‘What is it, Cat?’ I asked earnestly. ‘I only want to protect you.’
‘Are you sure you intend to be honourable?’
I gazed down at her, and my eyes could not escape the glorious sight of her apple dumplings, scarcely constrained by the tight bodice. ‘To the extent that I can be, maid.’
‘What does that mean?’
I gave her a wolfish grin. ‘Whatever you want it to!’
A short while later, we left and walked up Westchepe, heading for my house.
I was feeling distinctly cheery with the maid on my arm. She was an attractive little bundle, and as lecherous as any of the strumpets in the Cardinal’s Hat, the brothel south of the river where my friend Piers worked. He was doorman, hair butcher and servant of all work. Cat had been an enthusiastic galloper last evening, before her damned pimp Henry appeared. He had savaged the atmosphere when he turned up.
That gave me pause for thought. I hadn’t seen him in the tavern, but that meant little enough. I hadn’t been looking for him. ‘Your young friend, Henry. Where is he tonight?’
‘I don’t know. That’s why I was nervous in the tavern. He said he had to go and see to some business, but he shouldn’t have taken so long about it.’
‘What, he left you alone in the Cheese?’
‘Yes, and then a horrible man came and made me a most improper proposition.’
She went on to describe Arch, and I felt myself thrill to a feeling that was quite novel to me. I mean to say, usually when I think of Arch or Hamon, it’s with revulsion mingled with a healthy portion of concern. If I did not regularly feel concern, my self-preservation would not be so assured. Men of their type are best avoided, after all. A man can only afford so many enemies in a city, and with men of Hamon and Arch’s form, it’s best to keep as far away as possible. Arch was the sort of man who would order another fellow’s death without any compunction. He could command a murder in the blink of an eye while in bed with his woman. Hamon could not spell the word ‘compunction’. He would agree to kill someone because he enjoyed it. The man was one of those who would break a leg purely from a scientific interest. He would want to see what sort of noise the bone made, or what noise the victim made. Neither was the sort of man to trouble himself over another human’s feelings. Especially if there was money involved.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked. ‘You’ve gone quite green.’
‘Not green. Only horny, Cat. I can’t wait to get you home.’
‘You said I’d be safe, Peter.’
‘As safe as you want to be,’ I leered.
‘I don’t know—’
‘Let’s get to my house and open a barrel of something decent,’ I said.
I held her about the waist. She was a taut little temptress. Her thigh bumped mine as we walked, a pleasant sensation; meanwhile, my hand had rested on her hip, and now it slipped and came to rest on her buttock. It was a firm, round handhold, and I squeezed it until she meaningfully grabbed my wrist and pulled it northwards. I allowed my hand to remain there, in the curve between rib and hip, before trying the same manoeuvre, and this time she tutted and sighed, but left it there.
For some reason, my mind returned to the inquest, to the gold Atwood had spoken of – and to Dorothy. She would not be so easy a bedmate to persuade, I felt. Still, it would be a simple enough task for me to win her over. She would never have experienced seduction of the sort I could offer her. And she would be unable to refuse me, naturally.
It was while I was enumerating her many attractions, and looking forward to meeting her again, that I reached my door. Standing on the uppermost step, I brought Cat to the door and then, placing both hands on her hips, I pulled her to me. She was nothing loath, and her lips met mine in a long, lingering kiss. I pressed her back so that she was leaning against the door itself, and our tongues played tickle-the-tonsil until we both had to come up for air.
‘Let’s get inside,’ she breathed. Her lips were flushed, as were her cheeks. I smiled my manly smile and rapped with the brass knocker. It gave a good, loud sound, and then there was a furious barking that filled the house with noise.
When the door opened, my hand was still gripping the ring, and the movement almost pulled me in to fall flat on my face. ‘What do you mean by opening the door like that? I nearly fell, Raphe,’ I said, and then giggled.
‘Peter!’ Cat cried, and helped me to my feet.
My giggle stopped as I looked up into the impassive features of Sir Richard of Bath.
‘Hello, Peter,’ he said.
