31 - City of Fiends (13 page)

‘You are a clever woman. You know she had a lover, don’t you?’

‘Perhaps,’ she allowed.

‘Madam, I do not wish to slander her now she is dead, but I have to know the truth if I am to discover her murderer. Who was her lover? Was it a man from about here?’

‘I couldn’t say,’ she said, and refused to look away, staring up at his face with firm resolution. He couldn’t force her, after all, and she would not lose her house and
home just because of this man.

Helewisia had been watching them both talking, and now she stood a scant ten paces from them.

‘What of
you
, mistress?’ Baldwin asked, seeing Helewisia as though for the first time.

‘Me?’ she echoed.

Emma could see that Helewisia was flattered to be asked, the silly woman. She was easily flattered. She deserved sympathy, but there was a limit to the compassion owed even to a woman bereaved
of her child, when she behaved so ridiculously.

‘This maid had a lover. Do you know who he was?’

Helewisia did not look at Emma, but instead stared over her shoulder. ‘If you wanted to learn, you could do worse than question Henry Paffard’s son, Gregory.’

Baldwin turned and followed her pointing finger.

Gregory was a boy of middle height, with a chubbiness about him like his mother. He wore a long tunic, fur-lined cloak and warm felt hat as he entered the hall. His eyes were deep and brown, and
he had a habit of blinking rapidly, Baldwin saw. Perhaps it showed he was upset, but in the past Baldwin had known such signs to be proof of guilt. He cast an eye over the lad, saying, ‘You
have seen them together?’

‘No, it’s just that he’s a wastrel who spends his time in frivolous enjoyment instead of working. You ask him, if you want to know who she was with before she died.’

‘He was with his father at the Cock,’ Baldwin said.

‘And came back before his father.’

Rougemont Castle

Sir James de Cockington was a man of power and authority. He commanded the Posse of the county, he was responsible for the main strategic sites, such as Exeter, and he upheld
the law across his demesne.

And yet Baldwin de Furnshill had disappeared.

He had no right to go when he had been told to wait for Sir James to call him in. He was
Sheriff
, in God’s name, not some tradesman who could be expected to remain waiting for a
knight to return at his leisure.

But there had been that cryptic comment about the King. He didn’t like that. There was something threatening about it, and it was not for Baldwin to threaten his Sheriff. That was not his
place. It was insulting.

‘What is that noise?’ he demanded of his page-boy.

Outside there was the sound of bells rising up from the Cathedral.

‘I don’t know, sir,’ the boy said, quailing at the sight of the Sheriff’s anger. He was used to being beaten or kicked when things did not go well for the Sheriff. Today
he was safe, however. Sir James had other things on his mind.

‘Go and find out. And while you’re there, also find out where in God’s good name that damned fool Furnshill has got to! Find him, and demand that he come here and explain
himself!’

Combe Street

Gregory watched the knight talking to that busybody Helewisia, and when she turned and looked at him, he knew it was his turn to be questioned.

He stood firmly, refusing to be antagonised. ‘Yes?’

‘I am Sir Baldwin de Furnshill. Precentor Murimuth asked me to learn about this maid’s death, if I may.’

‘So?’

‘Were you her lover?’

Gregory stared at him, then gestured down at the body. ‘With
her
? You have a poor opinion of me, if you would accuse me of
that.
No. She was not my lover, neither willingly
nor unwillingly. Besides, you heard: I was with my father and mother at the Cock.’

‘Others think you a wastrel.’

‘People should be careful whom they insult,’ he said, his voice lower and angry. ‘I would not take kindly to such smears being bandied about.’

‘It is hard to keep secrets in a small house.’

‘Is it?’ he said. ‘How interesting.’

‘Did she have a lover inside the house? An apprentice? Another servant?’

‘I never saw her with anyone,’ Gregory said firmly. ‘If I had, I would have spoken to her and her lover. I wouldn’t want a promiscuous maid in the house.’

