by E. M. Powell
Barling ignored him and hunkered down to peer at the floor beneath the window in the better light, sifting through the debris on the ground with his fingers.
‘I’ll give you your link between the murders, Barling.’ Edgar snorted in disgust. ‘Lindley’s done them both. He’ll be miles away by now.’ He eyeballed Stanton. ‘Thanks to your foolishness, warbling on about Smith’s height.’
‘I’m so sorry, Sir Reginald,’ said Stanton. ‘I swear to you I never—’
‘Edgar, you need to guard your tongue.’ Barling’s reply came brittle as ice. ‘Now. I remind you to whom you speak.’ He rose to his feet, dusting off his hands. ‘I believe Lindley had help from outside. Most likely somebody from within your village.’
‘My village?’ The veins stood out on Edgar’s meaty face. ‘You’re saying Lindley had help from the folk who live here?’
‘Yes,’ said Barling. ‘Judging from the way that the stone and dust have fallen, it would appear that Lindley used a hammer or similar to work his way out. Somebody has passed such an implement in through the bars.’
Stanton expected Edgar to share his own surprise. But the man just laughed. Laughed. Then his smile dropped.
‘And what about the forge?’ said Edgar.
‘What of the forge, Edgar?’ said Barling.
‘Lindley ended up on the floor. This man here’ – he jabbed a finger at Stanton – ‘your man, was gazing around him. Thinking about things that didn’t matter. At all.’ He raised a clenched fist.
Stanton stepped back in spite of himself.
Edgar went on. ‘Who’s to say what Lindley did? That forge was full of tools scattered around after Geoffrey Smith’s struggle. It would have been the work of a second for that evil man to conceal one in his clothing, then use it later.’
Stanton’s chest tightened. No. ‘No, my lord, I watched him, I swear.’ His appeal was as much to himself as to the other two men. He’d missed something. Missed it. And an innocent life was lost. It has happened again.
Barling’s mouth became a thin line. ‘Yours is a ridiculous assertion, Edgar.’
‘Oh, is it now?’ said Edgar. ‘Then explain to me how Nicholas Lindley was locked up in here for eleven days, completely secure. No friend’ – he sneered the word – ‘appeared at his window to give him a tool that would allow him to break his way out.’ His glower fixed on Stanton. ‘Unless you, Stanton, were such a friend. You came to see him this morning. Alone! My servant told me, told me that he waited outside. Did you give Lindley the means to get out?’
‘My lord, I can only swear—’
Barling cut him off with a raised hand.
Stanton tensed, expecting the clerk’s anger. But no. Barling rounded instead on the lord.
‘Edgar, that is enough,’ said the clerk. ‘I should not need to remind you that accusing Stanton, the King’s man, of such an act is dangerous – dangerous for you.’
Barling’s defence of him surprised Stanton as much as it infuriated Edgar.
‘Then I bow to Hugo Stanton’s greatness.’ Edgar matched his mocking words with a rude bob of a bow. ‘But I am in no danger by stating this: until you two set foot here, all was well. I was dealing with everything. Everything.’
‘I am not yet in a position to explain anything, Edgar,’ said Barling. ‘Stanton and I have many more enquiries to make, especially now that Lindley has escaped. I suggest that your priority is to hunt Lindley down.’
Outside, the church bell began to toll.
‘I suggest that the priority for me and my people is to bury the unfortunate Bartholomew Theaker and pray for his soul. Lindley was in that gaol alone since early this morning. He’ll be miles away by now. You make all the enquiries you want.’ He marched to the door. ‘You have released a monster. May it be forever on your conscience. Both of yours.’ He kicked the door again on his way past.
For once even Barling was silenced.
As for Stanton, he couldn’t trust speech, not at this moment.
You have released a monster.
Chapter Twenty
Barling entered his solar, a very subdued-looking Stanton following him.
The quiet came as a merciful release after the commotion at the gaol, on the street, where Lindley’s escape, Theaker’s murder and Edgar’s wild accusations against the King’s men had all received loud, public airings. It was intolerable. One could not think in such circumstances. A clear mind was necessary to consider such a grave turn of events. Not that Barling would get much quiet until Stanton left.
