by Kate Ellis
Once more the Captain looked uncomfortable and attempted an awkward smile. What, Katheryn wondered, was he doing in such a place? She was intrigued and couldn’t resist unnerving him further.
“Captain Wharton, are you certain you are not acquainted with the young lady I mentioned the other day...Agnes Moore from the Old Hall? Maybe you have had time to search your memory?”
For a moment Wharton looked relieved. “No, ma’am, I assure you I’ve never heard of the young lady.”
He nodded curtly, desperate to get away. The sun was trying to set and Mires would be waiting. To his relief Katheryn and Valentine bid him good day and took the path to the ferry. Those two asked too many questions. But he hesitated to mention them to Mires. He wished them no harm...as yet.
*
Captain Wharton entered the shell of the church and strode across to what was left of the cloister. In the north wall was a small door, hidden by the encroaching vegetation. The door opened smoothly to reveal a narrow flight of worn stone steps and Wharton took a deep breath, hoping his fear did not show. He went down carefully into the crypt, holding the sack of provisions in his left hand and steadying himself with his right.
Wharton’s eyes slowly accustomed themselves to the dark and he could just make out the pillars and the vaulted ceiling. A cloaked figure rose in the shadows and Wharton shuddered involuntarily.
The shape spoke. “So you’ve come at last, Wharton. I hope you have brought me all I need.”
*
Father Nicholas ignored his wife’s advice and went to the strand to seek out the captain of the Santa Isabella in daylight. The priest stood on the jetty under the bulk of the great wooden merchantman, conscious of the activity going on around him. Dark haired, sun bronzed men, shivering in their inadequately thin clothes made for a warmer climate, loaded barrels and boxes into the ship’s hold, supplies for their homeward journey to their native land. Father Nicholas asked one of the men if Captain Sanchez was on board but the man, having no English, gibbered back at him in an incomprehensible foreign tongue.
At last he spied the captain up on the richly carved forecastle. He was a tall, dignified man with a natural air of authority. The sailors worked silently under his supervising gaze as they loaded the ship’s cargo.
Nicholas, desperate to complete their transaction, forgot that fact that he had no wish to draw attention to himself and called up. “Captain Sanchez. Good day to you, sir. May I speak with you?”
The captain peered down at him from his lofty position and nodded. He signalled to one of his officers who led Father Nicholas up the unsteady gangplank onto the ship.
The details were soon agreed. Nicholas found Sanchez a most efficient man to do business with: a man who knew what he wanted.
An end was in sight. Soon Nicholas would not have to look over his shoulder. On Monday evening he would complete his business with Captain Sanchez before the Santa Isabella sailed back to Cadiz.
Nicholas strode back up the strand towards the church, his eyes on the fishermen and their nets. He knew that the river claimed many lives when the currents ran fast. If any drowned bodies had been brought ashore, he would offer his services. The more who were claimed by the Mersey’s treacherous tides, the more masses he would be paid to say. The river, in many ways, was a friend to Father Nicholas.
“Good day to you, Father Nicholas.”
Nicholas jumped at the mention of his name and looked round guiltily to see who addressed him. Katheryn stood there, smiling pleasantly, refreshed after her journey back across the river. Nicholas bowed his head, his eyes darting, looking for escape.
“You are well, I trust? And your wife?”
“Indeed, madam, we are in good health I thank you.”
“The day has turned out fair has it not?”
Nicholas was in no mood for small talk. He had duties to perform, masses to say, candles to replenish in his chapel. He shuffled his feet nervously. “If you will forgive me, madam, I have much work to do.” He bowed quickly and set off, half running, towards the church.
Katheryn turned to Valentine who was hovering behind her. “That makes two men we have disquieted today. First Captain Wharton on the other side of the river and now Father Nicholas. Are we so fearsome, do you think, or have they some dealings they would rather keep secret?”
Valentine laughed. “I suspect the latter. Did you see Father Nicholas was speaking with that foreign captain? He looked too anxious for one arranging to say a mass or two.”
“We shall have to watch our Father Nicholas. He has something to hide certainly.”
“Perhaps he fears that we disapprove of his marriage. You cannot suspect that he was Agnes’s lover, surely.”
“Until we know the truth, Valentine, we must consider all possibilities. What if he killed Agnes and he now tries to obtain passage on a ship to leave the town before he is discovered?”
Valentine sighed. The thought had crossed his mind. They would have to watch and wait.
As they reached the church of Our Lady and St. Nicholas, Katheryn turned towards the gate.
“We cannot go in, Katheryn. Father Nicholas will think we follow him. If we are to discover anything he must be at his ease.”
“It is not Father Nicholas I would see,” she said. “I have a desire to see the school. It is held in the chapel of St. Catherine I believe.”
