The Anchoress of Chesterfield

by Chris Nickson

  • • •

  ‘Well?’ Sir Mark asked.

  John told him the few scraps they’d learned.

  ‘Nothing from the other men, either. I’m going to tell my lord that she’s disappeared, just like her husband. For all we know, they have a plan to meet somewhere.’

  ‘Wait, Master. Don’t say anything to him just yet.’

  ‘Why not?’ The coroner’s voice had a hard edge.

  ‘Wait until tonight. Let’s see if she’s there for the service and the procession to the fairground.’

  ‘All you’re doing is giving her a longer start.’

  ‘Master, for now there’s no one after her.’ All the coroner’s men were gathered outside his house, waiting for their orders. ‘And she’s barely been gone any time at all. On an ordinary day we wouldn’t think anything of it.’

  ‘What about Sir Roland?’ Strong snapped. ‘Are you saying he might be innocent, too?’

  ‘No, Master. He fled. Lady Gwendolyn… we don’t know. I think she’s guilty. No,’ he corrected himself, ‘I’m convinced she is.’

  ‘Then why delay, Carpenter?’

  ‘What can we achieve in such a short time, Master?’

  ‘We can talk to my lord. I think he’ll believe us now.’

  ‘You said it needs the King’s Bench to convict them and have them made outlaw.’

  ‘That’s correct,’ the coroner agreed.

  ‘And that needs to be done in London?’

  ‘Usually. Not always. My lord could probably arrange a sitting in York or Lincoln.’

  ‘But not done overnight?’

  ‘No. The law moves slowly, Carpenter.’ He shook his head. ‘All too often, justice comes quicker.’ He stood. ‘Come on. We’re going to talk to my lord.’

  ‘Are you sure you want me with you?’ John asked.

  ‘Yes, Carpenter. I definitely want you there.’

  • • •

  Late afternoon sun came through the window and lit up the stitching on the wall hanging. A scene from the Bible, perhaps, or something out of the imagination. He didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. It was well done, the figures lifelike, their expressions caught to perfection.

  They waited for l’Honfleur to appear. No wine or food put out for them, he noticed; they weren’t being treated like honoured guests. Finally he appeared, sweeping down from the solar.

  ‘Well?’ he asked.

  Sir Mark laid out the situation. Briefly, clearly, and precisely. L’Honfleur listened, head down, face caught in a frown.

  ‘You’re certain Roland is running?’ he asked. ‘Not just hunting or riding?’

  ‘I’m positive, my lord. I went after him myself.’

  ‘Very well,’ he said after the coroner explained about sending word to Conisbrough. ‘If they catch him, he can come and tell us what he’s done. And my daughter?’

  Strong hesitated. ‘We can’t find her, my lord.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s been visiting people, my lord, and we don’t know where she might have gone,’ John said.

  ‘And what do you intend to do about that?’ He turned to the coroner.

  ‘The carpenter suggests we wait and see if she appears for the service this evening.’

  L’Honfleur raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ John said.

  ‘Tell me, do you feel I’ve treated you badly in this?’

  ‘My lord?’ It was the only answer he could give. He daren’t speak the truth.

  ‘When I refused you the reward until we had them, do you feel I was fair?’

  ‘I’m sure you did what you thought was right, my lord.’ He could feel a thin, cold trickle of sweat down his back. Fear of the wrong word, a dangerous expression. Anything at all.

  ‘A sensible answer.’

  He had no choice. As a man, he had to say it, to let it out, just to be able to live with himself after this.

  ‘But, my lord, you know I had to run for my life when I went out to your manor. The two squires knew who I was. They tried to kill me in the stable and then hunt me down on the moor. I was attacked on the road back from Baslow. Right here, someone tried to kill me by throwing a knife. And I could easily have been then lying dead at the foot of the church tower. I hope you feel I’ve given you honest, faithful service.’

