‘He is, and he can rot there until he talks.’
‘Did you find a nalbinding needle in his house?’
‘No. I searched it myself. There was nothing to tie him to the killings.’
‘No one else has died,’ John said. ‘Maybe they’ve had all the revenge they wanted.’
‘That tale hasn’t ended yet,’ the coroner said. ‘I can feel that in my bones.’ He sighed. ‘Tell me, Carpenter, do you think an offering might help stop the plague here?’
‘An offering?’ He didn’t understand. ‘What do you mean, Master?’
‘I was thinking of a bench in the church for the choir.’
He’d seen them before in York. Some were grand, carved affairs; the choir stall in the Minster was intricate and breathtaking in its beauty. Others were plain, honest in their simplicity.
‘Do you honestly believe it might save us?’
‘I’d like to believe something,’ de Harville answered with a wry laugh. ‘Isn’t that enough?’
‘I’m no priest, Master. I couldn’t say.’
‘More’s the pity. We need a new one.’ He sighed. ‘Someone to look after our dead.’
‘Who suggested Father Crispin for the living here and in Castleton?’ John said thoughtfully. ‘Do you remember?’
‘They’re both the Bishop of Lincoln’s gift to give,’ the coroner replied. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Someone must have suggested to the bishop that Crispin should be given the posts.’
‘I see.’ De Harville nodded. ‘And that man would know Crispin’s real story. I don’t know who was responsible, but I can send a letter. Whether we’ll receive a truthful answer is another matter.’ He pushed himself away from the wall. ‘Take care of yourself, Carpenter. I’ll tell you when I want that bench.’
• • •
Sunday and the church was full. Outside it was a still day, not even the smallest breath of wind. Inside, the air seemed stifling. One goodwife had to be taken out to sit in the porch as the heat overcame her. People prayed for the plague victims, but even more for themselves and their families, that the disease would keep clear of them.
The churchyard felt clean and clear as they emerged. Juliana was hot to his touch and she pulled unhappily on their hands. Walter was chattering to a girl who looked up at him adoringly. John nudged his wife. She followed his gaze and smiled. Soon the boy might well be courting, whether he realised it yet or not.
As he looked, a bailiff came running, searching around for the coroner then whispering in his ear. De Harville’s mouth became a thin frown. He spoke quickly to his wife and strode off with the bailiff towards the jail.
Malcolm. It had to be. Either the man had decided to speak or he was dead.
‘John,’ Katherine said.
‘I’m sorry.’ He’d missed whatever she’d told him.
‘We need to take Juliana home and bathe her with cold water.’
‘Yes.’ He felt the tug of a small arm. ‘Come on. You’ll feel better very soon.’
After they’d soothed the girl he dunked his own head in the basin and came up with his hair dripping, making her laugh. But it cleared his thoughts and refreshed him as the coolness trickled down his back.
‘We could take a walk later,’ he suggested.
‘What about Martha?’ Katherine asked. ‘She can’t walk far.’
‘Ask her when she returns from church.’
Dinner was a welter of talk. Dame Martha brought her gossip from the gaggle of goodwives. Eleanor and Jeanette teased Walter about talking so long to a girl and Juliana decided it was a good time to wail. John drew his daughter on to his lap, slowly quietening her until her eyes closed and she began to doze.
‘You and Katherine go for your walk,’ Martha said at the end of the meal. ‘The girls and I can look after Juliana.’
He looked at his wife. For a moment she was undecided, then gave a nod.
‘Thank you.’ She looked at her sisters. ‘You can clear everything. And make sure you behave for Dame Martha.’
• • •
They kept to the shaded paths, where things felt cooler, with the light soft and dappled on the ground as it came through the leaves. He took hold of her hand and led her along the track. It was rare for them to be alone these days. With family, a daughter so young, his work... time was always precious, swallowed up by this and that.
John knew where he was going. The walking seemed aimless, but he had a goal: to see the house where Malcolm lived. Not close, not inside. Simply from a distance, to fix it again in his mind.
The bracken felt soft when they sat and rested their backs against a tree. Somewhere close he could hear the gentle burble of a stream. Birds sang, but even they sounded lazy on this summer afternoon. He’d caught a glimpse of the building, nothing more, but that was enough to satisfy his curiosity.
‘Have you done what you needed, husband?’ Her voice was quietly teasing.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m not a fool.’ She smiled. ‘You brought me this way for a reason, I can tell. And you turned fast enough after we saw that house.’
He had to laugh. She was quick and observant, far too clever for him. He explained it all to her, adding, ‘But it’s also lovely here, with you, on our own.’ He reached and took her hand.
‘I think I’d like to stay here forever. Just let the world go by.’ Katherine sighed. ‘But we can’t, can we?’
‘No. We can rest a few minutes longer, though.’
They didn’t speak, just let the sounds of the wood fill them. Cares, worries, fears all fell away for a short while. His head jerked up at the sound of footsteps on the road and he squinted for a view of the traveller.
Even from this distance he could pick out the scar on the man’s face. His hood was pushed back, showing thick, ragged hair. Thin hose and a pair of boots that kicked up dust with every step. The man had a heavy staff as tall as himself; useful in a fight.
