‘No,’ said Michael. ‘Although I would not expect him to say so if he had heard anything. Her nearest neighbour is none other than our good friend, the pardoner.’
‘Norys?’ asked Bartholomew. He frowned. ‘I suppose you consider that evidence of his guilt?’
‘Of course,’ said Michael. ‘Particularly since he still has not returned from Ipswich. I knew we should not have let him remain at large. He has absconded, just as I guessed he would if we did not tell Tuddenham to arrest him immediately.’
‘But if he has been in Ipswich since we spoke to him, then he could not have killed Mistress Freeman,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘He would not have been here.’
‘She was last seen by her friends early Wednesday morning,’ said Michael immediately, clearly having worked it all out. ‘That was before we went to speak to Will Norys. She was supposed to change the church flowers after nones that same day, but failed to arrive. Wauncy – who remembers the time because he had just delivered the documents he had collected from Ipswich to Alcote at Wergen Hall-assumed she had forgotten, and asked someone else to do it instead.’
‘He should have known something was wrong right then,’ announced Mother Goodman, who had been listening. ‘Mistress Freeman loved to arrange the church flowers and never missed her turn. That she did not come should have warned Wauncy that something was amiss.’
‘Well, it did not,’ said Michael, none too pleased at being interrupted by the forceful midwife. ‘And no one thought to look for her until I found her yesterday – Friday – at about noon. I am no medical man, but even I could see she had been dead for at least a couple of days, and not just a few hours. I am getting better at this kind of thing, Matt; I will have no need of your services soon.’
‘Good,’ said Bartholomew with feeling. ‘My business is with the living, not the dead, and I would be delighted if you did not call on me to pore over corpses.’
‘Corpses demand every bit as much respect as the living,’ put in Mother Goodman haughtily from the coffin. ‘More so, since they are already gone the way we will soon go.’
‘She is a cheery soul,’ muttered Michael, regarding the midwife coolly. ‘But, as I was saying, Mistress Freeman was probably killed on Wednesday. She was last seen a short time before we spoke to Norys, and then no one saw her until I found her yesterday. Meanwhile, Norys has been missing since just after we questioned him. He must have paid a visit to Mistress Freeman as soon as we had gone, killed her, and then absconded.’
‘But Norys wanted us to talk to Mistress Freeman,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He believed she would prove his innocence. Why should he kill her?’
‘Because she refused to lie for him,’ said Michael promptly. ‘I imagine he went to see her the moment we left, and told her what she had to say to us. Then, when she refused to back him in his falsehood, he slashed her throat.’
The speed with which Michael’s answers came suggested to Bartholomew that he must have spent the better part of the previous night mulling over the evidence and thinking of ways to convince himself of the pardoner’s guilt. Michael claimed to have spent the time with William and Deynman, fretting over Bartholomew’s failure to return. They had been saddling up to search for him when he and Cynric had arrived back again.
‘So, you think Will Norys killed Unwin and Mistress Freeman?’ asked Mother Goodman, looking up from her work and addressing Michael. ‘Master Norys is a popular man in the village, and has never been involved in anything like this before.’
‘He is a pardoner,’ said Michael, as if that explained all. ‘Anyway, we have evidence: Norys was seen running from the church at about the time Unwin was murdered.’
‘Stoate saw someone wearing a long cloak,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He did not say it was Norys.’
‘And Norys, very conveniently, also claims to have seen someone running from the church,’ said Michael, not to be outdone. ‘Only his someone was wearing a short cloak. And the rascal said he was talking with Mistress Freeman at about the time that Stoate said he was doing the same.’
‘I saw them,’ said Mother Goodman unexpectedly. ‘Both of them.’
‘You mean figures with long and short cloaks running from the church?’ asked Michael, bewildered. ‘You might have mentioned this earlier.’
‘No, not them,’ said Mother Goodman impatiently. ‘Stoate and Norys. I saw Norys walking Mistress Freeman around the churchyard – he is fond of her – and then I saw her speaking to Stoate by the ford just after the feast started.’
‘She cannot have been in two places at the same time,’ said Michael, unconvinced.
