The boy said nothing; how could he really understand? And he would want for one thing: life. Soon enough, another few weeks or months, and he’d be dead. He wouldn’t live to see his sisters grow or the way the world changed as you became an adult.
John felt the wave of sorrow sweep up and engulf him. It came when he least expected it. What was the point of money if it couldn’t buy life? Just another reminder that all the things man valued so much were nothing to God. He watched over the world and made His decisions. They may hurt, they may seem to make no sense, but they were His.
All around them, people were talking and smiling. They were happy, looking forward to the fair. He should be, too. He had a great deal to celebrate. Yet he felt that it didn’t touch him, as if one of those glass windows separated him from the world and left him outside looking in.
They were moving across the market square, part of a line that snaked further than he could see. Torches burned in high sconces on the walls to keep everything bright. So different from most nights. Shadows flickered and danced and moved around in the darkness.
He felt a hand rub against his and looked down. Katherine. Smiling, relieved. He took hold of her fingers and squeezed them lightly. She was content. Surely that meant more than anything else.
The moment settled, then shattered as a woman screamed. He looked around in panic, trying to see what was happening. But people were too close for him to make out anything at all. He tightened his grip on Katherine, trying to keep her close, while his other hand kept close hold of Juliana.
A glance over his shoulder. Richard was with Jeffrey. His family was safe.
Another scream, closer this time, and then he saw.
He’d only had a single glimpse of the woman when she rode away from her house that morning. But he had no doubt. It was Lady Gwendolyn. The crowd parted before her. She carried a knife, with something dark and dripping from the blade.
Before Katherine could do anything, the woman had snatched Martha from her arms. She turned and hurried away while the girl wailed and held out her arms.
He didn’t need to think. He pushed Juliana in front of Jeffrey.
‘Look after them,’ he ordered. Stunned, the man nodded.
John plunged after Gwendolyn. She was easy to follow. People saw the knife and the madness in her eyes and pushed back to give her space. He heard feet and looked over his shoulder. Katherine was keeping pace with him.
‘Go back,’ he said.
‘No,’ she answered, and he heard an entire world in that single word.
Gwendolyn was quick. Even with Martha in her arms, she was running fast, close to the fairground. John pushed down hard. He’d just begun to close the distance when she entered the fair.
The light came from the stalls and booths, standing like small islands in the darkness. He had to stand for a moment to try and see where Gwendolyn had gone.
Katherine was behind him. He could hear her feet pounding on the ground as she ran.
Then a woman cried out, and he darted towards it, following the noise. He was breathing hard, and fear prickled all through his body.
What did she want? What was she going to do to Martha? How could he stop her?
He couldn’t see her. But he could hear. A thin, drawn-out wail from his daughter spurred him along a row, knocking people aside. He didn’t care. He wanted Martha back, safe and sound.
The fairground seemed to stretch out forever. He knew full well it was a large space of land. Tonight, though, it rolled out for miles ahead of him. No matter how fast he ran, he felt he would never reach the far edge.
The crowds thinned. Most hadn’t come this far. A woman behind one of the stalls looked at him then pointed dumbly. He followed. The panic was rising inside. If she hurt Martha…
Suddenly, there was no noise to guide him. He was lost. Still on the fairground; he could see the stalls all around and the low lights. But he felt as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.
John whirled around, as if he expected an attack. He had his knife in his fist, although he had no idea how it got there; he couldn’t recall pulling it from the sheath on his belt.
Finally, a piercing call, close to thirty yards away, just down the slope. He charged along, calling out Martha’s name. He wanted to let the girl know he was coming. Katherine would hear it too. It would be a beacon for her.
He was close. He could sense it. He wasn’t just a figure careering blindly through the dark. Gwendolyn was nearby. She was there, and his daughter was with her.
‘Martha!’ He raised his head and shouted out her name. Then he heard the sound. Muffled, as if she had a hand over her mouth. No more than ten yards distant, caught in the deep shadows.
A lantern sat in one of the booths. He snatched it up and held it in front of him. Enough light to pierce a short way into the night, but it didn’t go far enough.
He heard Martha sob. The sound caught at his heart. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let Gwendolyn hurt her.
His heart hammered in his chest, thudding against his ribs. He could hardly breathe, gasping for air.
Why was Gwendolyn doing this? How had she known who he was? How had she known about his family? Was this her revenge?
He tried to push the ideas away. He had to think about the here and now, not reasons that would make no sense. The woman had lost her mind. It couldn’t be anything more than that.
Yet he couldn’t find any pity for her in his heart.
Slowly, very cautiously, John moved forward. He held the lantern in one hand, his knife in the other. He’d never struck a woman in his life, never hurt one. But he would kill Gwendolyn without a moment’s regret if it would save Martha.
A flash of the light on metal and he could pick her out. Standing, facing him, with Martha trying not to squirm in her arms. Her knife was close to the side of the girl’s neck. The smallest slip and she’d slice through the flesh.
His daughter was terrified, staring at him with begging eyes. But there was nothing he could do. As long as Gwendolyn had the girl, she had the power.
