‘What do you make of that, Carpenter?’ Strong asked once the man had melted back into the crowd.
‘Doesn’t tell us anything helpful, Master.’
‘The people they were asking about…’
‘My lord was in there, too.’
‘True,’ the coroner agreed. ‘But what about the others?’
‘They’re two other important families in Chesterfield. People know their names.’
Strong nodded. ‘You should be a lawyer, may God forbid there are any more of them in the world. But it leaves us no further on.’
‘Not quite, Master.’ He’d heard something in the old man’s speech. ‘They had packs. They’d been on the road. That means they must have found somewhere to stay.’
‘I can have my men ask. But if they found work as assassins, isn’t it likely they’d be staying with the people who employed them? And that could still either be the Unthanks or Roland and Lady Gwendolyn.’
‘Whichever one it is, we’ve worried them.’
‘They’ve gone for you twice in one day. I’ll have someone escort you home, Carpenter. We don’t want to give them a third chance. You’re not immortal.’
‘There’s not much time left, Master.’
‘I know.’ The coroner sighed. ‘But if you’re dead, time won’t matter. If they’re as panicked as they seem, tomorrow will give you ample chance to catch them. Wait in the church until one of my men comes.’
He came here every Sunday. But standing alone, he realised how large the building was. The biggest church in Derbyshire, he’d been told when they were constructing the spire. He could believe it. When he was here, it was usually filled, people crowded together, all the old goodwives off to the side where they could whisper and gossip. He saw the bench that the old coroner had paid him to make for the choir. Six years ago now. The wood had the smoothness and shine of wear. It was sturdy enough to outlast him; the thought brought a quick prayer that he’d enjoy a long life, to see his children grown and their children born.
‘Master?’ The voice was soft, carrying and echoing around the high nave. The man from the guard, dressed in the coroner’s livery. A sword hung by his side.
‘Yes,’ John said.
Jeffrey was there in the house, performing conjuring tricks to make the children giggle and laugh. And there was Katherine, hurrying to him and throwing her arms around him before she stood back, holding him at arms’ length to be sure he was unhurt.
‘I’m fine,’ he told her with a smile. ‘Not a scratch.’
The guard coughed. ‘Master, the coroner ordered me to stay here tonight and make sure nothing happens.’
John looked at his wife. She turned to the guard and said: ‘Then we need to look after you. Some ale? Pottage?’
She had her pride. She’d never let anyone else see how poor they really were.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The morning dawned with a whisper of a cool breeze, the reminder that autumn would arrive all too soon. As he sat up, he remembered what day it was. His last chance to discover a killer and make himself a rich man.
He needed this to be over. He needed that money.
Downstairs, the guard was stretched out, half-dozing on a bench. He stirred, but John waved him back. Nothing had happened during the night. No assault on the house. Jeffrey had returned to his lodgings. All was well.
He poured a mug of small beer and tore off a wedge of bread.
It was still early enough to feel a chill as he sat in the garden. Good, it would keep him alert.
He thought back to where it had begun. Out to Calow and the murder of Gertrude in the anchoress’s cell. That was the root, it was where things started. But the branches were tangled as they grew, and the answer lay in them somewhere. Either he’d missed it, or he hadn’t understood enough to realise what it was.
He’d followed a trail. Oswald the forager and Adam, his friend and neighbour. Both of them dead to hide a name and keep a secret. That was plain enough. He could trace out the path that led to their deaths.
From there, though, things twisted and turned back on themselves. They became as convoluted as some of the carvings he’d seen in the churches in York. A labyrinth. The more he followed it, the more he felt he was moving away from the truth rather than towards it.
He sat, chewing and sipping, trying to retrace the path, to see what he hadn’t seen the first time. To try and understand.
He was still puzzling through it all when he heard the shuffle of footsteps on the dirt and turned, reaching for his knife.
Jeffrey raised his hands.