‘On my life, sir.’ Stanton didn’t wait for Barling to give him permission to speak as he closed the door behind them, ensuring privacy. ‘I don’t know how Lindley got out. I didn’t do anything. He was in there when I left. I swear to you.’
‘Calm yourself, Stanton.’ Barling walked to his desk and sat down. ‘You are beginning to sound like Edgar.’
‘Sorry, sir.’ Stanton steadied his breath.
‘As I said in the gaol, it is clear Lindley had help. As I also said, I know full well that you had nothing to do with it. Now sit down and tell me what you have found so far in your enquiries. You and I have not yet had the chance to speak.’ He picked up a stylus. ‘Now is the time to start.’
‘I thought that my questions were useless, sir. For appearances only.’
Though Stanton’s was a sharp response, Barling almost smiled. He’d been correct in his recent observations of the messenger. The young man did have something between his ears, after all.
‘That is indeed what I said, Stanton. But it is clear from your remarks that you have more wits than you have ever bothered to use.’ He pointed at the chair. ‘Now sit. The facts that you have found, Stanton, please, and nothing more. Emotions add little and can cloud a proper examination.’
Stanton lowered himself into the chair, obviously glad to be off his feet, but he gave Barling a deeply wary look. ‘When I found Theaker—’ he began.
‘Stop.’
‘I don’t understand, sir. You told me to tell you what I’ve found.’
‘Start at the start of your account, Stanton. Always the start. To start in the middle means things get forgotten.’ He tapped the stylus on his tablet. ‘Overlooked. So, the start.’
‘From when I left you this morning, sir?’
‘That would be a good place, would it not?’
‘Well, I started with Lindley.’ Stanton went through what he had asked Lindley and the man’s answers, Barling asking him to be clearer at first, but Stanton quickly improving as he went on. ‘And Lindley still said he was innocent, sir, crying, thanking me for believing him.’ Stanton shook his head. ‘He fooled me, sir. Completely fooled me.’
‘You could look at it a different way: that an accomplished liar practised his arts on you. Many men are skilled in it.’
‘And women, sir. Women too.’ Stanton’s abrupt, forceful reply took him by surprise. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Stanton rubbed at his eyes. ‘I’m angry at myself. He . . . he seemed so genuine.’ He gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘I actually felt sorry for him. Not any more. Not after seeing Theaker.’
‘We shall come to Theaker in a moment. Where did you go after speaking to Lindley?’
‘Most cottages were deserted by then. People were at the fields. I found an old man without sense, a woman closed away in a birth. She had a midwife with her, name of Hilda Folkes.’ He went red and would not meet Barling’s eye for a second. ‘I called there by mistake, but it wasn’t really the time to ask questions.’
‘No.’
‘But then I went to the Webbs’, sir.’
‘The Webbs?’
‘Yes, sir. Peter Webb’s a weaver and his wife does spinning. They’re both very respectable. Very stern. But it was just like Edgar told you. Both of the Webbs said they knew nothing about Geoffrey Smith’s murder.’
‘So you gleaned nothing from them.’
‘No.’
‘You sound unsure.’
‘Nothing e
xcept that they don’t like Agnes Smith. Especially Margaret. And, if you’ll pardon me for going out of order, Agnes despises Margaret. She told me so herself. Right before we found Theaker’s body.’
‘In what way do they not like each other?’
‘Peter Webb said Agnes was brazen. Margaret thinks Agnes is a whore. Agnes says Margaret is a dried-up old witch with a nasty tongue.’
‘Goodness.’ Barling made another note.
‘Peter did help with one thing, though. He mentioned a quarry. I didn’t know about it. I was only going to go to the fields to find people. There’s a stonecutter, Thomas Dene, living and working there at the moment. He’s not from the village. He usually lives in a town called Hartleton. About thirty miles away, he says. He’s been here in Claresham doing work for the rector Osmond’s church and hall.’
