‘Why did you come here today?’
‘To pray for him,’ she said coldly. A fresh tear sprang from her eye and began to move down her cheek. ‘I hate what he did to us, but he was my husband for fourteen years … the boys’ father. I cannot just hate him and curse him after all that time together, although God knows that I would like to. But He will forgive me that, I am sure. So I come here every day to pray for him, to beg forgiveness for the anger I feel for him, and to ask that his soul be allowed to enter heaven.’
She looked along the aisle towards the cross on the altar. ‘Although if he was still alive and I found him in here, I would beat the life from him, and enjoy it!’
I remained there as she genuflected to the altar, and a short while later she walked out.
It was a relief. She was a fiery wench, but one with an exciting gleam in her eye, it had to be admitted. She was old, of course, but, you know, that only means more experience. I felt that she warmed to me, but there was no need to think of seduction. I already knew where the priest’s chest was. Now all I had to do was open it.
I considered the thing doubtfully. The locks and padlock looked robust; the oaken staves were as solid as oak tends to be. When I studied the hinges, it took little time to realize that they would not submit to a knock with a hammer either. This was a job for a competent locksmith, not me. I knew of only one man who would be able to open this box.
Now, there was one thing that suddenly struck me as I stood gazing at it. It was this: since Atwood was supposed to be the priest’s servant, surely he should have known of the presence of this chest. But perhaps it was simply proof that the fool did not have eyes in his head, or that he did not bother to come into the church to clean. I had no doubt that, as a servant, he would be high-handed and incompetent. No, this must be the chest. There were no others in the church.
Where was he, though? Atwood had been here as servant to the priest, and yet he was nowhere to be seen now. In fact, no one had seen him since the inquest. He had made his demand that I should seduce Dorothy, attended the inquest, and then disappeared.
That thought brought me back to the widow. Dorothy was a strange woman. Plainly, she was still in love with Peter: although she had enough rage built up inside her to fuel a hundred wars, yet she still felt affection for the man. I could not understand how a woman could feel so – what, affectionate, loyal? – towards a man who had treated her with such callous disregard. She was rather like the hound who would still defend his master, even after being whipped and kicked and abused most abominably.
I left the church, ducking and making the sign of the cross as I had been taught, and stood outside. The weather was trying to improve. The clouds scudding past were growing more and more translucent, and patches of blue sky appeared every so often. Just then the sun burst through and lit the area, and it was surprising how much better the village looked under the bright glare. Suddenly, the trees looked greener, the road less dull, the houses brighter and cleaner. Water gleamed and sparkled like diamonds sprinkled all over the landscape. I could almost like the place. And then the gap was closed. Clouds covered it up, and the village became the grim, grey, soulless picture that it had presented before.
‘A handsome prospect, isn’t it?’ a voice said close by my ear, and I leapt like a cut-purse who’s touched on the shoulder while engaged in removing the latest victim’s worldly wealth. It is not too much to say that my heart was pounding fit to escape the confines of my breast.
‘’S’bones!’ I shouted, spinning about.
It was the fool, Roger of Ilford, who stood behind me. ‘Master, I apologize, I meant not to give you a shock!’
I could only stare at him for a while, waiting for my heart to stop trying to leap from my throat as the easiest escape. ‘What do you mean by walking up on a man when he’s not expecting it?’ I demanded. ‘’S’blood, I could have cut you down in an instant!’
He looked at me in a rather perplexed manner. ‘Are you quite well?’
I could feel my racing heart slowing and took a deep breath. ‘You were the second person to find Peter’s body, weren’t you?’
‘I was there, yes.’
‘Are you here to pray? I saw you sweeping earlier. Hard to keep a sexton from his duties, eh?’
‘The man Atwood appears to have been derelict in his duty. There is much to be done here, but he is off out and about. I have been cleaning the place and preparing Peter’s grave. Poor Peter.’
He looked quite relaxed about losing a man he had known for some years. Anyway, it was rare that the First Finder of a body would be quite so calm. After all, the Coroner had his details, and the man would be called to give an account when the Queen’s Justices came on their next tourn, whenever that would be. And Roger here would have to have paid his surety to prove he would be there, and no doubt he would be fined for moving the body.
‘Out and about? Shouldn’t he be here, helping prepare for the funeral?’
Roger’s face stiffened like boiled leather. ‘He appears to care little for his job, but instead wanders about the village when he ought to be working. Why does he follow you?’
‘Eh?’
‘I have seen him wandering after you a few times now. He seems to want to watch you.’
It was only by exercising all my will that I stopped myself turning to look for him.
‘Why did you say that about carrying the body?’
‘What?’ He looked bemused.
‘That you alone moved the body and brought it back to the inn?’
He gave a slow smile. ‘Who else was there to help me?’
‘She’s an attractive woman.’
A scowl passed across his face. ‘Don’t you say anything about her like that! She’s a poor, desolate woman since Peter left her, and it’s outrageous that she should be maligned by such as you! Leave her alone! She deserves far better after the way Peter treated her.’