Baldwin nodded, and then looked at Wolf. The boy was still cuddling and petting him enthusiastically. ‘You like him?’ he said gently.

Thomas looked up at him and seemed about to reply, but then, seeing his brother, he rose to his feet and slowly backed away.

‘My brother Thomas is very fearful of all people since Alice’s death,’ Gregory said coolly. ‘It shocked him.’

As it must,’ Baldwin said.

But there was something in Thomas’s manner that jarred. The young lad looked less alarmed by the corpse which had been the focus of their attention, and more by his own brother.

De Coyntes’ House

Bydaud de Coyntes was glad to be away from the alley. Every so often the breeze had turned and brought with it the distinctive stench of death, and he had almost gagged.

His house was at the other side of the alley from Paffard’s. It was small, more or less the same size as the Avices’ house, but better located, bordering Combe Street. Of course,
both were a great deal smaller than Paffard’s. That was enormous, as befitted one of the city’s wealthiest men. But that did not matter. Bydaud was rich enough, he felt. Emma was a good
woman, his daughters were the pride of his life, and he had money enough to keep them all warm and fed. There was little more a man would wish from life usually.

‘Peg, bring me a flagon of wine, and mazers for me and Emma,’ he called to the maid as he squatted at the fireside, poking the embers until sparks gleamed and burst into the air. He
blew gently, and flames erupted along the length of the logs resting on top, until he could feel the heat.

It was bright outside, but in here it was always gloomy. He took a taper and lit the candles in their great iron stands, then the smaller candles on the spikes in the walls.

He needed light to drive away thoughts of death. Since the unrest last year, when the King had been captured and imprisoned, there had been a lingering sense of unease about the city, and
Alice’s murder only served to underline the tension.

‘Husband, to burn so many candles is expensive!’

‘I know, woman. But I enjoy the light.’

Emma sighed and shook her head. ‘We should save money, Bydaud.’

He blew out the taper and dropped it into the pot hanging on the wall by the door, then dipped his finger in the stoup of holy water and crossed himself, before going to his chair and sitting.
‘Come here.’

Emma scowled. ‘This is no time for—’

‘Woman, come here.’

She gave an exclamation of annoyance, but obeyed him and sat on his lap.

He placed his arms about her waist. ‘There, that’s better.’

‘You should be working.’

‘I have a meeting with Henry later at the Cock Inn. I will be working then. All work and no pleasantry would make for a tedious life, wife.’

‘Oh? Get off me!’

He withdrew his hand from her bodice as she slapped him, but then clasped her in a tight embrace, and this time kissed her until she put her hands on his head and pulled him closer. He was
utterly maddening, but he was kind, considerate, handsome, and she loved him.

And while the maid from Paffard’s was dead, Emma wanted to celebrate life, as though by making love with Bydaud she could eradicate the memory of the other girl’s cold, lifeless
flesh.

Precentor’s House, Cathedral Close

Baldwin was standing and tickling Wolf’s ears in Adam Murimuth’s chamber when the door opened and the vicar entered.

After the inquest, Baldwin had suggested to Sir Richard that they should inform the Precentor of the outcome. It was there, in Murimuth’s hall, that the Precentor had told them of the man
suspected of running into the Close after the murder.

‘I am sure he is innocent,’ Murimuth said unconvincingly, ‘but I would be remiss were I not to tell you.’

‘I should like to speak with him,’ Baldwin said.

Adam Murimuth nodded with sadness as he sent for the vicar.

It was some minutes before Father Laurence entered, and Sir Richard gave him a quizzical stare, commenting loudly, ‘They build vicars more heftily here than at my home.’

Murimuth was already feeling guilty, as though he had surrendered Father Laurence to the hangman. Laurence was the son of a baron near Axminster. It was unthinkable that he could have had
anything to do with the murder of some maidservant. Out of the question. He sat on a stool with a sense of misery that he could ever have thought Laurence involved. And yet . . .

‘Father, there was a murder in a yard out near Combe Street last Saturday,’ Baldwin began.

