‘Sometimes. Not often. They’ve got their own places to go to.’
‘Do you know two men called Tim Bovet and Will Perkins?’
Tomkins looked shifty. ‘Might do. They come here to give the monks a hand with the lambing. What’ve they been up to?’
‘Were they in here last Saturday night? The night before the fire in Agnes Myles’s shed?’
Again the cautious look. Careful now, thought Nicholas. Don’t frighten him off. ‘I can’t remember,’ said Tomkins, busily wiping down the tables. ‘There are always lots of people here on Saturday nights.’
‘Come on, man. It’s not all that long ago. Think hard.’
‘Well, I suppose they could’ve been. After all, they’re regulars when they come to work here.’
‘Did you hear them, or anyone else for that matter, talking about starting a fire?’
‘Oh no, my Lord,’ he said, polishing a table with unnecessary vigour. ‘I never heard nothing like that. And if I did,’ he said, standing up and looking at Nicholas indignantly, ‘I would’ve chucked them out. We don’t have such talk in here. Burning down other people’s property indeed!’
‘So you heard no talk of fire. And no one, in his cups, boasting about starting one?’
‘I certainly did not. Ah, here comes Biddy. Come over here a minute,’ he said as Biddy Tomkins, flushed and perspiring, came in to collect the empty tankards. ‘Lord Nicholas wants to know if we heard anyone talking about starting a fire up at old Agnes’s house last Saturday night?’
Biddy came over and dropped a curtsy to Nicholas. ‘I didn’t hear anyone talk about a fire. It started well after we’d closed and Josh and me were tucked up in bed. We only woke up when one of the servants came hammering on our door and calling out “fire”. We got up and went along to Agnes’s house, but we were too late to help, of course.’
Nicholas cursed his luck. They were too glib. They’d had time to get their act together.
‘You know Sheriff has Perkins and Bovet in custody?’
‘We’d heard the rumour. What’re they supposed to’ve done?’ said Tomkins, trying to look unconcerned.
‘They were reluctant to help put out a fire and they slandered Agnes Myles.’
‘Well, that’s only to be expected,’ said Biddy indignantly. ‘What right has a nasty old witch like her to expect people to help her put out a fire? It was only her shed, after all, that went up in smoke. Good riddance to it, I say. Put paid to all her spells for a bit. I can’t see why you bother yourself with all this, my Lord. She oughtn’t to be here. Best place for her is up on Marchester Heath.’
‘And I say it’s a monstrous injustice to accuse someone before they’re proved guilty. Agnes Myles is a harmless old woman and most of the people around here have been grateful for her help. Didn’t you go and see her, Tomkins, when your face sprouted boils last Christmas?’
‘She said my blood needed cleaning,’ he mumbled, not meeting Nicholas’s gaze.
‘And they all cleared up, if I remember rightly?’
‘She gave me a herbal drink.’
‘Well now, would a wicked witch do that?’
‘Could’ve done,’ put in Biddy. ‘Witches are well known to be two-faced. Look how she frightened your horse up in the woods and nearly killed you.’
‘Don’t be such a fool and stop spreading such rumours. I had a fall, that’s all. One of the monks was up in the woods collecting herbs and my horse was taken by surprise and shied, throwing me to the ground. But enough of this talk. Let’s get back to Saturday night. So you heard no one talk about starting a fire?’
‘No, my Lord. Just the usual crowd, out for a drink and a laugh.’
‘And you saw nothing suspicious? No money changing hands, for instance?’
‘Money? Oh no, my Lord, if there was any money around it would’ve come in my direction.’
‘And no laughing about burning an old witch?’
‘Oh no, we wouldn’t have allowed such talk, would we Biddy?’
‘Certainly not. Why waste breath on the likes of her?’
There was no point in probing any further, Nicholas thought as he turned to go. The two had closed ranks. They stood in the doorway watching him mount Harry, who swirled around impatiently. ‘Well, let me know if you do hear anything. We want to know who started the fire. Someone must know. Bovet and Perkins might know and sooner or later they’ll start talking. There’s a reward, you know, for any information leading to the capture of the arsonists. I’ll see that it’s a good one.’
He pulled Harry round, and rode off. He didn’t see the look which the Tomkinses exchanged with one another.
Chapter Twenty-One
‘Just take a look at this lot, my Lord. Where’s the money coming from?’ said Geoffrey, hovering anxiously over Nicholas, who was sitting at a table with a pile of bills in front of him. Nicholas flipped through the pile, paused to read an invoice from the Prior for four butts of Burgundy, then he pushed them aside.
‘Where’s the money coming from? From me, of course. Who do you think’s going to pay ’em? The King? But don’t bother me with these now. If it means that I’ll have to sell the top field, so be it. At least I know old Warrener’ll snap it up, and I’ll see he pays a good price for it. Now who the devil’s this?’
A clatter of hooves in the courtyard; the sound of metal scraping on stone as a horse slithered to a halt; then Anthony burst in, breathless with excitement.
‘A messenger, my Lord, from the Earl of Southampton,’ he stammered.
‘Well, don’t keep him waiting. Just put these somewhere safe, Geoffrey,’ he said, pushing the pile of bills towards him, ‘and I’ll see to them later.’
Geoffrey shuffled the pile together and fastened them with a cord. Anthony returned, followed by a young man in leather breeches and jerkin covered in dust. He handed Nicholas a leather pouch.
‘From the Earl, my Lord. Shall I wait for a reply?’
‘You’d better hang around. Geoffrey, fetch this young man some food and something to drink. Sit down and rest yourself.’
The young man sank down gratefully on the chair which Nicholas pushed towards him and Nicholas opened the bag and took out the message.
‘Peverell,’ he read. ‘No more communications from Ultor. I don’t like it. Either he’s using another port, or he’s gone to ground. That means he’s feeling secure. He’s made his plans and he’s waiting for the right moment to strike. You must check on everyone; and I mean everyone. The King’s coming next week, remember. Destroy this letter immediately. Paget.’
Nicholas cursed under his breath. He was sick and tired of people telling him what to do. And did Southampton take him for a fool? Of course he knew the King was coming. Hadn’t he got a pile of bills to prove it?
He called for pen and a sheet of parchment and sat down and wrote.
‘My Lord. I am well aware of the urgency of the situation. I also would like to see Ultor flushed out. Rest assured I will do all I can to ensure the King’s safety. Would you send me more precise details of the King’s timetable for the seventh, please. Are you planning to feed him after the review and put him up for the night? Peverell.’
Then he got up, gave his letter to the young man wolfing down a plateful of cold meats, and put the Earl’s letter on the fire, kicking up the logs to make sure every scrap of it was destroyed.
Anthony had returned and was standing awkwardly by the door. ‘Not you again,’ Nicholas said, ‘who is it this time?’
‘That monk, my lord. The one who came before. He wants to see you.’
‘Finish your food,’ he said to the messenger as he left the room. ‘Then get back to your master. I shall see you again soon.’
* * *
Nicholas went out into the courtyard where Brother Benedict was waiting for him. He bowed to Nicholas.
‘A message from Mistress Warrener, my Lord. She wants to see you. Can she come straight away?’
‘Tell her, yes. Tell her I’ll meet her in the usual place.’
Benedict bowed and waited. ‘What now?’ said Nicholas impatiently.