  He looked at Strong. The coroner’s face was ashen at his outburst. It was dangerous. Very likely it was reckless to speak that way to a man like l’Honfleur. But John felt better for the outburst. The man needed to be reminded of all that had happened, of the times he’d come close to dying. At the moment he’d done it for the four pennies a day the coroner was paying him. He would never blurt out that my lord had cheated him. But it was there, underneath all he’d just said.

  ‘Then we will hope that my daughter is there this evening. I will want to hear her answers, and I’ll know whether they’re honest. And,’ he added, ‘I shall ask her about all that, too.’ He stayed silent for several long moments. Would the man’s temper boil over? ‘I will say this, Carpenter. If she is there and I feel she can be tried on this, I will give you the money.’

  A fair, even tone. No sign of anger on his face or in his voice. John began to breathe a little more easily.

  ‘And if she’s not in Chesterfield, my lord?’ Strong asked quietly.

  ‘Then that will tell me everything,’ the man said with sorrow. ‘If that’s the case, the money will be paid.’

  ‘You heard him,’ the coroner said when they were outside. Late afternoon, and people were already gathering in the churchyard.

  ‘I did.’

  ‘I was there as a witness.’

  Just as he was out in Calow, he thought, but didn’t waste his breath. A rich man’s promises were chaff, so easily blown away.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You were lucky, Carpenter. I hope you realise that.’

  He didn’t bother to reply. He knew. But he felt cleansed by it. He’d purged the bitterness that had built up inside. And thanks be to God that l’Honfleur hadn’t been furious when he heard it. It was all true, every word, and it had come from his heart. Perhaps the man had been able to see that.

  He wanted to believe this new guarantee. But the words didn’t reach his soul. After the man had changed his mind once, he couldn’t take them seriously. Only actions would change that.

  ‘Prepare yourself for the service, Carpenter,’ the coroner said. ‘Tonight will be interesting.’

  It will, he agreed. It will.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ‘You look like a man carrying the world on his shoulders,’ Katherine said. They were sitting on the bed, a snatched minute away from the children.

  ‘I feel like it.’ He told her how he’d spoken to l’Honfleur. ‘Was it foolish?’

  She shook her head. ‘You stood up for yourself. He cheated you. You know it, the coroner knows it. He knows it, too, if he looks into his heart. He must have, to make this new promise.’

  ‘If he keeps to it. He’s broken one oath.’

  ‘There was always one rule for the rich and another for the rest of us.’ Her face was set hard. ‘And the rule for the rich is very loose.’

  She combed her hair, pulling it through until every last, small tangle had gone. Then she used deft strokes of her hands to pile it up, keeping it in place with several small pins. Carefully, she placed the wimple back on her head, feeling around to be certain that all her hair was covered.

  ‘Does that look fine?’ she asked. No need to tell her that he’d seen the streaks of grey in her hair and noticed the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes and her mouth. She’d know they were there, in the way women did.

  They owned no looking glass. Even Martha hadn’t stretched to that. But there was a small piece of polished metal sitting on the chest at the foot of the bed. Katherine examined herself in that, making a few small adjustments with her fingertips before nodding her head with satisf
action.

  She ran her fingertips over her dress, smoothing it down. It was simple, homespun cloth, but he thought she wore it like the most expensive silk, something fit for a queen.

  He took hold of her hand. There was no lady’s smoothness to her skin. The palms were callused and hard, just like his. But people like them didn’t have servants. They worked, not watched. Their labours were part of life. It was how they survived.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  ‘For what?’ she looked confused.

  ‘For not saying I’m a fool. For loving me. For being my wife.’

  ‘I loved you from the very first day we talked. Do you remember that? You helped to carry my washing up from the river.’

  ‘I remember it well, Mistress.’ He smiled. More than ten years ago now. He’d been young, so full of himself when he approached her. She’d seemed little more than a girl. Who could have dreamed then how it would have turned out? That they’d be here today.