‘She need not have been,’ said Bartholomew, thinking quickly. ‘Perhaps she walked around the churchyard with Norys, and then stopped to talk to Stoate after Norys had left her.’
‘Yes,’ said Michael, eyes narrowing. ‘So, Norys escorts Mistress Freeman around the churchyard, sees Unwin go inside alone, and decides to rob him.’
‘But the blood we found by the buttress, and the fact that Unwin was moved after he died, suggests he was killed outside the church,’ Bartholomew pointed out.
Michael pursed his lips impatiently. ‘Then he must have seduced Unwin out of the church, and carried him back inside again after he was dead.’
‘Without anyone seeing?’ asked Bartholomew incredulously.
‘Unwin was not heavy. His killer could have moved him by draping one of Unwin’s arms over his shoulder and carrying him – from a distance they would look like a pair of revellers the worse for drink. But, as I was saying, after Norys sees Unwin alone in the church and decides to murder him for his purse, he leaves Mistress Freeman by the ford, dons his long cloak to hide his clothes, and stabs Unwin. He then hauls the body back inside the church to keep it hidden long enough to make good his escape. Mistress Freeman and Stoate spot him running from the church in his long cloak, and Norys kills her when she will not lie and tell us he was with her all day.’
‘It is possible, I suppose,’ said Bartholomew reluctantly.
‘It is more than possible,’ said Michael keenly. ‘It makes perfect sense. And Norys has now fled the scene of his crime, and is in hiding somewhere.’
‘He would not leave his cats for long,’ said Mother Goodman. ‘He adores cats. If it were not for them, I think he would have offered to marry Mistress Freeman when her mourning was over.’
‘Why should cats prevent him from making a lonely widow happy?’ asked Michael, puzzled.
‘Mistress Freeman did not like cats,’ said Mother Goodman. ‘Some people do not, although they provide good protection against Padfoot. He will not come where there are cats, because they hiss at him, and Padfoot does not like to be hissed at.’
‘Who does?’ said Michael.
‘Norys loves animals, especially cats. He gives me their urine for treating warts.’
‘Most generous of him,’ said Michael, taking Bartholomew’s arm and leading him outside so that he could expound his theories without the midwife offering her opinions. ‘You must excuse us, madam. We have business to attend.’
A low wall surrounded the churchyard, mainly to act as a barrier to keep out the pigs, cows and sheep that wandered freely through the village. Bartholomew sat on it, and looked out across the green. The scene was peaceful, with a robin singing sweetly from the top of one of the willow trees and a duck waddling toward the ford with a clutch of fluffy yellow chicks strewn out behind her. The gentle bubble of the stream, slightly swollen from the rains of the previous day, was almost drowned out by the raucous caw of rooks from the elms behind the church.
Michael sat next to him, stretching his fat legs to display a pair of pallid ankles. Bartholomew rubbed a hand through his hair, still wet from where he had washed the mud from it. He had donned his spare tabard and Cynric was supposed to be cleaning the one he usually wore, although the physician was not sure that his book-bearer would do a particularly good job given his preoccupation with his impending death. He dragged his thoughts awa
y from Cynric’s predicament, and considered Michael’s unseemly determination to have the pardoner convicted of murder.
‘Maybe Stoate did it,’ he said, trying to consider all possibilities, and not just the one Michael had adopted with unnatural passion. ‘He might have killed Unwin, run from the church, and then stopped to talk to Mistress Freeman at the ford.’
‘Oh, that sounds very likely,’ said Michael caustically. ‘He would have been drenched in blood, and you are suggesting that he paused in his bid for escape to exchange pleasantries with the butcher’s widow? “Good evening, Mistress Freeman. And how are you today? Do not mind the fact that I am covered in blood; it has nothing to do with the dead priest in the church, you understand, and you will be used to a little gore, being the wife of a butcher.” I do not think so, Matt!’
Bartholomew tipped his head back and looked up at the leaves of the elms shivering in the morning breeze. ‘You are too fixed on Norys’s guilt.’
