by David Field
‘That’s me, right enough. Margaret Franklin, although I goes by “Maggie” to them what knows me. And who might you be?’
‘Senior Constable Lincraft and Constable Bradbury. We were the ones what was called to your husband’s body a couple of days past. Sorry if we’re trampling all over your grieving, but there’s a couple of things we’d like to ask you, if we may.’
‘Haven’t got no time for no grieving, what with all the jobs I’ve got to do around this place, Maggie advised them. ‘I’ve got an empty wood box inside the cottage there, and for all the use that lazy good for nothing son of mine is, I might as well freeze to death of a cold night. I know it’s supposed to be summer, but we gets hardly any sun, what with that bloody big rock at the back of us, and the ground down here by the river’s forever damp.’
‘So your son Robert don’t cut wood for you?’ Giles enquired, suddenly alert to a possible alternative side to Robert Franklin. Maggie gave them the benefit of a hollow cackle as she replied ‘He might do if I paid him. That’s all that seems to put life into his arse – money. Money what he can spend on whores and ale, and for all he helps around this place he might as well live in The Bell, up the road there. His Dad were forever telling him that you has to work hard for money, and that it don’t grow on trees. Now he’s gone there’ll be nobody to keep the idle little shit on the right path, and we’ll likely starve.’
‘So your husband and son argued over money, that right?’ Tom prompted her, and she spat on the ground to the side of her. ‘All the bloody time. Even on the morning Ed died.’
Tom and Giles exchanged excited glances, and Tom was the one who asked the obvious question. ‘They was both up together that morning, is that what you’re telling us?’
‘That’s right. Just before they set off for the mill, like they always did.’
‘Together?’ Giles enquired, open-mouthed, and Maggie nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s what it sounded like. I were still in my bed, but the noise of the two of them going at it – about money as usual – woke me up. Then I heard the sound of the cart being hitched to the horse, and then it went quiet again, so I reckoned that they’d left together.’
‘When Robert come back with news of your husband’s death,’ Tom persevered, ‘what did he tell you exactly?’ Maggie sneered as she replied. ‘The useless bugger couldn’t even prevent his poor Dad hanging himself while Robert’s back were turned. He were down below, opening the sluice with the iron bar, so he told me, then when he went back to the platform Ed were just hanging there. I reckon as how he were driven to do it by the disappointment of having such a lazy lummox for a son. I wager Robert didn’t mention that when he called you in to deal with the body, did he?’
‘Indeed he didn’t,’ Tom confirmed quietly, then looked back towards the mill, clearly visible less than half a mile downstream alongside the Leen. ‘Is Robert at work today?’ he enquired casually, ‘only the wheel don’t appear to be turning, from what I can see from this distance.’
‘Probably in the town somewhere, with a doxie of his fancy,’ Maggie sneered. ‘He certainly seems to have more time for whoring than for keeping us fed. He were never much use when his Dad were alive, but since he died he don’t seem to have time to turn his fat arse to owt worthwhile.’
Thanking her for her time, and declining the invitation to go inside and share a pot of small beer with her, the two constables walked back along the banks of the Leen deep in excited conversation. ‘A rather different Robert Franklin from the one we met, you must admit,’ Tom observed, and Giles agreed with him. ‘According to what we just heard, the old man were alive when he left the family cottage, and dead by the time we found him, and the only one what were with him during the time in between were Robert. I reckon I were right all along, but what we going to charge them three from The Bell with now?’
‘We got one of them for two rapes anyway,’ Tom reminded him. ‘And all three of them for the assault on us in the skittles alley, plus the robbery they done on John Pryce. But we shouldn’t be jumping to any more conclusions just yet, and I still isn’t about to release Thomas Browne and hand back all that there money. But while we’re down here, let’s just check for that there iron bar, shall we?’
Underneath the silent mill, they spotted a heavy iron bar lying in the bottom of the specially carved out trench through which river water was diverted in order to drive the wheel when the sluices were opened at each end. Tom scrambled down and retrieved it, then handed it to Giles. ‘What does you reckon?’ he enquired, and Giles nodded. ‘That would have done it, no question. But I still don’t see how the murderous bugger managed to get his father’s body up there onto the beam by himself, and without leaving any boot marks on the platform.’
