The Anchoress of Chesterfield

by Chris Nickson

‘You did very well.’ At least the coroner sounded impressed. ‘God’s blood, man, how did you know not to sleep in the hay?’

  ‘I can’t put it into words. It was the feeling in the place, Master. I was certain something would happen.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t even know what it was. But I decided to be safe.’

  Strong stared at him then nodded, a mix of astonishment and appreciation. He walked across to the window. New rushes covered the floor.

  ‘You were lucky when they were chasing you, too.’ He smiled. ‘God must be watching over you in this, Carpenter.’

  ‘Then I pray He continues.’ John coughed. ‘But if the squires die before they say anything, then I’m no closer to finding who ordered the killing, Master. I’ll be back where I was before.’

  ‘I know. So does my lord, believe me. He wants the answer to this more than the rest of us. He loved his daughter very deeply. She was his special child, far more than her sister. He saw his dead wife in her.’

  ‘Then I don’t understand. He’s happy for these men to die without telling him everything they know.’

  ‘He sees it as their choice to make. Their honour, if you like. That’s always been an important idea to him.’

  More important than his daughter’s memory, John wondered? But his question went unspoken; it wouldn’t change a thing.

  • • •

  What else could he do? Perhaps now was the proper time to take a walk back to Whittington. The old man there, Adam, knew more than he’d said; John had been certain when they’d met. It was time to press him and discover what it was. How far it might take him, though, and in which direction was a different matter altogether. Most likely it would confirm that the two squires had been Oswald’s murderers. But maybe there would be something more he could tease from the man.

  Tomorrow, he decided. Today he needed to feel ordinary, to revel in the simple joy in being alive.

  He stopped at the house where Alan was putting in new glazed windows. He had the frames in place, pointing out the problems he’d encountered in that special sign language he and John had developed. The hard job was making sure they sat square in walls that were out of true. But he’d done well. The frames were complete, only the windows themselves to go, with the leaded glass already fitted in place. He tried moving a couple of them. Good and snug, but they’d still open easily. He’d make sure the lad received every penny of the money for this work. That was only fair; he’d done it all.

  He wished he could have been here, working at Alan’s side. But he’d committed himself to finding Gertrude’s killer. So much depended on his success. And the truth was that Alan was very capable of handling any job that only needed one man. He’d served his time as John’s apprentice. He’d absorbed all the skills and developed a few of his own.

  • • •

  At home, the family gathered around the table for supper. Juliana was full of talk about the fair, bubbling over with excitement as she talked about the people who’d arrived during the day, how their stalls were decorated, the long ballads and tunes the musicians were swapping with each other.

  Her enthusiasm was exactly what he needed to lift his mood. A few minutes and he’d almost forgotten all that had happened. Soon Richard and Katherine were asking Juliana questions, the whole family caught up in the anticipation. The fair was no more than a few days away. By then, maybe he’d have money to treat them. And something better than a plain bean pottage to place on their trenchers. A little meat at least one day a week, a fish on a Friday. If God was good.

  Martha had finished her food. She was full and she was sleepy. He gathered her into his arms and carried her into the solar, washing the day’s dirt from her hands and face before taking off her gown and settling her under the blanket in her small bed.

  ‘Tell me a story, Papa. Please.’

  He began, the tale of a dog named Good Harry who could save his owner from every peril. But he hadn’t even been talking for five minutes, wracking his head for ideas, before she was fast asleep.

  • • •

  It was a calm day with hardly any breeze to flutter the leaves in the trees. Very few clouds, and even this early in the morning the sun was beating down.

  John left a trail of dust behind him on the long pull up to Whittington. Every hundred yards he glanced back over his shoulders, but no riders were following him here. If they had any sense, the brothers would be running for their lives. Here, at least, he felt a little safer.

  Adam, the first finder of the forager’s body, was outside his cottage, digging the autumn weeds from his garden before they could grow and strangle the late crops.

