by Kate Ellis
What those items were, Wharton did not care to imagine and he shuddered as he contemplated a row across the choppy waters of the river to deliver his message.
Surely this thing would be over soon and Rosina would be in his bed.
CHAPTER 16
Katheryn and Valentine exchanged few words on the ride back from Childwall, but their thoughts were the same. Somewhere in the town was one who would mutilate the bodies of the dead for the glorification of Satan. It explained Father Clement’s missing hand: it explained a lot. Somehow the yellow haired juggler was involved: he had been seen with Father Clement on the night he disappeared and he had been with Melisanda on the night Agnes was killed. Always the yellow haired man. How Katheryn would like to question him.
Valentine had work to do in his shop. It was market day: many would call in for ointments and medicines and he couldn’t leave Ralph in charge indefinitely, the boy was overworked as it was. Katheryn, refreshed after her ride, handed her horse to Will to be unsaddled and peeped into the kitchen. Jane was busy helping Matilda, and Katheryn had no wish to disturb their happy chatter.
Her visit to the church the previous day had been spent talking to Master Culver and her offices had been left unsaid. She considered that she would be quite safe walking to Our Lady and St. Nicholas alone so she set out down Dale Street past the Guildhall and the bustling High Cross.
She dodged her way through the market day throng and resisted the temptation to look at the wares on offer, holding firmly onto the purse which hung from her waist: there were many cut-purses about on such a day. She reached the strand but there was no sign of Bartholomew. He would be on the water, she thought: his ferry was much in demand on market days. Several fishermen nodded to her as she passed and she smiled back at them, trying hard not to wrinkle her nose against the stench of yesterday’s rotting catch. The heavy grey of the sky was reflected in the river. It might rain soon. She quickened her pace but the fine damp sand caught at her feet and slowed her steps.
She reached the church and went in, glad to exchange the smell of fish and seaweed for that of incense. The building was quiet except for the low murmur of voices coming from one of the chapels. Katheryn knelt and began her own prayers. She was annoyed with herself when, after five minutes or so, the sound of footsteps distracted her from her devotions and made her look up.
Marjory Moore was hurrying from the side chapel of St. John, tears on her cheeks. She saw Katheryn and their eyes met momentarily. As Marjory ran out of the great west door Father James emerged from the chapel, nodded to Katheryn and walked quickly out of the church. Katheryn resumed her prayers, adding an extra request that she might soon be able to bring Agnes’s killer to justice.
*
Marjory hurried back to the Old Hall, trying hard to compose herself before facing the servants. Any hint of weakness and they would take advantage.
Since she had discovered the mill burned to the ground she had known no peace. Had she been wise, she wondered, to confess all to Father James; to admit that she had been foolish and that her foolishness had led her into sin. Even though she had received absolution, she still felt guilty...contaminated. And that interfering Lady Katheryn had been in the church. If she had overheard anything...
Marjory, reaching her front door, scolded a maidservant for her clumsiness and marched angrily through to the parlour. She called imperiously for wine and tried to concentrate on her embroidery.
Her heart began to beat faster when Katheryn was announced. She snapped at the maid to bring her in. If her confession had been overheard she would soon know.
Katheryn greeted her civilly. “Good day to you, Mistress Moore. I saw you in the church. You looked unwell so I called to see if you were better.”
“I am indeed well, my lady. You need not have concerned yourself,” Marjory replied stiffly.
“I also wish to speak with Griselda. She told my maidservant, Jane, that she had seen someone in the old mill. Has she said anything to you or any of your household?”
Marjory hoped that Katheryn could not hear the beating of her heart. “No, she has said nothing...and she is about her duties.” Her voice was tense.
Katheryn, realising that she would be offered no refreshment or any other encouragement to stay, took her leave. She would discover nothing from Marjory that day.
Katheryn made her way slowly across the bustle of the cobbled courtyard. Servants bobbed curtseys as she passed but she resisted the temptation to ask where Griselda’s was as such enquiries might be reported back to Mistress Marjory. But she kept her eyes open and hoped that any meeting would seem accidental to the casual observer.
Her swift prayer that she would find Griselda was soon answered. The maidservant appeared round the corner of the house carrying a basket of herbs on her arm. Katheryn smiled, feigning surprise that they should meet by chance.
“It’s good to see you, Griselda. You have not visited us for a few days. I hope you will do so soon as Jane misses you.”
“Mistress Moore keeps me busy, my lady. And...” She bowed her head as though embarrassed. “She said I was not to speak with Jane. She says I waste time gossiping.”
“I’m certain that’s not true. Can you walk with me awhile? I shall take the blame if we are discovered.”
Griselda looked up at the diamond paned windows of the house. No one was watching. She grinned at Katheryn and nodded eagerly. The two women walked out onto Mill Street and headed in the direction of the White Cross and the town.
