Ned said impatiently, confirming the conclusion that I had already reached. ‘But the old idiot couldn’t conceal the fact that he knew something – at least, not from a sharpnosed, sharp-brained fellow like the pedlar here.’ I inclined my head in ironic acknowledgement of the dubious compliment. Ned ignored me and continued, ‘Sir Anselm was getting far too friendly with Master Chapman, and I thought a short, sharp warning not to pursue the acquaintance wouldn’t come amiss. Particularly as brother Tom could be foisted with the blame for that, as well.’
A sudden thought struck me. ‘You said just now that you tried to frighten me away. Were the corn dollies and the burning cage anything to do with that attempt?’
‘Only the burning cage. The dollies are hung up by some of the villagers just before, and during, the Feast of Saint Walburga, in order to propitiate the witches and wizards and general spirits of the forest who ride the night sky around this time.’ (I should, of course, have worked that out for myself, having noticed the first corn dolly before ever I set foot in Lower Brockhurst.) ‘From what I could gather, they made you uneasy, so I hoped to play on that superstitious fear of yours.’ Ned laughed shortly. ‘I should have known better than to waste my time. Nose-twitchers like you aren’t easily discouraged. In the end, I had to resort to telling Maud to throw you out.’
‘You were her visitor last night.’
He laughed again, but there was no mirth in the sound.
‘I might have guessed that that quivering snout of yours continues to alert you, even when you’re asleep.’
I was growing tired of these constant, sneering references to my nose, which I have always considered to be one of my handsomest features. I turned to look at Maud.
‘Mistress, if you wish it, I’ll delay my departure tomorrow morning and go with you to the village elders.’
‘You needn’t trouble yourself, chapman,’ Theresa rasped, speaking for the first time in some minutes. ‘I’ll accompany Maud to make sure she doesn’t change her mind. Or have it changed for her.’ She glared defiantly at Ned Rawbone. ‘After that … After that, I shall return to Gloucester. I can’t stay here any longer, not now that I know the truth. My sister will be glad enough to share her roof with me.’
Maud turned her head quickly to look at her mother-in-law. ‘You won’t stay with me?’ she asked.
I recognized the note of fear in her voice, and guessed that after years of wishing to be free of Theresa’s company, when at last the chance was offered, she was afraid of the loneliness; of the days and nights with only herself and her thoughts for company.
Theresa demanded harshly, ‘What is there to keep me here? Eris wasn’t even my granddaughter. She wasn’t Gilbert’s child. You’ve deceived me, made a fool of me. No, I won’t stay. But I’ll make sure that everyone in this benighted village knows the truth before I go.’
‘What truth?’ Ned sneered. ‘The pair of you can go to the elders if you want, but I shall deny everything you say. It’ll be my word against those of a couple of hysterical women.’
‘And against mine,’ I said. ‘I’ll go with Dame Theresa and Mistress Lilywhite. I’ll back their story.’
‘You’re a stranger,’ Ned retorted. ‘You’ve been in the village less than a week. Why should they take your word over mine? Now, if one of you knew where Eris is buried, if you could direct the villagers where to find her body, that might be different.’
Maud smiled faintly and swivelled round on her stool to look Ned fully in the eyes.
‘I know where Eris is buried,’ she said. ‘I’ve always known. Or, at least, I’ve always had a very shrewd idea.’
There was a moment’s complete silence, broken only by the crackling of the logs on the hearth. Even Hercules seemed to be holding his breath. Then Ned Rawbone laughed uncertainly.
‘You’re lying,’ he challenged, but without any degree of certainty in his tone.
Maud replied evenly, ‘You forget that Gilbert was a weller. Do you really think that, during all the years we were married, I learned nothing about his trade? And you, Ned! You knew what was at the bottom of the well because you’d seen it as a boy, when you fell in. In fact, Gilbert told me that you’d once mentioned it to him and asked what its purpose was. So it’s no use trying to deny that you knew it was there.’
Ned’s face suddenly wore a defeated look. He sat down abruptly on another of the stools and buried his face in his hands.
‘What are you talking about, Mistress?’ I asked excitedly, recalling my conviction that Eris was somewhere in that well. And, on a more practical level, I remembered the overpowering stench of decay. But there had been nothing down there that I could see.
Maud rubbed her forehead with her hand as though trying to ease a headache. She was still extremely pale and Theresa, moved, I suppose, by some residue of affection, got up and poured her a stoup of ale.
‘Here! Drink this!’ Her tone was abrasive, but she meant well. ‘Then tell the chapman what he wants to know.’
‘Don’t you want to know?’ I asked her.
Theresa resumed her seat, pausing only to tuck my blanket more securely around me.
‘My daughter-in-law’s right, chapman,’ she said. ‘You can’t live with a man for years and remain totally ignorant of his trade.’ She glanced at Maud. ‘Are you saying that the Upper Brockhurst well has a “drive”?’ The younger woman nodded, an action that was echoed by Theresa. ‘Of course,’ she mused, ‘That’s why the foot or so of water that remained in the well has dried up to nothing since last September when he-’ she glared at Ned – ‘must have put Eris’s body inside and then blocked up the entrance.’
I recollected two things simultaneously: the first was the patching of the wall at the bottom of the well, and the second was that not only Theresa, but also Sir Anselm had mentioned the fact of Ned stumbling around in water the first time he went down to ‘search’ for Eris’s body.
‘Could you please explain exactly what you’re talking about?’ I begged Maud.
‘Wells are dug,’ she said, ‘on the recommendation of a dowser, who tells the weller that water can be found at a certain depth. But if the weller doesn’t immediately strike water at that depth, then he has to dig a “drive” – a horizontal shaft – until he reaches the source of the water and the well begins to fill up. This must have been the case at Upper Brockhurst Hall …’
‘Of course,’ I breathed. ‘It comes back to me, now. You told me that your grandmother had been told by her grandmother that the Martin brothers had to have their well deepened; that whoever sunk it originally, hadn’t dug down far enough – or, as now seems possible, not close enough to the underground source of water. The two wellers from Tetbury must have cut this horizontal shaft, and that must have been when they found the silver bowls, near the original sacred spring of the Romans. And you think that Master Rawbone, here …?’ I paused, unable to continue.
Maud took a deep breath. ‘Yes. I think – I’m almost sure – that Ned must have carried Eris’s body up to the ridge, thrown it down the well and then …’ Her voice, too, became suspended.
All three of us stared questioningly at Ned until, at last, he raised his head.
‘All right,’ he said in the toneless voice of a man who concedes defeat; who has come to the bitter realization that he has lost control of the situation. ‘You’re right, Maud. I knew about the “drive” at the bottom of the well. I’d seen it as a boy and found out from Gilbert what it was. He explained that when the course of the Draco had been altered by the men of Lower Brockhurst, after the great plague, it had dried up, except for a very small trickle of water that occasionally found its way through the “drive”. Hence the foot or so of water always present at the bottom of the well. So, when I was wondering how to … to dispose of Eris’s body … I remembered it.’