by Kate Ellis
Katheryn smiled to herself. She knew the power of sexual attraction as well as any woman. “What happened when he left?”
“I did not hear from him for three years. My husband died, God rest his soul, and I moved here to the Old Hall. I thought I would never see Martin Mires again. I began to lead a life free from lust and sin and I tried to forget the whole episode.”
“Then, a few months ago, he called here dressed as a priest. He introduced himself to my servants as Father Clement, Father James’s new chantry priest, and had himself shown into this parlour. I came down to receive him unsuspecting and when I saw him there, smiling at me, I almost swooned but I composed myself in the presence of my servants. Then, when we were alone, I asked him his business. He said he’d taken holy orders - which I could not believe, knowing the man’s nature - and hinted that he would make my indiscretions of the past known if I did not do his bidding.”
She swallowed hard. The memories were painful and embarrassing. “He bid me take him to the old mill. He looked round the place and said it would be ideal for his purposes: I could only guess what those purposes were. He said he needed somewhere private and told me to instruct my servants not to go near the place. Then he...he had his will of me there on the floor of the mill. I did not want to but... He did it to remind me...to let me know I was in his power. I could see no escape from my shame.”
Marjory shuddered. Katheryn waited for her to continue.
“When I heard the news that he was dead, I rejoiced. I would be free of him at last. But then I saw him at the mill and I thought he had come back from hell to haunt me. But he was no ghost. He said he had certain business to transact and it suited his purposes for the town to believe him dead. He wished to hide for a while until he could leave Liverpool and he claimed to have important dealings in the town that would make him a rich man. He talked of going to London...of finding a place at the King’s court. I don’t know who was buried in his place or how he died: it was better not to ask questions.”
“And Agnes?” Katheryn asked, almost in a whisper. “Did you know he was her lover?”
Marjory shook her head. “I had no idea. I told him of her condition, never thinking that he had had aught to do with her. Then, after she had been found dead, he told me all. He had met her when they travelled together from Chester and he had found her innocence amusing. She was unsuspecting; she had thought he wanted to court her and gave him her body and her heart...poor silly fool. Of course, I suspected nothing: I thought she had taken up with some sailor or lad from the town.” She looked up at Katheryn defiantly. “Do you know what I felt when he told me he had lain with her? I was jealous.”
Unable to hold the tears back any longer, Marjory began to sob. Katheryn put a comforting hand on her shoulder and waited patiently for her to compose herself. “He said he had wanted rid of the silly girl; that she had tired him. He told how she would go to him at his cottage and... He was confiding in me and I wanted him still. And I was grateful whenever he tumbled me,” she added pathetically. “I was too deep in my sin to see the truth.”
“And do you see the truth now?”
Marjory nodded weakly. “I can deceive myself no longer. I was a silly, middle aged woman, enamoured of a rogue. But he is dead: this time I am certain. The mill burned to the ground and I think he was inside. He would not leave without a word. He perished in the fire.”
“I think not.”
Marjory’s eyes lit up with hope. She still wasn’t free of Martin Mires. “Where? Where is he?”
“Did he speak of Captain Wharton?”
“Yes, often. He boasted that he had great power over the man; that Captain Wharton would make him rich. That is why he stayed in Liverpool and hid in the mill. When the business with Wharton was over, he said he would go to London.”
“In that case, Mistress, I know he is still alive...until the devil claims his own.”
Marjory did not reply but sat, staring into space.
CHAPTER 22
When Katheryn returned to Valentine’s shop, she found him with Father James who seemed to have grown older and more careworn overnight. When Katheryn said where she had been, the priest gave her a look of sad understanding. Marjory had needed to unburden herself and he hoped Katheryn had been of some help.
Briefly, Katheryn told all she know of Martin Mires, leaving out direct references to Marjory to preserve the lady’s confidences.
“So we have discovered Agnes’s lover?” said Valentine, sitting back.
“And her killer. The girl was becoming a nuisance and she was too trusting and naive to know when he had grown weary of her. It was an act of great wickedness, to take a young life to preserve his secret.”
“But where is he?” asked Father James. “And who is buried in his grave?”
“I think he killed another, dressed the unfortunate man in his clothes and put his ring on the corpse’s finger. We were meant to assume that he was dead so that he could take on a new identity...or return to his real identity.”
“And the hand?”
Valentine shrugged. “We can only assume it was used for the purposes of witchcraft, as were the desecrated bodies of Childwall.”
Father James, who had seemed deep in thought, looked up as if he had received a shattering revelation. “A priest visited me a while back; a Father Theobald from Norton. He had been imprisoned with Abbot Birkett and had just been released from Chester castle. One of his fellow prisoners was another monk of Norton, Father Edmund, who was to have come to Liverpool to board ship for Ireland. He could not be found and had not been heard of. I wonder...”
“If he was killed by Mires to take his place?” suggested Katheryn.