“Does Mistress Moore know of what you saw in the old mill?”
Griselda nodded. “The housekeeper told her and the mistress sent for me and said I was never to repeat such nonsense. But it is no matter now: the mill is burned...and a good thing too.”
“Does anybody in the household know what caused the fire?”
“The men think it was young lovers lighting a fire to keep themselves warm. But that’s nonsense...who would be foolish enough to do such a thing?”
“And what do you think caused it?”
Griselda looked Katheryn straight in the eye as though the answer was obvious. “Why, who would bring fire with him from hell but Satan himself? There has been much happening in this town of late and I don’t just mean cutpurses and whores and the usual wrongdoings: there is something evil. I heard that in the village of Childwall nearby the dead have been torn from their graves.” Her eyes were alight with superstitious relish. Griselda was treading the fine border between fear and the enjoyment of fear.
“I know what happened in Childwall,” Katheryn said, matter of fact. “I want to ask you a question, Griselda. Please think hard and answer honestly.”
“I will if I can, my lady.” She tilted her head to one side to show willing.
“Did you ever see Agnes in the company of a priest?”
Griselda looked crestfallen. The question was disappointingly mundane. She had expected to be asked if she had witnessed any member of the household consorting naked with the devil at least. She shrugged. “She saw Father James when she went to mass.”
“But apart from at her confession, did she speak with any priest alone?”
“Griselda shook her head. Then her hand went to her mouth in sudden realisation. “There was that time I saw her by the old mill, when she first came here it was. She was talking with a man in a priest’s gown but he had his back to me. I didn’t see who it was because I was too far away.” The corners of her mouth turned upwards in a mischievous grin. “You think her sweetheart was a priest? Did he kill her do you think? Some man of God to cover his sins with murder.”
“I cannot say as yet who killed her, and I should be grateful if you would say nothing of the matter.”
Griselda tried her best to look solemn. “Indeed I will not, my lady. You can trust me.”
“Did you see this priest again?”
Griselda thought carefully. “I’m sure I saw him talking with Mistress Moore on the same spot a few weeks after, although I
did not see clearly. I was gathering herbs at twilight and I wasn’t going to loiter and get a thrashing for spying on my betters. I thought no more of it till now. You must ask Mistress Moore and see what she says.” Griselda glanced anxiously over her shoulder. “I must get back, my lady, or I’ll be missed. I’m sorry I could tell you nothing of importance.”
“On the contrary, Griselda, I owe you my thanks. You have told me a great deal.”
When Griselda had hurried back to her work, Katheryn returned to Dale Street in the fast fading light. The market stalls were being dismantled and the population of the town was on the move through the littered streets, homeward or tavernward bound. When she reached Valentine’s shop she found Ralph putting the shutters up at the windows. She had not realised it was so late.
*
It was Saturday night and Master Jacob Multhorpe had stayed on in Liverpool longer than he had intended. His business with Captain Flynn successfully concluded, he was now negotiating with a Captain O’Rourke whose price was even more competitive. And there were carters to arrange and loading to supervise. It would be a few days yet before he would set off back to Manchester and the unwelcoming bed of Mistress Multhorpe. He would stay there in the Mermaid for as long as he had business in the town. The inn had its attractions in the shape of a young redhead named Nan and he was in no hurry to get back home.
He ate Master Turner’s meat pie carefully, chewing every mouthful. He had learned his lesson and he had no desire to call upon Master Valentine’s services again to relieve the agonies of over-indulgence. He looked about him as solitary eaters do. The inn was packed with a mixture of townsfolk and sailors and the tapsters and serving wenches were kept busy under the landlord’s all-seeing supervision.
The door opened and Multhorpe looked round. Standing there was a tall man, strangely dressed in brightly patched clothes with curly yellow hair and a shabby cloak of motley hanging loosely from his shoulders. He approached Master Turner and exchanged a few words with him. The landlord shook his head and the yellow haired man sat down in a private corner and ordered ale, placing the heavy leather sack he carried carefully on the ground.
Multhorpe knew him. This was the man who had been talking to Father Clement the night he disappeared. Jacob Multhorpe remembered his duty as an upright citizen and his promise to Valentine. The merchant beckoned to a boy who was weaving between the tables collecting the pots. He held out a shiny coin and the boy’s eyes lit up with sudden interest.
“You know Master Valentine, the apothecary?” The boy nodded. “This coin is yours if you fetch him this instant and tell him the juggler’s here. He’ll understand.” He returned the coin to his purse and watched the boy bob out of the door. At the speed he was travelling, the message would not take long to reach its destination.
*
Katheryn and Valentine, sharing the day’s news by the fireside, were surprised to receive Multhorpe’s message. But they threw on their cloaks and followed the lad to the Mermaid. When they arrived Valentine raised a hand in greeting to Master Multhorpe and proceeded to stare at the juggler who was seated in his private alcove eyeing the serving girls. Valentine had worked out his approach and congratulated himself that his idea was quite a clever one.