To be fair to the Coroner, he did not take my sudden nervous laughter as a reflection of my feelings towards him. Rather, he seemed to realize in an instant that I had been enjoying several pots of the good stuff, and he smiled broadly to see Cat. He looked like a man who was inclined to join me, rather than denigrate my behaviour. He was effusive in his welcome to her, holding her hand as though to prevent her running away. With an ogre-like build and face like a bearded accident, I imagine that any time he wanted to satisfy his natural carnal desires, grabbing hold of a woman and not releasing her would be the only way he would succeed.
‘I thought … thought you were out at St Botolph’s still,’ I said, while Cat tried to straighten her clothing one-handed. My wandering hands had somehow disarrayed her bodice and chemise.
‘I was,’ Sir Richard said. ‘But the matter is recorded. The peasants know what their fines must be, and the Rolls are deposited safely. RAPHE!’
The sudden stentorian bellow made me spring briefly into the air. Cat gave a short scream. I felt my heart thudding painfully. ‘What do you shout for?’
‘Wine,’ he explained as if surprised that I had not realized. ‘I thought you would like a little, too.’
‘Yes, a good idea,’ Cat said.
‘Sensible woman,’ Sir Richard said, eyeing her appreciatively. I stepped between them to give her some privacy. Some men don’t know when to show a woman a little respect. ‘Maid, you are most attractive. You seem familiar. Have we met?’
Possibly, I felt, the very worst approach to a woman I had ever heard. Still, she giggled and simpered a little as she took her hand back.
Raphe appeared and stood gaping with apparent admiration at Cat. The barking was muffled by several doors, from the sound of it, and I guessed that he had locked the patched brute in the small yard beside the house. On being given his instructions, Raphe departed, slouching away grimly with a glower. I guessed that the idea of sharing my wine with anyone other than himself was painful. Before he left, he gave a very hard glare to Sir Richard, but the Coroner ignored Raphe, having given him his orders. The knight was concentrating on Cat.
Before long, a large tray appeared with Raphe almost hidden behind it. He had filled it with wine in my flagon, cups, a joint of beef, some bread and half a chicken carcass. These he deposited on my table, and then turned sorrowfully, seeing how we were to become so steeped in gluttony, and left us to it. I had no doubt he was in a hurry to become reacquainted with the barrel in the buttery. He could not, however, refrain from turning and staring open-mouthed at Cat in the doorway.
‘Close the door behind you,’ I said.
‘It was a sad case, that,’ Sir Richard said, pulling the chicken’s leg from the bird and then, recalling his manners, offering it to Cat. She smilingly refused, and Sir Richard took a bite, adding, ‘Seeing a poor priest slaughtered in the street is hard. He was a kindly man.’
‘I was told he was a womanizing lecher.’
Sir Richard shot me a black look. ‘What?’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘Shouldn’t speak ill of the dead and all that, but it would explain things, wouldn’t it? Perhaps a jealous woman, or a jealous husband? Someone slew him and then went home again, leaving his body in the road.’
‘You should keep thoughts like that to yourself. Hardly respectful to the dead, especially a priest. In any case, his behaviour is no one else’s business,’ Sir Richard said. ‘Still, the clothing was the
oddity. Why would someone kill him, then dress him and stab him another few times?’
‘If he was rutting on another man’s wife, and the husband found him there, he might stab the priest. Maybe he only discovered what he had done later, and realized that he must cover up his crime. He dressed the priest, took him out to the road and stabbed him again to make it look as though it was the random act of outlaws,’ I suggested, and belched behind my hand.
The Coroner pulled a face, but nodded. ‘So you think he was committing adultery, found pinning the cuckold’s horns on the husband, and the husband in a mad rage slaughtered him with a single blow? It is possible. It would explain the lack of blood about Peter’s body, too. The blood, if there was much, would have been left in the bed.’
I studied the beef and cut off a segment, while Cat took the chicken’s remaining leg. I said, ‘Or perhaps his wife was jealous? She was his wife before, and now she comes into his chamber to discover him giving another woman lessons in the amorous arts. Dorothy was his wife, but he had set her and their children aside, just so that he could remain in Holy Orders. She would be furious to discover that he was enjoying the favours of some other woman, while she was destitute and hungry, desperate to feed her children. Five of them. So she stabbed him in the back as he lay on top of his lover.’
