‘Just look out for yourself. Please.’
‘I will.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bakewell looked smaller than Chesterfield, a neat little market town that stood on the far side of a new bridge.
John slipped down from the cart with thanks for the driver. He’d been lucky to find someone heading here after he’d only walked a couple of miles. The pace was little faster than walking, but he arrived fresh and with less wear on his boots.
He’d set off early, before dawn while the air was still cool. He’d given Walter his instructions – to find out all he could about Stephen the salt merchant and the two other mysterious men who’d visited Julian.
The boy had been disappointed not to come with him, but this was a job for one person. He had the coroner’s letter of authority in his scrip. All he needed was to find the right people.
The market square was empty. A few shops lined the street, and a pair of alehouses were marked out by their signs. It seemed like a sleepy little place, one that probably only came alive on market day.
A few questions led him to the bailiff’s house. The man who answered the door had a patchy beard, grey mixed with black, and hair receding from his forehead. His shirt bulged over a wide stomach, thick legs straining against a stout pair of hose.
John produced the letter. The bailiff looked at it quizzically.
‘What is it?’ he asked as he scratched an ear.
‘It’s from the coroner in Chesterfield. I need to ask some questions here.’
‘Aye.’ The man pursed his lips and handed back the piece of parchment. ‘That’s no good to me. I wouldn’t be able to make head nor tail of it. You’d best come in.’
His name was Roger. He’d held the post for a year, since the old bailiff died. It didn’t demand much, but it didn’t pay well, either. At least he no longer had to give service to the lord of the manor and he had strips enough to grow what he needed.
‘It’s not a bad life,’ he said as he poured another mug of ale for them both. ‘We don’t have much crime here. Just a few fights, really, or a dispute over boundaries. Now, what do you want?’
‘I’m looking for two people. Stephen the salt merchant–’ he saw Roger nod ‘–and a boy called Piers. He went to be an apprentice to a butcher in Chesterfield. I think he might have come back here.’
‘Everyone knows Stephen,’ the bailiff told him. ‘He calls himself a salt merchant, but the amount of trade he does would hardly keep a chicken alive. Not that you’d know it to look at him.’
‘A lordling?’ John asked.
‘He certainly dresses the part,’ Roger agreed. ‘What’s he done? He’s never given me any trouble here.’
‘I don’t know that he’s done anything. It’s who he visited in Chesterfield.’
He laid out the whole story for the bailiff, beginning with Timothy’s murder and the theft of the psalter. As he finished, Roger rubbed a hand over the bristles on his chin.
‘That’s quite a tale,’ he said in admiration. ‘More like a puzzle.’
‘You can see why I want to talk to Stephen. He might have been one of the last to see Julian alive.’
‘I saw him first thing this morning, strutting around like a bantam cock. He should still be here.’
‘What about Piers?’
Roger sighed. ‘I knew he went off as an apprentice. I haven’t seen him since. The boy has the devil’s own bad luck. His father’s first wife died in the pestilence. He married again and they had Piers and a brother. Then the plague came back three years ago. Took the mother and the other boy.’ He shook his head. ‘The father started drinking and he hasn’t stopped yet. When Piers left I thought there was some hope for the lad.’
‘Never much, given who was his master.’
‘We can see if he’s returned. Who do you want first – him or Stephen?’
• • •
In the end it was Piers. The cottage was no more than a stone’s throw from the bailiff’s house. Neglected, there were slates missing from the roof, a shutter hanging by a single hinge, the limewash faded and crumbling in place. Roger raised an eyebrow and knocked on the door.
Piers looked different in this place. His face was more open and he stood tall, not bowed. Then he saw the carpenter and all the bravado crumbled. He turned, then stopped, panic on his face.
‘Don’t worry,’ John told him. ‘I haven’t come to arrest you. I just have a few more questions.’