‘Let her go,’ he said. He tried to sound calm, in control, but the words tumbled out sharp and scared. ‘Please, let her go. She’s done nothing.’
The woman didn’t speak. She didn’t need to; her eyes said everything. They glistened. They seemed luminous, more animal than human.
He raised his hands.
‘What do you want? Tell me, Mistress.’
But still she didn’t reply. He took a step closer, then stopped as she tightened her grip on the knife and brought it closer to Martha’s neck.
‘If you blame me, you can have your revenge on me.’ He held his arms higher in the air. ‘Let her go. Kill me instead if you feel I’ve caused you all this pain.’
Gwendolyn said nothing. Her mouth moved but no sound came out.
He watched her, searching for any sign, for anything at all that he could use to save his daughter. His palms were slick with sweat, the knife hilt sliding around in his grasp.
‘Come on. Kill me and let her go. She’s never hurt you. She doesn’t even know who you are.’
That made the woman blink. The world seemed to have shrunk. He knew there were people all around, but they might as well not have existed. There was only Martha, Gwendolyn, and himself. No one else was real, they were shapes at the edge of his sight. He’d dreamed them.
He had to stop this. For his daughter. For himself. For his wife. He knew Katherine was here, even though he couldn’t see her.
‘Mistress, what do you want? Tell me, I’ll listen to you. Just let my daughter go and we can talk. Do that and I won’t hurt you, I give my oath on it.’
Her eyes moved towards him. Studying him as if she was seeing him properly for the first time. Her mouth opened and she snarled. An animal sound right next to Martha’s ear.
The girl couldn’t help herself. She began to struggle. She needed to be free, to be safe. Gwendolyn tried to press the girl close agai
nst her body. But as she did, her mouth opened and the snarl became a squeal of pain.
She dropped Martha, trying to whirl around. John hurried forward, scooped up the girl and moved back out of reach.
As the woman turned, he could see the small, sharp knife sticking out of her back. And beyond her, Katherine, staring with absolute hatred.
Gwendolyn pulled her arm back to lunge at Katherine. Before she could, a sword came out of the night and took her in the belly. She stared at it in disbelief for a moment as her eyes widened. Suddenly she seemed all too human and fragile. She started to crumple. Her knees gave way and she tumbled on to the floor, hands pushing at her stomach, trying to keep the life inside her body.
It was a hopeless task. He could see that. She must know it herself. He pulled Martha against his body so she didn’t have to watch.
‘It’s fine,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘You’re safe now.’
The coroner stepped from behind Katherine, still holding his sword.
‘My Lady,’ he said quietly. ‘You left me no choice.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
‘Gently,’ John said as he eased the new window frame into place. Along the top he’d shaped the wood to fit the settling in the house since it had been built. Snug and perfect as he brought his face close to check. ‘How is it down there?’
He glanced at Alan. The young man grinned with satisfaction.
Good. Now all they needed to do was fix it into place, then put in the glazed windows with their catches and leather hinges that would allow them to open, close and lock. With luck, the job would be completed today.
The sound of hammers and nails filled the solar of the house on Knifesmithgate. Then he stood back and studied the work.
‘I’d say we’ve done well with that,’ he told Alan. ‘Now, you’ve fitted windows with glass before. Show me the right way to do it.’
The mute young man led him through, step by step. It was exactly the method he’d have chosen himself. It made sense, it was simple, and one man could do it on his own.
‘Good, good.’ He tousled the lad’s hair. ‘Let’s get started and I’ll sleep warm tonight.’ Between the glass and the heavy shutters, they should never be cold in the solar again.
September had become October and the nights had turned chill. The fair was nothing more than a memory. Soon enough they’d have the full bitterness of winter.
This had been Katherine’s only request after l’Honfleur had paid him. The only extravagance she needed. And it did cost in the purse, there was no doubt. But he didn’t begrudge it. Maybe it would bring Richard a few more comfortable months of life.
The job didn’t take the rest of the afternoon; soon enough they’d swept up the room and sat wiping their tools with oily rags before putting them away in their leather satchels. John counted out four pennies from his scrip and placed them in Alan’s hand.
‘You’ve earned it. Remember, we have an early start tomorrow. Out to Dronfield to repair the barn at the manor house. I’ll call for you at dawn.’
Alone, he stared at the window, not hearing the soft footsteps on the stair or realising anyone was there until he felt the arms circling his chest.
‘It’s beautiful, husband.’ There was a kind of awe in her voice, a reverence. The glass was thick, the panes wavy. But it let in the light and kept out the wind and the cold. Something for the wealthy, but he had it here.
He was a man of means now. Fifty pounds had changed it all. The roof was fixed. No more drips of water with every storm. All the work that needed to be done immediately was complete. The same with their other house on Saltergate.
And while it had dented that sum he possessed, even with the money spent, there was still plenty left. More than he could have imagined owning in his life.
His life had changed. He knew the reward would alter everything. But he hadn’t anticipated the effect it would have.
