The Devil's Priest

by Kate Ellis

  Katheryn looked over at the bed. It was tidily made and looked as if it had not been slept in. The discipline of monastic life must have given Clement the habit of neatness, thought Katheryn.

  She took one last look in the cupboard, running her hand against the back of the shelves. There was something wrong here. The place was too bare.

  A board at the back of the cupboard was loose. She rattled it, pushing it to and fro. Eventually it slid back, revealing a small hiding hole. Katheryn bent down to see it better. The hole was empty apart from a single small copper coin. Whatever treasure or secret thing Clement had kept there was gone. They had walked into the cottage freely; maybe others had too and had stolen what money the priest possessed. There was no way of knowing now.

  “Come,” said Valentine. “I feel uncomfortable intruding on a dead man's privacy."

  "You are right as always, Valentine. And there is nothing more to be found. But we know now that Father Clement had connections with Captain Wharton."

  "He said mass at the castle. Must you make so much of every innocent thing?" He touched her hand gently and she did not move it away.

  "There is something amiss in this town, Valentine, and right now it seems that Captain Wharton is at the centre of it." She moved away towards the door. "And as we are nearby I think we should pay a call on Father Nicholas and his wife."

  *

  Katheryn needed an excuse to visit Father Nicholas. She thought it appropriate to buy a few more masses for Agnes's soul. Her conscience still troubled her concerning Agnes. Why hadn't she looked after the girl better when she asked for her help?

  Father Nicholas's cottage was no bigger than Father Clement's. It was situated further down Chapel Street at the end of a row of fishermen’s' dwellings. Broken fishing nets waiting to be mended lay in front of the cottages like the discarded webs of some giant spider.

  The door was answered by a plump dark-haired young woman with a pleasant face. Not everybody, particularly those of a religious vocation, could accept the wife of a priest - and the King’s new law forbidding the marriage of priests had made her position illegal. She greeted Katheryn and Valentine civilly but warily, as though she feared their disapproval.

  "My husband is at his work," she said, self consciously. "But if you wish to come in..."

  They stepped across the threshold. Father Nicholas's wife had endeavoured to make their humble cottage as homely as possible. The rushes were fresh and the wooden furniture, though sparse, was as polished as Mistress Moore's. The smell of fresh baked bread filled the small room and the bed next to fireplace was neatly made up with clean linen.

  Father Nicholas was sitting at the table, bent over a piece of parchment. His quill pen scratched as he formed the letters. He looked up at his visitors.

  "You must forgive me. I write a letter for one of the townsfolk. His landlord is threatening to increase the rent for his plot on the townfield to an extortionate sum."

  "I hope your words move the landlord to justice, Father," Katheryn said with sincerity. "I would buy some masses for the soul of a girl who was buried this morning. Her name was Agnes Moore."

  She watched the priest carefully, waiting for signs of guilt. She saw none. He merely nodded as she handed over the coins. "I will indeed pray for her, madam. A tragic business. There is much wickedness in the world."

  "There is indeed, sir."

  She saw Nicholas glance across at his wife, who smiled back at him affectionately.

  "Did you know Agnes Moore, Father?"

  Father Nicholas looked up. Something had disquieted him. "No...er...no. I never knew her."

  Katheryn politely took her leave. It would be fruitless to question the man further in his wife's presence.

  *

  When their visitors had gone, Father Nicholas turned to his wife. "Do they suspect anything, do you think?"

  "No, my love." She put her arms about his neck. "They know nothing. All will be well." She began to kiss the back of his neck. He discarded his pen and pushed the parchment aside. She gently led him to the bed in the corner and began to undress.

  CHAPTER 11

  The evening meal had been good. Matilda had excelled herself with a fresh salmon, caught in the Mersey that very morning.

  "I think it is time I took advantage of my eldest brother's position," Katheryn said, taking a sip of wine. Valentine looked at her warily, wondering what she was planning. "His office as Constable of Beaumaris should ensure that I am not turned out of Liverpool Castle like an inquisitive serving wench."

  "Take care, Katheryn. We are seeking a killer, remember. You should not do anything that might endanger..."

  "There is little risk to myself. And I do it for Agnes. I let her down so I feel it is my duty to..."

  "You have done all anybody could reasonably expect. Leave it to the constables to bring the culprits to justice."

  Katheryn snorted with derision. "The constables! They are too busy chasing beggars and cutpurses and dealing with those who have taken too much ale. If a murder is committed and there is no culprit at hand, you know as well as I that the matter is quietly forgotten. What have they been doing to apprehend Agnes's killer? Or Father Clement's? Nothing. It is my duty to do what I can, Valentine. And I will hear no arguments."

  Valentine looked at her. Not the first time he noticed that she was an attractive woman; slim, with good complexion and even features, her chestnut hair peeping from the front of her fine linen coif. He could not face the thought of her walking into danger.

