The Dead Don't Wai

by Michael Jecks

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I reckon she believes the murderer might have been one of her boys. If she realizes it couldn’t be them, she may be more helpful.’

  Dorothy was sweeping the inn when I arrived.

  ‘Mistress, please, could you speak with me for a little?’

  Her eyes went cold, as if shutters had been dropped over her soul. ‘If you think I am available, you had best leave the inn this minute!’

  ‘No, Dorothy! It’s the murder. You never saw another man there, did you? You believed it was your son who killed Peter, so you invented the figure you saw. You wanted to blame someone else – anyone – didn’t you?’

  ‘No, not at all!’

  ‘Dorothy, it couldn’t have been one of your children! Believe me! It was someone else.’

  ‘Well, of course,’ she said, looking somewhat flustered.

  ‘Whoever killed Peter was a big man, strong enough to haul his body up there to the road. Your boys aren’t big enough to have carried him all the way from the mill. Not even Walt and Ed together, likely enough. What would they have been doing at the mill, in any case?’

  ‘Do you swear to me that you don’t think they had a part in this?’

  ‘Yes, I swear it on the Gospels. I truly do not think them capable of it. But I think you feared for them because you are a mother. And I think you saw something that made you believe others could suspect your son.’

  ‘It was less that than the fact that all know Ed has a dreadful temper when he has been drinking, and he had been that evening.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  In answer, Dorothy called to the lad. He had been in the parlour and was sleepy when he appeared, rubbing his eyes. When he caught sight of me, his expression darkened. ‘What, has he insulted you, mother?’

  ‘No. Just come here and tell him what you told me.’

  ‘You said you wouldn’t tell anyone.’

  ‘And now I have. This man is trying to help, I think.’

  He looked up at me. His mother recognized the decency in my clear features, but her whelp was of a less forgiving nature, it was clear.

  ‘Tell me what you saw,’ I said. ‘Because it is just possible that your life could be in danger, otherwise. After all, if you saw something, and the real murderer realizes, it is likely that he’ll try to kill you to silence you forever. Once a man has murdered once, a second and third killing are no difficulty.’

  Ed glanced at his mother. ‘Which is why I said not to talk of it,’ he said accusingly.

  ‘Now she has, what will you do? Punch her again or start speaking the truth?’ I demanded.

  He sulked a bit at that, but then started to tell what he had seen.

  I won’t give his words verbatim. He rambled, and there were many expostulations of his innocence and the cruelty and unfairness of life towards him and his family, but, in essence, his evidence was this: he had been angry with his father and had a loud rancorous argument with him in the street, as Harknet had mentioned, I now recalled. His mother had heard them shouting at each other, and heard Ed saying that he would have his revenge on his father for deserting them. That evening, he had seen his father and followed him down to the mill. He had been going to attack his father, but then he saw someone else in the woods who was obviously stalking his father.

  ‘Did you recognize him?’ I asked.

  ‘No. He was in among the trees. But he was a big man. Beefy.’

  That could be almost anyone. ‘Then?’

  ‘My father went into the mill, and I heard voices. I stalked the mill, creeping quietly, and it took me some while. And then, when I was almost at the door, I heard a scream and a shout.’

  ‘What about the man following him?’

  ‘I didn’t see where he went, but I don’t think he was there in the woods. He must have left.’

  ‘Or gone inside the mill as well,’ I said. It could have been the miller, or perhaps Jen’s boyfriend Hal. Or someone else entirely.

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘There was no means for you to recognize him, though?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What were you doing there, Ed? Did you hope to see your father with Jen? Was that it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he muttered, and suddenly all pretence of adulthood left him. He had his arms wrapped about his breast, and he looked over at Dorothy imploringly, twisting his torso this way and that. ‘I just thought if I saw him with her, I’d be able to forget him, you know? If I saw he was betraying Mother, and us, then I could leave him and we could all go and find a new life without him. It was just … I don’t know.’

  ‘You didn’t have a weapon? You didn’t mean to steal up on him and stab him?’

