The Anchoress of Chesterfield

by Chris Nickson

  ‘Carpenter. I’ve had a messenger from my lord.’

  He didn’t say anything, just waited silently for an explanation.

  ‘He went hunting this morning with a small party. They were out on the moor, near his manor. Someone attacked them.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‘What? Attacked?’ At first he couldn’t believe it. Who would dare to do something like that?

  ‘No one was hurt. Someone firing arrows. But two of the horses were hit.’

  ‘Did they—’

  Strong shook his head.

  ‘By the time they managed to organise a chase, the man had vanished. My lord sent someone to ask for a few of my men to help in the search. But I thought you should know.’

  Attacking a lord… how could anyone attempt that? Why? Was it desperation?

  ‘Is he coming back here?’

  ‘He’s staying at the manor, exactly as he planned,’ the coroner said. ‘Returning to Chesterfield would look like he was running away.’

  Of course. Honour. L’Honfleur would be safer in Chesterfield than out on the moors. But he had to show his men that he was strong.

  Who would have tried to kill him? Had it been a real attempt? A skilled archer should be able to hit his target at a good distance. Maybe that hadn’t been the intention. Not to assassinate, but to scare.

  He stopped himself before he could speak. He didn’t know, he hadn’t been there. He had no idea how far away the archer had been. Everything was a guess.

  ‘Don’t tell anyone,’ Strong said. ‘I know people will hear, but later rather than sooner.’

  ‘Yes, Master.’

  ‘Who did this is involved in everything else. I want him found.’

  It was a dismissal. Outside, as clouds started to gather over the peaks to the west, he stood and thought, then began to walk.

  • • •

  ‘No, Master, no one’s brought a horse here today.’ The man leaned on his shovel, turned his head and spat. ‘No one’s taken one out, either.’ He shrugged and looked around. ‘No business at all.’

  It was hardly a surprise. He looked around the stables. It was dirty, stinking of dung. Even to his eyes, the horses in the stalls looked ungroomed, with a touch of wildness in their eyes.

  Two men had taken horses from the second stable. But they were regular customers, on their way up to Sheffield and then to York; they made the journey every month. None had brought one in.

  There was one more place, just beyond the bridge over the Hipper.

  ‘A man hired a black gelding this morning,’ the ostler said. ‘Due back tomorrow, and if he doesn’t bring it, I’ll see him hanged for a horse thief.’

  ‘Who took it?’

  ‘I’ve not seen him before. He told me his name was Edward from Wingerworth and that he needed to get to Glossop.’ The man shrugged. ‘He had the money.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘A light green tunic and hood, black hose.’ He shrugged again. ‘Not as tall as you. Dark hair, I think. I didn’t look closely.’

  ‘Was he carrying a bow?’

  ‘He was. Why?’

  It might not be the same man; so many knew how to use the bow. But a feeling bubbled inside him that this was who he sought.

  ‘When he comes back tomorrow, keep him talking and send someone for the coroner.’

  The man frowned. ‘The coroner? Why? Who are you?’

  ‘I’ll have the captain of his guard come and tell you, to make it official.’

  ‘You do that,’ the man agreed warily. ‘I don’t have any idea who you are.’

  ‘That’s fair,’ John agreed. ‘You need a reason to believe me.’

  • • •

  The eyes of the coroner’s captain lit up when John told him.

  ‘That’s good thinking,’ he said.

  ‘It’s pure luck, nothing more.’

  ‘More than that,’ he began, but John shook his head.

  ‘Go and talk to him. Tell him you need to know as soon as the man returns the horse.’

  ‘I will.’ A slow, satisfied smile formed on his mouth. ‘Tomorrow we’ll have him.’

  It was something to give them hope. But it would only happen if the man returned his horse. If he was cautious, he wouldn’t do that; he’d keep clear of Chesterfield.

  Why go after l’Honfleur? And why now? It seemed to be a stupid move. Killing a lord would bring the royal gaze; no one could escape that. He’d be hunted down.

