31 - City of Fiends (27 page)

But this Laurence had inspired only affection. It made the idea of his being a murderer more than a little difficult to swallow.

‘We are getting nowhere,’ Simon said, after they had finished with the staff of the Dean’s house and walked out to the Close. ‘Should we not go and see the Sheriff and
demand that a posse be sent to find this Laurence?’

‘I would be reluctant to do so,’ Baldwin said. He had been walking with his head to the ground, but now he looked up and around him with a face full of fierce concentration.
‘He would be likely to try to send me to find the man, and I have a feeling that it would be unproductive.’

Sir Richard stopped and gazed at Baldwin. ‘You think him innocent?’

‘I am sure I do not know. But I begin to believe that in order to learn more about these dead women, we should be seeking a connection that is closer to them both. I could believe a mad
killer trying to rape a woman as pretty and young as Alice; I can also imagine a man wanting to rape Juliana – but not then disfiguring her.’

‘Perhaps this Laurence has become moon-struck?’ Simon ventured. ‘If driven lunatic, perhaps he . . .’

‘That is what I cannot match in my mind. You weren’t there when I questioned Father Laurence, but I tell you this, Simon, I saw no sign of madness. He was a calm, pleasant man. In
every way he appeared a paragon of priestly virtue. If I had to guess, I would think him innocent.’

‘Then where does that leave us?’

‘Both these women were locals. They had lived and died within a few tens of yards of each other.’ Baldwin began to walk again, this time towards the Bear Gate, and thence to
Southgate Street. He continued as he marched, ‘The more I think of them, Simon, the more it seems obvious that something must have connected the two, some motive for their deaths. One learned
something – did the other learn it too? Or did she guess at it?’

‘What of Laurence?’

‘Others have gone to search for him,’ Baldwin shrugged. ‘They do not need us to assist them.’

‘I shall take the message to the Sheriff,’ Sir Richard said. ‘If he wishes me to hunt down this priest, I can do so as well as you, Sir Baldwin. But I shall endeavour to ensure
that Father Laurence isn’t harmed, and indeed I will see to it that he comes back safely so we may question him further.’

‘That is good,’ Baldwin said, and grasped his arm. ‘Be wary of the Sheriff, good Sir Richard. He is a devious, dishonest man.’

‘What of it?’ Sir Richard chuckled. ‘I have the easier task, if you are correct and the murderer is actually here in the city still.’

Holy Trinity Church

Father Paul almost fainted when the hood was removed and he found himself staring up into the bemused face of Father Laurence.

‘Me?’ he asked again. ‘Master Henry?’

‘Forgive me, my friend,’ Father Paul said, and fumbled for his stool. ‘I must sit. My legs. Ach, my toes!’

‘Father, you have no need to ask me for forgiveness, it is I who should ask that of you,’ Father Laurence said, helping the older man to his seat. ‘Let me fetch you a little
wine.’

‘No, not for me. I am fine. It was just the surprise. I had thought you were someone else.’

‘Yes, a Master Henry. Who was that? Not Paffard, was it?’

‘Yes. He is the devil himself, Father. He killed the maid Alice, and now he’s killed the widow Marsille. Why he should do so, I cannot comprehend.’

Father Laurence’s frown betrayed his doubts. ‘Why should he do so?’

‘He had been sleeping with his maid. Perhaps she was growing greedy? Whatever the reason, he must have killed her, and then Madame Marsille too. I think she saw him on the night he killed
Alice and tried to blackmail him, or perhaps just confronted him to win a cheaper rent. Whatever the reason, he came here and threatened me, and beat me until I promised not to expose
him.’

‘He did?’

‘Yes. He swore he would expose me as a womaniser.
Me
!’

‘But that is madness,’ Father Laurence said wonderingly. ‘The man must be insane if he thinks he can get away with such acts.’

‘He is rich,’ Father Paul said scornfully. ‘It is how men of his kind reason – that for every misdemeanour there is a price they can pay that will cover their sins.
Everything, they believe, comes down to money in the end.’

