The Sticklepath Strangler

by Michael Jecks

  ‘Of course,’ Baldwin said absently.

  He was frowning, and Simon noticed. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I was just thinking – you are quite sure that you heard him yell and then heard Gunilda scream?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yet when you arrived at the scene, Gunilda was outside.’

  ‘Baldwin, you have that look on your face. The one that says you’ve just realised something we’d missed. What is it?’

  ‘Simon, it wasn’t her!’

  Simon and Drogo exchanged a glance.

  Ignoring them, Baldwin pointed into the hole. ‘May I see his thigh bones?’ he said urgently.

  Drogo shrugged and pulled both from the pile. ‘Here.’

  ‘Ah. This one has scratches on it,’ Baldwin said, studying it carefully. There were nicks which could have been made from a knife cutting through the meat of the leg.

  Peter stood at the side of the body peering at it with loathing. ‘He deserved it. Bastard!’

  As Drogo and Adam picked up the corners of the rag to carry it to the vill, Baldwin suddenly cried, ‘Wait!’

  He reached down to the skull. As the two foresters had picked up the rag, the skull had rolled over, exposing the back. Now Baldwin picked it up and wiped at it with his sleeve, studying the yellow stained bone with keen attention. ‘Simon, look at this. Oh, come on, man, it won’t bite! Now,’ he continued as the bailiff unwillingly joined him. ‘See this star-shaped series of cracks here?’ Simon tried to forget that this had once been a man’s head and imagined it as merely a sphere of bone or ivory. Where Baldwin had polished, there was a chip, with fine lines radiating irregularly from it. ‘What of it?’

  Baldwin’s eyes were gleaming. ‘I had thought that only a large man could subdue someone who everyone agrees was a strong, burly fellow like Ansel, but here we have, maybe, a sign that his head was stoved in!’

  ‘So?’ Simon asked. ‘You think that when Vin spoke of a bellow from Samson, that was because he and Ansel were getting into a fight?’

  ‘Vincent, on the night you were with Felicia, some six years, you said Samson shouted once, and then called for his daughter?’ Baldwin said, turning to the lad again.

  ‘Yes. He gave one loud roar, then a short while after, he shouted for Felicia.’

  ‘Was it a roar of anger – or did it sound like a shout or cry of pain?’

  Vincent stared at the ground doubtfully. ‘It could have been pain.’

  ‘Could it have been Ansel crying out in pain as he was knocked down?’ Baldwin asked eagerly.

  ‘I… suppose so.’

  Simon understood now. ‘You think that the first cry was Ansel because Samson had attacked him?’

  ‘And then Samson called to his daughter – perhaps because he didn’t want her to stumble over the body, or maybe because he wanted her to serve him his meal,’ Baldwin said, staring down towards the mill.

  ‘And then Samson carved up the body?’ Vincent said.

  Baldwin shook his head. ‘If the miller had meant to do that, why tie a cord about his victim’s neck?’

  ‘To kill him.’

  ‘He struck, surely with anger, in the heat of the moment, but didn’t kill the fellow. No, someone else did that. Someone who was starving, who came along afterwards and found an unconscious man, and who hated that man enough to want to destroy him.’

  ‘I didn’t find him, sir!’ Vincent said quickly, anxiously.

  ‘No. If you had, you’d have used that,’ Baldwin said, pointing to his knife. ‘But a woman? Some women find the thought of stabbing too messy and unpleasant, while slipping a thong about a throat and stopping the breath – why, that is clean and tidy, isn’t it?’

  ‘A woman?’ Simon breathed.

  ‘Yes,’ Baldwin said flatly. ‘You were right yesterday when you suggested a woman could be responsible, Simon. One who was jealous of others, one who could easily win the confidence of her young victims. One who was hungry and found a source of meat, then learned that she liked the flavour.’

  He tossed the skull into the air and caught it so that the empty eyes faced him. ‘Ansel,’ he told it, ‘I think you have just explained your death to us. You shall be avenged.’

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Gunilda stood beside her fire, kneading dough. It was settling to her spirit, to be engaged on a task which she had performed nearly every day of her life. She knew she must prepare the bread before Samson came home. He would be cross if she hadn’t got his food ready. He would beat her.