‘Why? How did he treat her?’ I said, expecting to be told some juicy stories of how he would beat her, or share her with friends, perhaps. Oh, Reader, don’t look at me like that! Priests enjoy their fun just like the next man. And so I prepared to take a stern tone with the fool. Instead, he began a maundering, daft speech about how she was glorious, and didn’t deserve to be deserted like a dirty glove, dropped at the roadside.
‘So, you think that I’m an idiot? She was deserted, yes, but it’s clear that you adore her. So you took the blame for moving the body, when it was her, wasn’t it?’
‘No.’
‘It was her and her boys, then. Come along, someone else was involved. You couldn’t have moved the man on your own. Excuse me for pointing it out, but you aren’t strong enough. He was a hulking great brute, wasn’t he?’
He was staring at me with a rather wild expression on his face, but said nothing.
‘Did you actually like him? Or was it the fact that you liked her that made you come here?’
‘That is outrageous!’
‘Really? I think it’s quite understandable. She is a striking woman, and you came here with her, knowing that her man had left her, so she would be grateful for your support, eh?’
‘Wipe that lecherous leer off your face before I do it for you!’ he snarled.
I was shocked. It was like putting my hand down to a winsome little kitten, only to have the thing bite me. He wasn’t a great, strong man, but he could clearly strike like a cat pouncing. I took a step away, just to be sure. ‘So you weren’t after a … er … reward for your care of her?’
‘That may be the way your mind works, but it most certainly is not how mine does,’ he said firmly. ‘I have nothing but the very highest regard for her. Dorothy is kind, gentle, loving – everything a woman should be.’ His face reddened, and I was sure I smelled a whiff of hypocrisy. ‘But I would not touch her. She is too fine.’
‘Yes. Right,’ I said, but I was thinking it wouldn’t stop him dreaming of it. ‘Still, you helped carry the body. Or she and the boy
s carried him on their own.’
‘I was there. I was the adult man, so I took responsibility. We couldn’t leave him there, in the road. It may be the law, but the law’s silly. We took him inside so he would be safe. Dogs, foxes, pigs – all kinds of things will scavenge a dead body.’
‘And once inside, what then?’
‘What do you mean?’
There it was again, the aggressive tone. ‘What do you think I mean? Someone stripped the body, cleaned him up and placed him in a shroud. Did you help with that as well?’
‘Yes.’
‘And then Dorothy went back to Nyck?’
‘Don’t malign her!’ he shouted, fists clenching.
Rather than push him, I shrugged. ‘What happened to the old priest, when Peter came here?’
He took a deep breath, calming himself. ‘He was moved to a different congregation. That is how it is done. One priest is moved on, a second takes his place, a third takes the place of the second, and so on. All those churches where the priests had married, either the priest gave up his woman and moved to a new area, or he kept their wife and lost his position.’
‘And the one who was here was moved to another. I wonder whether he had a woman here.’
‘Does it matter?’
‘No. When you were at the inquest, you mentioned that the dead man’s arm was outflung. How did you mean?’
He demonstrated, bending his head and swinging his right arm over the side of his face, so that he looked rather like a man swimming in a pond. ‘I’ve never seen a man lying like that, alive or dead,’ he said.
‘I have,’ I said. A scene came back to me, the London Bridge, flames gushing as cannon fired at us, shot slamming into boards and rubble set to defend us, and the bodies of men lying all about. Others moving about them, picking them up and staggering away with them. ‘He was carried here on another man’s back.’
I walked back to the inn. Sir Richard’s voice came clearly to me, and I winced at the sound, but my head had recovered sufficiently for me to think that my brain would not shatter like glass hit by a hammer, were I to return to the room with him.
At the door to the inn, I stood a moment, listening to the gales of laughter from Sir Richard as he spoke to the innkeeper. The two were in the parlour to the right, and as I stood in the doorway, I could see through the screens passage to the yard. In the passageway itself was a figure who listened intently, or so it seemed, to the Coroner and the innkeeper.
I am known for many qualities, and one of these is my courage. I am never one to hang back, unless the odds look too heavily weighed against me. No, I have a willingness to press ahead when there is a matter to be debated. From the clothing and the man’s manner, it was obvious to me that this was Harknet. I was content that he was not as strong as me. Accordingly, I strode along the narrow way and tapped him on the shoulder.
If I had wanted a sharp reaction, I could not have sought a better. Harknet jerked around, his face a picture of horror, even as he leapt into the air. I swear, his feet must have cleared at least six inches, and that from a crouch. ‘What in the name of—’
‘No, master, no need to take the Lord’s name in vain,’ I remonstrated. ‘I would like a word or two with you.’
‘What? Why?’
‘For one, why are you standing here at the doorway and listening to other men’s conversations like some intelligencer from Spain, and for another, what was your real reason for disliking Father Peter quite so strongly?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Oh, in that case we might as well go and speak to the Coroner directly. You can explain it – and your interest in his conversation – to his face.’
‘No, please, I beg,’ he said with great agitation. ‘I will tell you all, but not in there.’
I allowed him to lead me to a small parlour on the opposite side of the corridor. The fire was not lit, and the room was chill, but Harknet knew where there was a barrel of ale to be broached, and soon we were sitting comfortably on a bench with large earthenware pots of ale.
