He’d given little more thought to the coroner and the man who killed with the nalbinding needle, happy to let it all fade. Let de Harville go after Roland, if that was what he desired.
John saw the coroner around the town, but always from a distance. The man would ignore him if they met, he felt certain; that was his choice. It didn’t matter at all. And so his days continued. Each evening he came back to a house that looked a little more barren, as their things were packed away into chests for the move.
He arranged with Hugh to move their goods. And he prayed that nothing would happen before that. Martha had never experienced another episode of vanishing from the world for a few moments. Still, he and Katherine watched her carefully.
After the scare the Saturday before, fewer people attended this week’s market. There were still enough to keep it busy, though. He walked down with Walter, only to see the lad quickly vanish as soon as he saw the girl he knew. Growing, John thought, and good luck to him.
In their livery, three of the bailiffs patrolled the crowd, eyes searching, hands on their weapons as people kept clear of them. They obviously hadn’t found Roland yet, he decided. He spotted de Harville, twenty yards away and standing out in a blood red jerkin and yellow hose, displayed like the peacock he desired to be. None of his business, John told himself. None of his business.
He bought more nails and exchanged some gossip with the smith from Apperknowle, learning that the owner of the inn out there needed work on her house. A man he’d never met before stopped and asked how much it might cost to make a new set of shutters. A woman who lived out towards Holywell needed a latch for her door.
This was how most of his work came. People simply stopped him, at the market like this or on the street. By now people knew him, and word had passed that he did a good, honest job. But a reputation was a fragile flower. The smallest breath of doubt could ruin it.
From the corner of his eye he could see Walter and the girl walking away together. No sense in waiting for the lad. In most things he had his own life to live now. He bought the butter and eggs that Katherine wanted, balancing the packages as he slid between people and made his way home.
The girls were spinning, their lessons done. Their slates sat on the table, covered in letters and numbers, shapes he didn’t understand. Dame Martha sat there, a small scrap of vellum in front of her.
‘Something interesting?’ he asked.
She raised her head. The old woman was smiling broadly even as the tears flowed down her cheeks.
‘A note from Brother Robert. He begged the parchment and sent it with a carter who was coming to Chesterfield.’
‘How is he?’ John sat and looked at the scratchings in dark ink. He missed the monk. He’d been the only one who could keep the coroner in any kind of check.
‘He’s happy to be there at last. They haven’t given him any duties. He helps where he wants.’
‘I’m pleased for him. He’s earned it ten times over.’
‘I miss him, you know.’
He put his hand gently on top of hers. Her fingers were gnarled with age.
‘Obviously he misses you, too. But he’s happy. And we hope you are, too.’
‘I am.’
‘You could write back to him?’
Martha shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t know what to say.’
‘There’s plenty to tell him. What about the move? How things are in the town. He lived here long enough to be a part of things, of course he’d want to know. But if you do, send him our greetings.’
She pursed her lips. ‘Maybe I will.’
• • •
The coroner and his family didn’t appear for Sunday service. At first John paid it no mind. He was watching the choir and looking to see where a bench for them might fit, scarcely paying attention to the prayers.
But as people came out from the stuffy, thick air to breathe deeply in the light, rumours were already flying. They’d come down with the plague and were keeping it quiet; he’d taken his wife and son away so they’d be safe from the disease.
‘Do you think any of it’s true?’ Katherine asked. She let Juliana go and watched the girl toddle a few steps, turn and laugh.
‘No. If it was the sickness then we’d all have heard. You can’t keep that quiet. Not here.’ He glanced around, from the tall spire on the church across the spread of houses. In a place like this it was hard to keep many secrets. Not impossible; he’d learned that. But not when it came to illness.
‘I wonder what it is?’ Curiosity glinted in her eye for a moment, then she chased after Juliana, scooping her up and twirling her around.
Doubtless de Harville had his reasons. They’d come out in time. He waited for Martha as she gossiped with two of the other old goodwives. Soon, perhaps, they’d have their own priest again. The curate who came from Clay Cross did his best, but Chesterfield needed someone who lived here. Someone who would become part of the town, not like Father Crispin.
As he thought of the man his mind drifted to Roland, to Malcolm, and all the others dead and alive who were part of that tale. He pushed them away again. There were brighter things to consider on a beautiful Sunday. Perhaps he and Walter could walk up towards Brampton and try to catch a fish or two for supper. He’d cut poles for them the summer before and fashioned hooks from two old, bent nails.
• • •
In the end they caught one each. Small things, not even enough to feed everyone. But a lazy afternoon of sitting on the riverbank and enjoying the sun and shade was reward in itself. He and Walter barely spoke; they didn’t need to, they just enjoyed being there, taking in the songs of the birds, the snuffle of animals in the undergrowth, A kingfisher dazzled for a moment with the subtle colours of its wings as it flashed by. Thirty yards upstream a heron swooped and made off with its catch.
• • •
There was a high, full moon riding in the sky and lighting up the land. John sat in the garden with a mug of ale. Everyone else in the house was asleep but rest wasn’t ready to take him yet.