“The schoolmaster will not thank you for distracting his pupils.”
“Then I shall watch unseen. I would speak with Master Culver. He was in holy orders was he not?”
“Yes. He still performs the duties of chantry priest when his commitments allow. But the boys occupy most of his time, you understand.”
“You know him well?”
“Not well. He is new to the town and has enjoyed good enough health to need my services but once. He seems to me an amiable man.”
They entered the church by the great oak door. Incense lay heavy in the air and the only sound that could be heard in the echoing building was the drone of latin verbs being chanted in the far chapel. There was no sign of Father Nicholas. Katheryn led the way to the far end of the church where the partitioned chapel of St. Catherine was occupied by a huddle of chanting schoolboys, their master standing before them, stick in hand.
Katheryn and Valentine hung back behind the partition and were relieved to hear that their wait would not be long. The schoolmaster was instructing the boys to go outside and run off some of their pent up energy in the churchyard; but to be mindful of the fact that he didn’t want to have to treat any broken heads or damaged limbs. The master, Katheryn thought, had a pleasant way with the boys. He called their names: Robert Crosse....John Crosse....Richard Crosse....Were they all called Crosse, Katheryn wondered.
This was the first thing she asked Master Culver when he emerged from the chapel after instructing his charges not to run in the church. “William Crosse,” he called out. “Remember you are in the house of God.”
“Are all your pupils called Crosse?” asked Katheryn. The schoolmaster swung round. He had not seen her waiting there. He smiled and his pale face lit up. He was a thin man in his late twenties with an amiable twinkle in his dark blue eyes.
“Indeed, madam. It was a stipulation of the will of the late Master John Crosse of Crosse Hall, that a school be founded in his chantry chapel and that boys of the name of Crosse should receive a free education. There are boys with other names, but most are Crosse. I hope our Latin did not disturb your prayers.”
“You need have no worries about that, sir. It is good to see the boys so hard at their tasks. You clearly enjoy your work.”
“They are good boys; a little boisterous at times like all boys. But, yes...I do enjoy my work.”
“Have you always taught, sir?”
“I was a monk of Riveaux in Yorkshire; then I was chantry priest in Chester when my house closed. My family came from that town so I returned there. I heard of this appointment when the last master left and was keen t
o do more than say masses all day.”
Valentine spoke for the first time. “You have a true vocation for teaching, Master Culver, that is clear.”
The schoolmaster looked at him with recognition. “It is good to see you again, Master Valentine. You are well, I trust? With God’s grace I have enjoyed good health since we last met so I have not had need of your services.”
Valentine nodded. Katheryn nudged him, keen to continue her questions. “This lady is Lady Katheryn Bulkeley...formerly Abbess of Godstow.”
Master Culver bowed to Katheryn. “This is indeed an honour, my lady.”
“I came to Liverpool to the aid of one of my sisters, a young novice named Agnes Moore. Did you know her?”
“Was that the poor girl who was drowned? I did not know her. I am acquainted with the Moore family by reputation of course even though I have been in the town but a short time, but I did not have the honour of knowing Mistress Agnes.”
Katheryn nodded. Was the man was telling the truth? His easy manner and the assumption that Agnes was a respected member of the Moore family indicated that he was. If he had been intimately acquainted with the girl he would have known the truth of her situation... But perhaps that was what she was meant to think.
Valentine asked the next question. “What of your predecessor? Father Chadwick was it not?”
“I know little of him except what Father James and the boys have told me. He was over strict, it seems. The boys came to school each day fearing a beating. He left the town three months back but I do not know what became of him.”
“Do you say mass at the castle for the garrison there?” asked Katheryn casually.
“I have done so on occasions when I am free of my duties here and there is no one else to render that service.” He smiled. “The payment is most welcome. I will never make my fortune as a schoolmaster.”
“And did Father Chadwick visit the castle?”
“I believe so, yes.”
Katheryn thanked the schoolmaster and made her way out of the church, avoiding the boys in the churchyard who were running, shouting and whooping amongst the grave slabs and wooden crosses.
“I do not think our Master Culver had anything to do with Agnes’s death but I may be mistaken.” She thought for a moment. “And Father Chadwick. If he did not leave the town...”
“If he had not left the town it would be known. Liverpool is not such a large place. You must not let your imagination run away with you, Katheryn.”
“But people come and go - merchants and sailors: the river ensures that. I would speak to one of the boys. They will have no scruples in telling the truth about their old schoolmaster, especially if he was not popular.”
Before Valentine could stop her, she had turned back to the churchyard and was speaking to a small freckled red-headed boy; the William Crosse who had been told to walk in church. It was a wise choice, Valentine thought. If any boy was likely to have seen the dark side of Father Chadwick’s nature, it would be the one who ran in church. She gave the mischievous lad a sweet smile and returned to Valentine in triumph.
