The Devil's Priest

by Kate Ellis

  “I couldn’t tell you, my lady. But if I know anything of the Captain, whatever he wants he gets. It’s strange indeed. When he first came here from Chester castle he was under a Captain March and they didn’t get on. Then three weeks later March’s dead...fallen from the castle rock...broken neck. Not that I’m blaming Wharton, mind; he was elsewhere at the time. But what a piece of luck for him, eh. I’ve heard tell that something like that happened in Chester too. Nothing stands in our Captain’s way for long. He’s a good commander, mind. The men respect him. But I’ll warrant Mistress Rosina’s husband won’t stop him getting what he wants. I hear say the man’s sick already.”

  Katheryn was disappointed to see the castle gate looming in front of her. The man Pouch was a natural gossip and she had discovered more than she had dared to hope during her brief journey. She gave the servant a beaming smile as he helped her from her horse. “I hope you’ll do me the honour of accompanying me home, Master Pouch. I have enjoyed our conversation. Who would have thought Liverpool castle to be such an interesting place. You must tell me more on our return journey.”

  Pouch bowed low, blushing with pleasure. Here was a lady who enjoyed gossip just as much as he did; not like Mistress Pouch who swore he would hang one day for not guarding his tongue.

  Katheryn was received with due ceremony by Sir Thomas while Sir Edward hung in the background sheepishly. When he spoke to her it was with a cautious formality. This woman knew too many of his secrets and he could feel her eyes on him, watching him. For the first time in his easy, over-indulged life, Edward Molyneux felt the pangs of an uneasy conscience.

  Katheryn was pleased to see that Captain Wharton had been invited to join them. He greeted her courteously, giving no hint that they had met before, and sat as far away from her as possible at dinner.

  Sir Thomas, the perfect host, kept the conversation going, enquiring after the well being of the Bulkeley lands and steering carefully away from any subject that might be considered controversial; a difficult task but somehow he managed it well. The meal was as good as any Katheryn had presided over at Godstow: suckling pig and a huge freshly caught salmon, followed by rich pastries and sweetmeats. The cook at the castle, she was told, had been in Lord Molyneux’ service for many years and had excelled himself in spite of his toothache. His Lordship was a fortunate man to have harnessed such talent in a small town like Liverpool.

  An excellent wine helped to relax the atmosphere and loosen tongues and a pair of household musicians provided the discreet strains of lute and viol as they ate. Both Sir Edward and Captain Wharton were looking more relaxed and Katheryn thought that, in view of her previous occupation, a few questions about the religious life of the castle might not be considered out of place.

  “I have nothing but praise for the sustenance you have provided for the body, Sir Thomas.” Sir Thomas, gratified, bowed his head to acknowledge this praise for his hospitality. “But I hope you provide equal sustenance for the soul. Do the men of the garrison hear mass often?”

  “The men’s spiritual well-being is taken care of I can assure you, my lady.”

  Katheryn turned to Wharton who was toying with his goblet. He reached out for the silver flagon and helped himself to more wine.

  “I expect the priests of Liverpool are glad of the extra fees they can earn for saying mass for the garrison, Captain. Their salary is hardly sufficient to live on, I understand.”

  Wharton nodded stiffly. “That is indeed the case, ma’am. There is no problem persuading them to do that service for the souls of my men. And the poor creatures look half starved when they arrive so they usually enjoy a good meal into the bargain. As you see, we have an adequate cook.”

  There were well fed chuckles of agreement from Lord Molyneux’ sons whose consumption of wine had made them more relaxed. Sir Edward, his inhibitions lowered, was staring at Katheryn’s figure appreciatively which was his natural reaction to any attractive woman.

  Katheryn continued. “I believe the late Father Clement visited the castle often.”

  Sir Thomas nodded. “Ah yes. His murder was a dreadful business. There is much danger to the innocent in these times. The lower orders no longer have respect for their betters but to kill a priest...”

  “Indeed, Sir Thomas. A dreadful business, as you say. And the schoolmaster, Father Chadwick, did he visit the castle?

  Thomas nodded. “Yes, but it was Father Clement who came most often.”

  “You knew Father Clement well?”

  “Not well. He was of more service to the garrison than the family.”

  “Then Captain Wharton must have been well acquainted with him.” She turned to Wharton who quickly drained his goblet and poured himself more wine. Katheryn repeated her question. “You knew Father Clement well, Captain? Were you not both in Chester? Did you know him then?” She put her head to one side ingenuously, awaiting an answer.

  Wharton’s unease seemed to turn almost to panic. He finished his wine and stood up. “I hardly knew the man. We never talked. If you’ll excuse me, my lady...gentlemen. I have matters to attend to.”

  He bowed stiffly and marched out of the room with determination. Katheryn sat back and sipped her wine. Her suspicions had been confirmed. Captain Wharton was deeply involved in whatever was going on in Liverpool Castle and, if she was not mistaken, was somehow involved in Father Clement’s murder.

