‘What do you want me to do here?’ asked Gwyn, quite happy to spend a day and a night in a town with six ale-houses.
‘Just keep your eyes and ears open, especially in the taverns. Drink loosens tongues and I want to know what the tinners are saying about these killings. The answer must surely be up here in Chagford, not in the city. But I can’t spend all my time here — there’s other work at home, to say nothing of my wife’s tongue.’
Turning his back on the banging, shouting and clanging, de Wolfe took Thomas to retrieve their horses from the side-street, then to collect Matthew and Peter Jordan from the Knapman house ready for the ride to Exeter. He left his officer without a thought for his well-being: after all, Gwyn was more than capable of looking after himself in most situations.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
On the journey back to Exeter, de Wolfe learned little that was new, but was intrigued by the vehemence with which Matthew aired his suspicions about his brother’s likely killers. Away from Joan and her mother, his tongue seemed more ready to wag, though Peter Jordan remained relatively silent. As the pair rode at each side of the coroner, with Thomas plodding forlornly behind, the tin merchant seemed eager to voice his theories about the murder. He appeared to have changed his mind about the likely culprits. ‘I now think more strongly than ever that trail-bastons are to blame,’ he said, as they trotteda long the track towards Moretonhampstead. ‘The countryside is plagued by outlaws, especially since there are so many unemployed soldiers about, and many men destitute after that bad harvest eighteen months back.’ He paused and added, ‘These crippling taxes to pay for the King’s damned wars have also driven many men into poverty and outlawry.’
De Wolfe grunted, unsure whether to censure Matthew for another slur on the monarch, but decided to correct him instead. ‘It would be a strange footpad who carried out robbery with violence, then left the victim’s purse on his belt,’ he said. ‘I think you must look elsewhere for your killers.’
Matthew produced his other ideas with equal conviction. ‘Then the sheriff is involved, to defeat poor Walter’s ambition to run the Stannaries properly. You saw how feelings run high against him — but he’s a crafty one, is de Revelle, and ruthless into the bargain. He’d have little compunction in arranging a convenient murder.’
At this, Matthew’s step-nephew spoke: ‘I find it hard to believe the sheriff would need to take such drastic action. Walter had little chance of unseating him as Lord Warden, unless this threatened commission from London or Winchester was to recommend it. The tinners themselves couldn’t do it, however much noise and trouble they caused.’
Matthew shook his head doubtfully.
‘They could stop producing tin! The royal court — and the King himself — would take notice if the coinage taxes stopped coming in!’
‘But the tinners wouldn’t go on strike! They’d starve in a month, without pay coming in or metal to trade,’ protested Peter.
‘Then I wouldn’t put it past Joan’s brother, damn him. That Roland’s an evil fellow, you can see it in his face, coveting the good things Walter had in his house. He hopes to benefit from Joan’s inheritance and has his eye on the tin-works. That’s why he was so keen to take over their running as a temporary measure. Once he was in, we’d never get rid of him.’
De Wolfe wanted to keep the debate going to see what else came out. ‘So do you rate him as a serious possibility for the slaying?’ he asked.
‘He’s as ruthless as the sheriff. He saw a good chance for himself when his sister married Walter. I’d be loath to say that she was in collusion with him, but it’s not impossible. And certainly that old dame Lucy is single-minded about getting every penny for her children. She’d cut anyone’s throat for a prize like Walter’s property and business.’
‘What about the inheritance, then? When will that be settled?’ asked John.
‘We must find out what Walter’s testament says — everything depends on that. Joan says that she and her damned brother are coming to Exeter tomorrow to see the lawyer.’
‘Who happens to be my wife’s father,’ added Peter drily. ‘Not that it’s of any advantage to us.’
De Wolfe had his doubts about that, but kept them to himself.
The talk during the rest of the journey was only elaboration and repetition of the same themes, and de Wolfe was glad when they reached the city, where they parted company inside the West Gate.
As they walked their tired horses up the slope to Cairfax, Thomas moved alongside his master, plucking up courage to ask a favour.
‘You were good enough to speak to my uncle John of Alençon, Crowner. I wondered if you had any answer yet.’
De Wolfe looked down at the diminutive clerk slumped awkwardly on his pony. ‘As you know, Thomas, I’ve hardly been in Exeter lately, with all these problems.’ He said this kindly, but with a bitter undertone as he recalled the difficulties his absences had caused him, especially in his love-life.
‘Do you think you could ask the Archdeacon fairly soon, Crowner? I am consumed with longing and worry, sir.’
The quaver of suppressed emotion in Thomas’s voice reached even de Wolfe’s tough heart. ‘Then no time like the present. We’ll call upon him on the way home — he should be there at this time. Compline must be over by now.’
They left their steeds with Andrew the farrier in Martin’s Lane, but instead of crossing the narrow street to his front door, de Wolfe led the clerk into Canons’ Row. Half-way along, under the shadow of the north tower, the coroner turned into the door of one of the narrow-fronted houses, bidding Thomas to wait outside.
A few moments later, he emerged, his face betraying nothing. ‘Your uncle wishes you to attend upon him inside,’ he said flatly. ‘He wishes to talk to you himself. This is your private business, Thomas, so I’ll leave you to it.’
Deathly pale, the clerk scurried into the house and de Wolfe stood for a moment, his brows furrowed in thought. Then, with a deep sigh, he turned and walked home to face Matilda.
A couple of hours later, the coroner sat alone in the Golden Hind, a tavern in the high street, with a pewter tankard on the table in front of him. He had found the Saracen a rough, noisome place, with indifferent ale and a foul-mouthed, surly landlord. Willem the Fleming ran a crude establishment, with too many of his customers on the wrong side of the law, and de Wolfe had been to that inn several times professionally. Apart from its insalubrious atmosphere, he felt that it was not a place for a senior law-officer to patronise.
The Golden Hind had been one of his local watering-places before he had taken up with the landlady of the Bush. His appearance there after such a long absence caused a few eyebrows to be lifted and a few comments were muttered behind hands: his rift with Nesta was now common knowledge throughout the close community of the city. It had certainly reached the ears of his wife, which was one reason why John had left the house so soon after their evening meal.
As soon as he had arrived at home after leaving Thomas, he knew that Matilda had something up her sleeve. She greeted him tersely, and he could tell from her tight-lipped half-smile and her smugness that she was about to come out with something to his disadvantage.
She kept it bottled up until almost the end of the meal, as if savouring the anticipation. Mary had brought in a dish of dried fruit, imported at considerable cost from southern France, and as she left with the remains of the trenchers, Matilda pounced. ‘Not going to your favourite drinking den tonight, John?’ she asked, with acid innocence.