There was a gentle warmth to the night. He watched the play of shade as thin clouds crossed the sky. All the stars up there, too many for a hundred men to count in a lifetime, each as small as pins. What strings held them? He didn’t know and he’d never asked anyone. They’d been there all his life and the generations before. They’d still be there for Juliana and the children she had.
Learned men might understand about stars and the moon and the sun. Let them; for him it was enough that they hung with light and warmth and magic. God placed them there, a priest told him once, back at the beginning of the world. That made enough sense to satisfy.
Tomorrow he’d begin work on another job, a settle for a shoemaker on Soutergate. The man had set his heart on one for years, saving his money until he could afford it. He’d even sketched out how he wanted it to look, using a stick in the dirt.
‘Can you make that, Master?’ he asked John.
He could. It was simple enough work. He’d already ordered stout oak; it was sitting in the plot behind the shoemaker’s shop. Two days to bring a lifetime of joy to a man and be paid for the pleasure. That seemed a fair bargain.
• • •
He’d been sitting for almost an hour when the noise roused him. Someone hammering on the door loud enough to wake the whole street. He rushed through the house and opened the latch.
One of the bailiffs stood there, red-faced and breathless with an agony of worry in his eyes.
‘Quick as you can, Master. The coroner needs you.’
‘Needs me? Is someone dead?’
The man shook his head. ‘He’ll tell you, Master. Best he does it himself.’
Then he was gone.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The knocking had woken Katherine. She stood at the top of the stairs to the solar, rubbing her eyes.
‘What is it?’ she asked sleepily.
‘Something to do with de Harville,’ John replied. ‘That’s all I know.�
�� He pulled on his tunic, the leather jerkin on top of it.
‘Please, John, leave it all.’
‘I’m just going to see what it is. It seemed urgent.’ He thought about the bailiff’s expression. ‘Desperate.’
The streets were empty. His footsteps echoed and he walked quickly. The houses were all dark until he reached the High Street. Light chinked through the shutters in the coroner’s home. The door to the stable was open, a candle flickering inside.
The servant showed him through to the hall. De Harville’s wife sat on the bench under the window with her head in her hands. At the table Brother Edmund wore a sorrowful expression. The coroner paced from one side of the room to another wearing a face like death.
‘You wanted me, Master.’
The man halted and turned. He looked ten years older.
‘My son’s been taken.’
‘Taken?’ For a moment he didn’t understand. Taken where? How?
‘This evening he was in the garden with his nurse. She came back into the house for something. When she returned he wasn’t there.’
He’d been in that garden. It was surrounded by a high wall. It would be impossible for any young boy to climb over. John heard the coroner’s wife moan softly.
‘You weren’t in church today...’
‘I wasn’t well.’ He dismissed it. ‘We’ve searched everywhere. You know who’s done it, don’t you, Carpenter?’
‘Maybe—’
‘I said we’ve searched everywhere,’ the coroner snapped. ‘Someone was watching. They saw the opportunity and they took him. Roland.’
‘Then tell the town,’ John said. ‘Wake them. Everyone would go looking for a young boy.’
‘No.’ The answer was firm. ‘The bailiffs are already out.’
‘You know the news will be all over by morning, Master.’
‘My son has been taken as revenge,’ the coroner continued. ‘I know it. So do you.’
The woman was crying now, small sobs that racked her body. De Harville looked at her helplessly. He bit his lips and breathed hard.
‘We can’t do anything in the middle of the night.’
De Harville stared at him. ‘I want you to lead the search, Carpenter.’
‘Me? You have the bailiffs.’
‘You,’ he repeated. ‘You have the skill for it.’ For once there was humility in his voice. Pleading. ‘I need you, Carpenter.’
‘Please, Master,’ de Harville’s wife begged. She sounded as if her mind was stretched so tight it might snap.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. How could he refuse this? If someone snatched Juliana he’d have moved heaven itself to find her. He wouldn’t stop until she was in his arms. Jesu, the boy must be terrified. ‘As soon as it’s light.’
‘Thank you.’ De Harville nodded. ‘You’ll have whatever you need. A sword, a horse, men. It will be at your command.’
John shook his head. ‘Let me work by myself.’ He didn’t know how to wield a sword, especially not against an expert; he could barely ride, and men would simply get in his way.
Another few hours before sunrise. He needed to try and rest, to be fresh and alert so he could think clearly. But for the coroner and his wife, it would be hour after hour of fear and pain.
‘I’ll be back at first light,’ he said. ‘I promise.’
• • •
‘What was it?’ Katherine asked. She curled against him and he felt the comforting warmth of her body. He’d already stood for a moment and watched his daughter sleep, his heart filled with gratitude.
As soon as he told her, she was awake.
‘You have to help. His wife...’
‘I said I would. But there’s nothing I can do until it’s day.’ He put an arm around her shoulders and gently pulled her down next to him.
His eyes closed but he couldn’t sleep. His mind darted from one thought to the next. Where could the boy be? Where should he search first? There was so much land around Chesterfield. Someone might be holding the boy inside the town itself.
