she could see nothing of her pursuer because he was well hidden by a cloak. She also said that Agnes spoke to one of the castle guards. But she could tell me no more: she had her living to earn, poor child."
"Then we must make enquiries at the castle. I visit there often. You would not believe soldiers to be such babies with their aches and pains. On Monday, I am to change a dressing for one of the men of the garrison who injured his hand in sword practice. You could come with me if you wish."
Katheryn nodded. It was wise to start their enquiries where Agnes was last seen and the sooner the better while memories were still fresh.
Her eyes felt heavy with the ale and the heat of the fire. She wished Valentine goodnight and retired to bed where she slept soundly until morning.
*
Sunday passed slowly. Valentine and Katheryn, accompanied by Jane and Will, heard the mass that Father James said for Agnes's soul and returned to the house subdued.
Mistress Marjory had been at the church and had bowed her head politely to Katheryn as she passed. Agnes still lay in the side chapel awaiting burial but, as far as Katheryn could see, Marjory had made no effort to go there and pay her respects. Katheryn watched Marjory leave the church, head held high, receiving the greetings of the less prosperous burgesses of Liverpool who were dressed in their Sunday best for the whole town to see. The households of Lord Molyneux at the castle and Lord Derby at the Tower, celebrated mass in their private chapels. But at the church of Our Lady and St. Nicholas it was the Moores who ruled supreme.
Griselda had followed her mistress from the church and had given Jane a wide grin as she passed. She missed the girl from Cheshire with her innocent country ways. She missed telling her of the delights of Liverpool, the taverns and the sailors, and seeing Jane's eyes widen in disbelief.
When Griselda got back to the Old Hall, Marjory sent her to fetch some fresh herbs from the garden to throw on the fire. Griselda felt a prick of resentment: it was the Sabbath. But she knew that at Old Hall there was one law for Mistress Marjory and another for the servants and even the Almighty himself could not change that. But if she had to go out, Griselda thought, she would go a little further than the herb garden. The weather was fine and if she walked along the shore she might just see the dark haired, blue eyed young sailor from Ireland who was currently taking her fancy.
So she hurried across the garden and out of the wooden gate that separated it from the townfield beyond. She wouldn't be too long; just long enough to see if her sailor was there. She trudged across the sparse grass that grew on the sand ridge between the fields and the shore and she saw the bulk of the old disused mill on her right. She hadn’t entered the mill since it was abandoned for a new one nearer the centre of the town a couple of years before. There was something about the deserted building that made her uneasy. Besides, Mistress Moore had given strict orders that no servant was allowed in there.
The brickwork on the mill was starting to crumble and its windows stared like hollow eyes in a decaying face. There had been a time a few weeks back when her sweetheart had wanted them to go inside the mill...to be alone. But Griselda had refused. She had heard tales of the place.
Maybe she would go back. It was starting to get dark and there was no sign of her sailor. He was most likely at an inn somewhere with his shipmates, she thought bitterly, and he was due to sail on the first high tide tomorrow. But he would not be away for long: he would soon be back bringing more Irish flax for the merchants of Manchester. Griselda was ever the optimist.
She turned reluctantly and started to walk back towards the Old Hall, glancing at the mill, brooding against the darkening sky.
Then she saw the face at one of the upper windows: a blur of hair and flesh, watching her, staring at her. She could almost feel the eyes on her back as she quickened her pace. Her heart beat faster. She reached the gate and fumbled with the fastening, her panic making her hands clumsy and useless. He could not reach her...surely he could not reach her.
The gate opened and she almost fell into the garden. The herbs quite forgotten, Griselda stumbled down the path and pushed at the kitchen door.
*
Monday morning was grey. Katheryn awoke early and the aroma of
fresh baked bread from the baker’s shop next door made her realise she was hungry.
After breaking their fast, Katheryn and Valentine put up the hoods of their cloaks against the fine drizzle that was dampening the streets and slowly turning them into alleyways of stinking mud. The streets were busy as people ignored the weather and went about their business. Servants and goodwives with baskets haggled noisily with shopkeepers; an unfortunate man who had been caught fighting drunk by the constable the night before, stood in the pillory, his lank hair hanging wet around his face as a group of ragged children threw at him any rubbish they could find on the ground. The man cursed his tormentors with as much strength as he could muster then vomited dramatically on the ground in front of the pillory, narrowly missing a skinny dog who was about to urinate against his leg.
Valentine hurried past the pillory and the steps of the guild hall, ignoring the commotion. Such sights were commonplace. But Katheryn stopped, noting the pallor that had come to the prisoner's face. "Should we not help the man, Valentine. He might choke."
Valentine smiled. "That man is in the pillory at least twice a week. He is well used to it. Save your pity for those who deserve it."
She walked on. Valentine was probably right. He knew this town and its people better than she did. They hurried up Castle Street, avoiding the newly made barrels stacked up outside a cooper’s noisy workshop and the shiny pieces of offal and fish thrown out from shops for the dogs who scavenged in the streets. When they reached the castle the guard let them through with a friendly greeting. Valentine was a welcome visitor.
First he attended to the injured soldier's hand and changed his dressings. Katheryn hovered in the background, handing Valentine what he needed and trying hard not to look at the unbandaged wound. Whatever other talents she possessed, she would not make a good physician's assistant: she knew her limitations and hoped they would not be too obvious to Valentine.
As Valentine knew the castle and its people better than she did, Katheryn left the next move to him. The soldier dealt with, he led her down the bare stone corridors to the quarters of the Captain of the garrison explaining that, as he knew Captain Wharton, this would be as good a place as any to begin their investigation.