‘I know of Hartleton, though I have not personally visited it. A town of modest size and of good repute, I believe.’ Barling made a note. ‘And as Dene hails from there, it makes him another outsider. Does he have any passionate opinions about the Webbs or Agnes Smith, or they of him?’
Stanton shook his head. ‘Not at all, sir. He was a man of very few words. But he was clear that he heard nothing of Geoffrey Smith’s murder.’
‘Where did you go next?’
‘The fields. Nothing different from anybody there either. Except from Simon Caldbeck, the young ploughman. The man that brought Agnes under control in the street.’
‘Yes, I recall him.’
‘Well, he doesn’t like Edgar or the rector Osmond. He’s trying to get released from here.’
‘Hardly the picture Edgar painted of a harmonious Claresham.’
‘No. I was on my way back from the fields when I met Agnes.’
‘Had she not been out working in them?’
‘No, sir. She’d been off bathing somewhere. I was out of water in my bottle. She showed me where the reed pond was, where I could cool off.’
‘Did you discuss anything of importance?’
‘Um, no, sir.’ Stanton’s gaze flicked to Barling’s mouth and away again in an instant. ‘Not of any importance. A lot more from her about how Lindley should hang, same as she was saying when we brought Lindley to the forge. And then we got to the pond.’ He swallowed. ‘Found Theaker’s body. Face down in the water. It was bad enough finding him like that, but at least I thought it was an accident. Then your finding out it was murder. God’s eyes. And the worst part, I still feel it’s my fault.’ He looked sheepish. ‘No, the worst part was I was relieved. A bit. I thought that it meant Lindley was innocent, after all. I was wrong. I thought about riding out tonight, trying to find him. But what good would that do? I wouldn’t even know which direction to set off in.’
‘Precisely. Rushing around without a fixed plan helps nobody, Stanton. Again, you need to use your wits. But Lindley must be brought to justice, and it is my – indeed, our – responsibility to do so. That is what you must give your attention to. Lindley may have run from here. But everybody leaves a path. And exactly as with looking at events, it is the same with a path. We find its beginning and we follow it.’
‘We?’ Stanton’s appalled question matched his expression.
‘Yes, we. I have no intention of travelling in these woods alone, especially with the likes of Lindley potentially on the loose. Our path may have many turns and false lanes, but it will lead us to where we want to be. We will start our own search tomorrow. Start with Lindley’s shelter in the woods. I want to view the reed pond again too. Now, go and get some sleep, Stanton. Remember to pray for Theaker’s soul tonight.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Stanton rose and went to the door. ‘And if I may suggest it, we should do the search on horseback, as Edgar’s lands stretch out a long way in every direction.’
Horseback again. Barling sighed inside but nodded. ‘Very well.’
‘Goodnight, sir.’
‘Goodnight.’
As the door closed behind Stanton, Barling stretched his arms and eased out his shoulders. A long day, but only one. So much had happened that it felt much longer.
He looked through the items he’d recorded, both from tonight as well as previously.
To Lindley swears he is innocent, Barling had added, Lindley also still swears he is innocent to H.S. Lindley – no proof of innocence – ordeal? He sighed as he added, Lindley has escaped. He was not Sir Reginald Edgar, so he did not write that a monster had been released by him, Barling, and Hugo Stanton.
Instead he wrote, No witnesses. Again. At least, none that could be found.
His earlier note stared up at him.
Why would Nicholas Lindley want Geoffrey Smith dead?
Under it he wrote:
Why would Nicholas Lindley want Bartholomew Theaker dead?
Barling shook his head. He did not think for one moment that he or Stanton was responsible for Lindley’s escape. Lindley was: he was the one who had found a way out of the gaol. However, Edgar, as well as many people in Claresham, clearly believed the King’s men were blameworthy. Were angry, upset and more.
Emotion. Always emotion. He sighed again.
Truth be told, he had been very surprised by the discovery of the empty gaol. Shocked to the core, in fact. But justice could not be done by having hysterics. Dispassionate enquiry always served the truth best. He poured himself a cup of water, warm as his own blood in the heat of the night. The burden of justice had become much heavier today. Like so much in his life, he would shoulder it without complaint.