Before dawn he slid out of bed and dressed, washed himself and cleaned his teeth with a willow twig in the buttery and walked to the coroner’s house. The candles were still burning, de Harville and a weary Brother Edmund sitting in the hall.
‘Are you ready, Carpenter?’
Off to the east he could see the first band of light above the horizon. A little while longer and he’d be able to start. He could see the faint prayer of hope in the coroner’s eyes and wondered what would be there by the end of the day.
‘I’ll do the best I can, Master.’
‘I’m relying on you. Where do you want the bailiffs to look?’
Anywhere, he wanted to say. He had no sense of where to begin.
‘The other side of the Hipper. Where I found you. Have them comb every field and all the woods.’
It was as good a place as any for them to begin.
‘Where will you be, in case I need you?’
‘Looking between here and Unstone.’ He had no idea what made him say it. But Crispin’s body had been found close to there and Malcolm’s house was out that way.
‘Then God be with you.’
John had barely passed the church when he heard someone running. Walter, with eagerness and worry on his face.
‘Katherine told me. Are you going to search?’ he asked. ‘Can I help you?’
He wanted to say no, but another pair of good eyes might help. And working for the coroner now was a good deed, not serving the whim of a man’s pride.
‘Yes, of course.’
They each took one side of the road, beating into the bushes, looking at all the empty buildings they passed. Nothing. No hint that anyone had been in them.
The boy could be dead. They were words he would never say to de Harville. Not to any father. There was no need; the thought would already be there, hovering like a dark shadow at the back of the man’s mind.
He saw Walter in the distance; the lad shook his head.
It went slowly, and with each pace his spirits sank a little lower. The abductor could have the boy miles away by now if he desired. Dead, alive, here, gone: it was impossible to know. Only to pray and have the feeling, the pale sense that they might be close.
He talked to every traveller he saw and stopped at all the homes. No one knew anything. By noon they hadn’t found a single thing. John’s belly rumbled; he hadn’t broken his fast yet. They had no food, just some water from a stream as they sat under the shade of a tree.
‘What do we do now, John?’ Walter asked.
‘I wish I knew.’ They’d gone as far as Unstone, been through every room in the house where Malcolm lived. If the bailiffs had found the boy, a rider would have come to tell him. ‘We’ll head over towards Cutthorpe,’ he decided. No reason to believe the boy might be there but at least he felt they were doing something.
But it was fruitless. They stayed out until the light began to fade, then walked back to Chesterfield. His feet ached and his head hurt. He needed sleep. First, though, he had to see the coroner.
‘You go home,’ he told Walter. ‘I’ll be there soon.’
The hall was silent, just de Harville seated in his chair. He turned enough to see the emptiness on John’s face, and his expression slumped.
‘The bailiffs...?’
‘They didn’t find anything. I sent them to look in the area around the leper colony but there was nothing. I went out towards Whittington.’ He shook his head in despair.
‘We’ve done all we can today, Master. We can’t see any more out there.’ Easy enough for him to say when it wasn’t his child.
‘I know.’ The coroner gave a tight nod. ‘People from the town have been out, too, God praise them. I feel so helpless.’
‘How’s your wife?’
‘The wise woman gave me something to help her rest.’
‘We’ll start again at dawn.’
• • •
Katherine and Dame Martha had questions, on
e after another, and he tried to answer as he gulped down a bowl of pottage. What could he tell them that the gossips hadn’t already put about? The boy had been taken. The coroner believed he knew who’d done it. But he still needed to be found. For now, that was the sum of the story.
He kissed his wife and climbed the steps to the solar. Rest was what he needed. He ached, tired to his bones. First, though, he took time to gaze down at Juliana, sleeping so innocently in her own small bed. Seeing her was enough to make him realise he’d continue with the search until they found the boy, alive or dead.
• • •
Katherine shook him awake. John stirred and rolled on to his back.
‘It’s almost light,’ she whispered. He could see the small change in colour through the tiny gaps in the shutters. He was ready to rise. He dressed and shook Walter. There was time to eat, a little bread and cheese, enough to keep him going during the day.
A small crowd had gathered outside de Harville’s stable, almost twenty men willing to hunt for the boy. Inside the house, the coroner looked as though he hadn’t slept. He wore yesterday’s clothes, had deep circles under his eyes and his skin was the colour of ash. A scrap of vellum lay on the table by his hand.
‘I’ve had a note,’ he said. His voice was bleak. ‘The servant found it when she opened the door this morning. It was weighted down by a stone.’
‘What does it say, Master?’
The man didn’t need to look. It was in his memory as surely as if someone had burned it there.
‘“You’ll never find me. You know that. The only way to see your son alive again is to release Malcolm. When I see him, your boy will be free.”’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Tell me, Carpenter, and tell me honestly: what chance do you think you have?’
They both knew, but de Harville needed to hear the words.
‘Beyond luck and God’s good grace, none at all.’
‘Then I have no choice.’ The coroner sighed. He suddenly looked like an old, broken man. ‘Thank you, Carpenter.’
‘What are you going to do, Master?’
‘What he demands. What choice do I have?’
The Holywell Dead Page 17
