He hid, quickly ducking into a space behind a bale of hay, and hoped no one had heard the animal. Too late. The groom appeared, stroking the horse’s neck and letting his voice soothe the beast.
‘Seen something, have you? Must have been a mouse. Or maybe it was a rat. You come on out with me. That’ll calm you down.’
The horse was a favourite, that was obvious from the way he treated it, leading gently by the halter and speaking softly the whole time. At the door, the groom glanced around and John held his breath in case the man might spot him.
His heart was thumping in his chest and his forehead was clammy with sweat. Too close, and the danger hadn’t vanished yet. He crept to the doorway and cautiously peered out. The groom was standing in the sun and brushing the animal. Not even ten yards away. Hurriedly, he drew back into the shadows and out of sight. There was only one way out of the stable.
He was trapped.
John moved with caution. There were three other horses; he didn’t want them to begin making a noise. The space behind the hay bales was close. He could dive back there in a heartbeat if he needed. More than anything, he needed to escape. The longer he remained in here, the greater the danger of someone discovering him, and he didn’t want to have to try and explain what had brought him here.
He squatted and glanced out of the door again. The groom had moved away. The horse was between the man and the stable, big enough to block his view. A second quick look. No one else around.
He ran in a crouch, as fast as he could. Then he was around the corner of the stable, standing and dashing off into the woods. He didn’t stop until he was a hundred yards or more away, panting hard as he leaned against a tree to catch his breath.
He’d seen his chance and grabbed it. But it might never have come. He could have been escorted out of there at the point of a sword.
A fool? Not quite, he hadn’t been that. But neither had he been careful enough. Never enter somewhere unless you already know your way out. He’d heard a man say that once in York. A master thief holding court in an inn, but the words had stuck in his head. It was sensible advice. He’d ignored it and this had happened. Luck had smiled on him once more. He crossed himself and offered up a short prayer.
The coolness and the shade of the trees gave comfort as he made his way back to the King’s highway. Still plenty of travellers heading towards Chesterfield. John stood by the road, retying his braies as if nature had called him into the woods, and began to walk back to town. As he passed Roland and Gwendolyn’s house he turned his head to take a look up the drive. Just one more man full of curiosity. The groom was still there, walking the horse. No one had seen him; they’d never know he’d been there.
This was the last full day. Tomorrow evening the fair would start. He didn’t have the luxury of time anymore. He needed to make things happen, to force them. The person behind the killings was out there, and he needed some way to make them show themselves. More and more everything pointed to Sir Roland and his wife. He couldn’t understand the reason, but did he need that? All he wanted was evidence of what they’d done.
Now all he needed was a plan, one that could be executed quickly and safely.
His boots kicked up the dust. By the time he reached the churchyard, his hose and tunic were coated in it. He took a drink from the well and splashed water on his face and hair. As he shook it off, an amused voice said: ‘You look like you’ve already had a full day, Master.’
‘That’s because I have,’ he told Jeffrey.
The man’s eyes were bright and alert, their expression shifting as he listened to John’s account. They stopped at the cookshop, ordering pastries filled with meat, and ate as they walked.
No stalls in the marketplace, but a thin stream of people moving to the fairground. By tomorrow it would be packed, even before the townspeople arrived. It grew and grew, but it was this way every year.
‘You mentioned a plan,’ Jeffrey said as he wiped some dirt off his shoe.
‘It came to me just before I saw you in the churchyard. Some inspiration.’
‘If God pleases, may it be divine.’
John laid it out. It was quick, a crude sketch of an idea; only to be expected when it came to him so hurriedly. But as he spoke, he started to believe that it could work. The beauty was that it wasn’t crammed with detail. Yet it sounded convincing.
‘It’s possible,’ Jeffrey agreed with a frown. ‘But it means that people could come after you to try and silence you. You didn’t like the plan that exposed me.’
‘This one doesn’t, though. The coroner will be the one spreading the rumour. He’ll be saying he already knows. No one would try to kill him.’
‘They tried to attack my Lord l’Honfleur.’ Jeffrey’s voice was a stark, sober warning. ‘Don’t forget that.’
It was true. Desperate people did dangerous things, and his plan might push them towards the edge. But he hadn’t come up with anything better, and there was no time for refinements.
‘We’ll go and see the coroner.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
‘What do you hope will happen?’ Strong asked after he’d heard them out.
‘That the people behind Gertrude’s killing will act,’ John answered. ‘Show themselves.’
‘They might try to run,’ Jeffrey suggested.
The coroner gazed at the ground as he swirled the wine in his mazer. He raised his eyes and stared at John.
‘They could come after you,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll be watching and I know how to defend myself. You’ve seen that.’
‘You said it yourself, the first time we met: you’ve been lucky. Most men find their luck runs out when it goes up against a sword or an arrow. Are you willing to risk that?’
He tried to push an image of Katherine and the children to the back of his mind.
‘I am.’
‘That’s your choice, although I think it’s foolish.’ The coroner’s voice turned grave. ‘But your way puts me in danger, too. More than that, it doesn’t make sense. If you’ve told me who’s responsible, why haven’t I arrested them for the murder?’