He approached the juggler, a look of grave concern on his face. “My friend, you must feel most unwell. I suggest you ask the landlord for a room where you can rest. May I introduce myself, sir. I am Master Valentine and I am an apothecary of this town.” Valentine looked the man up and down, keeping his distance. “Those spots...how long have you had them?”
The juggler felt his face, he was starting to grow restless with panic. “Spots? What is it, I pray you, Master, what is it?”
Valentine nodded knowledgeably. “I have the very thing for such a condition in my shop but first I would ask you some questions.”
“Please hurry...will I live?”
“Have you been in contact with any priests, say a few weeks ago. There is one that I know of who had such a condition...a Father Clement. If you had been near to this man...”
Katheryn stood behind Valentine, her expression serious. She could not help but admire his acting ability.
“I meet many on business. I might have met your priest.”
“And the village of Childwall. Have you been there in the past few days?”
This time the juggler looked alarmed. He stood up, pushed Valentine aside and ran from the inn.”
“There is your answer.” Katheryn looked down. In his panic, the juggler had left his bag behind. She opened it carefully, dreading what she might find. Underneath the coloured balls and the other tools of the juggler’s trade were some small packs of oilcloth, well sealed but ominously stained with dark red. Katheryn hardly liked to touch them. She stepped back and let Valentine investigate.
He took the packs from the bag. “I will have these taken back to Childwall for decent burial. Let the man come to reclaim his bag. He will find his gruesome trophies gone. The man is a trader in such things for those who indulge in the black arts. They are usually too cowardly to mutilate the bodies themselves but they will pay handsomely for others to do so.”
Master Multhorpe came over and slapped Valentine heartily on the back. “Well done, my friend. You gave that rogue quite a shock. And what was in his bag?” He peered over to see but Valentine hastily concealed the items. He did not want to start a panic in the inn.
“It is best that you do not know, Master Multhorpe.”
“Fair enough. I had a word with the landlord while you were at your work. It seems that our yellow haired friend was asking for a certain gentleman. The landlord had never heard of him of course but he remembered the name. The rogue was asking for a Master Mires.”
*
Mires had been watching the inn from the shadows of a doorway opposite, making sure that all was well before he ventured inside. The juggler had expected him to be waiting inside but Mires was no fool. He was not going to hang about the taverns of Liverpool, where somebody might recognise him, any longer than he had to.
When he saw the juggler shoot from the inn as though the hounds of hell were after him, he knew his caution was justified.
Let the juggler take the consequences. Mires still had enough objects of evil to impress Wharton with...and keep him compliant.
Mires would lie low; he would take care. And patience would bring its rewards. He would soon be a very wealthy man.
CHAPTER 17
After high mass Father Nicholas returned home, took the thing out of its soft leather pouch and looked at it. Captain Sanchez was almost ready to do the deal. It had taken persuasion of course. The Captain had had to be convinced of the power of the object...and that it was what Nicholas claimed it to be. And when Nicholas had told his story, the Captain’s eyes had gleamed greedily. He wanted the object...wanted to possess it.
Mary strolled over to see what was preoccupying her husband. She gasped in horror when she saw the object. “Put that away. It makes me feel sick.”
“You don’t appreciate how important this will be to us, Mary. It will make all the difference. And with our child on the way...”
“I don’t care. I don’t want to see it.”
He placed the thing carefully into its pouch, taking care not to disturb the rotting skin that hung round the joints. He would hide it until he handed it over. Women in his wife’s condition often had sick fancies. He went to her and put his arm about her shoulder, reassuring her that it would soon be out of her house.
*
It was early afternoon when the messenger came from the castle to say that Sir Thomas had returned and would be honoured if Lady Katheryn would dine with him that evening. Katheryn accepted graciously, regretting that the invitation hadn’t extended to Valentine. But she was confident of her abilities to discover information by herself: putting people at their ease and encouraging them to talk was one of the talents God had given her.
She asked Jane to lay out her best gown
and spent the afternoon in preparation. She had already decided to go on horseback to protect her gown from the filth of the streets, so the castle servant who had been sent to accompany her - a fat good natured fellow called Pouch - walked ahead of her, leading her mare’s reins, while she chatted easily to him about the garrison and the castle. She listened patiently to the saga of the cook’s toothache and Captain Wharton’s fancy for the wife of one of the town’s more prosperous merchants, throwing in the odd question to keep the flow of information coming. Although she sympathised with the cook, it was Wharton who interested her.
“So what will be the outcome, Master Pouch? Will the merchant discover Captain Wharton’s intentions towards Mistress Rosina?” she asked conspiratorially, hoping Pouch would think she possessed an interest in general gossip rather than a particular concern for the affairs of Captain Wharton.