  He shook his head. ‘My own father? What do you think I am?’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘The door burst open, and I saw her: Jen, all covered in blood, wailing and moaning, and wild, like a mad woman! She pelted up from the mill, straight past me, and stood panting. Then she ran back and stopped yards from the door, before running back towards me again. I slipped behind a tree, and she went on past. She looked so scared, so horrified … It made me feel the same.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘The middle hours of the night.’

  ‘What did she do?’

  ‘She ran past me, up to the road. I know that Ben saw her up there; I tried to tell him it was just a dream, but he didn’t believe me.’

  ‘No one chased after her?’

  ‘I didn’t see anyone. I waited there a while, and whoever it was in the woods didn’t come back, not that I saw, anyway. So I followed Jen back towards the village. I didn’t see her. I came back here and shut myself inside. I didn’t want to see her again. All that blood!’

  ‘She didn’t scream or cry out that you heard?’

  ‘No, just moaned and groaned like someone with a real bad fever.’

  When I saw Humfrie, I told him I was going to return to London. I was convinced that Jen and her Hal were Cat and Henry. It was the merest chance that I had happened upon them, of course, but chance was a wonderful thing on occasion.

  Humfrie and I set off as soon as we could, and we were in London again by the middle of the afternoon. We left the ponies at a stable and made our way through the streets to Ludgate, searching for Cat and Henry. It took some little while, but I returned to those taverns where I had seen her before, and at the Blue Bear I felt lucky. I sat in the dark, while Humfrie sat at a table with a clear view of the people entering, kicking my shin whenever a likely looking woman walked in.

  It was the fourth woman, just as I was beginning to develop a painful bruise, which proved to be her.

  I rose and walked to her, while Humfrie moved to the door to prevent a sudden escape.

  ‘Hello, Jen,’ I said.

  Her head shot to me, and instantly her eyes were shaded with fear. She was about to try to bolt, but I stood foursquare before her, blocking her path, and Humfrie stood behind her when she turned in that direction. In the end, she had to accept that she had no choice, and when I saw the urgent desire to fly turn to resignation, I sat beside her.

  ‘It must have been horrible, seeing what Hal had done, Jen,’ I said.

  ‘How did you learn my real name?’

  ‘It wasn’t difficult to work out. After all, you and Hal have a certain skill at getting money, don’t you?’

  ‘Did you take it back?’

  ‘Of course. You didn’t think you could get away with robbing me, did you?’

  ‘We didn’t think you’d realize it was us.’

  ‘My head is still sore after his punch.’

  She grinned weakly. ‘Didn’t I make up for that?’

  ‘You’re good, but not that good,’ I said. A serving wench passed, and I asked for a jug of wine and three cups, beckoning Humfrie to join us. ‘I know it all, I think, maid. Your father forced you into his bed, sold you to other men for their pleasure—’

  ‘It was horrible!’
she said, shuddering, looking away from us and staring down at the floor. ‘I knew it was wrong, but what could I do? I would have run away, but in the end I went to our new priest. I thought he would be able to help me. Except he had other ideas. A few days ago he appeared and paid my father to sleep with me. It was horrible. I knew then what men thought of me.’

  I almost put a hand to her shoulder, to show her that I didn’t think of her like that. I thought it might help me later, but memories of Dorothy’s response when I had attempted to show her sympathy stayed my hand.

  ‘And then Hal came,’ she said with a quiet smile.

  ‘You fell in love with him and he with you, and you both began to plan how to save you from your father.’

  ‘We didn’t even think of that, no. It was just good to be with him. We were not careful, though. We were outside once, and Harknet came down the lane and saw us, I think, but we didn’t care. We love each other.’

  ‘Which is why he hit me so hard when you were in my bed,’ I said ruefully.

  ‘I was really shocked to see you after he hit you,’ she said, but there was a chuckle in her throat.