  But she seemed confident that her family connections would protect her from serious harm...and she could well be right. It would be harder to explain the disappearance of a respected member of the Bulkeley family than that of one of lower social class. Valentine did not agree with this state of affairs - we are all equal in the eyes of God - but this was how the world worked and Katheryn might as well take advantage of it.

  "What do you propose to do?" he asked.

  "Everything we have heard so far about Agnes's death - and Father Clement's murder - leads us to the castle. Do you not agree?"

  Valentine nodded reluctantly. "I know the castle as well as any. Wharton is a tough man - but fair, I should imagine. And his men are a mixture of good, bad and wicked like any other group of soldiers; no better, no worse."

  "And the Constable, Lord Molyneux? What kind of a man is he?"

  "Absent most of the time in London or at his estate in Sefton. His sons use the castle as their base in the town, however. The elder, Thomas, seems well enough; but the younger, Edward, is said to like his pleasures. I know of no facts, you understand. I only repeat what I hear."

  "Gossip, my friend, is the best source of information. I found out years ago when I was a young novice that it pays to know what is going on in the world. Tell me more of Edward."

  “He is young. He likes his wine and the ladies of the town. Honestly, Katheryn, I hardly know anything of the man...”

  “But what have you heard?”

  Valentine looked sheepish. He was loath to slander a man without evidence. “I have no reason to believe the tales.”

  Katheryn was becoming impatient. “What tales. Tell me, Valentine. Whatever you say will go no further, I assure you.”

  “I have heard that he entertains ladies at the castle, in his chamber. There has been talk of...” Valentine blushed, clearly embarrassed. “There has been talk of more than one lady at a time.”

  Katheryn resisted the impulse to smile at Valentine’s embarrassment. “There is no need to say more, Valentine. I understand. Such things go on, I believe. I have even heard rumours of monasteries where...”

  “Surely not.”

  “When the commissioners came to Godstow, I overheard much. Though I am sure they exaggerated the amount of licentiousness that occurred in some religious houses. After all, they had to have some excuse to throw us out of our establishments, did they not?”

  “Nothing of that sort went on at Birkenhead, I ass
ure you.”

  “I am sure nobody would suggest that it did, Valentine. But the temptations of the flesh are always with us.” She stood up. “I will go to the castle tomorrow and ask to speak to Lord Molyneux; or in his absence, one of his sons.”

  “I am coming with you, Katheryn. You cannot go alone.”

  “I do not intend to. Jane and Will will accompany me. You must stay here as the sick of Liverpool may have need of you and I shall report all when I return.”

  “Katheryn, take care.”

  “I shall, Valentine. And pray that I discover something of relevance.”

  *

  The castle loomed before them. Katheryn strolled boldly to the gatehouse and gave her name. The guard, bowing, hurried off to see if Sir Thomas would receive her.

  It wasn’t long before Will and Jane were offered refreshment in the kitchens and she herself was escorted across the bustling castle courtyard to the great hall. An impressive chamber, its great stone walls were hung with shields and tapestries and its stone flagged floor was strewn with rushes that could boast of being fairly fresh. A huge fireplace almost filled one end of the room; the royal and the Molyneux coats of arms carved above. This hall was for the Molyneux family and their guests, not for the common soldiers.

  Katheryn was not kept waiting long. A dark haired man in his mid twenties strode into the room and bowed with perfect politeness.

  “Lady Katheryn, this is an honour. If I had known you were in Liverpool, I should have invited you to dine at the castle. You must think us lacking in manners.”

  “Not at all, Sir Thomas.”

  “How is Sir Richard, your brother? Beaumaris is a fine castle is it not? Much larger than our humble defences here on the Mersey.”

  “It is indeed, Sir Thomas, and my brother is well, I thank you. I am sorry your father is not here. I should have liked to pay my compliments to Lord Molyneux.”

  “He will be sorry not to have greeted you himself, my lady. But I trust I shall do in his stead.” He poured her a goblet of very fine claret. Katheryn noticed that his manners were impeccable. “Is this your first visit to Liverpool, my lady?”

  “It is. But I have been here a while.”

  “It is a pity then that you have left it so long before visiting our castle.”

  Katheryn smiled. Sir Thomas had not been told of her earlier visit with Valentine. Why, she wondered had Captain Wharton kept it quiet? Sir Thomas bade her sit. His expression was serious. Here was a young man who didn’t take life lightly, she thought...unlike his younger brother.

  She explained her business and watched Sir Thomas’s expression when Agnes’s name was mentioned. He made the usual noises of sympathy but it was obvious the name Agnes Moore meant nothing to him. She felt a pang of disappointment. Her journey was wasted. It would, perhaps, have been better to concentrate on Captain Wharton.

  “I should be honoured if you would join me for supper one evening if you plan to stay in Liverpool. I am away on my father’s business for a few days but I return on Sunday.” He looked slightly embarrassed. “We sorely lack good society here at the castle. Liverpool is hardly London.”

  “You know London well, Sir Thomas?”

  “I have had the honour of being at court with my father, my lady.”