‘Because he is the most obvious suspect?’ asked Michael. ‘Well, your suggestion is ludicrous! Stoate is a wealthy man, and does not need to kill impoverished friars for their purses. Anyway, Stoate is not under suspicion: he told us what he saw because he was trying to be helpful.’
‘He is a dismal physician,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He should have made certain that Janelle knew not to drink the potion he prescribed; he gives purges that people do not need; and he treated inflamed eyes with sugar water!’
‘How disgraceful,’ said Michael dryly. ‘But it does not matter whether Stoate is a charlatan or the best physician in Suffolk: he could not have killed Unwin, because whoever did it would have been covered in blood – we know that because we saw it splattered outside the church.’
‘True,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And Stoate wore the same clothes when we met him at the tavern the evening Unwin died that he had worn all day – dark amber cotte and hose. I remember, because at the feast I saw him tossing a baby in the air and catching it again – well, actually he dropped it, which is why the incident stuck in my mind. I recall him in his yellow clothes quite clearly.’
‘And Norys had changed by the time we went to see him!’ Michael pounced triumphantly.
‘Yes, but we saw him two days later,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He was probably wearing his best clothes for the Fair, and is hardly likely to wear them to Ipswich market, too. And there is still the issue of Grosnold. Did Eltisley see him talking to Unwin in the churchyard or not?’
‘Grosnold’s reaction when you questioned him about it seemed odd,’ said Michael, scratching one of his chins. ‘Thus, I am inclined to believe it was he – or his men – who attacked you at Barchester to ensure you kept quiet about it. I cannot believe you were so rash as to tell Grosnold what Eltisley said he saw – especially given that we are talking about a murder here.’
‘I was running low on ideas,’ said Bartholomew tiredly. ‘To be honest, I expected there to be an innocent explanation of what Eltisley saw, and did not anticipate Grosnold denying it.’
‘Perhaps it was Grosnold who hired Norys to kill Unwin,’ said Michael thoughtfully. ‘So, our black knight slips back to Grundisburgh after his dramatic exit, for a secret meeting with Unwin. He found Unwin would not do what he wanted – whether it was working for peace as Bardolf believes, or becoming involved in the hunt for the golden calf – and paid Norys to dispatch him.’
‘Was there enough time for all this to have happened?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Eltisley said he saw Grosnold with Unwin moments after the end of the feast, and it was not too long after that when Horsey went in search of him. I would have thought it would take longer than that to hire a killer.’
‘We will go to Norys’s house and have a good look for bloodstained attire this morning,’ said Michael, ignoring the inconvenient question. ‘If Norys wore his best clothes to the Fair, he would not throw them away because they are spoiled – he would keep them and try to wash the stuff out. Pardoners are a mean breed, and do not waste fine garments just because they are bloodstained.’
‘There was probably a lot of blood when Mistress Freeman was killed, too,’ said Bartholomew, too tired to contest Michael’s gross generalisations. ‘Slit throats are invariably messy.’
‘This was,’ said Michael with a shudder. ‘I have seldom seen such a grisly sight. Blood was splashed up the walls, and there was not a piece of furniture that was not covered in it.’
It was not windy last night,’ said Bartholomew, gazing out across the green. ‘Sounds carry on quiet nights, and even though Mistress Freeman’s house is a fair distance from the nearest neighbour, I am surprised nothing was heard.’
‘But her nearest neighbour is Norys, and Norys killed her,’ said Michael. ‘And he killed her because she would not give him the alibi he needs to cover his murder of Unwin.’
‘But Mother Goodman saw Norys talking to Mistress Freeman outside the church, just as he claimed,’ Bartholomew pointed out.
‘True. But not many moments after, she saw Stoate chatting to her by the ford, and no Norys in sight. I told you Norys was our killer, and I was right. A little solid evidence might prove useful, though, because Tuddenham is convinced Tobias Eltisley killed Unwin.’
‘On what grounds?’ asked Bartholomew. He had quite forgotten the landlord’s predicament. ‘That Eltisley is a dangerous lunatic?’
‘Because Tuddenham’s man, Siric, found a bloody knife in Eltisley’s garden. Eltisley, not surprisingly, says it is not his, and that anyone might have thrown it there.’