‘In the alley,’ Father Laurence said calmly.

Sir Richard said, ‘You saw the body?’

‘I almost fell over her. As soon as I realised she was dead, I was struck with fear lest I should be thought to be the killer. I ran, I’m afraid.’

‘Which way did you run?’ Baldwin said.

‘Down to Combe Street and back up Southgate Street. I knew that Mark on the Bear Gate would let me in.’

‘So you didn’t see the woman who was declared First Finder?’ Baldwin said.

‘I saw no one. Or didn’t notice. It was late, so—’

‘Yes,’ interrupted Baldwin. ‘It was late – so why were you there?’

‘I was visiting a friend.’

‘Who?’

‘Father Paul at Holy Trinity.’

‘And after that you walked up to Combe Street?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Why turn up there, instead of heading into the Cathedral Close?’

‘I was thinking of things.’

‘Such as?’

‘Private matters that concern only me,’ Father Laurence said quietly.

‘So, you found her. Why run? It was your duty as a priest to pray over her. You were derelict in your duties, surely?’

‘I was. I went to her, and saw who it was, and that scared me.’

Laurence was pale, but composed. Baldwin thought it was strange to see the man accepting his failure without trying to defend himself.

‘Was there a reason for you to fail in such a dramatic manner?’ Baldwin asked.

‘I panicked.’

‘Was she your lover?’ Sir Richard demanded.

‘No,’ he said, and there was a slight movement of his lips, as though he was close to smiling.

Sir Richard said scornfully, ‘It ill behoves you to run away at the sight of a poor young girl’s corpse.’

‘Why were you in the alley?’ Baldwin pressed. ‘It leads nowhere, but to the Paffards’ house.’

‘I had a lot on my mind, as I said,’ Laurence said, and now he glanced at Adam Murimuth. ‘I was in the church with Father Paul, and he gave me many things to consider, so I
went outside to think through all he said. It has nothing to do with this murder.’

It was clear that the man was determined to stick with this story.

Murimuth peered at him anxiously. ‘Is this a matter for the confessional, Father?’

The priest looked at him, and there was pain in his eyes. ‘No. There has been no sin on my part. Only a foolish hope.’

Baldwin did not get the impression of guilt from Father Laurence’s appearance. In his experience, a guilty man would look away, would nervously fidget, would twitch. This vicar stood
resolutely, like a man-at-arms waiting for a cavalry charge: with trepidation, but with courage. Yet some men who were guilty did not think their crimes a felony. Perhaps this was one such man.

‘I will ask one last time: why were you there? Will you not answer?’

‘There are some things even a vicar may hold to himself. Things which hurt no other. I will not tell you more. It is my affair,’ Laurence repeated.

‘No doubt,’ Adam said, ‘you feared that the murderer might still be there in the alley, and your life could also be in danger.’

It was a good excuse. Baldwin could have kicked the Precentor for supplying it, but Father Laurence shook his head.

‘No, I will not lie. I had no such fear, yet I was anxious not to be discovered, so I ran away.’

‘I will inform the Coroner of your story,’ Baldwin said heavily. ‘He will have to know.’

‘Please!’ Laurence turned an anguished face to him. ‘If you do that, it will be bruited about the city. I would rather it was kept private.’

‘This is not a private matter,’ Baldwin said flatly. ‘This is an enquiry into a maid’s murder. I would have the truth, and if not, I would certainly not help you keep
secret the little you have told us.’

Laurence threw a look at Adam Murimuth. ‘Precentor, could you not intercede for me? There is nothing that can assist the matter of this girl’s murder. Can you not ask that it be kept
secret?’

‘Why on earth should I? Really, this is the most ridiculous situation I can imagine,’ Murimuth said tetchily. ‘You deny guilt, but refuse to aid the good knights here, and then
demand that I help you? No! Certainly not! I suggest you go at once and pray, because your heart must tell you that this silence is shameful. You are concealing something, Vicar, and I would have
the truth confessed. You have failed in your duty to your cloth.’