‘Do you think the deaths are related?’ Corbett asked. ‘After all, you were all here when Sir Roger was executed.’
‘Adam has been my mainstay and strength.’
Parson Grimstone spoke up so abruptly Corbett idly wondered if the priest’s wits were wandering. Had the shock and sudden turmoil broken his mind? Corbett ignored the interruption.
‘Well?’ he repeated. ‘Are the deaths related? True, Thorkle and Molkyn weren’t maidens. They were not garrotted.’ Corbett ran his thumbnail round his lips. ‘They were not ravished. But, both were local men and served on the jury which convicted Sir Roger. Isn’t this strange: the murders of young women begin again whilst two of the men who convicted the supposed killer meet a very grisly fate?’
‘Why the King’s interest?’ Blidscote spoke up.
‘I think you’ve asked that before.’
‘But you only half answered.’
‘Then listen now.’
Corbett got to his feet. He grasped his gloves and slapped them against his leg.
‘Sir Roger Chapeleys may have been a murderer,’ he waved the gloves as a sign for Sir Maurice to be silent, ‘but he was also one of the King’s companions, a good soldier. True, a man who liked his drink and a pretty face but that’s not a hanging crime. Otherwise my good friend Ranulf-atte-Newgate would have been hanged a hundred times.’ Corbett tapped his fingers on the coffin lid. ‘But what happens if Sir Roger was totally innocent? After all, the murderer has returned. Not only to rape and strangle young women but even to carry out dreadful murders on those involved in the unlawful execution of Sir Roger Chapeleys? These are serious crimes, sir: not only gruesome killings but a total mockery of the King’s justice. Molkyn the miller and Thorkle were the members, even leaders, of the jury against Sir Roger.’
‘As you said,’ Blidscote growled, ‘they led the jury.’
‘But,’ Corbett continued, ‘why those two? Why not any of the other ten? Or has the assassin only begun? Does he, before long, plan to kill all those involved in Sir Roger’s death?’
‘In which case,’ Sir Maurice Chapeleys scoffed, ‘I will follow my father to the scaffold. The finger of accusation has already been pointed at me for carrying out revenge.’
‘Yes, that’s possible. I’m glad you mentioned it, rather than me.’ Corbett retook his seat. ‘Can you tell me where you were in the early hours of Sunday morning a fortnight ago? Or the night Thorkle died?’
‘I was in church with the rest,’ Sir Maurice stammered. ‘And, as for the following Wednesday evening,’ he swallowed hard, ‘I was in my manor house: my retainers will swear to that.’ He coloured slightly and shifted uneasily. ‘It’s cold down here,’ he added. ‘How long do you intend this to go on?’
‘One person is missing.’ Ranulf-atte-Newgate swaggered into the pool of light, thumbs stuck in his sword belt. ‘Blidscote, you received my master’s message. Where is the justice?’
‘I asked Sir Louis to be here.’ The bailiff shrugged. ‘I am not my brother’s keeper, certainly not Sir Louis’s!’
‘Master Blidscote!’ Corbett called across. ‘For the time being, let us concentrate on the murder of these young women. In the last five years or so there have been six such victims? And that includes Goodwoman Walmer?’
‘There’s neither rhyme nor reason to it,’ the bailiff replied. ‘Local women, usually pretty, coming or going to the market or town.’
‘Isn’t that dangerous?’ Ranulf asked. ‘The trackways and lanes here are lonely. Copses of woods, dark forests, hiding places for outlaws and wolfs-heads.’
Blidscote stared blearily back.
‘That’s a good question,’ Corbett insisted. ‘Why should five young women, not including Walmer, go out by themselves? If I understand correctly from the court record, and the same applies to the two most recent deaths, all five were killed outside the town. Now, if I follow the accepted story, Sir Roger was judged guilty of four of the murders but he can’t very well have killed the last two, can he?’ Corbett pointed to the coffin. ‘Take this poor woman. What’s her name?’
‘Elizabeth the wheelwright’s daughter.’
‘And her corpse was found under a hedge?’
‘Yes, she disappeared two nights ago.’
‘And when was she last seen?’
‘I have the father upstairs in the church,’ the bailiff replied.
‘Then you’d best fetch him!’
Blidscote, breathing heavily through his nose, stamped off. They heard the sound of voices and the bailiff returned, the wheelwright trailing behind him. A burly, fat-faced man, his sallow skin discoloured with warts, he stood in the doorway shuffling his feet, passing the staff he carried from hand to hand.
‘Come in, Master Wheelwright!’ Corbett invited.
The man wasn’t listening. He was staring at the coffin. His shoulders began to shake, tears raining silently down his weather-worn cheeks. He stretched out one great red chapped hand as if he could draw his poor daughter back to life.
‘Come in, Master Wheelwright.’
Corbett got to his feet and walked across. He opened his purse and put a silver coin into the man’s outstretched hand.
‘I know that’s little comfort,’ he said, ‘but I am sorry for your pain. Master Wheelwright, my name is Sir Hugh Corbett. I am the King’s clerk-’
‘I know who you are.’ The man lifted his head and glared balefully at Corbett. ‘And I am an earthworm, sir-’
‘No, you are not,’ Corbett interrupted. ‘Master Wheelwright, you are a citizen of this town and the King’s loyal subject. I swear on everything holy,’ Corbett’s voice rose, ‘I am here to trap the murderer of your daughter. Then I will personally supervise his execution.’
‘They said that before,’ the wheelwright murmured. ‘They said there would be no more deaths after they hanged Sir Roger.’
‘Well, they were wrong. But,’ Corbett touched the man’s arm, ‘if God gives me strength, I shall be right and your daughter’s death will be avenged. Now, come in!’
He made the wheelwright sit down next to him in one of the strange carved sedilia. The wheelwright now became aware of his surroundings and looked nervously about.
‘How many children do you have?’
‘Elizabeth and two boys; she was the eldest.’
‘And the day she died?’
Corbett waited patiently. The wheelwright’s shoulders hunched and he began to sob again. At last he coughed and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand.
‘I have a house and yard on the edge of Melford. Elizabeth was a pretty young thing. It was market day. She wanted to go into town to buy something. It was her birthday last Michaelmas. She had two pennies. You know the way it is with young women? A ribbon, some gewgaw or perhaps to meet a local swain?’
‘Did she have one?’ Corbett asked.
‘No.’ The wheelwright smiled. ‘She was fifteen, but flighty in her fancy. She went to market.’
‘And?’
‘I made enquiries. She met the other young men and women on the edge of the square where the maypole is set up. Her good friend, Adela, who works as a slattern in the Golden Fleece, saw her last. She said Elizabeth was, well, rosy-cheeked with excitement. “Where are you off to?” Adela asked. “I must hurry home,” Elizabeth replied. This was between four and five o’clock. She wasn’t seen afterwards.’
‘And did Adela know where Elizabeth was going?’
‘She crossed the square in the direction of a lane out of Melford.’
‘Did this Adela say Elizabeth was rosy-cheeked, happy, as if she had some secret assignation?’
The wheelwright looked puzzled.