  Sir Thomas swiftly covered up the Captain’s abruptness by changing the subject to the latest court rumours concerning the King’s marital future. The death of Queen Jane in childbirth had left the King a widower with a weakly son and the necessity to secure the future of the Tudor dynasty with more male heirs. It wasn’t long before he had begun to cast his eyes about for a new wife...but who would be the fortunate (or, Katheryn thought treasonably, the unfortunate) lady? The court was rife with speculation about Jane Seymour’s successor: a German princess had been suggested. But whoever the lady might be, Katheryn did not envy her...though she kept all such thoughts to herself.

  The evening drew amicably to a close and, as Katheryn made her farewells, Sir Edward took her hand and kissed it lingeringly. She shot him a warning look. The man clearly had no conscience about what had happened to Agnes: he probably considered it his right to satisfy his desires with any woman who was available at the time. Katheryn made a mental note to pray for his immortal soul and for his repentance. But he was no killer - she was sure of that.

  A yawning Pouch brought her horse round to the courtyard and helped her mount. The man was well versed in castle gossip so the question was worth asking. When they were out of earshot of the Molyneux brothers she spoke.

  “Tell me, Master Pouch, did you know of the priest who was lately murdered...Father Clement?”

  For the first time Pouch looked away and did not answer. They walked on for a while in silence, the only sounds being the rhythmic clip clop of the horse’s hooves on the hard packed ground and the noise of revelling and argument from the numerous taverns which lined their route. When Pouch spoke he did so quietly. “He was very thick with Captain Wharton, he was. More than that I cannot say.”

  “He visited the castle often then?”

  “Oh aye. From what I heard he was closeted with the Captain for hours on end...and mass left unsaid. That’s only what I’ve heard, mind: I could not vouch for the truth of it.”

  “And Father Chadwick, the schoolmaster? Did he know Captain Wharton?”

  “Oh aye, he used to say mass for the garrison. Not seen him for a while; I think he’s left the town.”

  She decided to try another question: a longshot. “Have you heard the name Mires mentioned?”

  Pouch shook his head. “Can’t say I have, my lady. But then I don’t hear everything,” he added regretfully.

  They had reached Valentine’s shop. A candle burned in the window and Katheryn knew that the apothecary would be waiting up for her. She pressed a coin into Pouch’s hand and was thanked with an eager grin and a low bow. “It�
�s been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.”

  “And yours, Master Pouch. Thank you for escorting me and keeping me entertained.”

  Katheryn was just wondering whether Pouch would have anything more to tell her when Will appeared to take her horse. The moment was missed. Pouch bowed low again and disappeared, running, into the darkness of Dale Street.

  Valentine had a warming infusion of camomile waiting for Katheryn on her return. He was in the habit of taking such a drink himself before bed, knowing that it helped him to sleep. They sat before the embers of the fire, sipping their drinks. Katheryn looked across at him. Was this, she wondered, what marriage was like; the silent companionship; to be in the company of another without the necessity to make conversation. Valentine looked at her and smiled.

  “Did you dine well at the castle? And did you discover anything of interest?”

  “I dined very well. Their cook was most skilled, in spite of his toothache.” She grinned. “And I learned enough to suspect Captain Wharton of being involved in Father Clement’s death.” She went on to recount the events of the evening.

  “But what of Agnes? You suspect Sir Edward?”

  She shook her head. “No. The man is a seducer and a rogue and a danger to the whole female sex...or he would like to be. But I do not think him a killer. I feel we must look for our priest, whoever he may be. It seems we are still no nearer discovering his identity. Though I would know more of Father Chadwick’s whereabouts: we must enquire of your friend William Staines when Captain Crosse can see us. But now we must sleep on the problem.”

  Katheryn rose from her seat. Valentine stood up at the same time and they paused there before the fire, so close that the desire for contact was almost irresistible. Valentine put out his hand to take hers and drew her towards him. At first she did not resist but after a split second she stepped away. “Brother, we have both made certain vows.”

  Valentine closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Katheryn, forgive me.”

  She stepped forward again and touched his face gently, her hand brushing against the evening stubble of his chin. “I forgive you readily but we must remember that vows made to our creator are of more importance than our own inclinations.”

  Their eyes met in understanding. They were still friends. No harm had been done.

  She left him alone. He listened to the swish of her skirts as she went up the stairs to her chamber. She had spoken of “our” inclinations: did hers match his own? Valentine knelt there on the rushes before the dying fire and prayed for strength to resist the desires of the flesh.

  CHAPTER 18

  Valentine slept badly that night and left his bed early to attend to some overdue tasks in his shop. Ralph, sleepy eyed, found his master up and about and restless. The apprentice was surprised when the apothecary went out without telling him his destination as he usually did.

  Valentine walked through the bustling early morning streets, hardly hearing the shopkeepers call their greetings to him as they let down their wooden shutters to form their shop counters and set out their wares to attract the people of Liverpool to part with their money. A pair of beggars, recently wakened up in a doorway and chased off with a broom by the mistress of the house, squatted on the ground and whined for alms.