  A shriek of laughter from the hall. Jeffrey had stayed, happy to entertain the children. In the last two days he seemed to have become a member of the family. Accepted without question, simply there and welcome. John wasn’t sure how it had happened, but it pleased him. The young man had become a friend. From a different class, but warm and open, a man who loved life, who liked them for who they were.

  John washed his hands and face in the basin. The soap was rough and coarse against his skin. By the time he’d rinsed himself clean, he felt as if his flesh was raw. He looked out of the window, saw no one below, and emptied the bowl into the street.

  Down in the hall, the children clustered round, eager and ready to go.

  ‘Soon,’ Katherine scolded them. ‘Very soon. You can learn a little patience.’

  ‘A word,’ Jeffrey said softly to him as he drew him through to the buttery.

  ‘What?’ he asked when they were alone.

  ‘We’ll be going around the fair tonight.’

  ‘Us and everyone else who’s in town. You know that, it’s tradition.’

  Jeffrey nodded. ‘You told me what my lord has promised. It seems to me that you’ll end up with your money.’

  ‘Maybe.’ He couldn’t let himself believe it again, then have his hopes shattered.

  ‘You will. I know you don’t have money at the moment. You’ve been working for the coroner, not at your trade.’

  ‘That’s true. But what are you trying to say?’

  ‘The children want their marchpane, their sweetmeats, their swirls of sugar. Ribbons and toys.’

  ‘I daresay they do. Just like every child in town.’

  ‘John.’ He stopped and took a breath. ‘You know I have money.’

  ‘No.’ It was his instinctive answer. Charity was good, if you needed it. But none of this was vital, it wasn’t important. A day or two and the children would have forgotten all about it.

  ‘Please. It would give them pleasure,’ Jeffrey said. ‘More than that, it would give me joy. I like them. Spending time with them, I…’ his words faded into a happy smile. ‘They enchant me.’

  He laughed. The man could weave a web of words. What choice did he have? He had to capitulate.

  ‘One thing each, either a sweet or some tiny item to bring home,’ he agreed. ‘That’s all.’

  ‘And something for us all from the cook stalls,’ Jeffrey said. He widened his eyes, looking up like a dog craving affection. ‘You know we’ll all be hungry, Master.’

  Even Katherine would agree to that. He knew it, Jeffrey knew it. He accepted it with a nod of his head.

  ‘Thank you,’ Jeffrey said. ‘Thank you, my friend.’

  • • •

  There was still a little warmth in the evening. Dusk was beginning to settle. By the time the service was done and the procession left the church it would be dark, with blazing torches to light the way.

  First, though, they squeezed their way through into the churchyard. He was holding Juliana’s hand to keep her close, while Katherine had Martha with her. Richard walked beside Jeffrey, their heads bowed in conversation. His son was wrapped up warm against the chill to come. A heavy jerkin over his tunic, his hood up over his head, and thick leggings of coarse wool.

  It seemed that every space was filled. Every way he turned he saw faces. They lined the path all the way to the porch and covered the grass.

  The tradition was that Chesterfield people had the right to go in first for the service. This was their town, their fair, their church.

  He felt on display as he walked with his family, conscious of so many eyes on him, most he couldn’t even see. Past the porch and into the nave and he began to feel easier. The church was noisy as neighbours talked and gossiped. The voices rose and echoed off the high roof, filling the place with sound.

  More and more people pushed their way inside until everyone was squeezed tight. The heat in the church grew. Women used their hands to fan their faces and men stood, uncomfortable but uncomplaining.

  He kept Juliana close, making sure she had enough air, not stifled by all the bodies around. Katherine had lifted Martha, and the girl looked around with bright curiosity.

  Surely all of Derbyshire was in the church, he thought as the priest appeared. The choir rose from the bench he’d designed and built six years before and sang their simple plainsong. The music was slow and moving, filled with grace. It set the mood for the priest’s prayers.

  The man mumbled, looking down as he intoned the words. Everything was swallowed by the ground and the press of people. All the sense of holiness vanished.