‘What would his lover do?’
‘She would scream and cry, so perhaps Dorothy killed her, too.’
‘There is no body.’
‘It hasn’t been found yet,’ I said. I ate a little more. ‘That explains things neatly, I think. She walked in on him, murdered him, and then the woman, too. She would be stuck, after all. She wouldn’t be able to leap to her feet to escape, not with Peter lying on top of her, dead.’
‘That is a very interesting theory. But surely other aspects make it unlikely.’
‘Such as what?’
Sir Richard peered at me. There was a benevolent look in his eye. ‘The fact that the poor priest was very much in love with his wife, was not a womanizer, and was invariably shy and quiet in the presence of women.’
I confess, I scoffed at that. ‘Really? And who told you this? One of the women in the village, I suppose. What else would they say to you, Coroner, but something to deflect attention from them and their amorous adventures with the wily priest?’
‘No, it was not them. Dorothy has told me so, and I know that her husband was no libertine.’
‘How would you know that?’
Sir Richard sighed. ‘Because Peter was my brother.’
There are times, even when I have drunk significantly more than usual, when suddenly clarity springs itself upon my mind, like a steel trap closing over a man’s ankle. This was one of those moments.
‘Oh,’ I said. And then, thinking this was perhaps not quite enough, ‘Oh!’
Cat put her hand on his. ‘I am sorry,’ she said softly.
‘Aye, well, nothing to do with you, madam, is it?’ Sir Richard said gruffly. I swear that these were the first words he had spoken that didn’t rattle the windows or cause the walls to creak.
‘It must be horrible. Was he older or younger than you?’
‘Oh, he was younger. Always the tearaway when we were young, Peter was. But kind, ever kind. He was ideally suited to the priesthood. Whenever someone was unwell in the village, or when one of the animals was found to have been suffering, he would be the first to go and comfort them. He had a soft heart.’
‘But he left his wife and family behind when he was given the chance to return to the Catholic Church?’
‘Many priests did that,’ Cat observed, pouring herself more wine.
‘Of course they did,’ Sir Richard agreed. ‘They had little choice. What, starve with their families, or win a chance to retrieve something from their situation? It was the only sensible thing to do.’
‘Except it meant leaving their wives and children in poverty,’ I pointed out. ‘If he was as soft-hearted as you say, why didn’t he stay with his children and protect them? He could have found a new job, surely? Coroners always need clerks, don’t they?’
He shot me a black look. ‘I had a clerk already. Damn me eyes, if I could have offered him something, I would have. But I had nothing at the time. I know he knew that. But it didn’t make it any easier to accept. As soon as I heard he was being forced to leave his old parish and come to St Botolph’s, I knew he would have a hard time of it.’
‘Why?’
‘They’re more keen on the Catholic faith in that village. Surely you will have noticed that grasping fellow, Harknet? He was always very keen to show himself devoted to whatever the latest fad might be. When the old King ruled that the new Church would take priority, Harknet was the keenest proponent, and could not help but report those who tried to maintain their old faith. But then, as soon as Queen Mary decreed that the Roman Church was to return, Harknet was the most enthusiastic persecutor of those who would not change. Now he has no friends. No one will trust him. Certainly not me. The man is steeped in iniquity. He has no feeling for anyone excepting himself.’
‘What of the other villagers?’ I said.
‘They don’t like ’im either.’
‘No, I meant how are they about the Roman religion?’
‘They’ll stick it – those who were never keen to change. Others, well, they’ll pay lip service, I suppose.’
‘What did they think of your brother?’
‘They mostly liked him, I think. If anyone knew some fact about his death that could help find the murderer, I’m sure that they would tell me. None of them wants to let the man responsible go free.’
‘Of course not. It reflects badly on their village if they allow too many murderers to walk the streets,’ I said.
He gave me a cold look. ‘And it reflects badly on them if they allow a priest in the Queen’s favourite religion to be murdered.’
‘Do you think it was Harknet?’