‘What will you do?’

‘I shall go to him and speak out if he will not confess. The inquest for Madame Marsille is today, and I shall ensure that no innocent can be convicted.’

‘You are absolutely certain that the man was the murderer?’

Father Paul eyed him steadily. ‘Who else could it have been?’

Laurence pulled a face. ‘I don’t know.’

‘What made you run away, Laurence? Was it the same reason that made you go to the alley on the night Alice was killed?’

Laurence looked about him at the little room. It contained nothing – and everything. Possessions were few. There was the table, a stool, a palliasse, a chest for the priest’s
clothes, and a shelf on which his two bowls and a loaf of hard bread stood. So little, and yet everything for which Laurence had hankered most of his life.

Until that day he had fallen in love.

‘My friend, please do not censure me,’ he begged quietly. ‘I have been a great fool. I have fallen in love.’

‘To love is human,’ Father Paul sighed.

‘Not this love,’ Laurence said grimly. ‘This is the sinful kind.’

Alley off Combe Street

When Baldwin and Simon arrived, the Coroner was already making his summary for his clerk.

The gathering at Juliana’s body was a sombre little group. The clerk sat once more, scratching his notes while the Coroner stood, looking decidedly queasy. His face made Simon feel less
foolish for his behaviour last evening.

All those whom he had come to know in the last few days were there already. The Paffard household were clustered in a group, including Claricia, who stood apart from her husband, throwing him
anxious glances every so often. Behind her was her bottler and the apprentice, Benjamin, and then the de Coyntes family, with Bydaud standing with his arm about Emma. The Avices were farther away,
and six or seven men and boys stood between them and the two Marsilles.

On William’s face was a look of uncompromising determination as he stared over his mother’s body towards Henry Paffard. If no one else had been in his way, Simon was sure that he
would have launched a fresh attack.

Simon wondered what sort of man Henry Paffard really was. He looked as though he was feeling the strain, with the lines standing out on his ashen features. His eyes had become sunken, and Simon
was struck with the impression of a ghost.

Perhaps there was a ghost about here, he thought. The ghost of someone who had been betrayed, and who now sought revenge?

It was enough to make his heart feel as if it was encased in ice.

Rougemont Castle

The news that Sir Richard de Welles had arrived and would like a few words with him did not please Sir James de Cockington. ‘Where is Sir Baldwin? It was him I expected to
see.’

Sir Richard was standing in the doorway, while Sir James remained seated. It was a calculated insult; and one that Sir Richard had no intention of allowing. He crossed the floor to the cupboard
and, gently pushing the steward aside, poured himself a large goblet of wine before he responded, hitching his hip onto the cupboard’s top.

‘You have several problems, Sir Sheriff. The Bishop is dead, you have two murder victims in your city, and you have news that the King’s father, Sir Edward of Caernarfon, has escaped
from Berkeley Castle. Also, a priest has run from the Cathedral. I can aid you with one of these. I will raise a posse to hunt down this Father Laurence and bring him back. The other matters are
your affair.’

‘You try to tell me what you will and will not do?’ Sir James stood. ‘You will do as I command.
I
am the Sheriff of the city!’

‘And I am Coroner in Lifton,’ Sir Richard said, and drained his goblet before setting it down and idly walking towards the Sheriff.

Sheriff James was alarmed by the sight of the older warrior approaching, but dared not jump from his chair because that would display fear. ‘You should make yourself available to
me!’

Sir Richard stood over him, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he purred, ‘Sheriff, are you going to threaten me?’

‘I could have you arrested if you try to injure me! I am the King’s man!’

‘So am I, Sheriff. So am I. And we have enough to trouble us already without falling out. Do you see to Exeter, and I will go to learn what I may about this fellow, Laurence. I’ve
met him, so I will know him when I see him. And Sheriff,’ he added, ‘when you are older, you will realise that to gain a man’s respect, first you should respect
him.
’

Alley off Combe Street

‘What do you think, Simon?’ Baldwin muttered as the Coroner withdrew from Juliana’s body.