‘Well?’ I said. ‘Why were you listening at the door?’
‘I wanted to learn if the Coroner had any idea who had killed Peter. That is all.’
‘Why?’
‘There was no suggestion yesterday at the inquest. We were all left with the understanding that it was likely an attack by a stranger or outlaw. Someone unknown to the village must have killed him.’
‘But you think differently.’
‘I don’t know what you—’
‘Perhaps the killer was a jealous husband or lover?’
‘Lover? Husband? What do you mean?’
His frown was almost convincing. I decided to string this out a little. ‘I don’t know, Master Harknet. Maybe someone who was jealous of the man, who thought he didn’t deserve the praise and support he was winning? It would be galling for many to learn that their new priest was a man who had embraced the Protestant faith and renounced the Roman. Some would find it difficult to consider him a real priest, after all. Especially if he had been married.’
‘He should never have been sent here to see to our souls. What, a man who had been involved with a woman, who had five children? Argumentative, cruel, rude—’
‘You said all this only yesterday,’ I said, and yawned.
‘Then consider this,’ he snapped irritably, ‘only a day before his death, he was having a loud row with one of his sons, the older boy. How could a man like that be thought suitable for a God-fearing parish like ours? He was a self-righteous bastard as well! He must bring dishonour to us here – that was obvious. But the Church sends its priests where it will, and calls it God’s will, or something. God wouldn’t have sent him here! That’s probably why He saw to it that Peter died.’
‘What would you have done with him? Instead of sending him here, I mean?’
‘The Queen has already suggested a remedy. Men like him, who held concubines while they were priests, should be thrown from the Church. They are heretics. This Peter, in particular, was a shameless womanizer. You only had to look at him to see that. The women would flock to him.’
‘Young women?’
‘Yes.’
‘And they would go to him and flaunt themselves?’
‘Yes.’
‘And offer their bodies to him?’
‘Yes, that’s right!’
‘I suppose they would have done this in the church itself?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Who?’
‘What?’
‘Who were these incontinent women who threw themselves at the poor priest?’
He stuttered for a few moments. ‘I can’t say that!’
‘Because there were none?’
‘No, I …’ Inspiration struck. ‘I don’t want to get them into trouble.’
‘Really? I think it is a little late for that,’ I said. ‘Surely they have done that themselves already?’
He looked miserable. ‘No, surely not all.’
‘You mean you didn’t see all of them lying with him in his bed? That is good. Just tell me the names of those you did see.’
‘It would hardly be fair to hold them up for condemnation,’ he said, wriggling a bit, but this was one little worm I had hooked well and truly.
‘You already have, by bringing them up,’ I said. I was enjoying the sight of his discomfort. ‘Come now, their names, if you please.’
‘I … I cannot. The man behaved dishonourably towards them. What, should that make them guilty? Would you accuse the victim of a rape attack? Would you say she was guilty of lewd behaviour just because she was assaulted? I am surprised at you!’
I was surprised at him. Most men would consider that a raped woman had dressed lewdly and deserved what happened, while the man was tempted just too far and couldn’t resist. I hadn’t thought Harknet would be so forgiving.
‘Did you see him with any of these women? Did you see him swiving them, lying with them in hi
s or their beds? Or is all this mere villeiny-saying and gossip?’
‘Anyone who saw him would be able to tell!’
‘Tell what? That he was a kind priest who listened to the problems of his congregation?’ I drained my cup and rose. ‘I think you should ask for forgiveness. Spreading malicious tales about a dead priest will win you few friends, and will jeopardize your own soul.’
‘Damn you! Speak to the miller’s daughter; see what she reckons.’
‘Who?’
‘Jen. She’s the same as him, mind you. Lusting after every passing trader, opening her legs for them. It’s no surprise she allowed Father Peter to lie with her as well!’
‘You saw her with men?’
‘Everyone knew what she was like!’
And he stood and, with a last filthy glare at me, stalked from the room.
I remained there on my seat, considering, for some time after Harknet had gone. My belt was uncomfortable, and I hoisted it up. The weight of the wheel-lock was dragging the leather south, making it dig into my buttock, and I pulled the pistol from its rest and set it on the bench before pulling up my belt once more and tightening it. I replaced the gun and tugged my jack about my shoulders more tightly. What with the weather and no fire, the chamber felt very chilly.
There were footsteps, and when I glanced towards the door, I saw Dorothy, who stood there for a moment like a ghost. She looked at me with a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment, so it seemed, before she carried on past the doorway and into the kitchen.
Harknet had made it clear that I should speak to the miller’s daughter. I had no particular desire to speak to anyone about Sir Richard’s brother and his death, but, on the other hand, I was supposed to be helping with the investigation. It would look better, were I to go and seek information. Not that interrupting a miller in his work or making accusations to a man who was likely built like an ox, and had a temperament to match, was appealing. Still, his daughter might be a comely little wench. I had the impression from Harknet that she was not a child of some six or seven summers – his words gave me to understand that she was of an age to interest passers-by as well as a priest.
The Dead Don't Wai Page 12