‘That’s something we can ask Robert Franklin, when we catches up with him,’ Tom growled, ‘and I don’t fancy visiting every whorehouse in town looking for the bugger, so let’s wait until we can stand on the bridge back there and see the wheel turning. Then we’ll know where to find him.’
‘Supposing he just leaves town?’ Giles enquired, and Tom shrugged. ‘Then we doesn’t have to trouble ourselves to arrest him, does we? And in any case, I reckon we should be giving all our efforts over to finding them three what were guarding Thomas Browne and all that there money. I’m still not convinced that they wasn’t mixed up somehow in Ed Franklin’s death. If they wasn’t, how come that Ted Hollins knew there’d been a murder?’
‘Maybe because he were involved in it as well?’ Giles conjectured, and Tom laughed hollowly. ‘Wouldn’t that be nice? But right now let’s get this here iron bar back to the Guildhall. Then I think we can honestly say that we’ve done enough for the day.’
This proved to be an optimistic prediction. As they walked back into their section of the Guildhall, they were hailed by the Chief Turnkey, who indicated, with a disapproving jerk of the head, a bedraggled looking youth sitting on the bench reserved for those waiting to lodge complaints. ‘This young scare the crows claims he’s got something important to tell you. Take him into your office with you, if you’d be so obliging, so that it’ll smell a whole lot better out here.’
The young boy in question had already leapt to his feet and hurried towards them, and Tom and Giles recoiled from the overpowering mixed aroma of old sweat and new horse manure as Tom tried to recall when he’d last seen him recently, and Giles answered the question for him.
‘Ben Bloody Tanner! Decided to come clean about that stolen horse, have you?’
‘I never stole that horse, like I said. Honest I didn’t! But you was really looking for the feller what owned it, wasn’t you? I reckon you was tricking me, but if I tell you where to find the crippled feller what came in with the other three when they took their horses out, then you’ll have to believe me, won’t you?’
Tom and Giles exchanged glances yet again, and Tom left it to his young colleague to make some sense of what the young stable groom was trying to tell them. ‘You mean the feller what was with the three what had their horses in your stable last Sunday night, but took them out very early on the Monday?’ Ben nodded eagerly.
‘That’s the feller! I were scrubbing down the courtyard outside the stable when he stuck his head round the door what leads from the skittle alley. I’m not allowed in there, on account of the smell from the horse shit, but I recognised him, and then he come right out and walked to the end of the stable yard, like he were looking for somebody. When he walked out into the lane what leads up the side of The Bell I followed him out, and I watched while he walked up Beastmarket Hill, then got himself admitted to a house on the other side of the lane, just before it goes under Chapel Bar. I can show you the house if you like.’
‘Did he go into the house?’ Tom enquired, but Ben shrugged. ‘Dunno, because I legged it back down the alleyway in case he spotted me. But he were definitely the one what were with the three with the horses on the Monday morning. If I show you the house, will you stop saying as how I stole a horse?’
<
br /> ‘We certainly will,’ Tom assured him, and in less than half an hour they were standing a few yards up from The Bell, staring across the busy road at a well appointed jettied three storey house made from the latest style brick, and with tiles on its roof. Tom had already made a quick pass across its front facade, and come back to advise Giles that the plate on the door advertised the services of a scrivener called Ralph Gilfedder. Ben had made himself scarce after being assured that he was no longer under suspicion of being a horse thief, and Tom and Giles, in the fading light of an overcast August evening, were debating whether or not to go home for supper or continue their watch on the house when its front door opened, to allow a man to exit into the road.