Roland. There was no one else it could be.
For a moment, John wanted to follow. But he knew better. Let him go; none of it concerned him now. Katherine drowsed on, her eyes closed, a peaceful smile on her face. He watched until the man was a speck in the distance and closed his eyes again. But the calm he’d enjoyed wouldn’t return.
‘Come on,’ he said, standing and brushing off his hose. ‘We should go home.’
They drifted back through the woods. She stopped to admire flowers caught in pools of sunlight. Finally they were back on Saltergate and her hand on the latch.
‘I have an errand to run,’ he told her. Before her frown could begin, he said, ‘Only a few minutes. I promise.’
• • •
‘How long ago was this?’ the coroner asked.
‘An hour, perhaps.’
‘I suppose I should be grateful for the small fact of you telling me.’ De Harville’s mouth twisted in anger. ‘He could be anywhere now. You should have followed him or tried to stop him, Carpenter.’
‘No, Master.’ It didn’t need more explanation than that. He saw young Brother Edmund’s gaze move between the two of them, the Adam’s apple bobbing in his thin throat.
‘What’s done is done.’ The coroner sighed. ‘It means the man is still around Chesterfield. That’s something to know. I’ll have the bailiffs double their efforts.’
And that was his dismissal. He walked home, kicking a pebble along the street and watching it bounce. He’d done what he could. He’d kept his promise to Katherine and also kept faith with the coroner. That seemed an honest balance.
Nothing had gone wrong in the house while they walked. The building was still standing, everyone happy. Katherine gave him a curious look as he walked into the hall but she asked no questions and he didn’t say where he’d been. She’d know, anyway; where else could have gone?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
He worked steadily with Alan at his side. Two more days should see them done on the manor house, but he wondered more abou
t the lord who seemed happy to live in little more luxury than his tenants. Still, he was being paid for his work. Anything beyond that was their business. Perhaps the manor in Durham meant nothing.
The old order he’d known when he was a young boy had turned upside down. Even now, fifteen years after the Great Pestilence, there still weren’t enough men to work the land properly. He’d seen fields left to go wild, animals unherded.
Where men once gave service to their lord, now they gave money; the steward was right. People settled elsewhere for the chance to make a better living. The ties that once bound had all been severed. It seemed to him that the new way was better, that people had some choice, and for the first time, some opportunity. He was lucky, he had a trade. Most, though, had nothing.
Some had bought small plots of land, enough to serve them and their families and sell produce in the markets; he knew one of two of them just outside Chesterfield. That could never have happened before. If the plague was God’s punishment on mankind, the way so many insisted, perhaps it was for the system the rich had created. Those were heretical thoughts, treasonable, and he knew it. He’d never speak them to anyone, not even his own family. But still they remained in his head.
You’ve been quiet, Alan signed as they ate their dinner.
‘Just thinking,’ John answered. ‘Don’t worry, nothing to do with you.’
It was enough to satisfy.
Evening was slowly arriving as they put the tools in the satchels and began to walk home. Suddenly Alan had questions.
What tool should I buy next, his fingers asked.
‘A hammer.’ It was an obvious answer. By now the boy should know that. Perhaps he wanted to be certain. John studied the hand as it moved, then said, ‘Yes, I’ll come with you to choose it, if you like.’
He understood the reason. It was all too easy to take advantage of a child. With him there, no one would try to overcharge.
At least there had been no more plague victims since Saturday. He could see the small hope on the faces as he walked.
• • •
During supper Walter looked troubled. He stayed quiet and as soon as the meal was done, he went out into the garden. Katherine raised an eyebrow but John had already noticed. He followed the lad.
‘Is something wrong?’
Walter paced up and down – three steps and turn, three steps and turn – biting his lip.
‘The coroner stopped me today, John.’
‘De Harville?’ he asked in astonishment. ‘What did he want?’ Whatever it was, this wouldn’t be welcome news.
‘He said he wanted me to watch for Roland, the one with a scar on his face.’
‘The man we discussed.’
‘And if I saw him, I was to follow him and report on where he went.’
‘I see.’ It was one thing if he asked for the lad’s assistance. He cared for Walter. For the coroner to do it was quite different. ‘What did you tell him?’
‘That I wanted to talk to you. He laughed and asked if I wasn’t old enough to make my own decisions.’
John snorted. That sounded like the man, right enough. Pass on the danger.
‘What do you think I should do, John?’ Walter continued. ‘He says he knows I can do it safely.’
He looked at the lad. As tall as a man, and growing quickly into his body. He was on the cusp, leaving one thing but not yet become another. De Harville knew how easy it was to flatter someone or to make them doubt themselves. He used all that with no thought to what might happen.
‘Do you really want my advice?’ He sat on the bench.
‘Yes, John. I do.’
‘Don’t do it.’
‘Why?’ His face clouded; he didn’t understand. ‘You’ve worked for him and I’ve worked with you. Is that different?’
‘Yes, it is. He isn’t your family.’ John wondered how he could explain it. ‘Did he offer to pay you?’
‘No.’
‘Then he wants your help but he doesn’t value it. Or you.’