Simon swallowed hard. ‘I think I need to get away from here.’

Baldwin flashed a grin. ‘What of the man there – see?’

He was indicating Gregory Paffard, and Simon turned to the boy in relief; it was good to be able to look away from Juliana’s poor, ravaged features. The sight of the lipless face was
deeply unnerving.

The fellow at whom Baldwin directed his attention looked as distressed as Simon felt. As Gregory looked up, Simon’s gaze reached him, and their eyes locked for an instant.

‘Baldwin, you’re right;’ Simon muttered. ‘That fellow
is
more distressed than Juliana’s sons. What on earth is going on?’

But Baldwin did not hear him – and when Simon saw Gregory turn and make his way out of the alley, he knew that he must follow him. Baldwin was busy listening to the Coroner while he spoke
with a man who held the pig-boy tightly by the arm, so Simon pushed past those before him, and made off after Gregory.

The fellow led him away from the city and down to the wall itself.

‘What do you want with me?’ Gregory turned and demanded as Simon came out from the shadows of the alleyway and into the sunny patch of common land.

‘That depends on what you can tell me,’ Simon said.

Gregory was even more anxious and fretful at close quarters, Simon could see. All the while, his fingers played nervously with each other, while his face twitched and his eyes blinked with what
was clearly a nervous reaction. Simon had seen youths before with that same kind of response – when they were worried, or when they felt guilty about something they didn’t want to
confess.

‘I’ve nothing to tell you,’ the youth mumbled.

‘Where were you when Juliana was killed?’

‘In our hall. With my mother and sister. And Father Paul from Holy Trinity.’ This time, he spoke with more confidence, and the blinking slowed. Simon was sure that this was true.

‘What of the other death – when your own maid Alice was murdered?’

‘What of it?’ Gregory challenged him, but there was less conviction in his manner, and his nervous tic was evident once more.

‘Where were you that night?’

‘I was at my home.’

‘And the good priest?’

‘He wasn’t there, no.’

‘Was anyone else there with you?’

‘Well, we all were, sort of.’

‘Explain, boy.’

‘Don’t call me a boy, you churl!’

As he spoke, Gregory stepped forward, fists clenched, and swung. Simon was ready for him. Moving his torso back to avoid the punch, he grasped Gregory’s hand and pulled. The boy was
already off-balance, and now he was drawn over Simon’s outstretched leg. Simon turned just a little, bent at the waist, and the lad tumbled to the ground in front of him, swearing and
spitting like an enraged cat.

‘Shut up!’ Simon said. He felt better for the brief engagement, as though the physical effort had removed the memory of Juliana’s face. ‘Now, answer me. You said you all
were, “sort of. What does that mean?’

‘What I said,’ Gregory snapped.

He was about to rise, but Simon put his boot on his chest. Gregory tried ineffectually to shove his leg away, but Simon pressed harder.

‘Say it again, then, boy.’

‘We all went to the inn together, my father, mother, me, Agatha.’

‘What of the maid, Alice?’

‘She stayed at home. We were there for a meal. What, you think we’d bring our servants with us?’

There was a sneer of bravado in his voice, and he began that blinking again. Looking down, Simon saw that his fingernails were bitten, some of them to the quick. He truly was living on his
nerves. ‘Did you all stay there together?’

‘Yes. Apart from Father, who had forgotten his rosary and went home to fetch it. After he came back, my sister and I returned to the house.’

‘Was Alice there?’

‘I didn’t look for her. She was only a housemaid to me.’

‘Fine: when you returned home, was
anyone
there?’

‘The apprentice was hanging about in the hall. I sent him away. He’s a fool.’

‘I doubt your father would want a fool in his workshops.’

‘The fact that Benjamin is still working for my father proves that he is hardly bright. He could earn more with any other pewterer – and learn more.’