‘Him? I doubt he would know how to hold a knife without cutting himself,’ Sir Richard said scathingly.
‘But whether you like him or not, could he have wielded the weapon?’
‘I suppose so.’
There was one thing that disturbed me. ‘Your sister-in-law – she did not seem to recognize you.’
‘Why should she? We never met.’
‘What?’
He sighed. ‘Peter decided to marry Dorothy when he met her, and … well, I was of the old school. I didn’t believe that a priest could be a husband and father. I refused to see him from that day. I’ve had no contact with him until a few weeks ago, when I learned he was right next door to the City, out in Middlesex. He did try to meet with me, but … well, he was not only married, but the fool had so many children it would be hard to count them! And now, I fear, it’s too late. So I intend to make things good with him. Even if I can’t help him, I can find his murderer.’
‘And help his widow.’
‘Hmph. Perhaps. Except, in the eyes of God, I doubt she has such a status.’
At that, I almost spilled my ale down my lap, for a sudden thought had gloriously entranced me. I sat with my eyes wide, staring at the fire, my mouth dropping wide.
‘What is it, man? Ye’re goggling like a frog!’
‘I feel so sorry for the widow. I shall help you. Tomorrow I will go back there and see what I can learn.’
‘You? Have you ever had experience of such matters? Are you qualified as an inquisitor? It takes a certain skill to learn what people know when they are trying to avoid telling you.’
‘I have been useful in other murder enquiries,’ I said stiffly, refraining from pointing out that they tended to be murders in which I had been implicated as the protagonist.
Cat yawned, and I hastened to try to evict Sir Richard from my door. I attempted the subtle approach at first, yawning myself, trying to clear up the food dishes, noting loudly, ‘Ah, we have finished the wine!’ and giving other obvious hints.
‘Oh, ye’re tired,’ Sir Richard said
. He glanced about him. ‘Aye, it’s been a long day. Well, perhaps we should get our heads down. Where’s me room?’
‘Your room?’
‘Aye. Ye can’t expect a man to go walking the streets at this time of night.’
‘I only have the one bed, I am afraid.’
‘Oh.’ His face went blank as he looked at me, and then over at Cat, who had taken her seat on an old chair and whose head was nodding. ‘Oh, I see. Well, you and I will be fine down here, eh? Poor woman had best have your bed.’
THREE
There are mornings on which the sun shines, the sparrows chitter happily, the hawkers in the streets call cheerfully to each other, and on which the world seems a good, wholesome place.
This was not one of those mornings.
I awoke on a bench, and as I tried to sit up, something hit me square on the forehead and knocked me back down. It was the heavy atmosphere in the chamber. I groaned, I think, or it might have been a muttered prayer. My head felt as though someone had been hacking at the inner surfaces of my skull with a blunt chisel, and all the chippings of bone had fallen on to my tongue. It was dry and rasped when it moved over my palate. My lips were sticky and reluctant to open, and when I cautiously cracked one eye, it was too painful to keep it open. The hazy view it afforded was thick with smoke from the fire (I need to have the chimney cleaned), but I caught sight of cups, two flagons and a bottle of sack. The sweet, strong wine smelled so potent that my stomach rebelled, and I was forced to turn away and pretend I could not detect its odour any longer.
Gradually, my memory brought back a raucously hilarious Sir Richard, who, once he had stopped singing, proceeded to entertain me by telling the filthiest bawdy jokes I had ever heard. I confess, he was exceedingly amusing company, with a fund of humorous tales that I would have blushed to tell Piers at the brothel. They certainly made Raphe’s mouth fall to the floor when he was bellowed at to bring another flagon. I recalled it as a very pleasant evening. However, now my head was repaying the debt in full for my pleasure and drinking.
Gingerly, I swung myself to the vertical, eyes tight shut, and ventured to take in my surroundings. Once more I was forced to hurriedly close my eyes as shafts of sunlight stabbed at them like lances. ‘Raphe!’ I called, and hesitated while waiting for the top of my skull to return. It appeared to have flown off towards the ceiling with my call, and the whole of my head was opened to a searing pain. But I had no choice. I must make my way to my privy.
The Dead Don't Wai Page 9