  ‘But your father sold you one last time, and Hal couldn’t bear to see you with another man, so he lashed out and killed Peter. And then your father saw what you had done, and Hal killed him too, and you …’

  Her face had fallen. ‘What? What do you mean? My father was killed? He’s dead? No!’

  ‘You pretend you didn’t know he had died?’

  ‘I … he can’t be dead! That’s not what happened!’

  ‘Then what did happen?’

  ‘Father told me I had to sleep with Father Peter when he asked. Father Peter didn’t say anything, but his eyes told me if I didn’t sleep with him … I told him in confidence, but then I saw. If I didn’t do as he wanted, Father Peter would tell Father that I’d confessed and accused him of incest, that he took me every night in his bed. I knew what father would do to me if he heard that. Father Peter knew too. I had no choice,’ she added, her voice so quiet that I could barely hear her. ‘That last night, Father Peter appeared late in the evening while Father was away. He demanded me. I think he had been drinking. He scared me. I let him do what he wanted.’ She lifted a hand to her eyes and wiped away the tears angrily. ‘I had to go to the privy later, and when I got back, he had been stabbed. There was blood everywhere! I’ve never seen anything like it. I knew Hal was in the village. He had been to London and was staying overnight in the stables, so I went to him. He came back with me. To hide what had happened, we dressed Peter and took him up to the road, to make it look like he had been attacked by some outlaws. Hal stabbed him. Again, and again, and … It was horrible, but it made sense to make it look like a real attack.’

  ‘What of your father?’

  ‘He had been in London that day and must have come back early. I don’t know when. I found the pony and cart when I was packing my things, but I didn’t find Father. I thought he was up at the inn, and hadn’t bothered to say he was back. He often did that. He would go up to London and when he came back he’d spend all the money on ale or cider. When I saw the pony, it made sense to take it and make our way to the city. We just decided to get away, to come to London. We knew I could make money on my back, even if Hal didn’t like the thought. And we thought, maybe we could gull fools into my bed and threaten them with exposure or worse, for money.’

  ‘Fools?’

  She had the grace to look apologetic. ‘I am sorry. You looked such an easy mark. I didn’t want to hurt you.’

  Well, it was hurtful, but I consoled myself with the thought that she had at least wanted to come back and stay with me. Even though that was to find out how to get hold of my money, of course, so not terribly consoling.

  ‘So you say that you were not in the mill when your father was killed?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, holding her hands out in a gesture of openness. ‘I don’t know when he was killed. Who killed him?’

  ‘We should take them to the Coroner,’ Humfrie said.

  ‘Is there any point?’ I said. ‘They know little enough.’

  She was looking at me with the expression of an orphan in the snow who spies a warm fire. ‘I’ve told you all I know,’ she said.

  ‘See?’ I said.

  ‘The Coroner will want to speak to her,’ Humfrie said flatly.

  ‘Is there any point reopening the matter?’ I said. ‘The Coroner wants to know who killed his brother, but does that mean Jen needs to go and admit to all the sorry details?’

  Humfrie looked at me and let out a long-suffering sigh. ‘Her evidence could be useful to help find the murderer.’

  ‘How? Her father returned while she was elsewhere. Peter was there, but died while she was in the privy. She found the body of the priest, but someone else took it up to the road, and someone else killed her father.’

  ‘So she says. He will still want to question her.’

  ‘Well, if he does, he can find her and ask her,’ I said. ‘And now, maid, I suggest you come back with me. Although I am afraid that my strongbox has been moved to a safer place, so there is no need to try to knock me on the head to rob me. Besides, Humfrie here will be guarding me all night. Won’t you, Humfrie?’

  He gave me a bleak look.

  That night was one of those dark ones in which the fumes of a thousand coal fires gave a yellowish tinge to the fog. The fog was thick, and swirled about us as we walked, and I felt my cough begin to return. At least before it had been the swirling patterns of incense. These thick London fogs are different. They’re unpleasant at the best of times. The smoke catches at the back of the throat, and the eyes grow sore from the whirling mists. In fact, there was so little vision that at one point I realized we had taken the wrong turning. I was about to mention it to Humfrie, but when I turned, I couldn’t see him either. The London air really can be awful.