The two constables flattened themselves into the doorway of the silversmith’s shop in front of which they had been standing, and watched intently as the man walked quickly down the road towards the Market Place, looking furtively behind him from time to time. ‘That will save us searching for him, anyway,’ Tom muttered as they took up a position several hundred yards behind him, and followed his progress through the Market Place and down Bridlesmithgate. From there, if he were heading home, he’d have a choice of Turncalf Alley and a right turn into the meadow, or a right turn through Low Pavement and down into Greyfriars. His choice was made for him as Tom and Giles quickened their pace when they reached the foot of Bridlesmithgate. The man turned, saw them following him, uttered a loud oath and began running. He was overtaken and overpowered a few yards beyond the entrance to the Guildhall, and while Giles hauled him to his feet and pinioned him from behind, Tom stuck his face right into his and gloated.
‘Thank you for your attendance, Mr Franklin, even though you didn’t have no choice. Please join us inside, and tell us why you killed your father.’
Chapter Seven
They left Robert Franklin to sweat it out in a gaol cell while they went home for the evening, then met up in the street outside the Guildhall as the sun was rising the following morning, and sat at the foot of Weekday Cross enjoying a breakfast of fresh bread and fruit while they considered their options. They did so in order to avoid the Chief Turnkey, who had spoiled their triumph in bringing back Robert Franklin by making loud demands that Tom sign the release paper for Thomas Browne. Tom had blankly refused, assuring the man that he would take responsibility for keeping Browne in his cell for his own protection, and that unless and until the necessary paper was signed, only Tom could be blamed for disobeying the Sheriff’s order.
‘So how do we deal with Franklin?’ Giles enquired. ‘Does we accuse him of murdering his father straight out, or ask him awkward questions and see if he knuckles under?’ Tom smiled. ‘Which would you prefer?’
‘Before I started to learn your way of doing things, I’d just have accused him of it, ignored his protestations of innocence, and kept him locked up until his trial,’ Giles replied, ‘but now I’m not so sure.’
‘I’d say you’re obviously learning,’ Tom smiled again. ‘We goes around it sideways, telling him what we knows already until there’s no way left for him to wriggle out of what the facts point to. That way, we’re sure that we’re getting the full truth, and in this case I’m still not convinced that them three fellers what was guarding Browne wasn’t involved somehow. Think about it – how could Franklin have got that heavy body onto the beam without leaving boot marks on the boards?’
‘How could anyone else, for that matter?’ Giles enquired. ‘That’s one of the things I hope Master Franklin can tell us,’ Tom grinned, ‘so if you’ve finished stuffing all that bread in your mouth, let’s go and find out, shall we?’
The grin disappeared from Tom’s face when they walked into the ground floor section that gave access, via the Chief Turnkey’s station, to their own office. A man was sitting on the bench to the side, and Tom recognised him instantly. ‘Master Ireton, as I recall,’ he sneered at the man as he rose to his feet to intercept them. Tom turned to Giles and effected the introductions.
‘Constable Giles Bradbury, meet Master Ralph Ireton, from the County Sheriff’s office. He either got out of his bed long before the first sparrow farted this morning, or he’s been sitting here all night. Either way he’s probably here to arrest me for dereliction of duty in not releasing Browne.’
‘Much though that would give me immense pleasure,’ Ireton scowled, ‘I’m here to make sure that you do your duty. This document in my hand is from Coroner Greville, and it authorises the release of Browne whether you like it or not.’
‘That right?’ Tom grinned. ‘And why would the Coroner have any interest in a simple stealing?’
‘It’s a murder,’ Ireton insisted, ‘and you were the one who requested a coronial inquest, so it’s now a matter within the jurisdiction of one of the County Coroners.’
‘And even assuming that Edward Franklin were murdered – which has not yet been established – why would the Coroner be seeking to release the man who’s suspected of it?’
‘I don’t question the orders I’m given,’ Ireton insisted. ‘I just do what I’m told.’
‘More’s the pity,’ Tom smiled back in a manner designed to infuriate the pompous official. ‘Because if you did, you’d be wondering why Coroner Greville’s taken such an interest in a case that hasn’t yet been listed for a hearing, and why he wants me to release a man who’s only likely to be charged with stealing a king’s ransom in money from London, or wherever else he may have got it from. He says London, anyway, and until I gets a lot more information out of him, he’s my prisoner, and he’s going nowhere. Good morning to you, and enjoy your return trip up Bridlesmithgate, where they should be emptying the pisspots at this early hour of the day. Take my advice and keep to the middle of the roadway.’