  With a start she realised that the pottage wasn’t in the pot over the fire. It made her squeak with alarm, especially when she looked out at the sunlight. He must be home soon, and his food wasn’t waiting. Gunilda knew what he was like when she was late, and she dreaded the feel of his lash over her back. ‘Soon, soon,’ she muttered as she pushed her whole body’s weight against the dough.

  Felicia was watching her anxiously, picking at her faded green tunic. Gunilda was driving her up the wall; she was mad, quite mad. Her brain hadn’t been able to cope with the horror of the night before. When the men appeared at the open doorway, she was glad for the interruption. ‘Lordings, how can I serve you?’

  Baldwin entered and smiled at her, studying her with interest. ‘We are just come from discovering the body of the murdered purveyor.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Would you mind answering some more questions? Only a few, Felicia.’

  ‘Yes, but get the dog outside. Dogs upset my mother, and she’s in a bad enough way as it is.’

  ‘Of course.’ Baldwin took Aylmer out, and the dog sat and waited, but even as Baldwin closed the door, he caught a glimpsea large cat, all striped brown and orange fur, with arched back and hissing mouth. Aylmer stood and Baldwin saw him slowly stalk the cat.

  ‘Tell me, Felicia. When Ansel de Hocsenham died, you would have been about fourteen, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I suppose. It’s hard to keep track.’

  ‘Of course. And you were hungry then, too, weren’t you?’

  ‘Everyone was.’

  ‘Except your father. He had enough to eat.’

  Felicia pulled a face. ‘My father always made sure he was all right.’

  ‘He loved you, didn’t he?’

  ‘Most of the time, if you could call it that.’

  ‘Did he?’

  Felicia sighed. ‘He never said anything to me.’

  ‘He merely raped you,’ Baldwin said understandingly.

  ‘Baldwin, shouldn’t we be including Gunilda in this?’ Simon said quietly, indicating the woman at the fireside. He was vaguely uneasy about questioning this young woman about the incest in her family.

  ‘I think we shall hear little sense from your mother. What do you think?’ Baldwin asked Felicia.

  ‘You’re just worried I’ll be upset,’ she said. ‘I don’t care. You know he took me almost nightly. What of it? Mother was unhappy, though. He didn’t want her any more.’

  ‘And not just you. He raped other girls, didn’t he?’ Baldwin said.

  Felicia’s face froze. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Of course you do. He was a strong man, full of blood and lust.’

  Gunilda had stopped her restless kneading, and now she stared at them with a frown on her face. Baldwin tried to give her a reassuring smile, but his lips wouldn’t work. Instead he turned his attention back to Felicia. ‘Tell me,’ he said: ‘which window was your father using to grease the machine when he fell under the wheel?’

  Felicia jerked her head towards the machinery. ‘The one behind there.’

  Baldwin walked to the wall behind the turning shafts. There was an unglazed window there, a good-sized hole in the wall which was designed to light the great cogs. He stood on a wooden step beneath the window and looked up. Just within reach was the timber axle, but if he tried to touch it, he would be slightly overbalanced. An easy target for someone who wanted to push him out.

  ‘Your father couldn’
t swim, could he?’ he asked mildly as he returned.

  ‘No. He had other things to do than waste his time on frivolous pursuits like that.’

  ‘Of course. Now – your mother. You say she was jealous of you?’

  ‘He preferred me.’

  ‘Naturally,’ Baldwin said. ‘You were younger and more attractive. I suppose he was always affectionate to you?’

  Felicia laughed shortly. ‘When he wanted my body, he was. Otherwise, he would beat me, and even then he wanted me afterwards.’

  ‘Were you upset when he wanted these other girls?’

  ‘Me? No. I was glad. It meant he left me alone!’

  ‘But accidents happened. Like when Aline became pregnant.’

  ‘She was a strumpet. She had no shame,’ Felicia said scathingly. ‘And Mary, the orphan girl. She was no better.’

  ‘She threw herself at Father.’

  ‘Of course it was terrible to kill them. But understandable.’ Felicia almost nodded, but stilled her head.

  ‘Poor little Emma, though. It was sad to kill her.’

  ‘She was as bad as the others, showing off in front of my father,’ Felicia said. Then: ‘Why are you saying all this?’