People wanted to hire the services of the carpenter who’d found Gertrude’s killer. He didn’t understand how greatly people had held the anchoress in their affection. But his part in it all had quickly become known and people wanted him for large jobs, small jobs, anything at all. He was already booked to the end of November, and still people were asking if he could do this or that. He was making good wages as a carpenter, the best money he’d earned since he’d arrived in Chesterfield. There was plenty to keep Alan occupied and earning, too.
John had forced himself to leave today free to put the window and its new frame into his own house.
He felt content with life. His son was dying, but there was nothing he could do to stop that. Day by day, Richard inched away. At least he wasn’t in pain. It was God’s will. All they could do was love him and make sure he stayed comfortable.
The girls loved everything. Playing, learning. Jeffrey visited every day, a part of the family now, and he taught the alphabet and simple sums to Richard and the girls.
‘You don’t have to do it,’ John told him.
‘I enjoy it, my friend.’ He smiled with the pleasure of it all. ‘I like being with them.’
The pressure of Katherine’s hand on his arm pulled him away from all his idle thoughts.
‘One of the coroner’s guard was here while you were banging away.’
‘What did he want?’ He was suspicious. More work for the coroner. It was the last thing he needed when business was so good.
‘It’s nothing like that.’ She smiled. ‘I asked him outright. Sir Mark would like you to go to his house when you have the chance. He has news.’
News? That could only mean he’d heard something about Sir Roland.
Gwendolyn was dead. She taken her last breath at the fairground, her life slipping away through the wound in her stomach. She’d said nothing. No regrets, no apology. The priest from the church had administered the last rites. By then, though, she was already slipping beyond knowing, caught in the space between now and eternity.
The coroner had faced no court for what he’d done. Even l’Honfleur had given him the kiss of peace as they stood over the body, before my lord took her to be buried.
For days after, Martha rode the night mare in her sleep, even as they soothed her. But it had faded now; just once in the last week.
He still didn’t know why Gwendolyn had done it. Not only snatching his daughter, but all the way back to killing her sister. He could make guesses, but what use were they? He’d never know the real reason behind it all, he thought as he washed the wood chips and sawdust from his hands and face and combed his hair with his fingers.
• • •
Chesterfield smelt of autumn. There was a tang in the air, a crispness against his skin as he crossed the market square. He could see smoke rising and caught the scent of apple wood on the air.
The fair had long since departed. By now there was no sign it had ever been here. Even the bloodstain on the earth had been washed away by the rains. Nothing remained.
He and Katherine had tried to talk about it the night after it happened. But neither of them could find the words to fit. In time, perhaps. Or maybe it was simpler to let it lie, to gradually mound the dirt over it and bury it, try to forget that it had happened.
A servant ushered him through to the hall of the coroner’s house. The heat of the fire was warm and welcoming, the cup of small beer tasty on his tongue.
‘Carpenter.’ Sir Mark came through from the buttery, carrying a goblet of wine.
‘You wanted to see me, Master.’
‘Yes. Two messengers arrived today. One of them was from London.’
He waited for Strong to continue. The man had plenty to say, he could read it in his face. Better to let him do it at his own pace.
‘Sir Roland has been declared outlaw by the King’s Bench. Anyone can kill him with impunity now.’
‘That’s good news,’ John agreed. ‘But it was what you expected, wasn’t it?’
‘It was,’ he agreed. ‘The better news came with the other messenger, f
rom Carlisle. They captured Roland last week.’ He shrugged. ‘He might be dead now, for all I know. But he did speak when they dragged him before the sheriff.’
‘Oh?’ Now he was interested. Finally, they might understand it all. ‘What did he have to say?’
‘It’s money,’ the coroner told him with disgust. ‘Nothing more than money.’
‘How?’
‘Gertrude belonged to a convent. We know that. My lord intended to leave much of his money to it. He’d never made a secret of that; it was in his will. Lady Gwendolyn thought that if her sister was dead, her father would increase the share of the fortune he left her. He might even give her most of it, and she could borrow against it while he was still alive. She and Roland had spent everything they owned. The bankers had granted credit for what they expected in the future and they’d run through that. There was nothing left. They hoped that with Gertrude dead and the promise of a greater inheritance, the bankers would offer more credit.’
‘Greed,’ John said and Sir Mark nodded.
‘Pure and simple. They knew you’d exposed them. They decided to leave on the day of the service and the procession to the fair. Roland told the sheriff that they left separately, thinking no one would suspect. They intended to meet in Scotland and make their way to France, away from justice here.’
What would they do there without money, he wondered, but he said nothing. It was a question that would never have an answer.
‘But she never went.’
‘No.’ He let the word stay there, alone, for a moment. ‘He cried when he heard his wife had died. At least give him some honour for that.’
He’d never cried for the others who’d been killed, John thought. Or perhaps they barely counted in Roland’s mind.
‘Did he know why she stayed?’
‘He didn’t. He wondered if she’d lost her mind, but he couldn’t say.’ The coroner sighed. ‘I thought you’d like to know it all.’
‘Thank you, Master.’ He bowed and started to leave.
‘One final thing, Carpenter.’ He smiled. ‘You’re safe. I don’t intend to ask for your services. Unless there’s a time I really need them, of course.’
The Anchoress of Chesterfield Page 23