He turned on his heel, gesturing for Giles to accompany him. As they were unlocking their office Ireton stood red-faced, staring after them and insisting that ‘Sir Henry shall hear about this.’ ‘Good,’ Tom replied with a backward glance, ‘and while he’s hearing that, tell him that I’ll solve his murder for him before he’s even had his dinner.’
‘He’ll be back,’ Giles murmured nervously as they took to the benches behind their desks. ‘You know he’ll be back, and then he’ll be carrying a warrant for your arrest. Me as well, more than likely.’ Tom gave him a serious look.
‘Something else I hope you’ll learn from me is not to take any shit from the likes of Coroner Greville. He’s a pompous bladder full of his own importance, and once you stands up to him he behaves like every other bully, and shows his cowardice. But he’s well informed, it seems, and not by us. Someone’s got in his ear about Browne and the money, and I’d be mighty interested to learn who. In the meantime, take a deep breath and let’s go down to the cells. I wants to learn what Robert Franklin has to say for himself.’
Tom hadn’t been wrong about the smell of fear that permeated Robert Franklin’s cell as the turnkey opened the heavy creaking door and advised them that he’d be directly outside in the corridor if they required any assistance. Tom thanked him, then turned to look down at Franklin as he sat hunched over on the straw pallet clutching the paper thin blanket that was no doubt lice ridden.
‘We went and spoke to your Mam yesterday,’ Tom advised Franklin. ‘From what she told us, it don’t seem that you was as friendly with your Dad as you tried to make us believe when we cut his body down on Monday morning. Seems you two was always arguing about money.’
‘He were tight fisted,’ Franklin muttered. ‘He wanted me to work all the hours God sent, and he never gave me more than few pence when I needed some money to go out of a night.’
‘To spend on whores?’ Giles enquired with a leer, and Franklin’s gaze dropped to the floor. While he was temporarily discomforted, Tom pressed home the advantage. ‘How come your Dad’s body finished up dangling from that there beam without anyone climbing up there? And you couldn’t have done that all by yourself, could you?’
‘Why did you throw that there iron bar into the sl
uice channel?’ Giles asked immediately afterwards, followed by Tom’s suggestion that ‘Them blokes from the town gave you a hand, didn’t they? And you left the house at the same time as your Dad that morning, according to your Mam. That right?’
Franklin nodded without realising what he was giving away, but Tom was ready to deliver what he would have called the ‘sinker’. ‘He were already dead by the time them men turned up, weren’t he?’
Franklin nodded again, then his shoulders began to heave with a combination of relief and remorseful grief. Tom signalled with his eyes for Giles to remain silent, waited for an appropriate break in the flow of tears, then knelt down so that his face was level with Franklin’s, and enquired in a kindly tone ‘Were it an accident?’ Franklin looked into Tom’s eyes, then nodded.
‘I didn’t mean it, if that’s what you’re getting at. It weren’t an accident that I hit him, but I didn’t mean to kill him, honest!’
‘Best tell us the whole story, from the beginning,’ Tom coaxed him, then sat back on his haunches and waited patiently while Franklin wiped his nose on his sleeve, then looked first at Giles and then at Tom before continuing in hushed tones, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was recounting as the memories came flooding back.
‘Dad were playing skittles in The Bell the night before, like I told you the other day, with some feller I’d never seen before. We left after that, and on our way back home Dad told me that he reckoned the feller he’d been playing with were a bit daft in the head, because he’d been asking Dad if he was the person he were in town to deliver money to. I were just telling him that he should have said yes when these three rough looking types came down Greyfriars after us, pinned Dad up against the wall, and asked what he’d been talking about when he were playing skittles with “their friend”, as they called him. Dad were daft enough to tell them the truth, and one of them asked him to keep his mouth shut about it, in return for which they’d give him some money. They promised to bring it down to the mill the next day, and we went home.’