  ‘It was odd that she should be found in Thomas Garde’s yard.’

  ‘She deserved her end. She thought people wouldn’t notice, but she was always after men in the vill. Not only Father. I saw her with—’

  Baldwin watched her with a faint smile as she snapped her mouth shut. ‘She was a plump little thing. Do you know what? If a man had killed her, I would wonder whether she had been killed somewhere else and then planted in Thomas’s yard; if she was killed by a woman, though, why – I would think she had been lured into Thomas’s yard and killed there. Why should Emma mistrust a young woman?’

  ‘She was very trusting,’ Felicia agreed. ‘In some ways, Emma was innocent, you see. But you mustn’t blame her murderer. She couldn’t help it.’

  ‘Why should she be killed there, Felicia?’

  ‘Because she thought that it would point the finger at Thomas. She heard Ivo Bel talking about how his brother had a terrible temper, and she thought that either Thomas would get blamed or Ivo would, for trying to make Thomas look guilty. But it was her.’

  ‘Who?’

  Felicia threw a fearful look at her mother. ‘She couldn’t help it!’

  ‘Me!’ Gunilda gasped.

  Baldwin ignored her. ‘Why do you think Aline was buried when the others weren’t? Denise and Mary were left out in the open, weren’t they?’

  Felicia set her jaw. ‘It was her own fault. Aline wanted his child and Mother couldn’t bear that, so she dug a hole to stop her getting a Christian burial. I think that was cruel.’

  ‘It’s a lie!’ Gunilda screamed hoarsely. ‘I didn’t! I wouldn’t!’

  ‘She hid poor Aline to punish her, the whore, for persuading my father to bed her.’

  ‘Ansel the purveyor was different,’ Baldwin said steadily. ‘He wasn’t murdered because of the girls, was he?’

  ‘How would I know?’

  ‘No. The killer of the purveyor saw his unconscious body lying in the road, and at a time when everyone was starving, this was just a joint, a whole piece of meat.’

  ‘You think you know so much.’

  ‘I do. I do. Your father had an argument with the purveyor. What about, I do not know.’

  ‘He demanded money from my father. Said he would arrange for all our grain to be taken away from the vill and ground at Taw Green or another mill. It would have ruined us.’

  ‘He tried to attack your father?’

  ‘Samson was a strong man. He didn’t wait to be attacked, he jumped on Ansel and beat him down.’

  ‘And what happened then?’

  ‘My mother throttled him to take his leg for meat.’

  ‘Your mother did?’

  ‘I did not!’ Gunilda groaned.

  Felicia ignored her. ‘Yes. Just as she killed the other girls. And then killed my father.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘While he was leaning out of that window, she pushed him. He screamed as he fell, and then she screamed too, maybe because she realised what she’d done. Ah! You don’t know how good it is to be able to get it off my chest at last. I think she went on killing those girls because she thought Father loved them. He didn’t, though.’

  ‘When he fell I was outside,’ Gunilda said clearly. ‘But I saw my own daughter strike him on the head with a stone and push him out. I understood. Poor Felicia had been violated by him every night. My Christ, forgive me! I heard him, but I could do nothing. If I fought him, he’d beat me.’

  ‘She’s lying. She pushed him,’ Felicia said calmly.

  ‘She did it, Samson, not me!’ Gunilda said suddenly. She was staring at Baldwin with intense fear twisting her features. ‘I couldn’t have done it. You were talking to me, weren’t you, through the window? And then she pushed you out.’

  ‘Shut up, you old fool,’ Felicia said brutally. ‘You’re mad. Your brain’s addled like sour milk.’

  ‘There is no need to hide the fact, Felicia,’ Baldwin said. ‘You only did what you knew was necessary.’ His voice was gentle, but even as he spoke he could feel the horror deep in his belly. Madness was always terrifying, and Felicia was quite insane.

  ‘What did they matter?’ she said. ‘The girls were just things. They were only bodies for him to cover, like a stallion with a mare or a dog with a bitch.’

  ‘So you killed them to stop your father sleeping with them?’

  ‘He loved their young bodies,’ Felicia said, and suddenly her eyes brimmed. ‘He left me for them. He raped me in our bed, and when he had used me, he found others. He scared them into doing what he wanted.’