‘And this is all the evidence Tuddenham has against Eltisley?’
Michael nodded. ‘You said you thought Tuddenham might start casting about for a scapegoat, if he could not deliver his promise and produce Unwin’s killer quickly: Eltisley is it. So, now we need to prove that Norys is our murderer, or Eltisley will pay for it, and I am certain he is innocent.’
‘At least Eltisley cannot endanger people’s lives with his inventions, if he is safely behind bars,’ said Bartholomew unsympathetically. ‘Tuddenham’s cellar is the best place for him.’
‘That is an uncharitable position to take, Matt. You will feel terrible about saying that if he hangs for Norys’s crime.’
‘Then you can grant me absolution,’ said Bartholomew. He was not seriously concerned about Eltisley, certain that even Tuddenham would not execute a man solely on the discovery of a bloody knife in his garden. ‘We can let William prove Eltisley’s innocence, since he so desperately wants to practise his investigative skills.’
Michael sighed. ‘He is already doing that, quite independently of me. He questioned everyone who lives on The Street yesterday, in a manner that can only be described as single-minded. I only hope we catch Norys before William decides to use more physical techniques.’
‘We should go to Mistress Freeman’s house,’ said Bartholomew, standing and stretching. ‘There might be some clue there regarding the identity of her killer.’
‘I have already checked,’ objected Michael. ‘We would do better to go to Norys’s cottage, and look for blood-drenched garments and something really incriminating-like Unwin’s relic.’
He stood and walked purposely towards the ford. Ducklings scattered in his path as he splashed across the stream and made his way to the pardoner’s home. Norys’s uncle was in his garden, hammering on a piece of leather. He glanced up as Michael loomed imperiously over the gate.
‘Have you found him?’ the tanner asked anxiously. ‘He has never left me for more than two nights in a row before.’
Michael pushed open the gate, and walked in. ‘We will find him soon. Meanwhile, perhaps I might look in your house, to see if I can find any evidence of where he might be.’
‘Such as what?’ asked the tanner, alarmed, and standing to block his way. ‘I cannot read, so he would not have left me a note, if that is what you mean.’
‘I have traced many missing people in Cambridge,’ said Michael, insinuating himself past the tanner and into the house. ‘I wi
ll just ensure there is not some vital clue you might have overlooked.’
‘But I am too busy to help you,’ squeaked the tanner desperately. ‘I must have this leather ready for Walter Wauncy’s new shoes by mid-morning, or there will be hell to pay.’
Michael looked backward and gave him a cunning smile. ‘No matter, Master Tanner. I will find what I am looking for much faster if you are not with me.’
Bartholomew felt sorry for the tanner, who was bewildered by Michael’s blustering presence. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and followed the monk into the cottage.
‘There is no need to terrify the poor man,’ he said in a low voice, so that the tanner would not hear. ‘He is clearly worried about his nephew, and you have no right to intimidate him like that.’
‘Do I not?’ demanded Michael, trying to disentangle himself from an over-friendly cat. ‘Eltisley’s life is at risk, and you are concerned about the feelings of a pardoner’s uncle? Damn these wretched animals! They are everywhere. God’s blood, Matt – that one bit me!’
A large tabby cat shot from under Michael’s foot and scampered out of the door. Another hissed, arching its back and revealing sharp, white teeth. Michael backed away and sneezed.
‘You look around,’ he said to Bartholomew. ‘These beasts do not seem to like me.’
‘I wonder why,’ muttered Bartholomew, picking his way into the room. It was difficult to search for anything under the furry bodies. Two cats wound their way round his legs while he shook the blankets on the bed and rifled through the room’s only chest.
‘Look at this,’ whispered Michael in sudden revulsion, looking into a strongbox that stood on one of the wall shelves. He pulled his new piece of linen from his scrip, and dabbed his nose on it while he rummaged through the box with his other hand. ‘These are his pardons!’
‘Leave them, Brother,’ warned Bartholomew, peering into the cooking pans one by one.
A Wicked Deed Page 28