‘The guard let me in. I didn’t know if you’d be awake yet, it’s so early.’
‘I’m trying to make sense of it all. Pour yourself some ale and listen. See if you can understand.’
They were still talking when Juliana ran outside, demanding attention, with Martha following, less sure and steady on her feet. John gathered up his younger daughter and cuddled her on his lap. For a moment he saw the contentment on her face and envied her.
Too young to think about money and all the responsibilities of life. For her, the world was this house and her father’s arms to keep her secure. So simple.
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
‘You were going to tell me what you’ve been thinking.’
‘Yes.’ He sighed. Back here, with the weight of life heavy on his shoulders. ‘I was.’
• • •
The sun was higher by the time they’d finished talking. But even between them, they’d discovered nothing. Juliana and Martha had lost interest and wandered off to play near the back of the garden, under the apple tree.
‘We should go,’ John said. ‘We’re doing no good sitting here.’
‘Go where?’
It was a good question. He didn’t know the answer. He had no destination in mind. No need to return to the church and be visited by the image of the dead man crumpled on the ground. But staying at home wasn’t going to bring a solution. He’d done all his thinking and it hadn’t helped.
He kissed the children and hugged Katherine as if this was an ordinary day. The guard remained at the house, the only sign that anything was different.
‘For someone who was almost killed twice yesterday, you’re very calm.’
Not calm. He’d pushed the experiences away into a room in his head and locked the door. Later, when there was time, he could examine them. For now, though, only one thing mattered: an answer. The right answer.
He could see the anticipation and excitement of people’s faces. Another few hours and the fair would begin. Plenty of strangers mingled with the locals. A long line of people waited at the cookshop while the owner served with a grin on his face. The next week would fill his coffers for a year.
‘At least we should be safe in this crowd,’ Jeffrey said. ‘Chesterfield is too busy for anyone to try and kill you.’
He hoped that was true. He was watching all the faces, but everyone looked innocent, caught up in their own little worlds.
The coroner had a guard outside his house. Interesting, John, thought; had there been an attempt on his life, or was it simply a way of keeping the curious at bay?
Inside, Sir Mark was slowly dictating to his clerk as the young man hurried to keep pace with his words. The coroner held up a finger, wanting John and Jeffrey to wait.
He finished and sent the clerk away to make a fair copy.
‘Come with more thoughts about yesterday, Carpenter?’
‘No, Master. I just wish we’d been able to catch the other man.’
‘So do I.’ Strong grimaced. ‘But we didn’t, so there’s nothing we can do about that. He’ll be halfway to Derby now if he has a grain of sense. I’m not going to waste time looking for him. Especially not with all those out there.’
‘You have a man outside.’
‘Safety, nothing more than that. Do you have any proof of who’s behind the killing yet?’
‘No, Master. Still nothing mo
re than guesses.’
‘My lord won’t be pleased to hear that.’
‘Better the truth than a lie.’
‘Maybe.’ He cocked his head. ‘At the moment, though, a lie might serve you better. It would put that fifty pounds in your scrip.’
‘No,’ John shook his head. ‘I couldn’t say anything I couldn’t swear on oath.’
‘A good man.’ He turned to Jeffrey. ‘What about you? Do you have any ideas?’
‘Nothing, cousin.’
‘There was nothing on the body to tell us anything helpful. A knife and a scrip with three coins, that was all. My men are still trying to discover where they were staying. But you can see for yourself, all the people arriving for the fair. Trying to find two is almost impossible.’
‘One’s gone,’ John said.
‘People find better lodgings, cheaper places to stay. It doesn’t mean a thing. It won’t help.’
‘Then we’re back to where we began. We have possibilities, but no evidence of anything.’
As they came back into the sunlight, he could feel hope beginning to trickle away. He’d risked his life for this reward, and so far it had brought him nothing but attempts on his life. Twelve more hours and the chance would vanish altogether.