‘You haven’t done it because you want to talk to my Lord l’Honfleur first and he’s away hunting,’ Jeffrey said. ‘It’s true. He left an hour ago and he’s not due back until tomorrow evening, just before the start of the fair.’
‘It sounds reasonable,’ the coroner admitted. ‘After all, it was his daughter they killed.’ He paused for a moment. ‘What happens if no one shows themselves?’
‘Then we’ve lost,’ Jeffrey said. ‘But at least we’ll have tried.’
‘These people are clever,’ John said. ‘They might not believe it. But if they were worried enough to try something as foolish as attacking my lord, then they may well be desperate by now. You have guards, Master. Keep them alert.’
‘I shall. Believe me, I shall.’ He sighed. ‘Tell me honestly, Carpenter, don’t you have any better ideas to try? I’ll do this if we have to, but I don’t like it. The whole thing is so flimsy that a small breath of wind could topple it.’
Sir Mark was right; John knew that. The plan was weak, it was shaky, it didn’t hold up to any serious thought. But there was nothing else. And he meant what he’d said. Anyone willing to attack l’Honfleur was already teetering on the edge. They wouldn’t take time to examine things too closely. They’d lash out in the hope of saving themselves. The more they did that, the greater the chance that they’d reveal their identities. He hoped it was that way. He was wagering he was correct, and it was a heavy bet. He was gambling with his life and his future. With the fortune that might become his.
‘Master, if there was anything else at all, I’d do it.’
‘Then we don’t have much choice. My lord won’t be happy, but I daresay if it works, he won’t care.’ Another sigh, this one resigned. ‘Within the hour I’ll see that word leaks out. By later this afternoon most people in Chesterfield should know. Does that satisfy you, Ca
rpenter?’
‘Yes, Master. Thank you.’
• • •
‘It’s done,’ Jeffrey said as they stood in the sunshine on the market square. A few high, pale clouds sat over the hills to the west, but otherwise it looked like another glorious day. All around, life would carry on. The fields would be ploughed, cattle would be moved and milked and the sheep would be herded. The simple routines of life.
But for the next day, John’s life would alter. He needed to stay aware. To keep himself safe. To keep his family safe.
‘John, your mind is miles away,’ Jeffrey said.
‘I’m just thinking. Planning.’
‘I have an idea. Ask Strong for one of his men to watch your wife and children.’
It was a good idea. Simple, easy, and the coroner agreed without a murmur.
‘He’ll arrive later today and stay in your house until the service begins tomorrow. Keep your family inside. If nothing has happened by the service, they’ll be safe enough.’
‘Yes, Master. Thank you.’
A final roll of the dice to bring his family the fifty pounds and keep them secure forever. As he walked home, John offered up a prayer.
• • •
‘Here?’ Katherine said.
‘It’s only for a day. Until we go to the church tomorrow for the blessing to open the fair.’ He tried to make it sound reasonable, to make it seem like nothing at all, but he knew she wouldn’t accept it so easily. Maybe he should have married one of those women who took everything her husband said as an order. A woman who obeyed without question.
Even as the thought came, it vanished again. He couldn’t have been happy with anyone like that. He needed someone with spirit, someone who could stand up to him and question his ideas. A woman to keep him on his mettle. That was what he had in Katherine, and it was a fine bargain. He was a lucky man. But at times like this he could wish she’d be more compliant.
‘Why, husband? Do you think we’ll be in danger?’
‘No,’ he told her. ‘But with these people… I’d rather be certain that you were safe. This way you will be, especially if you stay in the house where the guard can keep watch.’
Her eyes flashed, but she said nothing for a moment.
‘Who will be guarding you?’
‘I can look out for myself.’
‘I see. And why don’t you stay at home with us?’
‘I need to be out there, to draw them—’
‘—to be the bait,’ she said.
She was right, but he couldn’t put it that way.
‘To lure them. The coroner’s men will be waiting to take them.’
‘Do you at least know who they are?’ she asked. ‘Will you be able to watch for them?’
‘I think I do.’
She stared at him, her face giving nothing away.
‘And do you believe you’re right?’
‘I do,’ he told her. ‘I’d swear it on the Bible in the church.’
‘You won’t stop and try another way?’
‘I can’t. There isn’t any other way that I can find. I don’t know what else to do. And I want an answer. I want that fifty pounds for us so we’re not worrying about money every single day.’
She reached out and took both his hands in hers.
‘Then may God give us all His grace and protection.’
• • •
He wasn’t a man of deep faith, but John walked over to the church. Inside, he let the grandeur of the building rise around him and he prayed he’d be successful. More than that, he asked that he would stay alive and whole.
His words rose, but had they been heard? How many others in the world were praying at this moment? God was everywhere, He knew everything, but how could He be listening to everyone?
John crossed himself and sat in the porch. The sun was on the stones, leaving them pleasantly warm to his touch. The town was noisy. Over his head, men continued to work on the church roof, on the promise of a bonus if it was finished before the service that would open the fair.