  ‘Good day,’ John called and doffed his cap. ‘May God be with you this morning, Master.’

  The old man stared at him with suspicion, not sure why John had returned.

  ‘I have a few more questions.’ He mopped his face on the sleeve of his tunic. ‘It’s a warm walk out here today.’

  Still Adam said nothing, keeping a bland, empty expression on his face.

  ‘You must miss Oswald. You’d been friends for so many years.’

  ‘Aye, I do.’ A wistful expression. ‘The world’s changed, young man. It used to be a place when a man might feel some safety.’

  Safety, John thought? When the pestilence and drought stalked across the land? Where was the safety in that? But he swallowed the question; there was no need to argue the point. He’d come here to learn some truth, not to discuss life.

  ‘Tell me, Master, did Oswald ever receive visits from a pair of men who might be squires?’

  ‘Squires? No, Master.’ Adam tried to sound perplexed by the idea. But his face had no talent for hiding the truth.

  ‘Ah, I thought perhaps two men in the service of Lord l’Honfleur had been to see him. That was what I’d been told.’

  A lie. But he’d be able to see its effect.

  ‘Not that I know. I’ve no idea who’d tell you a thing like that. Adam never said anything about it to me.’

  But he’d hesitated that moment too long.

  ‘Are you sure, Master? Maybe you forgot, or you weren’t listening when he told you.’

  John kept staring at Adam. It let the old man realise that he knew the truth; he was offering him the chance to recover gracefully.

  ‘I don’t know.’ His face reddened and he looked down at the ground. ‘I suppose I might have been mistaken.’

  ‘Did you ever see two men like that? Young, full of themselves, wearing my lord’s tunic and badge?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not myself. But now I think about it, Oswald did mention once that he’d been talking with a pair of young men. I suppose it might have been them. I hadn’t really considered it.’

  ‘No matter.’ John waved it away, giving the man a chance to finally tell him the truth. ‘Can you recall what he told you, Master?’

  The old man picked up a clay mug of weak ale and took a drink to wet his mouth.

  ‘Not all of it. It didn’t seem like much at the time. Just that the two young men had come looking for him when he was in the woods.’

  ‘Whose livery did they wear?’

  ‘It was my lord’s.’ He gave a wry, fleeting smile. ‘It’s impossible to live here and not recognise it. Oswald guessed who they must be from their age and the haughty way they carried themselves with him.’

  ‘What did they want?’

  ‘A few questions, he said. About different plants and the way they could heal or kill. They offered him money for his knowledge. He told them some things, and that was everything for that visit.’

  John raised his head sharply. ‘That visit? Do you mean there were others?’

  ‘Aye, Master. One more. They came back about a week later. That was what Oswald told me,’ he added. ‘I never saw them for myself.’

  Perhaps the part about not seeing them was true, John thought; maybe it was another lie. It didn’t matter.

  ‘What did they want the second time?’

  ‘They brough
t some plants they wanted Oswald to identify. Things he’d told them about. They wanted to know if they’d picked the right things. They paid him again for his time.’

  ‘Was there a mushroom?’

  ‘Aye, Master, there was, and Oswald fretted over it after we heard what happened to Gertrude. One of the plants they brought was a death cap mushroom. But at the time he wasn’t to know, was he?’

  ‘No,’ John agreed with a dip of his head. ‘How could he?’

  ‘That’s what I said to him, Master, but the guilt weighed heavy on him.’

  ‘Had Oswald told them what the mushroom could do?’

  ‘Of course,’ Adam replied in surprise. ‘He was a forager. He knew the properties of every plant. He didn’t want anyone to poison themselves with it. He didn’t think they’d…’

  No. But no one would imagine that.

  ‘Once he found out what had happened, why didn’t he tell someone?’ John asked.

  ‘When they were leaving the second time, the two men told him to keep the meetings to himself. If they heard of any stirring from him, they promised they’d come back and kill him and anyone he might care about.’ He hung his head. ‘I’m sorry, Master. But he was terrified. We both were.’