“The description Father Theobald gave of his missing friend could have fitted that of Mires; same colouring, same build. I did not think of it at the time but... Of course, I could be mistaken.”
“I think not, James,” said Valentine quietly. “The murder of a priest would be of no consequence to Mires.”
“Mires boasted of riches and, as Father Clement, he could easily have discovered the secret of Birkenhead Priory’s treasure,” said Katheryn. “What better way to rob than to use the captain of the king’s garrison to do your work for you: who would argue with his authority? Mires plays upon the weaknesses of others to get his will: Agnes’s naiveté; Wharton’s desire for worldly rewards. Mires used Wharton to plan the theft of the priory’s gold and I fear that this man has no conscience and would use any means to get his way.”
“Then what do we do?” asked Father James despairingly.
Katheryn stood up. “Captain Wharton is not the only man with authority in this town. He is answerable to Lord Molyneux. And the constables and magistrates would also interest themselves in matters of murder and theft.”
She turned to Jane who had been hovering shyly by the doorway. “Jane, tell Will to go to the castle and ask for Sir Thomas Molyneux. Send my compliments and ask Sir Thomas to meet me on the strand by Bartholomew’s ferry. And ask him to bring some trustworthy soldiers of the garrison...those not too much in the company of Captain Wharton. Have you got that?”
Jane nodded eagerly and ran off to find Will. She knew he would be in the stables. She sometimes thought he preferred the horses’ company to her own...and she had noticed he spent a lot of time in the company of the baker’s pretty daughter from next door. Her small shining hopes of love were rapidly tarnishing with Will’s neglect. She was glad of any excuse to be in his company.
“I shall go for the constable and send Ralph for Master Crosse,” said Valentine. “As Magistrate he should be involved.”
Katheryn watched as he left the room and prayed for their safety as she warmed herself by the roaring fire.
*
“Your servant told me the matter was most urgent,” said Sir Thomas Molyneux stiffly as they stood on the sand in the fast fading light.
“It is, Sir Thomas. We are to apprehend the killer of two priests and a young woma
n...and maybe more besides.”
Sir Thomas looked at her in polite disbelief. “And what proof have you, madam? Have you witnesses? Has the man confessed?”
“I have spoken with several who will bear witness to this man’s wickedness...and the proof I shall obtain when we confront him,” Katheryn said with a confidence she did not feel.
Bartholomew was growing impatient. “We must be away before the tide turns,” he called out to them from his ferry. “Please hurry. Wharton went over an hour since.”
Sir Thomas still looked sceptical. “And you say Captain Wharton is involved? The man has always been considered most trustworthy by my father. He came highly recommended from Chester. There is nothing known against him.”
“He stole the treasure of Birkenhead Priory, Sir Thomas. That is a fact beyond dispute and there are many witnesses to the act. He took it over the river to a hiding place: Bartholomew, the ferryman was a monk of Birkenhead and he knows where it is most likely hidden. Please, Sir Thomas, if we do not act now the treasure will be sold and Wharton and our murderer will be away.”
Sir Thomas gave a curt nod. If this lady’s suppositions proved true, it would bring him into great favour with his father and the authorities; and who knew where that could lead?”
Valentine appeared from the mouth of Bank Street alone. The constable and his assistant were out arresting a crowd of sailors who had taken too much drink in one of the town’s ale houses, he explained, and Master Crosse was away from home on some unspecified business. He looked relieved to see Sir Thomas and the two hatchet faced soldiers who accompanied him. At least they would not have to face Mires and Wharton alone.
Bartholomew’s ferry boat was built strongly and on market days even a cow or horse could be accommodated with care. He raised the single sail and the craft skimmed over the dark waters, in and out of merchantmen at anchor, and towards the Birkenhead bank.
Such was the concentration of his passengers that they did not hear the gentle swish of a single oar as a small rowing boat carrying a dark, hooded figure laboured to follow them.
*
Trapped in the confines of the ferry, Sir Thomas had the chance to question Katheryn further. She explained what she knew as clearly and honestly as she could and Sir Thomas seemed to understand most of the story, although he confessed himself confused when it came to Father Clement’s true identity. “You are saying that the priest who said mass for the garrison was no priest but a steward’s son who took the identity of a priest he had murdered?”
“You have it, Sir Thomas. In the upheaval caused by the closure of the religious houses there have, I fear, been some who used the confusion as an opportunity for theft and worse.”
“Wharton admitted that he and Father Clement - sorry, Mires - were friends in Chester. I didn’t see much of Mires but what I saw I did not like.”
Katheryn smiled to herself. It was easy to admit to wisdom with hindsight.
The boat jolted gently against the jetty as Bartholomew brought it skilfully back to Birkenhead. The ferryman’s mouth was set with grim determination and Katheryn remembered his budding feelings of affection for Agnes; possibly the first time in his life that he had experienced such feelings for a woman. Poor, silly Agnes...Bartholomew might have been her salvation.