  Was it to sow confusion? What good would that do? He didn’t understand, he didn’t know enough to make sense of it.

  • • •

  At home, he played with Martha, then told Richard a story, something he spun from a tale he’d heard once in York. He didn’t possess a teller’s gift, he couldn’t weave a tight web of words, but it was gratifying to see his son so rapt as he lay in bed. It might take away his pain for a little while.

  When he came down from the solar, Jeffrey was sitting at the table in the hall, cradling a mug of ale and talking softly to Katherine. Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she listened to the young man, the way they’d once glistened for him, and he felt a twinge of resentment. But it was only natural – the attention of a handsome young man would make her feel alive again.

  For a moment he stood and watched them. Then Jeffrey turned his head and his expression became serious.

  ‘The coroner told me what happened.’

  John explained what he’d discovered.

  He frowned. ‘That description is too vague.’

  ‘I know, but it’s all we have. What about Unthank’s friends? Have you seen any of them yet?’

  ‘Two,’ he said. ‘And neither of them can imagine who’d want to kill him. He was very temperate in his ways, no one could recall him being in a fight.’

  ‘They don’t have any names for us?’

  Jeffrey shook his head. ‘None.’

  ‘Every way we turn, we end up nowhere.’

  ‘This attack,’ Jeffrey asked slowly. ‘What do you make of it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘It seems…’ the young man began, then stopped.

  ‘Seems what?’

  ‘If they wanted to stop things, the person to go after would be you.’

  ‘I know.’ He’d thought about it. ‘Believe me, I know. It’s not a comforting thought.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you tell me, husband?’ Katherine asked. Her expression was brittle, her voice full of accusation.

  ‘There’s been nothing to tell. And I don’t believe there will be.’

  She frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘They’d have done something by now if that was what they wanted. Is that what you mean?’ Jeffrey said slowly.

  ‘Exactly. Perhaps they feel they don’t have to worry about me finding the truth.’ He put his hand over his wife’s and smiled at her. He wanted to reassure her. ‘That’s why I didn’t say anything; there was nothing to tell.’

  Reluctantly, she nodded, then slipped away. Silence filled the room.

  ‘She’s never liked me working for the coroner,’ John said. ‘She hated it when the old one was still alive, and now…’

  ‘She’s scared for you.’

  ‘Of course she is. But she also knows how desperately we need the money l’Honfleur will pay if I solve this in time.’ He sighed and ran his palms down his cheeks.

  ‘Tell me something. If you had to sell one of the houses, which would it be?’

  ‘The one on Saltergate.’

  Jeffrey looked thoughtful. ‘If you decide to sell it, will you tell me?’

  ‘You? Are you looking to buy?’

  He nodded. ‘I think it’s time. I like my lodgings, but when I marry, I’ll need a house, especially once there are children.’

  ‘It’s a good place for that. Katherine and her sisters and brother grew up there. I had no idea you were close to marrying.’

  ‘My family have been plotting since my wife died. The daughter of a
landowner from somewhere near Buxton.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve met her a few times. I think we’ll be able to make a match of it.’

  ‘But not love?’

  He pursed his lips and frowned. ‘No, not love. Duty. You lose your life to it.’ He slapped his palm down on the table and gave a weak smile. ‘Enough about that. Let’s see if we can understand who’s behind these deaths and earn you that fifty pounds.’

  The man wasn’t unhappy, John thought. It was more that he was resigned to the idea of marrying someone who didn’t have his heart. But Jeffrey was right; money meant duty, and your life stopped being your own at a young age. Perhaps they could be envied for their comforts, but there was little about the lives of the rich that he wished for himself.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed.

  It was someone who knew the family who was behind the murders. It had to be; no one else would have a reason for wishing Gertrude dead. Someone with a grudge?

  Jeffrey frowned. ‘I can’t think of anyone. L’Honfleur has always had the reputation of being a fair master.’