  He looked around, spotting the coroner standing over by the wall with his guards. His eyes were flickering as he examined everyone, searching for Lady Gwendolyn. On the other side of the church, l’Honfleur’s retainers had positioned themselves to grant him space to breathe.

  The priest continued, his voice a low drone. Occasionally he could pick out a word in Latin, with no knowledge of its meaning. The language of God, not meant for people like him.

  Nobody in the church seemed dangerous. No gaze fixed on him, no sense of wariness. Everyone looked bored, waiting for this ceremony to be over so they could go outside and into the fresh, cool air.

  Finally it was done. The priest raised his head and spoke words John did know. He’d heard them every Sunday, always with happiness in his heart.

  ‘Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto. Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in sæcula sæculorum. Amen.’

  Immediately, those close to the door tried to force their way out through the porch. He could see three men tending to an elderly goodwife who had fainted from the heat and lay on the flagstone floor.

  John kept a close grip on Juliana so she wouldn’t be pulled away from him. Katherine still cradled Martha. The warmth and the monotone of the priest’s voice had put the girl to sleep. Jeffrey and Richard were close.

  Gradually, the church began to empty. Breathing was easier. He could move, slowly following everyone else out into the night.

  The air was like balm. Dark outside now, with so many stars shining up in the heavens. Just enough of a chill to raise tiny goose pimples on his arms. Katherine’s sisters slid through the crowd to talk, then her brother Walter and his family.

  ‘No sign of Lady Gwendolyn, Carpenter.’

  He hadn’t heard the coroner approach, but now the man was standing beside him.

  ‘In all truth, I never believed she’d be here, Master.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ Sir Mark admitted. ‘I don’t know that my lord did. He hoped it. Prayed for it, maybe. But her absence says everything. He has no choice now, and I think he accepts it. Imagine what you like, but don’t be too hard on him. He’s lost one daughter and now he has to condemn the other for killing her. That’s hard for any man to take.’

  It was true. Perhaps that was the reason behind his reluctance to hand him the reward, not a lack of honour.

  ‘He’ll pay you now, Carpenter. I’ll make sure of it.’ He pushed
his lips together in a sad smile. ‘It’s the least I can do.’

  He should have been happy. He should have felt jubilant. But John had no sense of victory as he began to walk through the churchyard to join the procession out to the fairground. He was going to be a rich man; all his cares should have vanished. But they stayed perched on his shoulder.

  All the dead still needed their justice. Gertrude, Oswald the forager, Cuthbert Unthank, old Adam. Their souls, their lives, deserved that. He could hear their voices softly praying.

  John knew that he’d done all he could. He’d found those responsible for the deaths. They’d run. It was out of his hands. He wasn’t the man to go in pursuit and catch them now. That was for others with horses and weapons.

  ‘Husband?’ Katherine gave him a questioning look.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he told her. ‘The coroner said he’d make sure my lord paid as he promised.’

  Her smile lit up the night. It was her joy at the money and what it all meant. This was over, and now their lives could return to normal. He could be a carpenter again, and she didn’t need to worry for his life every time he left the house. Their children would have a father who’d arrive home every evening.

  They were part of the procession, following others out of the churchyard and shuffling slowly along. But there was no hurry. He could enjoy the evening, take pleasure in having his wife and his family with him, even the company of a new friend.

  ‘It’s done, then?’ Jeffrey asked.

  ‘That’s what Sir Mark promised.’

  ‘Then it’s settled. He’ll make certain of that.’ He grinned. ‘How does it feel to know you have money?’

  ‘Strange,’ John answered after thinking for a moment. ‘I’m not ready to believe it yet. It won’t be real until my lord gives it to me. Until then it’s just words and they can mean whatever the person saying them chooses.’

  ‘That makes sense, I suppose. It’s the safe way to see it.’ He turned to Richard. ‘But you’ll have a comfortable life. You won’t want for anything.’