‘Get up, Father,’ said the Prior not unkindly, ‘if you’ve nothing to hide, you’ve nothing to fear. Now go with the Sheriff and answer his questions and you’ll soon be back with us again. Just remember to tell the truth.’
The Sheriff’s men led Father Hubert away to the Sheriff’s carriage. Nicholas turned to the Prior. ‘I hope to God we’ve not made a dreadful mistake.’
‘I still can’t believe it, poison, murder, sacrilege. Not Father Hubert,’ said the Prior. ‘Not unless the devil’s got into him and given him supernatural strength.’
There was another knock on the door and Brother Cyril, the Prior’s steward, came in.
‘There are two people here to see you. Biddy and Josh Tomkins. They say it’s urgent.’
Nicholas looked triumphantly at Jane. ‘At last,’ he said, ‘we’re getting somewhere. The rats are leaving the sinking ship.’
‘Well, what do you want?’ he said as the pair came in, looking nervously round the unfamiliar surroundings.
‘We saw you taking away the old monk,’ began Josh, ‘and I said to Biddy, we’ve got to tell Lord Nicholas. You see, when we saw the little girl, and I know how much the parents are going to grieve, I knew I must tell someone what happened in our house a few days ago.
‘Perkins and Bovet were drinking ale, a bit too much as it happened, and the talk went round to witches and deformed babies and then Perkins said how he’d strung up the witch’s cat, and he said he was glad as it only brought harm to the village. The next thing, a strange fellow comes into the house, calling himself a visiting lay brother. Well, we’ve certainly never seen him before, and we’ve not seen him since. Then he puts down some money on the counter, and says that’s for anyone who’d burn down the witch’s shed, because he couldn’t abide witches, and neither could his master. Then he says, “I want it done tonight” – he means Sunday morning by that time. Then off he goes. We didn’t ask him who his master was because Bovet and Perkins had their eye on the money and I was anxious to get my cut. So we shared the money, the two men went off and you know what happened, and we thought no more about it until now when poor little Katharine was murdered and we saw the monk taken off.’
‘What did this – lay brother – look like?’ said the Prior.
‘A monk’s a monk, sir, if you know what I mean. They all look the same to me. But he did say he was a lay brother and I suppose he meant by that that he wasn’t a proper monk.’
‘Was he young or old?’
‘Oh, they all look old to me. This one wasn’t tonsured, but what hair he had didn’t look grey; not that I looked too closely.’
‘Well, let me summon all the lay brothers and you can point him out to me.’ said the Prior.
‘I wouldn’t bother, sir, if you’ll excuse me saying so. You see he said he was only visiting.’
‘Only visiting? What diabolical nonsense is this? If he’s a visitor, he stays here with me in my house. And we don’t have visiting lay brothers. They stay where they are and help to run their monasteries. No, the man’s a fraud. And he did say, if I heard correctly, that he was working for a master? Could it be, my Lord, that Father Hubert employed this lay brother to do his work for him? After all, Father Hubert’s not strong; he’d need help. And he does travel around a lot and would’ve met lots of people, wandering lay brothers included.’
‘It’s a good theory,’ said Jane, who’d been following the conversation intently, ‘except, for the life of me, I can’t see Father Hubert as a devious plotter, willing to go to any lengths to carry out his main aim, the death of the King. Can you, Nicholas?’
‘No, it seems highly unlikely. But he is fanatically opposed to the King’s policies. You’ve seen how he admitted to hiding the chalice. With the help of a younger man, he probably thought he could succeed.’
‘Lord Nicholas,’ boomed the Prior, ‘we’re all opposed to the King’s policy. We’re all going to be thrown out of here in the very near future. Wagstaff and Laycock will see to that. But that doesn’t mean that we’re all fanatical killers, does it? We simply bow to a higher authority, and hope that an even Higher Authority will look after us.’
* * *
Nicholas left the Prior and rode straight into Marchester, where he stayed for the rest of the day with the Sheriff. Father Hubert, deeply shocked, was locked in the Archdeacon’s prison. Bovet and Perkins confirmed the Tomkinses story. Yes, Perkins had killed the witch’s cat, yes, they’d been paid to start the fire – only the shed, mind, just to get rid of the witch’s potions. Yes, they’d seen money change hands between the monk, who wasn’t really a monk, and the Tomkinses. No, they didn’t get a good look at the monk – they all looked the same anyway. Miserable lot!
Late on Monday evening, Nicholas rode home. One man arrested. His accomplice still at large. Finding a tall monk who wasn’t a proper monk was going to be very difficult. Monks were two a penny; and probably he’d come from a distance any way, because he’d not been seen since the burning down of the shed.
He felt he shouldn’t be so depressed. The Sheriff was positively ebullient now that Father Hubert was under lock and key. But Nicholas was uneasy. He felt, instinctively, that they hadn’t got the right man. This was just what Ultor wanted. He wanted everyone off the scent. With the hunt called off, he could plot his next bit of devilry. And that meant that the guard on Agnes Myles must not be relaxed. And he must do his utmost to dissuade the King from going to Portsmouth. The King! Nicholas urged Harry forward. He would be here just the day after tomorrow!
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The arrival of Amos Cartwright on Tuesday morning brought home the imminence of the King’s visit. He triumphantly showed the doublet to Nicholas, who had to admit that it was indeed a work of art. It was made of a sturdy but soft green cloth with lacings down the front to ensure a flexible fit. The sleeves were slashed to reveal a white satin lining. But the collar was the masterpiece. Stiffened, and embroidered with tiny seed pearls arranged to form tiny Tudor roses, it would frame the King’s face to perfection. The cuffs were embroidered with the same pattern, and tiny Tudor roses were embroidered down the front of the jacket with the eyes for the laces fitting exactly in the centre of each rose. Even Monsieur Pierre gasped with pleasure when he saw it, and Nicholas took in a sharp breath when he read the bill. Twelve pounds! Twelve pounds just for a coat! There was no doubt about it, the King’s visit was going to bankrupt him.
From then onwards, Monsieur Pierre was determined not to be upstaged by a haberdasher. He was going to provide a banquet that would outshine the new doublet. Everywhere there were sounds of cattle lowing, and pigs grunting, whilst geese fluttered round Nicholas’s feet when he went out into the courtyard. From a pen erected at the back of the house, two swans glared at him balefully.
He was glad to escape and see Jane. He found her at the Priory, having just taken food to Agnes.
‘How is the old lady?’ he asked.
‘Getting stronger by the minute. Nicholas, I’m glad to see you. I’ve been uneasy about Father Hubert.’
‘I share your concern, but unless he can give us some satisfactory answers to our questions, he still remains our prime suspect.’
‘But he’s not got the qualities to be the “master” whom the lay brother referred to. There’s not a jot of ruthlessness in him. He’s a gentle, kind old man, who wants to do what he’s always done, look after the Priory’s treasures. No, I’m sure, Nicholas, that Ultor’s still at large. And until we’re satisfied that we’ve really caught him, I’ll not let Agnes go home.’
‘And keep on talking to her, won’t you? And meanwhile I hope you’ll practise some songs with Brother Benedict – in a safe place, like the Prior’s solarium.’
‘Don’t worry. We’ll do our best to keep the King entertained. Provided that is, that nothing happens to the King before supper time!’