  ‘Before he died, Cuthbert Unthank was telling you about Gertrude’s sister.’

  Jeffrey snorted. ‘Lady Gwendolyn and her spendthrift man. I know I passed it on, but what he told me wasn’t much of a secret. I first heard it months ago.’

  ‘It’s still a possibility.’

  ‘No, I honestly don’t believe it. My lord told them he wouldn’t give them more money and threatened to cut Gwendolyn out of his will if she kept asking him.’

  ‘Who else is there in the family?’

  ‘No one, not with Gertrude dead. Nephews and nieces.’

  John paced around the hall, stopping to pick up his mug and take a sip of ale.

  ‘How long ago did l’Honfleur make the threat to Gwendolyn?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Two months, maybe three.’

  ‘Well before Gertrude’s death.’

  ‘It was,’ Jeffrey replied, and his eyes widened as he understood the implication. ‘No, I don’t believe that. I can’t say I trust her, but she would never have arranged her own sister’s death. Who could do that?’

  ‘If you can imagine it, someone will do it. I agree it’s not likely—’

  ‘Her own sister?’ Jeffrey interjected in disbelief.

  ‘—but it’s possible. We have to think about it.’ He stared at Jeffrey. ‘That means you’ll have to be the one to look into it.’

  No one of that class would be willing to answer questions from a carpenter, no matter who was employing him.

  ‘If you want.’ Jeffrey looked uncomfortable at the idea. ‘I should tell you, I knew Gwendolyn before she married. After my wife had died.’

  ‘Surely that will help.’

  He shook his head. ‘She wasn’t always chaste in her friendships.’ His face reddened and he stared down at the rushes on the floor.

  ‘Would she talk to you?’

  ‘I don’t know. Honestly, John, I don’t. I wouldn’t even know what to ask her. She and her husband aren’t likely to admit to murder, are they?’

  ‘Then we need to think of some questions.’

  ‘You have the brain, Master,’ Jeffrey said with a brief bow. ‘I’m just the hand that carries out your wishes.’

  They walked halfway to Unstone and back as they tried to come up with questions that might offer the hint of proof they could take to l’Honfleur. Without that, anything they said would be rumour and accusation.

  ‘Do you believe it will work?’ Jeffrey asked.

  ‘It might,’ he said. ‘We should pray that it does. Do you believe Gwendolyn will talk to you?’

  ‘The God’s truth, John, I don’t know. She might, as long as her husband is in the room. For the sake of propriety.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Anything they tell me, they can always deny it later.’

  ‘I realise that.’ Words only possessed value if there were plenty to hear them and agree what was said. But something, some tiny nudge along the way, would help. ‘You don’t have to do it.’

  ‘I promised you I would,’ Jeffrey said, but there was no pleasure on his face. ‘I’m a man of my word. I know they’re in town for the fair, I caught a glimpse of them this morning.’ He sighed. ‘What you need to understand is that their idea of poor is very different to yours. They have money to live on. They’re comfortable enough. They’ll never starve, they won’t be turned out on to the street for want of a farthing. It means they can’t afford luxuries. The truffles they particularly like or a tun of the Gascon wine. That’s what they consider poor.’

  A different world to any he could ever understand. One that was far outside his knowledge. He knew why Jeffrey was telling him all this. It was to try and give him some insight into the way these people looked at life. Perhaps it helped, but more than anything, it left him tangled up in anger and sorrow. He’d only known ordinary people, poor people; he still did, those who hovered between life and death because they didn’t have coins in their scrip or a roof over their heads. That was poverty and desperation.

  But would Gwendolyn and her husband kill for more money? Maybe so. Greed could push people to do awful things.

  ‘Come on,’ John said. ‘Let’s sit for a while and have a mug of ale. It might make us feel better.’

  ‘Not now. I’d rather find Gwendolyn and have this done.’ He gave a wan smile. ‘Duty.’

  ‘You know where to find me.’