Reluctantly, Piers nodded and stepped back into the house. It was a single room, forlorn and dirty, two pallets of straw in the corners, a single joint-stool and a battered table. A floor of bare, beaten earth, not even any rushes on the ground. Hardly a home at all. More a hovel.
The boy sat on one of the beds. He looked resigned, lost.
‘You’ve grown since I saw you last,’ Roger said with a smile. ‘Shot up.’
Piers just nodded blankly.
‘Why did you run away yesterday?’ John asked kindly.
‘You know,’ the lad answered quietly.
‘Nobody thought you killed him.’
‘The coroner did,’ Piers said. ‘I saw the way he was looking at me.’
‘I don’t believe you did. And nor does he. But I think there are some things you saw and didn’t tell me.’
The boy’s head jerked up sharply. The spots on his face were bright red, as if they were burning. ‘I didn’t.’
‘You’re a very bad liar,’ Roger said lazily.
‘Who else did you see?’ John asked.
‘No one,’ Piers muttered.
‘He can take you back to Chesterfield and make you talk,’ Roger said. Panic rose on the lad’s face.
‘Who else did you see?’ he asked again.
‘Christian.’ The name came out as a whisper.
John squatted, looking directly at Piers. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘I’m scared of him … I thought you were going to let me hang.’
‘No, I’m sure you’re innocent.’ He hoped the boy would believe him. ‘When did you see Christian?’
‘He came after the master had gone upstairs for his dinner. I didn’t see him come down again.’
‘Could you have missed him?’
‘No,’ Piers answered with certainty. ‘Unless he went the back way.’
John let out a slow breath. Christian. That changed everything.
‘You said you saw Stephen, too. When was that?’
‘Just after the master went up. I had to take something out to the shed in the yard and he was leaving by the back gate.’
‘You’re sure it was him?’
The boy nodded. ‘He didn’t see me.’
‘Was this before Christian arrived?’
‘Yes.’
‘Had you seen him arrive?’
‘No.’
‘I want you to stay in Bakewell,’ John told him. ‘I might need you to testify in court. Against someone else,’ he added for comfort. ‘You’re not in trouble. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘Maybe it would be best if you came and saw me every day,’ Roger added. ‘Just so we can be sure.’
‘I will,’ Piers agreed.
Outside, the sun was hot and not even at its peak. The bailiff led the way to the riverbank and found a place in the shade.
‘Who’s Christian?’ he asked.
‘The steward of the manor in Dronfield. He and Julian have been friends since they were boys. Cousins.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘The last time I talked to him, he threatened me.’ He chuckled. ‘The lord in Dronfield is the same one you have here.’
Roger snorted. ‘The last time I saw the lord here, my son was ten. He’s twenty now. The steward shows up four times a year for the rent. It’s the reeve who looks after the moot court and everything else. Probably the same up there. Your Christian will have some power.’
‘He seems to think so, anyway.’ He plucked a bla
de of grass and put it in his mouth, chewing on it. ‘We’d better have a talk with Stephen. Do you know him?’
‘Not well,’ the bailiff replied. ‘He likes to think he has a higher status then me.’
‘Haughty?’
‘Very.’
John stood, dusting off the seat of his hose. ‘Then the sooner we begin, the sooner I can start on my way home.’
‘You’re not staying?’ Roger asked in surprise. ‘It’ll be long after dark when you reach Chesterfield. The roads are dangerous.’
‘I have a pregnant wife waiting for me.’
‘It won’t help her if someone beats and robs you, will it? You can stay with me. Not as much room as an inn, but it’s cheaper.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘It won’t be luxury but you’ll be warm and fed.’
‘Then thank you.’ He hadn’t expected such a generous offer. ‘Thank you,’ he repeated.
‘Right, let’s see what Stephen has to say for himself.’
Stephen’s wife met them at the door. A tiny woman with a shrewish face, wearing a gown of sarcenet. It had obviously been expensive once, well-cut and elaborately sewn, but its best days were long in the past, the colour faded and worn.