  “You are acquainted with Master Thomas Cromwell, by any chance?”

  Sir Thomas gaped with awe. “All men know Master Cromwell. But to be in his service is to be at the heart of government and I have not yet...”

  “Of course.” Sir Thomas Molyneux, Katheryn suspected, was an ambitious young man.

  “Are you yourself acquainted with Master Cromwell, my lady?”

  “Master Cromwell and I have exchanged many words,” she said, smiling. She was giving nothing more away. Let Sir Thomas remain impressed: it would be to her advantage. She changed the subject. “You have a brother, I believe. I wonder if he would be able to help me in this matter.”

  “That I doubt, my lady.” His lips tightened with disapproval. “My brother would not concern himself with ladies of virtue. His taste is for the other kind...if you will forgive my bluntness.”

  Katheryn nodded. She had omitted any details of Agnes’s recent indiscretions, mentioning only that she had been a novice in her charge and had gone missing.

  The door of the great hall opened and a young man stood on the threshold. He bore a resemblance to Sir Thomas and shared his colouring, but he was smaller in stature and his features were more delicate. He was more richly dressed than Thomas, with a fine gown of slashed velvet. This, she guessed, was Sir Edward. Seeing that his elder brother was engaged, Edward swiftly withdrew, closing the door behind him. Katheryn stood up.

  “I thank you for your hospitality, Sir Thomas, and I look forward to our next meeting.”

  Sir Thomas bowed deeply and escorted her across the courtyard. She had hoped to go out alone, maybe to find Sir Edward, but she should have anticipated that Sir Thomas would not abandon etiquette. He was a man destined for the King’s court.

  The guards, who had been slouching against the gatehouse, pulled themselves up to attention as Sir Thomas kissed Katheryn’s hand. She bade him farewell with dignity and beckoned to Jane and Will to accompany her.

  “Did you find out anything, my lady?” asked Jane when they were out of earshot.

  “Nothing at all, Jane. But I did get a look at Sir Edward Molyneux: and I do have an invitation to dine at the castle so all is not lost.”

  *

  In the small whitewashed cottage in Chapel Street, Father Nicholas picked up the leather pouch and looked at it. His wife, standing behind him, kissed his neck sensuously, taking his mind off what he had to do.

  He turned and took her in his arms. How had he ever thought he could lead a life of chastity? He had first discovered the pleasures of the flesh as a novice, when one of the older monks of his house had taken him to a tavern. What he had tasted in a chamber above the inn with a young redhead, he had been unable to abandon.

  Then, a few months back, he had met Mary, the tanner’s daughter when she came to him for help in drafting a letter. From that time on the prospect of marriage had begun to have its attractions. And now he was glad he had repented of his licentiousness and taken St. Paul’s advice that it was better to marry than to burn. Mary, with her soft skin, eager lips and talent for thrifty housekeeping, suited him well.

  He kissed her, letting his hand travel slowly down to her breast. “I must go, Mary. I must go to the Captain. He will be waiting.”

  Mary moved away reluctantly. Must you go?”

  “I must, my love. I do it for us.”

  “But is it not dangerous?”

  “Everything has its dangers nowadays. We must just pray that I shall not be apprehended.”

  Mary turned away and said nothing more. She would be on her knees in front of the statue of the Virgin that stood in a niche in the corner of the room, praying until her husband’s return. He slipped out into the street, shutting the door quietly behind him and hurried down Chapel Street towards the Strand.

  His footsteps slowed as he reached the sand and he covered his nose against the stench of rotten fish as he passed the foot of the Tower. The Captain had said he would meet him at the end of Bank Street. The afternoon strand was quiet apart from a few groups of fishermen who were too preoccupied with their business to notice a lone priest in a threadbare gown.

  The Captain was not there. Nicholas looked round. Maybe he’d misunderstood; perhaps he waited in the wrong place. Then a young man in sailor’s dress half walked, half ran down the jetty and Nicholas stepped forward expectantly. The man greeted him, looking about him as he spoke.

  “Father Nicholas?” His English was not good and his accent was almost impenetrable. “Captain Sanchez...he no come...you come Friday...yes?”

  Father Nicholas fingered the object inside the pocket of his gown. “Yes. You tell the Captain I will be here.”

  When the sailor had given a toothless grin
, and departed, Father Nicholas almost ran home across the sand, anxious to get back to Mary...and their bed.

  CHAPTER 12

  When the band of beggars had passed through the town, the beggar with one hand had been tempted to leave with them; to enjoy some fellowship and share in their pickings. But he knew he had to stay in Liverpool now that he had seen the man in the brown cloak. He had to find out if it was really Mires...or if he had been mistaken.

  The girl he had followed to the castle that night had been found dead and he felt that he must stay to find out the truth before more innocents suffered harm. But had the girl been innocent? She had been the creature’s whore He had watched them together through the window...had seen her lie beneath him, her legs apart and her skirts up, giving herself willingly. Now she was dead: and perhaps she had got what she deserved.