‘But shouldn’t we arrest people who’ve killed, and hang them?’
‘Of course we should. First we need to try them to be sure they’re guilty.’
‘Yes, but...’ the lad’s words faded.
Walter wanted some excitement in his life. He was young, his blood ran hot; all that was natural. He had a natural cleverness in many things. But the coroner was going against a very dangerous man.
‘It’s your decision to make,’ he said finally. ‘You asked me what I think and I told you. And I’m certain your sister would say the same thing. She doesn’t trust him.’
It was all too easy to read Walter’s face, the mix of disappointment and relief at not having to make the decision himself. The lad trusted him; with luck, he’d listen.
Finally, Walter nodded. ‘I’m not going to do it.’
• • •
‘It seems your family is snubbing me, Carpenter.’
He’d heard the hooves as he crossed the market square. The job at the manor was complete, the worried steward satisfied and smiling. John had walked with Alan to his house. Now he simply wanted to be home. Today had been hotter than before, and angry clouds were gathering in the hills to the west; the air was so close that he was soaked with sweat.
‘Good day to you, Master.’
‘Your wife’s brother has said he doesn’t want to work for me.’
The rowels of the coroner’s spurs shone in the light. He was dressed in green and blue again and armed with a sword. The bailiff who was his shadow and guard sat awkwardly on another horse.
‘That’s his choice.’
‘But you and your wife told him not to do it.’
John looked up at the man. ‘I advised him. Roland is dangerous. Walter can make up his own mind. If he doesn’t want to help you, that’s his business.’
‘And bringing men who murder to justice is everyone’s business. It’s the law, remember that. It’s why we have juries and the hue and cry.’
‘Haven’t Walter and I have served you in the past?’ He could feel his anger rising and the barbed edge in his voice. Better to control it, he thought; he’d never win an argument against this man.
‘You have,’ de Harville acknowledged reluctantly. ‘Both of you. But it’s your obligation to help whenever I need it.’
‘Obligation, Master?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve fulfilled that. I was tied and almost killed, or have you forgotten that? When your wife asked me to find you after you’d been taken, I did that.’ He knew he was almost shouting but he didn’t care. The fury had boiled over. ‘I’ve done more to help you than ten other men in this town. Walter’s done his duty before, too, and you know it. No, Master. Find someone else.’
The coroner glared, then pulled on the reins to turn his horse and let it walk slowly away. Behind him, the bailiff grinned and winked before following.
An end to things? No, he thought. Some things never ended. De Harville would never give up so easily.
• • •
‘The girl threw the hand after them and barred the door so they couldn’t return,’ Dame Martha finished the story with a flourish. ‘At least, that’s the way it was told to me.’
It sounded unlikely, sad and horrible. But no one would allow the truth to intrude on a good tale. The girls scrambled up, kissed her and left the room, giggling. They didn’t believe it either, but they loved her stories.
Martha returned to sorting through her things and packing them into chests.
‘Ready for moving back to your old house?’
She nodded. ‘William’s widow came to see me today. They’ll be gone in a fortnight.’ She picked up a dress of deep blue silk. ‘It’s odd. The older I grow, the less I want. I remember when I loved the idea of a new gown. Now I just wonder when I’d ever wear it.’ She smiled. ‘Silly old woman, I know.’
‘Not so old.’
‘Get away with you, John. You’d better go and help your wife. T
here’s plenty she’ll need to pack.’
Katherine had the girls working, arranging things in the kitchen so they’d be ready to go. She ran a hand across her forehead. The wimple sat a little askew, a few strands of hair escaping.
‘There’s so much to do. A lifetime of things. Ours, our mother’s...’
‘Take it all,’ he told her. ‘The new house has plenty of room.’
‘Why? There’s so much we don’t need.’
‘There are memories.’
‘Those are in our hearts, John.’ She looked at him tenderly. ‘We carry them wherever we go.’
She was right, of course. The important things stayed inside, never lost. She shooed him away to let her work. Safer to go, to pour a cup of ale and sit in the garden. He’d need to hire a carter for the move. Hugh would do well if he was available. At least he knew the cart was solid, John thought with a smile.
He had calmed down. The coroner could make his blood boil and set his humours out of balance at times. All this talk of obligation. It flowed both ways, not that the man would ever think of that. He took all he could and gave nothing in return.
• • •
The days passed. He worked, Alan at his side. Small jobs that took no more than a few hours. But they were there and they paid money. Easy work; the boy could probably have managed most of it on his own.
He was ready for another good challenge. The byre out at Cutthorpe had offered that, but he was ready for more. Something that made him think hard and taxed his skills. He knew he shouldn’t complain; he had work to keep him busy and already others wanted his services. But between that and the rush of cleaning and packing at home he needed something to test himself, to remind himself of what he could truly do.
One more case of the pestilence that day, the victim already moving quickly towards death. The one who’d lately recovered, though, was well enough to walk around the town. People kept their distance in a mix of awe and fear. Why had God spared him? Was there something special? Did he still have the disease? Could he pass it on? How long before that faded, John wondered? How much time before all the tears and the scars were just faint memories?
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