Captain Wharton was sitting alone examining some papers which he hastily rolled up when they entered the room. He greeted Valentine respectfully and bowed to Katheryn who was introduced as Lady Katheryn Bulkeley, sister of Sir Richard, Constable of the King's castle at Beaumaris. Wharton, a career soldier, was impressed by authority and rank and treated Katheryn with due deference, inviting her to sit and clumsily pouring her a cup of wine: Wharton was no courtier and his rough manners did not allow him to hide his curiosity about the reason for her visit. He scratched his greasy and thinning black hair and stared at Katheryn uneasily.
She decided to speak plainly. "A young lady who was once in my charge, became the victim of unfortunate circumstances and found herself here in Liverpool in the care of Mistress Moore of Old Hall. The poor girl became ill and on Friday night she went missing. I have made enquiries and it seems that she was seen talking with a soldier of this garrison at the castle gate. We are anxious to discover what became of her and I thought to enlist your help."
She smiled her sweetest smile at Wharton, who looked down embarrassed. She had thought it best not to mention Agnes's death. If he thought murder was involved, Wharton might be more likely to guard his tongue.
"Friday night, you say?" Wharton stroked his chin. “I recall that Manners was posted at the main gate that night. I heard nothing of a young lady from Old Hall: I should have remembered. Surely such a lady would have been instructed to report to me unless..."
"Unless what, Captain?"
"Unless she went straight to one of my officers. Did she have a sweetheart in the castle? That is the most likely explanation." Wharton sat back, satisfied with his deductions.
"I know of no sweetheart amongst the soldiers here, but I am prepared to consider any possibility of course. If I may speak with the guard who was on duty that night..."
Wharton nodded. It could do no harm. And if there had been a lapse in discipline - if any member of the garrison was entertaining his woman when he should have been about his business - Wharton wanted to know about it. He sent for Manners.
When the guard arrived, Katheryn looked him up and down. He was a big man who smelled of sweat and stale beer. It was difficult to calculate his age, but it must have taken many years to cultivate the characteristic stoutness of an ardent ale drinker. Manners stood, humble, in front of his betters. He was a soldier with a soldier's taste for ale and women. His needs were simple. He mistrusted the Captain and the strangers who watched him speculatively.
When Katheryn spoke, Manners doffed his cap and bowed his head. He recognised natural authority when he saw it. "Master Manners," she said in a pleasant but determined voice. "You were guarding the castle gates on Friday night, were you not?"
He nodded. If it was about that whore, he was saying nothing.
"A young lady who was in my care has gone missing. She was seen approaching the castle and speaking with one of the soldiers here. Did she, by any chance, speak with you? Or did you see her with anybody else? She was about my height and she wore a black cloak. She was a pretty girl of eighteen years with fair hair." Katheryn looked him straight in the eyes and he looked away.
"Er...no, my lady. I saw nobody. T'was a quiet night."
Katheryn inclined her head graciously. "Very well, Master Manners. Thank you. You may go."
Manners shambled out, leaving the odour of his sweat behind him. Wharton, relieved, waited for his visitors to make the next move. He was glad when the lady got up and thanked him for his help.
When they were safely out of the castle, Katheryn turned to Valentine who was walking beside her, deep in thought. "He was lying."
"Who was?"
"Manners...and Wharton too probably. It's their word against Melisanda's and she has no reason to lie, nothing to lose or gain."
"As far as we know."
"I spoke with her, Valentine. I'm sure her word can be trusted. If somebody from the garrison is involved in Agnes's death of course they would hide the truth. And I did not think Master Manners was a very practised liar. Did you see how he would not look me in the face?"
Valentine nodded. He was inclined to be more tentative in his conclusions. "If we take on the garrison," he reminded her, "We take on more than Manners...more than Captain Wharton."
Katheryn looked at him, a smile playing on her lips. "Why, Master Valentine, I do believe you're afraid."
"Not afraid," he replied. "Just cautious."
*
Wharton called Manners back as soon as his visitors were gone.
"What the devil happened that night, Manners. Tell me now, damn you or I'll see to it that..."
"That whore Sir Edward had...the one that asked for you. It could have been her. It was like her..."
"You're sure?" Wharton's voice was anxious.
Manners shrugged. He wanted to forget the whole incident. "She might have been, sir. I did not see clearly. She was just a whore."
Wharton sighed. "Very well. There is no need to say anything more about it. The girl they spoke of was not here. Is that clear?"
Manners fought the compulsion to grin with relief. "Yes, sir. Very clear, sir."
"And perhaps you would tell anyone else who was around that night not to mention the matter. Let's keep this between ourselves, eh." Wharton winked confidentially, an understanding between two soldiers with a common enemy.
"Yes, sir. You can trust me, sir."
Wharton doubted the truth of Manners' last statement but he trusted in one thing. There would be no more talk of Sir Edward's whore in the castle. The matter was dealt with. Closed.
*
The drizzle had stopped. Katheryn picked her way carefully through the rubbish strewn streets, narrowly avoiding the stinking corpse of a dead dog that lay in her path.
Valentine walked behind her as the street by the shambles was too crowded to walk two abreast and too noisy for conversation.
Out of the corner of his eye Valentine spotted a cloaked figure: that beggar again; the one with the missing hand. The man would have to take care if he was not to be arrested. But then, from what Valentine had observed, the beggar seemed to have the ability to disappear into the shadows at will...a vital skill for one in his situation.
When they returned to Dale Street they found that Ralph had dealt with the routine requests as best he could, sending people home with common medicines and ointments. But there were still a few who wished to consult the apothecary for themselves about some new ailment or symptom that had appeared. While Valentine dealt with his patients, Katheryn went upstairs to her chamber to say the morning office before joining Jane who was mending linen in the back parlour. Will, Jane explained, was feeding the horses, now stabled in the yard at the back of the shop and Jane had been busying herself helping Matilda and Ralph. Katheryn smiled. Their new living arrangements seemed to be working well.