31 - City of Fiends (30 page)

‘He is a lusty man, Mother,’ Gregory said wearily.

‘Yes. Much more so than you. You have no desire for a wife?’

Gregory felt a flash of alarm in his breast. ‘Me? Now? I have so much to do, I don’t need to worry about women as well. Please, you must leave me. I have a lot to think
about.’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said, and fixed him with a sad, understanding look as she withdrew from the doorway.

Only a short time later Agatha walked in. She smiled, wandering around the room, finally approaching him from behind, and he felt her fingers on his back with a tingle. ‘You are tense,
brother. Is it me?’

‘Yes,’ he said harshly. ‘It has nothing to do with Father’s position, nor the way Alice and Juliana have died. What do
you
think?’

She chuckled, the bitch. ‘Aren’t you glad? You’re master here now, brother dear.’

He shook his head. ‘No. I’m just the caretaker until he comes back.’

‘Comes back?’ she repeated with a kind of wondering amusement.

Just then, they heard knocking on the front door, and Gregory motioned Agatha to leave. She waved at him, smiling, and hurried out of the hall. Gregory had felt his face ease at the sight of
her, but then he heard John talking, and his face resumed its previous expression of anxiety.

Near Clyst St George

Sir Richard ensured that Sir Charles was disarmed, taking two daggers and his sword, before going over to the white-faced woman.

She had lost her wimple when the men were raping her, and now her dark hair was wild, clinging to her tear-stricken face like a veil. She had bright blue eyes set in a narrow face.

‘Mistress, I am sorry we didn’t get to you sooner. What’s your name?’

‘I am Amflusia. My husband was Cenred. They killed him. And my boys, my little . . .’

She surrendered to her tears, shoulders shaking with her sobs, and Sir Richard turned to glower at Sir Charles’s prostrate body.

‘Mistress, he will pay for his crimes. Believe me.’

Paffards’ House

A
short while later John came into the hall, and Gregory saw that Sir Baldwin and his friend Puttock were with him.

‘Can you not leave me alone?’ he groaned. ‘You have taken my father, what more do you want?’

‘I am sorry, Master Paffard,’ Baldwin said, ‘very sorry about your father. It must be most distressing to see him surrender in such an undignified manner.’

‘It was a shock, yes,’ Gregory said. He was remarkably still. ‘I don’t know what to think. I’d had no idea he could have been responsible for such terrible crimes.
It is difficult to know what I should do for the best at present.’

He heard another knock at the front door, and motioned to John to answer it before rising with an ill grace and offering his guests a cup each of wine. He didn’t want to be here. It was
just his sense of propriety and loyalty that made him remain. Someone had to keep an eye on the business while his father was in gaol, until he could be released.

Released!
What a ridiculous notion! His father was in gaol because he had confessed to killing two women. There wasn’t the remotest likelihood that he was ever going to be set free!
He’d be held there until he was thrown before the Sheriff’s court and given the only sentence he could truly expect. Like any felon, he would be taken out to Heavitree and the public
gallows, and there he’d be held while the rope was tied at his throat, and then he’d be pulled up, kicking, to dangle for however long it took to die. And Gregory would have to pay men
to grab his legs and pull, to try to minimise his father’s suffering.

But then he thought that perhaps local people would see his father’s crimes as so heinous that no one would want to ease his pain. Gregory might be forced to help kill his father
himself.

Baldwin was talking, and he had to push all thoughts of his father’s execution to the back of his mind. ‘I am sorry, Sir Baldwin,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘I was
wool-gathering. What did you say?’

‘I was only saying, that if you have need of a pleader, I know some experienced men.’

‘That is very kind of you, but I think it would be to little advantage. After all, he has confessed, and in any case, the accused man is always denied a lawyer. You know that. The innocent
have no need of a man versed in the law.’

He spoke with sarcasm. It always seemed to him that if a man denied his crimes he should also be granted the benefits of a pleader to make his case as best as he could. It was surely
unreasonable that only the prosecuter should have the services of men trained in the law.

‘It seems curious he should have been responsible for these murders,’ Baldwin said thoughtfully, as though the idea had only at that moment occurred to him. ‘After all, there
was little threat to him from either woman, surely?’

‘You need to ask
him
that,’ Gregory said. He had returned the jug to the sideboard, and now walked to his chair again. He sat just as John entered the room again. He held a
message in a scroll.

Gregory took the scroll and glanced at the seal. It was from Master Luke the Goldsmith, and Gregory frowned at it for an instant before breaking it and reading the letter.

‘The rats have begun to leave us,’ he said without mirth. ‘The first merchant who finds that he is now unable to assist us in our business. Well, so much the better. I
wouldn’t want to see him making money with us.’

‘The first?’ Baldwin asked.

‘He won’t be the last. All those who now feel distaste for any dealings with my father will be sending similar letters, although I hope others will couch their phrases more
inoffensively. This tarse Luke tells me that his house will do no business with mine until my father has paid for his “gross and obscene crimes”. And what then? I suppose I should be
grateful that he will deign to work with us again!’

He screwed the note up and hurled it at the fire. It caught almost immediately, as it rolled away and sat at the edge of the hearth, a ball of yellow flames. Gregory could have wept for the ruin
of his father’s reputation almost more than for his impending death. Henry Paffard had never been a man to inspire great friendship. He was too arrogant and too aloof. But he had founded this
house on firm respect for himself and his acumen. Since that was lost, there would inevitably be a lessening of the family’s status. They might even lose much of their money.

‘Master?’ Baldwin said. ‘Can I help? You are deeply troubled, I see.’

‘It is going to be a hard time for me and my family,’ Gregory said. He remained staring at the fire. The ball had turned into a sphere of glowing embers, and he thought how apposite
that was: like his family, it had flared briefly, and now was no more.