But the young man would have to be watched. If he was bent on avenging Agnes’s untimely death, she must ensure that he did not take the law into his own hands. Things must be done properly.
Bartholomew left the boat and secured it with habitual thoroughness. He helped Katheryn from the vessel first and the others were left to clamber out as best they could. Katheryn noticed that another smaller boat was moored at the jetty. Wharton had got there before them.
The party made their way up to the Priory in silence. It was dark now and they kept carefully to the trodden path, Bartholomew leading the way. The walls of the Priory stood out black against the night sky and there was no sign of life; no lamp to indicate the presence of others. Katheryn began to wonder if Bartholomew had been mistaken.
The ferryman whispered in the darkness. “You stay back. I’ll see if they’re there.”
Valentine was walking close to Katheryn; she touched his hand. “Do not let him go alone,” she whispered. “He will get himself killed.” She turned to Sir Thomas and the soldiers. “Sir Thomas, if you stay outside the Priory, I shall go in with Bartholomew and Valentine. They know the buildings well.”
Sir Thomas looked alarmed. “My lady, I cannot allow you to walk into danger. If, as you say, the man we seek is a murderer, you must stay here with us.”
Katheryn turned round, her eyes blazing with determination. “This man killed one of the sisters whom God entrusted to my care. I have faced danger before, sir.” She saw his look of amazement at her boldness and took pity on him. “And besides, Sir Thomas, what harm can come to us when you are so near to leap to our defence?” She smiled at him sweetly and, pulling her cloak closely around her, followed Bartholomew and Valentine into the crumbling Priory buildings.
Bartholomew led the way across the silent cloister. “The crypt would be the best place for a man to hide,” he whispered to Valentine. “And we must not forget the tunnels.”
Valentine nodded and took hold of Katheryn’s hand protectively. She did not pull it away but instead gave Valentine’s fingers an encouraging squeeze.
The small door set in the north wall of the cloister opened silently. It had been in use recently, that much was clear. It crossed Katheryn’s mind that they should have brought a lantern but, on reflection, she realised that Bartholomew’s decision had been a wise one: a lantern would announce their presence as well as any fanfare of trumpets. They tiptoed carefully and quietly down a narrow stone staircase then stood, completely still, staring at the scene before them.
In the far corner of the vaulted crypt, almost hidden by the massive octagonal stone pillars that supported the range of buildings above them, they could see the golden flickering light of a pair of lanterns. There was a low murmur of men’s voices. Bartholomew stood frozen, straining to hear, with Katheryn and Valentine behind him. They couldn’t make out what was being said but the conversation was punctuated with self congratulatory laughter. The men were celebrating something. In the silences they could hear wine being poured. They were relaxed...vulnerable. Now was the time. Before Valentine could stop her, Katheryn stepped forward.
“I bid you good evening, gentlemen.” Her voice echoed confidently through the great vaulted chamber. “Do nothing foolish, I beg you. Sir Thomas Molyneux is outside with soldiers of the garrison.”
The two men had swung round to face her, disbelief on their faces. For the first time she took a good look at Mires who was now beginning to relax. He was dark, rugged, well built: a handsome man. Katheryn could see why he had wielded such power over the weaker members of her sex: he would use charm as a weapon when it suited his purposes.
He was already standing, looking at her, a calculating coldness in his eyes and a contemptuous smile on his lips. He bowed low and was about to step forward and take Katheryn’s hand when Bartholomew and Valentine stepped forward protectively out of the shadows. Mires put his hand up to indicate that he meant no harm and smiled. The charming, Katheryn thought could be the most dangerous of creatures: had not the serpent charmed Eve in Eden?
It delights me to meet you at last, my lady. I have heard so much of you from my friend, the Captain.” He turned to Wharton, who stood nervously playing with the edge of his shirt, and shrugged nonchalantly as though they had been discovered playing cards when they should have been at mass.
“And I have heard much of you, Master Mires.”
“It was Father Clement last time I saw him,” Bartholomew said, jumpy, anxious to get the affair over with and bring Agnes’s killer to justice.
“Yes. It’s amazing the opportunities a priest has for sin: it is a great wonder that they are not all corrupted by the power they wield over silly souls.” Mires grinne
d unpleasantly.
“You killed Father Edmund of Norton when he came to Liverpool to seek passage to Ireland. You hoped that he would be mistaken for you and enable you to disappear in safety?” she said with as much confidence as she could muster.
Mires smiled smugly and shook his head. “That’s one matter I had nothing to do with. One night I came across a body wearing priest’s clothing in an alleyway near the castle. The right hand was cut off and lying by the body.” He smiled unpleasantly. “I took it. I need such items from time to time. Then the idea came to me: this dead priest was of my height and colouring and it would suit my purposes to be thought dead. So I put my ring upon his left hand, heaved him to the top of the castle rock and threw him over: it was high tide and I knew the water would do its work. I returned to my cottage to gather some possessions then I sought refuge in Mistress Marjory’s mill.”