‘He left this morning,’ she said. There was a glint of triumph in her eyes. ‘Gone over to Cheshire. He’ll not be back before next week, probably after that.’
‘How long ago did he go?’ Roger asked.
‘Two hours,’ the woman told him. ‘If you don’t believe me, take a look in the stable. The pack horses are all gone.’
‘I’ll believe you, Sarah.’ He held up his palms in surrender. ‘He was in Chesterfield recently, wasn’t he?’
‘What about it?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘Was he?’ the bailiff asked again.
‘Yes,’ she admitted.
‘Did he visit someone called Julian?’
She lifted her head. ‘He doesn’t tell me his business,’ Sarah said defiantly.
‘Has he mentioned someone called Julian?’ John interrupted.
She turned to stare at him. ‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘When he comes back I’ll need to talk to him,’ Roger said. ‘Make sure you tell him.’
‘I will,’ she promised reluctantly.
As soon as they turned away, she slammed the door.
‘She’s not much help,’ John said.
‘Sarah doesn’t like me,’ Roger explained. ‘Years back we courted a little, then I met my wife, God rest her, and broke things off with Sarah. She married Stephen and she’ll defend him to the death.’ He shook his head. ‘He had money when they wed. It’s been going downhill ever since. It looks like this part of your journey is wasted.’
‘Could we catch up with him? He can’t be going fast.’
‘There are two routes he could take. He has to go over the Pennines. We’d just be guessing. For what it’s worth, I can’t see Stephen killing anyone. It takes fire in someone to do that, and I’ve never known him have more than an ember. It’s probably why he’s never made much money.’
‘Anyone can kill.’
‘Maybe,’ Roger agreed after a while, then his face brightened. ‘How do you fancy some fishing this afternoon? There’s a good spot on the river and we’d have it all to ourselves.’
‘I’ve never fished,’ John admitted.
‘Never?’ the bailiff asked in disbelief.
But there had never been the chance or the time. He’d always been working or travelling from one place to another and seeking a job. When he had some time, he slept.
‘No,’ he answered simply.
‘Then you’ve missed one of life’s great joys, Master.’ Roger thought for a moment. ‘You wait here. I have another pole, I’ll show you. We can share a jug of ale. We might even catch our supper.’ He grinned. ‘And even if we don’t, it doesn’t matter.’
In the end they went home empty-handed. John came close twice, the fish wriggling off the hook before he could land it. But the bailiff was right. It was a satisfying way to make an afternoon stretch out. To spend an hour or two in the shade, talking about nothing, letting the cares of the world slide away and sipping ale, hoping something would bite.
The heat was slowly fading from the day by the time they left the river. He’d enjoyed the time doing nothing, forgetting all the strains and worries for a few hours. With no fish caught, they ate bread and cheese. Roger lit a tallow candle as darkness came, the fat, acrid stench filling the air.
‘You look tired,’ he said.
‘I am,’ John agreed with a smile. ‘I had an early start.’
‘Settle down then, lad. You’ve a long way back tomorrow.’
• • •
He was lucky on the trip back, too, finding a cart that was going to Baslow. From there, though, it was Shank’s mare all the way. In the distance he could see the church spire, standing high and proud, like a beacon to the countryside all around.
It was far into the afternoon when he reached the market square. His feet ached and the stitching was beginning to come away on one of his boots. He wanted to be home, to see Katherine, to rest his weary legs. But if he did that, he’d stay there until the morning.
Instead, he walked across to the coroner’s yard and knocked on the door. What he found in the hall made him stop in astonishment for a moment.
The coroner had his son on his knee, gently bouncing him up and down and making noises to keep the baby gurgling with pleasure. The wet nurse sat on a stool in the corner, ready to take the child when his father had had enough.
But de Harville showed no sign of tiring. He leaned forward, rubbing noses with the boy and grinning. He looked ten years younger, full of enthusiasm instead of boredom and worry.
‘What do you need, Carpenter?’ he asked. ‘I’m busy.’