Strange how things turned out. Only a few days ago he would have welcomed the idea of the closure of the family’s business; it would have left him free to make his own life without the
baleful presence of his father watching over everything he did. But in reality, what else could he do, but continue with the business he had been taught, the craft that he had learned from the age
of seven? He was a pewterer, and his father’s mercantile ventures had created a thriving business for him to drive forward. Yes, it would have been better if Agatha had been born a boy and
older than he, so that she could lead the business, but she had not.

He would do all he could to run things as his father would wish, Gregory decided. Which meant he must go and see him. There must be a number of things that Henry would wish to discuss with
him.

‘Master Paffard?’

He looked up. He had quite forgotten that Baldwin and Simon were there. ‘I am sorry, sir. I am too confused. Please excuse me.’

‘Of course,’ Baldwin said. He rose, Simon with him, and the two men walked from the hall.

Gregory covered his face in his hands, but today he had no urge to weep.

He was merely steeling himself for the ordeal to come.

Outside the Paffards’ House

John did not escort them as Simon and Baldwin walked to the door. Baldwin opened it and began to walk down the steps, when Simon heard a slight noise from the shop-front. He
glanced inside. There he saw the maid, Joan, standing and sweeping with a great besom, carefully moving between piles of lead ingots and shining tin, stacked in piles waist-high.

On a whim he went in and said, ‘Maid, are you well?’

‘Yes, I thank you,’ she replied with a duck of her head.

She was a pretty enough little thing, Simon thought to himself. Large, anxious eyes, set in a sweet face with rosy cheeks, she had the kind of looks that would tempt many a man to sweep her up
and cradle her in his arms. He had always found small, compact women like her attractive, and she would never lack for admirers, he was sure.

‘You must have been sad when the master was taken away,’ he said, seeing her stillness.

She stared at him, and for a moment he wondered whether the loss of her master had left her deranged. The impression was only strengthened when she began to shake, her shoulders jerking
spasmodically. It was some time before he realised that she was laughing silently.

‘Maid?’

‘I cannot help it! I am so happy, to know I’m safe at last! He will never come to my room to take me at night after this. Never again! You ask if I am sad? No. Never! He can rot in
hell
for all I care,’ she said with a horrible determination.

‘He raped you?’

‘Every night since Alice died. I was under his protection here in his house, and he should have guarded me, but instead he . . . He forced me to submit. He is evil!’ she spat.

‘What of his son? Are you safe from him?’

‘Gregory? Oh yes, I feel entirely safe with him.’

‘So the son is not the same as his father. That is good.’

Quick as a flash, she said, ‘You think?’

Simon was bemused. ‘What do you mean?’

Joan shot a look at the door, then at Simon, wondering whether she dared speak. This man looked kindly enough, but she was loath to trust any man after recent experiences. She had already said
too much. If Gregory were to overhear her comments, she could be thrown out on the street once more, looking for work. A vision of the stews appeared in her mind, and she muttered, ‘I must
return to my duties.’

‘One moment, maid. Tell me – I swear I will keep your part secret. If you have something to say about your master, you should tell me. We don’t want any others harmed. Do you
doubt Henry was guilty?’

She shook her head. ‘No. I cannot.’

‘Very well. But before I leave, let me ask you this: when you found your friend’s body on Saturday, why was Alice outside? What was she doing out in the alley? Did you hear anything
about that?’

‘Master Henry came back before all the others, I know – I saw him.
And
heard him and her upstairs in her bed,’ she said, her lip curled primly.

‘I see.’

‘He had no shame – not that she minded. She was happy to do as he wanted. She boasted about her affair with him. Not just with me, but with others in the house, in the street. All
over. As though he was going to make her his wife. She thought he would buy her a house and give her servants. The fool.’

‘She loved him? Or simply played the whore?’

‘She didn’t mind his attention,’ Joan said. Her head was hanging, and she was embarrassed and ashamed to be speaking of her dead friend in this way.

‘Who else knew?’

‘Master Henry never bothered to hide his passion. All knew, even his wife.’

‘And on the night you found Alice, you heard them upstairs, and after that you went for the bread? But where were all the others, then? Surely Master Henry would have been anxious that his
wife could return and find him rolling on the floor with their maid?’

‘I think the mistress would not come back, exactly for that reason,’ Joan said. ‘She knew what Master Henry was doing with Alice, and didn’t want to see proof of it. So
she stayed in the tavern and hid her head. Later, Master Henry returned to the inn, and she could come back with him when she was sure it was safe, I suppose. No wife would want to be confronted by
the sight of her husband with another woman.’

‘What of Master Gregory? Did he not say anything?’

She blinked and looked away.

‘Maid, please. Trust me.’

‘He wouldn’t say anything. He
dare
not!’ she hissed, and fled out and up the passageway.

‘Oh,’ Simon said helplessly. The girl was plainly distraught, but he had no idea why still.

Baldwin was waiting at the end of the street, so Simon hurried on down the steps, closing the door behind him, and went to join his friend.

‘Did the maid have anything useful to tell you?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Only that her master was in a loving grapple with Alice on the night the girl died. And then she was sent out to buy food. Just as we’ve heard.’

‘So the last person seen with the maid was Henry.’

Simon shrugged. ‘Who else would it have been? He admitted to the murders.’

‘Yes.’

‘But something is niggling at you?’ Simon said.

Baldwin gave a sour grin. ‘You too?’

‘It seems entirely out of character for the man to confess,’ Simon said with his hands held out. ‘He allowed all in his house to realise he was swyving his maid, and then took
up with Joan the minute Alice was dead. He acted with the arrogance and lack of shame of a lord exercising his rights over his peasants – and then confesses to a double murder with no
apparent motives. It makes absolutely no sense.’