  I linked my arm more closely with Jen’s – for now I had to grow accustomed to calling her Jen – and was about to stride onwards when a figure appeared before us, a figure with an expression of affronted surprise on his face. I was about to dart back, but realized that it was only some statuary. I recognized the statue, but was not certain of the location. I knew I had passed this place before now, but for the life of me I could not place it on the map I held in my head.

  And then there was a second figure. Perhaps this one would be more familiar, I thought, and stepped forward to view it, only realizing when I was already too close that this one had a horrible familiarity.

  ‘’Allo, Peter,’ said Arch.

  I bleated something and turned to flee, but there behind me was Hamon. But this was not the usual surly, grimly cynical Hamon I had grown to dislike. This was a new, obstreperous Hamon, who clearly had a desire to treat me to an extensive testing with his snippers.

  ‘’Amon wants a word with you,’ Arch said.

  They took us back along the road, then up a side alley, and suddenly I knew where I was. This was the way to the back of my house. At the little gate that led through the wall to my yard, we were pushed through, stumbling over the lip of the doorway, and forced to stand in the cold while swirls of thick smoke coiled about us.

  ‘You hit me,’ Hamon said. He pulled the gate closed behind him and began to move menacingly in my direction. ‘You’re going to regret it.’

  I was sure he was right. In fact, I already did. His face was twisted into the sort of grimace worn by a demon who had just stabbed his own foot with his trident.

  ‘How about I …’

  ‘And you don’t ’ave the money to repay your debt, do you?’ Arch said. ‘That means you’re goin’ to be taught why it’s not a good idea to take my money under false pretences. Know what that means?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It means you’re pretending to be someone you ain’t. It means pretending you ’ave money, when you ain’t!’

  ‘Well, you won’t get a penny if you hurt me,’ I said. Jen was with me,
and I was tempted to pull her in front of me, but she slipped behind me, and while I tried to grab at her, my hands flailed. I dared not take my eyes off Hamon. He was grinning evilly, and as I watched, his hands went to his belt. His left hand pulled his dagger, while his right reappeared with his snippers. He clenched his fist, and I heard that horrible slithering of steel as the blades slid over each other. It made my bowels turn to water, and I was about to fall to my knees to plead, desperately thinking about anything I could offer, making little moaning noises as I watched the weapons approaching, when something made me lift my chin. A new courage had stiffened my spine. I stood straighter and took a step towards him, and even Hamon hesitated at the sight.

  Now, this will sound like lunatic bravado, I know. If you have read my past chronicles, you will know that I tend to avoid displays of courage. In my experience, courage is vastly overrated. Personally, I prefer a show of simple terror. It tends to create a more substantial atmosphere, I find, in which I can speedily effect an escape at the first opportunity.

  However, there was one thing here that gave me to consider that bluster might be useful. It was the fact that I had observed the wicket gate opening behind the two. As I watched, Humfrie stepped in. He had a hand in his tunic. Now he withdrew it, and I saw that he clutched a light string. There are times when a man’s confidence in his fellow being is forced to accept that it has been dealt a blow. I would have remonstrated with Humfrie, had Hamon not already approached painfully close to me. But now I saw Humfrie whirl the cord about his head twice and then snap it forward. As I watched, it wrapped itself about Hamon’s throat, and Humfrie pulled hard. The cord tightened, and Hamon dropped both weapons, scrabbling with his fingers where it had sunk into his flesh.

  It happened so quickly that Hamon can have known little about his danger. If he had thought, it would have been the work of a moment to slice the string with his snippers or dagger, but before he could register what, or who, had caught him by the throat, the devilish string was constricted and Hamon off balance. As it bit deeper into his throat, his face became suffused, swollen, and he fell backwards, his fingers tearing bloody trails in his flesh as he tried to obtain some purchase on it. He was slowly strangling as Humfrie kept a careful tension on the cord.