He had no other path.
Chapter Twenty-One
Though the day promised to again be very hot, the morning held a slight freshness, much to Barling’s relief.
But as his horse broke into a fast trot to match Stanton’s, he rapidly became overheated once again as he fought to keep his balance. ‘I would like. To view the reed pond again, Stanton.’ By the Virgin, his speech bounced as much as he did.
‘Of course, sir.’
The younger man might as well be sat on one of Edgar’s padded chairs. He seemed so at home on a horse, unlike Barling. Given any say in the matter, Barling would prefer to walk, or ride in a litter, or take a barge, as he liked to do in his beloved London. All were steadier, more pleasing ways of getting about. Horses needed constant watching, were given to sudden fits of unpredictable behaviour. Yet sat astride a horse he was yet again.
‘The reed pond it is, sir.’ Stanton pointed to a track that branched from the main street. ‘It’s down that way.’
‘Stanton, I am giving you permission to call me by my name.’ Barling had thought about this for a good while after Stanton left last night. ‘If you always call me “sir”, then you will be viewed in less regard. I do not want people to view you as some sort of servant.’
Dismay would probably sum up Stanton’s reaction. He nodded, looking as if he would rather never utter another word.
‘While we are making our way there,’ said Barling, ‘show me every place within Claresham that you now know of, or any of which you have heard.’
‘May I ask why, si— Barling?’
‘You heard me mention connections to Edgar, how the murders may be linked. When looking into a murder, into any crime, it is not only the people who are linked. Places often are too. One should look at all different elements together, separately and in combination. You have already been out and about more than me, so you can pass that knowledge on.’
‘I see.’ Stanton raised a hand and began indicating the different homes and buildings and which patches of land were worked by whom.
Barling nodded in approval at Stanton’s sharp memory.
The younger man’s pace slowed as they approached the reed pond, and his gaze darted everywhere.
‘Is there something amiss?’ asked Barling.
‘I’m a bit bothered that Lindley might still be around. And I can’t believe I left Agnes alone here yesterday. Anything could have happened to her.’
‘You did not know at the ti
me that it was murder. There are two of us here, Stanton. We have fast horses at our disposal. Even if Lindley were here, those would be foolish odds. We shall remain vigilant. If there is any cause for concern, we ride away and raise the alarm.’
They dismounted, Stanton with ease and Barling taking great care not to end up in an undignified heap on the ground. He looked over the still pond, then led the way to where the body had lain.
A few crushed plants. Patches of churned-up grass. Water lapping against a bit of the bank that had crumbled in. Nothing more to suggest this was where a man met his violent, untimely death.
‘Looking at it now,’ said Stanton, ‘I find it hard to believe it happened.’ He shuddered. ‘But it did.’
‘A peaceful place indeed. Or rather should be.’ Barling’s gaze swept around the pond.
‘But also a quiet place.’ Stanton still appeared on edge. ‘Maybe Lindley was hiding out here and Theaker disturbed him.’
‘Perhaps.’
The reeds that Theaker had cut over many weeks sat stacked a few yards away, drying in the sun.
‘We need to check over there, Stanton.’ Barling led the way to them, his horse’s reins firm in one hand. He did not expect to find anything. The stacks were low and tightly packed. Reeds did not have the softness, warmth or concealing qualities of hay.
‘All down to Theaker’s hard work,’ said Stanton. ‘And now he’ll know none of it. A shame.’
‘As he will never have his betrothed, Agnes, as his wife.’
‘I wonder how she is,’ said Stanton. ‘She seemed to go into a sort of walking faint yesterday.’
‘She did. Time to move on from here.’ Barling put a foot in one stirrup, prepared to mount.
‘Her heart must be broken, mustn’t it?’ Stanton was already back in the saddle. ‘First her father, now Theaker. Poor Agnes.’
‘You make a good point about Agnes Smith.’ Barling was up too, though with a struggle that had him huffing with effort.
‘That she must be heartbroken?’ replied Stanton. ‘I think most folk would guess that.’