  • • •

  It was late evening when Jeffrey tapped on the door. The children were already asleep, the usual snuffling and sniffling coming from the solar. Katherine was sewing, lowering the hem of Juliana’s dress; she seemed to grow an inch a month at the moment.

  She stopped with her needle in mid-air as she heard the noise.

  John kept his knife in his hand, letting it slip back into its sheath as he recognised the face.

  ‘You promised me a mug of ale a few hours ago. Is it too late?’

  ‘Come in. Come in.’

  Katherine’s face brightened to see him as she set her mending aside, and she blushed as he bowed to her.

  ‘I had to return after they came back from a day’s hawking,’ Jeffrey began. ‘Then Gwendolyn made me wait while she attended to this and that. A reminder that we’d once known each other.’ Small patches of red grew on his cheeks. ‘Her maid and her husband were both there.’

  ‘Did you ask the questions we’d prepared?’

  He nodded. ‘They denied everything.’

  ‘Of course.’ John nodded.

  ‘But none of the other questions tripped them up, either. They both kept to the same tale – all the stories about them not having money were rumours, nothing more than that.’ He shook his head. ‘They did everything except offer me the chance to inspect their accounts.’

  ‘Do you believe them?’

  He stayed silent for a long time, rubbing the back of his neck and staring at the floor.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied finally. ‘I don’t have the right skills to tell the truth from a lie. Give me figures on a page and I’d be able to tell you if someone is being honest. But when people speak… no, not even when they look in my eyes.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to talk to my lord in the morning.’

  ‘He’s due back early, he has business that needs attention, I’m told.’

  John had hoped for some evidence to present, at least some clarity. How could you tell a man that one of his daughters might have plotted the murder of her sister?’ ‘I still don’t see why, though. Or why they’d try to kill him.’

  ‘If they did,’ Jeffrey cautioned. ‘Don’t go accusing anyone. Not yet. Not until we know more.’ His voice lowered to a warning. ‘That’s dangerous.’

  ‘I’ll be very careful in how I speak.’

  • • •

  Yet it was impossible to watch his words enough. He saw l’Honfleur’s face darken as he went through the ideas. When John hesitated, uncertain if the man wanted to hear more, l’Honfl
eur waved for him to continue. By the time he finished, the man was staring out of the window at the garden. It was growing barer with each day, leaves tumbling to cover the grass.

  While he’d been gone, the old rushes had been replaced, with sprigs of thyme in with the fresh ones covering the floor.

  ‘Tell me, Carpenter,’ he asked eventually, ‘do you believe they did it?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know, Master. I didn’t speak to your daughter or her husband. I’ve never seen them.’

  ‘Who talked to them?’

  ‘Jeffrey of Hardwick.’

  L’Honfleur nodded slowly. ‘He’s a good man. He used to know my daughter, I’m sure he told you. I’ve heard the rumours, just like everyone else. But I know that Gwendolyn hasn’t approached me again to ask for more money.’ His tone became harder and more strident. ‘And I know she would never have tried to hurt Gertrude. They weren’t close, but they were still sisters.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ One more question to ask; he had no choice, he needed to know. ‘I heard about the attack on you yesterday.’

  ‘God be praised, no one was hurt, but two of the horses were hit. Good beasts, too. We haven’t found the people who did it yet. But if you want to imply Gwendolyn is responsible for that, you’d do well to hold your tongue, Carpenter.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Is there anything else?’

  He explained about the horseman with the bow. On the way to the house, he’d stopped at the stable, but the man hadn’t returned the animal and the ostler was becoming worried.

  ‘I see. I’ll have the coroner handle that. It’s best you leave. I have more important business than gossip about my family.’ As John reached the door, l’Honfleur called out once more: ‘The fair starts very soon. You have until then to earn your fifty pounds.’

  As if he could forget. It echoed through his body with every single beat of his heart.

  • • •

  ‘What did he say?’ Jeffrey was waiting, pacing anxiously up and down on the street. He looked even more worried when John finished talking. ‘He’s telling us not to pursue that?’