  Too late for any blame or guilt. Gertrude was dead and so was the forager. But now the connection was certain. He could tell l’Honfleur that his squires had come up with the mushroom as the way to kill his daughter.

  He had to hope that the hunting party brought the two young men back alive, to be questioned. There were so many things he needed to know. It might be his only chance to discover who was behind it all. How much had they done themselves? Had someone pushed or paid them to murder l’Honfleur’s daughter? And if so, why?

  ‘You must think we’re weak old men, Master,’ Adam said.

  ‘I think fear is very human,’ John told him. ‘They came back to kill him and make sure he couldn’t tell anyone about them.’

  ‘They did.’

  ‘Now you’re scared they’ll return for you, too.’

  The old man nodded sadly.

  ‘True enough, Master. I’m sorry. May God forgive me for my fear.’

  ‘Have you told me all of it?’

  ‘Everything. Let them come if they wish.’

  ‘They’re the hunted now, not the hunters.’ As he rose, he patted the old man on the shoulder. ‘The truth takes courage.’

  ‘Too much of it sometimes,’ Adam said.

  ‘Talk to the priest. Make your confession. It will help.’

  ‘I’ll do that, Master.’ He swallowed hard. ‘What will my lord do when you tell him about me?’

  ‘What’s my guess, do you mean?’ John answered. ‘Nothing. It’s all happened, we can’t change anything. He’s wise enough to understand that. He seems like a fair man.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  John found a spot by the side of the brook. He was shaded by a large willow, out of sight of anyone passing along the track. He’d been back to the place where Oswald the forager had been killed. All the grass had been trodden down and trampled until there was nothing to see. It was impossible to imagine the way the murder must have happened. On foot, though; that much was certain. In the middle of a wood, the squires wouldn’t have been able to guide their horses anywhere close.

  Even without any clue from there, he still had plenty to consider. Adam had said enough to make it certain that the squires were the killers. In all innocence, Oswald had told them about the mushroom.

  John would tell the girl’s father what he’d learned. But there were still too many questions to be answered. The squires were just two of the instruments being played here. And someone else was calling the tune.

  Who?

  He didn’t know. He knew nothing about the brothers. They were from somewhere near Edale, that was what old Hubert at l’Honfleur’s manor had said. He didn’t know that area, he’d never been out there. Maybe there was something in the family, some link that had pushed them to it. He needed to talk to Jeffrey of Hardwick; the young man seemed to have a complete grasp of all the families at the tips of his fingers.

  He wanted the squires dragged to my lord’s house. But he had the gnawing feeling that once they were discovered, it would end in death. It seemed to be the way warriors proved themselves. No quarter. No life.

  After an hour, John stirred and walked back to Chesterfield. It always lifted his heart to see the spire at the top of the hill, guiding him home again. It meant his wife and his children were close.

  He was passing the churchyard when a voice hailed him. He spun around and saw the coroner. Today he was wearing parti-coloured hose in black and pale blue, a tunic in deep blue velvet and a silk surcote with a fur collar. Every inch a gentleman. They began to walk together.

  ‘Good day, Master, may God save you.’

  ‘And you, Carpenter. Have you heard the news?’

  ‘News?’ Maybe they’d caught the squires. He could allow himself to hope.

  ‘My lord’s men sent word this morning. They’d been tracking the pair who attacked you.’

  ‘Did they find them?’.

  ‘They did. Not far from Peveril Castle. They were somewhere near the top of Winnats Pass. I don’t know all the details.’

  John realised that he was holding his breath as he waited for the rest of the tale.

  ‘The squires refused the chance to surrender and cast themselves on my lord’s mercy. They chose to fight for their lives.’

  From the expression on Strong’s face, he could guess the ending.

  ‘How long did they last?’

  ‘I’m told they were brave enough, but they both died.’

  ‘They were the ones who found the poisoned mushroom that killed Gertrude. They murdered the forager in Whittington, too.’