‘I’ve just come back from Bakewell, Master.’ He watched, finding the change in the man hard to believe. He was doting on the boy.
Would that be him in a few months? Softer, coming fully alive with his son or daughter? The idea made him smile a little.
‘Well?’ the coroner said, ‘Get on with it.’
He recounted the little he’d learned. De Harville didn’t seem to be listening, still playing with his son, tickling, smiling. But as John finished he turned his head sharply.
‘So this Stephen left suddenly. It seems hasty. What do you make of it, Carpenter?’
‘I don’t know, Master.’ He’d thought about it on the long walk back into Chesterfield. It could be a coincidence; after all, the man was a salt merchant. But he’d been one of the last to see Julian alive. He could even be the killer. ‘When he returns we need to talk to him.’
‘This Christian interests me.’
‘He’s Julian’s oldest friend.’
‘Friends have killed each other before,’ de Harville said.
‘He’s the steward in Dronfield. I’ve tried to talk to him.’
‘Then he’ll need more persuasion. Leave that to me.’
‘Yes, Master.’
‘Is there anything else?’
‘No.’
‘Good. Go home, Carpenter.’
• • •
Home. He was glad to unlock the door and walk into a house full of sound. The girls laughing and screaming playfully, and Katherine trying to calm them down. As soon as he appeared past the screen, everything went quiet for a moment. Then Janette and Eleanor were dashing towards him, grabbing his legs as if he’d been gone for a year, not just a night. Katherine stood with her hands on her hips, looking amused as he was pinned to the spot. Even the kitten came to wind its way around his legs.
Slowly, he freed himself, hugging them both and grinning widely. They’d missed him; he was truly part of the family with them, like the father they’d never really known.
He held his wife, revelling in her warmth and softness.
‘Was it worthwhile?’ she asked softly.
‘I think so,’ he replied, letting o
ut a weary breath.
‘I’ll bring you some ale.’
He sat at the table, the girls filling his ears with their chatter, the kitten rubbing around him and demanding attention. Drinking deep, he closed his eyes, waiting as Katherine shooed the girls outside to play.
‘What’s Bakewell like?’ she asked eagerly.
‘Small,’ he said after a little consideration. ‘Pretty enough, but there’s no real life to it. I prefer it here. I saw something you wouldn’t believe when I got back.’
‘Oh?’ Her fingers traced a pattern around his hand.
‘The coroner cooing around his son. He looked so full of pride I thought he’d burst.’
Her mouth made an O of shock and surprise, then she began to laugh.
‘I can’t imagine that.’
‘He kept doing it while I gave him my report.’
‘So he’s human after all,’ she said as she shook her head. ‘I’ll never look at him the same way again.’
‘I kept wondering if I’ll be that way.’
She arched her brows. ‘I hope you will.’
‘It seemed to make everything real.’ He gazed down at the ale left in the mug. ‘I knew you were going to have a child, but …’ He couldn’t find the words to say what he felt, everything churning in his head.
‘We’ll look after him. Or her.’
John nodded. It suddenly seemed such a big thing, like a mountain waiting in the future. Until now he’d felt some freedom, even with marriage and a family. But this truly was a new responsibility. Someone’s life would belong to him. He had to keep them well, safe. Teach them. If it was a boy, pass on his skills.
It scared him. It terrified him.
‘What are you thinking?’ Katherine asked.
‘Nothing,’ he answered with a quiet smile. ‘Everything. Does it all scare you?’
‘Every minute,’ she admitted. ‘I thought you’d seen that.’
‘Maybe I should have.’
He stretched, working out the knots in his back from the long walk.
‘What happened in Bakewell?’
‘I learned how to fish,’ he began, then told her the whole story. ‘De Harville said he’d take care of Christian,’ he said as he finished.
‘Better him than you. Just be careful, John. There’s something about this that feels all wrong.’
The Saltergate Psalter Page 12