He kicked at a pebble and sent it skittering along the ground as they walked.
‘Where are we going?’ Jeffrey asked.
He didn’t know; wherever his feet took him. Out past the churchyard beyond the house where the Unthanks were staying. Servants were busy in the yard, scrubbing down the long table from the hall. He remembered seeing it when he was working there.
‘They’re having a later supper tonight,’ Jeffrey explained. ‘Everything is being cleaned. Fresh rushes down on the floor later. Even my lord is invited.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘That should show there’s no ill will between them.’
‘L’Honfleur won’t go, will he?’ John asked in astonishment. ‘Isn’t he in mourning for his daughter?’
‘There are other considerations. Relations between families. My lord is a powerful man. But power ebbs and flows. Many of his lands are around here, so it’s important to keep good relations with others who own manors in the area.’
It was like being on good terms with your neighbours, but on a scale he could hardly imagine, one that covered miles, not just a house on a street.
‘Will Sir Roland and Lady Gwendolyn be going, too?’
‘I expect so. The Unthanks do this every year and invite everyone important. They’ve always gone before.’
They strode out a little, along the road towards Newbold. He couldn’t see anyone following them when he looked over his shoulder. And there was no prickle of fear rising up his spine. No sense that anything was wrong or danger was close.
‘That’s where Lady Gwendolyn lives,’ Jeffrey said.
‘I know. I’ve been inside. Twice.’
‘What? Twice?’
He explained, hurrying over his visit to the stable.
‘You were a lucky man. They could have found you.’
‘Very fortunate,’ he agreed. ‘God’s good grace was with me.’
They stood, staring down the drive towards the house.
‘Do you think they’re guilty?’ Jeffrey asked.
‘My heart says yes,’ he answered after a long moment. ‘Even if we can’t prove it.’
‘I can’t be so—’
John reached out and placed a hand on his arm. ‘Do you see him?’
‘The one who just came round from the back of the house? What about him? He’s just a servant.’
‘No, he’s not,’ John replied urgently. ‘He’s one of the men from the church yesterday.’
‘Are you sure? Absolutely certain?’
‘Yes.’ He wasn’t likely to mistake that face. ‘Run back, tell the coroner, have him bring his men. I’ll stay here and make sure he doesn’t try to run off.’
‘If he does?’
‘I’ll stop him.’
Jeffrey paused to stare, then turned and hurried back to town.
John found a spot away from the gate. Brambles snagged at the wool of his leggings, and thorns dug into the fabric of his tunic. But he was out of the way, able to observe without being seen.
He loosened the knife in its sheath. If the man hadn’t run off yet, it was unlikely he’d go in the next few minutes. Safer to wait until tonight, when the service and the procession began. Then it would be all too easy to slip away; no one would be around to notice.
It all confirmed what he felt inside. Roland and Gwendolyn had been behind the murder of Gertrude. It seemed impossible to believe that any woman would kill her own sister but it had to be true; her blood must run very cold indeed.
Time seemed to crawl. People passed on the road, almost all of them travelling to Chesterfield, eager for the fair to begin. For the first time, he started to believe that something good might happen. That he might find his solution and receive the money.
A man rode out from Roland’s house. Wealthily dressed, a silk surcote spread behind him over the horse’s flanks, trimmed in fur; rabbit or squirrel, from the look of it, nothing valuable. For a man who was struggling for money, Sir Roland looked comfortable enough. Haughty, as if he owned the world. He glanced around, not even noticing John, tugged on the reins and the horse cantered down the road, away from town. The two men with him followed, spurring their horses and sending walkers scattering to the road’s edge.
John was still standing when the coroner arrived, deep in conversation with Jeffrey, with two of his men marching behind.
‘Are you certain it was him?’
‘On the Bible, Master.’
Sir Mark stood and thought, then nodded to his men.
‘In,’ he said. ‘Make sure no one leaves.’ He watched them go, then said: ‘You two, come with me.’