  ‘Did they now?’ The coroner frowned. ‘You’re certain of that?’

  ‘The old man’s neighbour just told me everything,’ John answered. ‘Oswald had explained to them about the death cap. He had no idea what they intended to do with it. They threatened him to keep him quiet, then murdered him to make sure he could never say a word.’

  ‘I see.’ The coroner exhaled slowly and shook his head. ‘Then I can’t find it in myself to feel any pity for them.’

  ‘Indeed, Master; it would be a waste,’ John agreed quickly. ‘But they could have told us who was behind everything.’ He explained his ideas as they stood in front of the empty marketplace. In the fields to the west, more traders were arriving and setting up their booths for the fair. Every avenue already looked crowded with people, and it was still days from starting. What would the town be like once the population streamed in from all the surrounding villages?

  ‘You need to tell my lord what you’ve learned. Maybe one of the squires said something before he died.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Carpenter.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ John said with a weary smile. ‘That’s the problem. Can you ask Jeffrey of Hardwick to call on me again?’

  ‘I’ll arrange it,’ Strong promised.

  • • •

  ‘No,’ l’Honfleur told him. He sat at the long table in his hall. Each day he looked a year older. His face seemed haggard, hollowed out, the skin paler than the day they’d met by the church in Calow. His hair hung lank, and his body appeared to have shrunk. He was a man surrounded by grief and death. ‘According to my men, they didn’t say a word. We sent their bodies over to the family in Edale for burial.’

  It was what he’d expected. What he’d feared. But there was no harm in asking, just to be certain.

  He should be glad they were both dead. They’d tried to kill him. They’d hunted him like a deer. But he couldn’t help but wish they’d survived. Yet it was God’s will that they hadn’t.

  Now he needed to find another road to the truth.

  • • •

  Martha and Juliana crowded around Jeffrey of Hardwick as if they’d known him for years instead of only having met him twice. In a moment he w
as on his knees with them, with no idea of dignity, enjoying the innocent pleasure of their laughter.

  John couldn’t help but grin. The young man had no sense of his station. He didn’t care about it; he seemed to like life, to enjoy people, whatever their age. It was a rare quality. Katherine was smiling as she watched.

  Finally he stood and shook himself like an animal as the children giggled.

  ‘Please,’ he told them, ‘I have business with your father.’

  ‘Come on,’ Katherine ordered, holding out her hands and taking the girls into the garden.

  Jeffrey brushed dust from the knees of his hose and took the mug of ale that John offered.

  ‘You told the coroner you needed me again.’

  ‘I want to find more information, if you can discover it. I’d like to know about those two squires that my lord’s men killed yesterday.’

  ‘I can tell you their names were Michael and Gabriel,’ Jeffrey said. A sad smile. ‘I know, naming them for the Archangels is a conceit, eh?’

  John shrugged. ‘Everyone needs a name. Did you know them?’

  ‘No, we never met. They were probably friends of my brother. He’s the one who’ll inherit when my father dies.’ His voice took on a wistful tone. ‘I could ask him. There are one or two others.’ Jeffrey’s face brightened. ‘This week everyone’s coming here to be ready for the fair, so they’ll all be in one place. What else do you want to know?’

  John explained everything that had happened at l’Honfleur’s manor and after, seeing the shock grow on the man’s face.

  ‘I don’t know what to make of you,’ Jeffrey said when he’d finished. ‘Are you lucky or resourceful?’

  ‘Lucky,’ John answered. ‘And I have an understanding wife who’d like this all to be done. So would I.’

  Jeffrey nodded. ‘Sir Mark told me what you’ve been promised if you find the killer. My lord can afford it, he wouldn’t even notice fifty pounds. What do you want to know about Michael and Gabriel?’

  ‘Whatever you can discover. Their friends, their family connections. I’m told their father’s manor is poor. Does he owe money?’

  ‘That should be easy enough. I know who to ask.’ He swirled the ale in the mug then drank it down. ‘I envy you, John.’