  ‘And you were jealous of them?’

  ‘Jealous?’ Felicia gaped at him, and then laughed. ‘Christ’s ballocks! Is that what you think? I hated him, Keeper! I hated him with a loathing that was so pure and strong that I could have done anything to hurt him. I killed his little lovers, I slaughtered them and ate them to show my utter contempt for them and him. And when the most recent of his little bitches came into heat and tried to wrest my Vin from me, why, I slaughtered her too. Only you should have thought it was Thomas Garde who killed her.’

  ‘Emma?’

  ‘Yes. The slut! She was making moony eyes at Vin, so I tempted her into the yard with a promise of sweetmeats, and then strangled her.’

  ‘Tell me, how did you know where Ansel was buried? How did you know to bury Aline there?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘I was waiting for Vin, but he didn’t come. When I heard voices I hid, and saw the reeve and forester at the body. I walked after them to see what they did. Later I thought I could use that same hole.’

  ‘And you killed your father.’

  ‘He had raped me that morning. I was bruised and sickened, and when he leaned through the window, I saw my chance. I hit him with a rock, and out he went. The paddle hit him, and that was that.’ She giggled.

  ‘You saw her?’ Baldwin asked Gunilda, but she wasn’t listening. Her attention was fixed upon her daughter, horror in her eyes.

  ‘You killed your own father! And you admit it so boldly.’ She shuddered. ‘How could you do that – and how could you be so cruel as to slaughter the others – and eat them! My God, my God. They were only little girls, Felicia.’ Gunilda was standing now, her dough forgotten. ‘It wasn’t their fault your fiend of a father raped them!’

  ‘But he regretted their loss!’ Felicia spat. ‘Don’t you see? It spoilt his fun!’

  Baldwin nodded. ‘That explains it all,’ he said. ‘And now I think we should go to speak to Sir Laurence de Bozon and Reeve Alexander.’

  ‘Why? I’ve got nothing to say to them.’

  ‘They shall want to meet you, to talk about these deaths,’ Simon said.

  Felicia shrugged, but said nothing. She crossed the floor towards the door, passing near Gunilda as she went, and too
k up a cloak.

  ‘Felicia, tell them it’s not true,’ the woman pleaded.

  ‘I find it hard to believe such a feeble-minded, ugly old crone cpuld actually be my mother,’ Felicia said, curling her lip. ‘Leave me in peace.’

  Gunilda’s mouth dropped wide open, but then she flew at her daughter, scratching, kicking and screaming. Felicia drew back, her hands up to protect her face, shrieking in fear and rage, and while Baldwin attempted to separate them and Simon tried to get behind Gunilda to hold her back, Felicia turned and ran towards the machinery. Gunilda chased after her, but Felicia was waiting for her. She had reached up to the rafter, and now she held her father’s rope. It whistled through the air and Gunilda howled as it streaked down her cheek and breast. To Baldwin’s horror he saw the blood welling on her face. Felicia brought it down again, and it was Gunilda’s turn to retreat, crying pitifully.

  The two returned towards Simon and Baldwin, but as the women approached, Gunilda tripped and fell on her back. Instantly Felicia was on her, raining blows on her head, and it took both men to grab her hands and lift her away.

  Panting with the effort, Felicia screeched, ‘You dare try to hurt me? Do that again, and I’ll kill you!’

  ‘Come with us,’ Baldwin said strongly.

  Felicia shook her arm free from him and walked to the door, waiting demurely while Simon and Baldwin stood back to let her leave first, and then suddenly exploded into action again.

  In an instant she drew a knife from beneath her apron, and stabbed Simon in the hand, whirling to strike Baldwin in the forearm. Just for a moment, the men were stunned, could see only her blade, wavering between them both, and then she pulled the door to with a slam and was gone.

  Recovering from his shock, Simon snatched at the door and yanked it open. He rushed out, through the yard and up to the roadway, but when he peered back towards the vill, he could see no sign of the girl. Surely there hadn’t been enough time for her to disappear?

  ‘Simon!’ Baldwin shouted, and the bailiff turned to see Felicia’s figure flying away along the track towards Belstone.