The weekday market was winding down, sellers calling out their produce, prices cut and cut so they didn’t have to carry it home. The goodwives were all gathered like buzzards to swoop on the bargains in a battle of wimples and wrinkled hands.
The carts were loud as they trundled slowly along the streets with their wheels rumbling and squeaking, so many needing grease or fat on their axles. There was no peace in the world these days. Each year, the volume grew.
It meant there were more people. In those years after the pestilence, England had seemed like an empty place. He remembered walking all day and scarcely seeing a living soul. Smoke from a chimney had felt like a sign of hope. It meant that someone else was alive in the country that God seemed to have forsaken.
Leave it, he told himself. Let the past lie. He needed to keep his mind on the present, to be aware of everything and everyone around.
The sunlight picked out a silhouette in the church doorway and for a moment John began to reach for his knife. Then the figure held up his hands.
‘It’s me.’
‘I couldn’t see your face.’
‘There’s no need to be worried yet, the word won’t have spread,’ Jeffrey said. ‘But better too early than too late.’
‘Keep your own knife close,’ John told him. ‘You’re a part of this, too.’
‘I’ll be safe. No one will think about me.’
‘So you hope.’
With a grimace, the man nodded his agreement. ‘I do. I’m no man for a battle.’
‘It won’t come to that. Not for you.’
‘And for you?’
‘Maybe. But I knew that when I suggested all this.’
‘The coroner was right, John. A knife is no match for a sword or an arrow. Take care, my friend.’
‘I will.’ A movement above caught his eye and he lifted his head. But it was just a formation of geese flying south. Hard to believe on these balmy autumn days, but winter would arrive all too soon.
‘What do we do now?’ Jeffrey asked.
‘We wait and hope something happens.’ He guided them towards the alehouse on Low Pavement.
Men looked at them from the corner of their eyes and kept a small distance away. It hadn’t taken very long for the rumours to spread, he thought with satisfaction.
They sat, talking about this and that. The weather, business. Nothing personal, nothing that came close to hope or fear. John kept his back to the wall, watching the people who sat at the benches and drank, all those who entered or left. The knife was loose in its sheath, easy to grab and pull. He was ready.
They passed an hour, but he didn’t see anyone suspicious. No strangers. Just poor men in mended tunics and hose, with worn-down shoes and endless sorrow in their eyes. Men without work and without a future.
As they left, he took the lead, pausing in the doorway to look around. A flash of movement from the opening on an alley across the street. John pulled back, pushing Jeffrey to the ground.
He heard the dull sound as the knife hit the door frame and the blade buried itself in the wood. Slowly, very slowly, he glanced out. People had stopped to stare. No killer would dare try again with them all watching. He helped Jeffrey to his feet.
The knife had been thrown hard; it took all his strength to wrench it free. Thrown well, far too close for any comfort. He could feel his hand shaking as he held the blade. It was finely balanced, made for throwing. No knifesmith in Chesterfield had produced something like this. Pushing down his fear, John put the weapon into his scrip.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ he lied. He’d been ready for an attack, but he hadn’t anticipated one like that. There were so many ways to kill a man. It was impossible to anticipate them all.
People had moved on, muttering and talking. Soon it would be all over town. He crossed the road and stared up the alley. Plenty of deep shadows for a man to hide. It led into the warren of streets that made up the S
hambles. Not just the home of the butchers; it was where so many of the lawless lived.
There was no sense in even searching; the man would be long gone. All he would do would be put himself in greater danger. Instead, he searched his mind, looking at the fragment of a moment when he’d seen the knife thrower.
What had he looked like?
A dark hood. He was certain of that. It covered the man’s hair, and a long liripipe dangled over his shoulder. A mouth set in concentration. Someone who’d waited and waited for the perfect moment. Thick stubble around the chin. Grey, John thought, but as he examined the image in his head, he couldn’t be sure.
Black clothes, he thought, but much of him had been hidden in the shadows. It was impossible to be more certain than that. How tall? A little smaller than him. For some reason, he imagined the man was well-muscled, although he hadn’t seen enough of him to really know. Try as he might, there was nothing more than that. He could pass the man on the street and never identify him.
‘John?’ Jeffrey asked.
‘I was just thinking.’ He tried to sound cheerful, but he knew his voice was brittle and the smile was false.
‘How can we keep you safe?’
‘You can’t. That was the aim, remember? To make me and the coroner into bait to lure them out.’
‘Then it’s working.’ His voice was filled with sorrow. ‘But can you survive?’
John glanced back at the alley. ‘Let’s hope so.’
He’d been quick enough. Lucky enough. God’s good grace still shone down on him. For how long, though? At least he knew something about himself now; he considered his life to be worth fifty pounds.
Jeffrey was nervous, terrified. He started at every tiny sound and his eyes darted around, trying to see each little thing. His body seemed to hum with fear.
‘Why don’t you go and keep Katherine and the children company?’ John said as they reached the marketplace. It would be easier without him around. Safer to have Jeffrey out of the way, in a place where he’d feel he was doing something useful.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked, but he seemed relieved at the question. He could go, be away from the danger, and not feel like a coward who was abandoning his friend.
The Anchoress of Chesterfield Page 18