“Young Master Crosse has told me all I wish to know. It seems that Father Chadwick beat a boy to within an inch of his life and that boy’s father - a ship’s captain - threatened to kill him. It was then Father Chadwick disappeared. Father Chadwick was feared by the boys and there are hints of even darker deeds although my young friend was not specific of course. But he assured me that no boy ever wished to be on his own with Father Chadwick.”
Valentine frowned. “The man should never have been appointed as schoolmaster,” he said sternly.
“It is possible that he disappeared to avoid the captain’s vengeance or a scandal. Tell me about Father Chadwick. What was he like?”
“About my age. A tall man...dark. I did not know him well and I never treated him.”
“If we have discovered a priest with evil inclinations and if he had a taste for innocent young people...Agnes or his pupils... The thought makes me shudder but...”
“Father James may know something more of the man’s disappearance.”
“And where is Father Chadwick now? That’s what I wish to know.” Katheryn shook her head. So many possibilities. So many priests.
*
Katheryn and Valentine found Father James in his cottage, eating a simple meal of bread and cheese. He offered them ale, more out of politeness than a true desire for company. The priest looked uncomfortable, preoccupied, and kept glancing anxiously at the window. Katheryn sensed that their visit was not a welcome one.
“Forgive us for disturbing your meal, Father, but we have learned something today that worried us deeply.” she began. “A few months ago a Father Chadwick was employed as schoolmaster in the chapel of St. Catherine.”
Father James nodded warily.
“I have heard a tale that he beat one of the boys there and incurred the wrath of the lad’s father. Is that correct?”
James sighed. “Captain Crosse is a hot tempered man. There was trouble, yes.”
“And there was more. Matters that the boys are reluctant to discuss.”
“James looked at her. It seemed that this woman knew everything. Or did she? “There was talk but nothing was proved. Father Chadwick left the town and the school is now in good hands. Master Culver is a most excellent schoolmaster and the boys have naught but good to say of him.”
“Where did Father Chadwick go when he left Liverpool?”
Father James, uneasy, took a drink of ale. “I don’t know. He would not have confided in me. He went. That’s all I know.”
“Was he close to anyone in the town? Father Nicholas...or Father Clement?”
“He was friend to none that I knew of. He kept himself private.”
Valentine, who had been listening silently, stood up. “We must go, James, I have much to do. Come, my lady, we are expected back at Dale Street.”
Katheryn, having no choice, bid James farewell, annoyed with Valentine for cutting her questioning short.
“Did you notice,” she said quietly as the cottage door was closed behind them, “Father James was most uneasy. Do you think he knows where Father Chadwick is now?”
“I couldn’t say. But whatever he knows of the matter, he is not prepared to share it with us.” He frowned, trying to capture an elusive thought, then looked up in triumph. “William Staines, Lord Derby’s clerk at the Tower who was a brother at Birkenhead, is to marry an Elizabeth Crosse, a captain’s daughter. I wonder if she has a young brother at the school. If so, it might be wise to speak with the good captain about this Father Chadwick.”
Katheryn nodded. “Do you know Captain Crosse?”
“I know of him. His house is on Bank Street. He is a man much respected in the town and there is talk of his being elected to the town council. If his future son in law could introduce us...”
“If Father Chadwick made such a powerful enemy, maybe he was wise to disappear,” Katheryn observed thoughtfully.
*
Father James stood at the window and watched Katheryn and Valentine walk away, thankful that they had left. He would not have wanted them to meet the visitors he expected. There were some things that were best kept secret. James knew that only too well.
*
It was night time when Father James’s visitors eventually arrived.
Father Nicholas’s wife, Mary was taking some broth to an old lady in one of the cottages near the church when she saw them knocking furtively on Father James’s door. She recognised one as Brother Francis from Birkenhead and wondered what he was doing so far from his inn at this time. The other she did not know. Mary, with the natural curiosity of one who liked to know what was going on around her, rushed back to her husband with the news.
But Nicholas looked at her fearfully. “Mary....do not interfere in matters that don’t concern us.”
“But husband, I only meant...”
“Have a care Mary or who knows what might become of us if we involve ourselv
es in the dangerous deeds of others.” He turned to her and put up his hand to touch her face. “We must take care in such perilous times. Who knows, we might have a child to think of.”
Mary blushed and touched her belly. “How did you guess, my love.”
Nicholas took her in his arms, kissed her and began to undo the laces of her bodice. She pushed him away gently.
“Why are you so afraid, Nicholas? What can Father James’s visitors mean to us?”
“We must not be involved. If Father James is meddling in treason we must stand apart. After all, we have our own secrets, do we not, Mary.”