No Roland, the steward said; he’d just left, gone riding with some companions. Lady Gwendolyn was visiting. They’d both be back before the service tonight. The coroner was welcome to search. He kept looking at John, knowing the face was familiar, but not quite placing him.
The men were brought out and paraded. He recognised the groom, and two of the others. But the man he’d seen just a short while before wasn’t here.
‘There was someone else…’ he began.
‘Only a man delivering for my lady.’
‘What did he bring? Where did he go?’
‘He walked out,’ the steward pointed towards the gate.
‘No, he didn’t.’ He looked at the other men. ‘You must have seen him. Who was he?’
Most of them looked too fearful to answer. But one boy, small enough to be a helper in the kitchen, cocked his head.
‘He went off into the woods as soon as the men with soldiers came. I saw him.’
‘Go after him,’ Strong ordered his guards. He turned to the steward. ‘You’re coming with me. You have questions to answer and you’re going to give me the truth.’
‘The tide’s shifted,’ Jeffrey said quietly as they followed the coroner and the steward.
Maybe he was right. Pray God things had changed.
CHAPTER TWENTY
There was nothing to do but wait as the coroner questioned the steward. John found a sheltered, sunny space outside Sir Mark’s house and squatted, enjoying the warmth on his face. He could hear raised voices, the sound of a blow, then silence, before it all began again.
Jeffrey paced, unable to settle. At least he didn’t want to talk. There was ample noise from the fairground in the distance. All the traders were making their final preparations. Hammering in stakes and tying ropes to keep their booths secure. A low, constant hum of conversation, like hearing a far-off swarm of bees.
He let it all wash over him. Now they knew who was responsible for Gertrude’s death. He’d done what Lord l’Honfleur wanted, and with time to spare. He should feel content. If the man kept his word, John had made his family secure for life.
If.
&n
bsp; Such a small word, but it carried so much weight.
How long passed? He wasn’t sure, but the sun moved in the sky, climbing higher. Somewhere close to dinner time, about ten, maybe a little later. The door opened and the coroner came out. His face was set like stone.
‘Master,’ John called, and Strong turned.
‘Give him some praise for loyalty, at least. He didn’t want to betray his master or his mistress.’ The coroner shook his head. ‘He kept claiming they were innocent. I don’t know what they offered him, but he didn’t want to say they’d done anything wrong.’
‘But?’ Jeffrey asked.
‘The truth finally came out, cousin.’ He gave a grim smile. ‘I need to talk to my lord. I saw him ride back from hunting earlier. You’d better come with me, Carpenter. You too, Jeffrey.’
One of the guards marched with them, the same man who’d first come to summon John. Apt that he should be here at the end, in his dark green livery and badge, hand resting on the pommel of his sword.
People watched them from the corner of their eyes then turned away. He could hear the muttering of voices as they passed. Someone made a sign to ward off the evil eye.
They were let into the house without a word, the guard left outside. As they stood in the hall, a servant brought a jug of ale and three mugs. Then the waiting. John walked to the window, tracing his fingertips down the glass. Each pane was thick, distorting the view, leaving it blurred and uncertain. Yet it was beautiful, too, he thought. And warm. No one would freeze in this room when the winter winds blew, and the fire would draw well.
He should feel jubilant. After all, he could afford a glassed window in his own solar now, maybe even one in the hall. Yet he was empty, with a rising sense that all he’d been promised wouldn’t happen so easily.
The sound of footsteps pulled him sharply back to the present. L’Honfleur came through from the buttery, holding a mazer of wine. He was dressed for the evening’s service and procession, a black velvet jerkin shot through with silver thread and a deep blue surcote that appeared to shimmer in the light of the room. High riding boots of gleaming Spanish leather and leggings made from fine wool. Without even thinking, John bowed, seeing Jeffrey and the coroner do the same.
The Anchoress of Chesterfield Page 20