  Valentine wondered what had become of the beggar with one hand. No doubt the man had moved on to find fresh sympathy. He tossed the beggars a halfpenny, all he could spare, and let them fight over it: if they were wise and didn’t let self interest get the better of them, they could buy bread with the coin and share an adequate breakfast.

  When he reached Father James’s house, Valentine hammered on the door. It was early still; early enough for the priest to be at home rather than about his duties in the church. Father James opened the door, surprised to see his visitor; and even more surprised when Valentine told him the reason for his visit.

  “I will gladly hear your confession, brother,” he said, concerned. “If you have anything on your conscience that troubles you, it is only right that you should confess it.”

  Valentine followed James into his small thatched house, knelt and confessed the innermost thoughts of his heart. Father James nodded with understanding. He had seen the Abbess: she was indeed an attractive woman...and living beneath the same roof. He murmured the absolution and Valentine felt a renewed strength. Katheryn was his sister in Christ and he must regard her as such.

  Valentine changed the subject. “I hope the questions Katheryn asked on market day about Father Chadwick the schoolmaster did not disturb you.”

  James shook his head. “Sometimes, as a priest, there are things that one would rather not know. Chadwick is gone. Let us leave it at that. No good can come of pursuing the matter.”

  “I rather think that Katheryn suspects him of some connection with Agnes Moore’s death.”

  James shook his head again. “You must take my word for it. The man sinned and now he is gone.” James pressed his lips tightly together. The subject was closed.

  *

  Valentine’s departure from Father James’ house was watched by Captain Wharton and his companion who stood hidden against the churchyard wall, their cloaks pulled about them, shielding them from the sharp river wind and hiding their faces from prying eyes.

  “Is the apothecary one of their number? Mires spoke softly to the other man even though there wasn’t another soul about.

  “I have not seen him in their company. And there are many reasons for an apothecary to visit a priest, none of which are of any interest to us.”

  “We must not be deflected from our purpose. If the apothecary is not involved then we must forget him. We must interest ourselves only in those who can lead us to our goal.”

  Wharton looked at Mires and saw the fire of lust burning in his eyes: lust for the riches of this world and the power they could bring.

  *

  Katheryn also rose early, but by the time she had come downstairs, Valentine was gone and Ralph could not tell her where. Jane had gone down to the kitchen after helping her lady dress, and was now busy gossiping with Matilda and bantering with Will, who was sitting like a lord by the roaring fire sipping his breakfast ale.

  Katheryn peeped round the door but did not announce her presence. She would go out by herself: there were times when she preferred to be alone.

  She walked through the streets, that were already filling with goodwives and servants shopping for the day’s provisions, and headed for the strand.

  At first Katheryn took little notice of the young woman who walked a few yards ahead of her. But as she followed her down Chapel Street it came to her that the plump figure belonged to Father Nicholas’s wife, Mary. Katheryn, not wishing to waste the opportunity, quickened her pace until she caught up with her. Mary turned round, wary at first in case the hurrying footsteps belonged to a cutpurse or foist. But when she saw Katheryn a welcoming smile lit her pretty face.

  “My lady, it is a pleasure to see you. You are alone?” She looked round for a servant: it was uncommon for a lady of position to walk the streets unaccompanied.

  “I prefer to walk alone at times. Solitude, I find, is necessary for thought. At my abbey I had the cloisters but here the streets must suffice. How is your husband?”

  “He is well, thank you my lady.” Something in Mary’s expression told Katheryn that she was not telling the whole truth. She looked down at the basket the priest’s young wife was carrying: a small loaf, yesterday’s by the look of it; a couple of small eggs; a small bag of flour: hardly the raw materials for a feast. Mary saw her looking at her purchases. “One of the fishermen knows my father and he is most generous. We get by with what he gives us.”

  “It is not easy living on the salary of a chantry priest,” Katheryn stated simply, without judgement.

  “You are right, my lady. And when he left the abbey at Whalley, the brothers received no pension as they had incurred the anger of the King.” She paused, a smile playing on her lips. “Bu
t we expect our fortunes to improve shortly.” Katheryn could see Mary weighing up how much information it was safe to give out. “My husband has made the acquaintance of the captain of a Spanish ship moored here in the river, the Santa Isabella,” she said proudly, almost preening herself at her husband’s influential connections. “This evening he is to do some trade with him and the captain is willing to pay well.” She stopped herself before she gave too much away.

  “I am pleased to hear it,” said Katheryn in the hope of encouraging more confidences. But none came. In view of the secretive nature of her husband’s dealings, Mary had said too much already. Katheryn, sensing that the subject of Father Nicholas’s business was now closed, tried steering the conversation in another direction.

  “I was a guest of Sir Thomas Molyneux at the castle last night.” She watched Mary’s reaction. It was not Katheryn’s habit to try to impress with her rank and good connections, but this time it was unavoidable. “He mentioned to me that chantry priests often say mass at the castle. Perhaps your husband might render the garrison that good service more often. I could speak to Sir Thomas...”