[Roger the Chapman 02] - The Plymouth Cloak (19 page)

Sympathy welled up in me for this woman who had already had so much misfortune in her life. She had at last found a pleasant home, a haven from the storms which had tossed her, a place where she was valued and could be of use.

Now death had once again come calling, and violent death at that, to disrupt her quiet existence; but at least it need not tear her safe little world apart if the murder was proved to be the work of an outsider. I was tempted to let the matter lie. She was right: I had enough evidence, along with Philip's tokens of credence from the King, to convince the Sheriffs officer that the murder was the work of a political assassin, and that he need do no more than send a letter to Westminster. I had no doubt that King Edward's own agents would hunt down and deal with Jeremiah Fletcher. It would be a satisfactory ending to an unsavoury affair.

And yet... I was irked by the thought that Philip's real murderer might go free, even though I should shed no tears for Jeremiah Fletcher. Janet saw my hesitation and gripped both my hands in hers.

'Promise me, Roger, that you'll pursue your inquiries no further.'

I found myself in a dilemma. I liked and was sorry for her.

I wanted desperately to do as she asked, but my desire to discover the truth was greater. If it turned out that her reading of the solution was correct, no one would be better pleased than I; but until that was certain, I was loath to let the matter rest. 'Nosiness', my mother had called it when I was young; a desire to stick that member into other people's business.

John Selwood, the Abbot of Glastonbury, had been kinder and, when sanctioning my release from the Order, had referred to my 'insatiable curiosity', piously hoping that I would always use it in the quest for truth.

I sent up a small prayer for guidance which was immediately answered, or so it seemed to me, by a rap on the door and the appearance a moment later of Father Anselm.

Janet Overy dropped my hands and turned to welcome him with her ready smile. I rose to my feet, relieved that I had made no promise, and edged towards the open doorway, ready to make my escape.

'Wait, my son!' The priest detained me with a hand on my sleeve. 'You will no doubt wish to hear what I have to say. A traveller from Plymouth, passing through the village not half an hour since, informed me that news was cried in the city early this morning that the King has sent orders for Sir Henry Bodrugan and the Sheriff of Cornwall to levy the posse comitatus and reduce St Michael's Mount as soon as possible.

The messenger who carried the orders was already across the Tamar and on his way to Sir John at Truro, where he should be by tomorrow morning at the latest, travelling as he was with the greatest speed and urgency. So now all we can do is wait for further news and pray for their success.' My first thought was to wonder what instructions had been sent to the Master of the
Falcon
. Was his ship to be part of the assault on the Mount or would he be ordered to Plymouth to pick up Philip? Either way, I must return to the city as soon as I could. Today, St Faith's Day, was Tuesday and he had promised to be back at the Turk's Head by the end of the week. But the messengers who had set out for London last Thursday, as soon as Oxford's invasion was known, had made better time than anyone had expected, given the state of most of the roads. And the King had wasted no time either in sending them back again with his orders. It behoved me, therefore, to leave Trenowth as soon as possible; tomorrow for preference, once I had settled matters with the Sheriff's officer. Which was yet another reason to accept Janet's wisdom, and what, deep down, I more than half believed myself: that I had found the answer to Philip's murder.

Father Anselm's voice cut across my thoughts. He was speaking now of the terrible event which had brought him to the manor house, expressing his condolences to me on the death of my master. I did my best to look as a bereaved servant should.

'Fortunate indeed,' the priest continued, 'that he made his confession only last night and received absolution. There can be no question as to his state of grace. I understand the Sergeant has been sent for from Launceston Castle and that you must await his coming. But after that, what plans do you have, my son, for the removal or burial of the body?' Such considerations had not yet crossed my mind, and I realized with a shock that I would be looked to as the proper person to make these dispositions. I realized also that I knew nothing about Philip except that his brother was dead. He had mentioned no other family, but for aught I could tell he might have a wife and children, parents perhaps, somewhere in his native city of Bristol. But a body could not remain unburied for any length of time, not even when sealed in its coffin, and I had other things to do which would take me across the sea for several weeks.

'If you will conduct his funeral and bury him in the churchyard here, Father,' I said firmly, 'that will be best.' And a better resting-place than you deserve, Master Underdown, I thought grimly, here, by the banks of this lovely river, among the lush Cornish grass and within smell of the distant sea. 'He lies now in the great hall,' I added.

'The door is locked, but Master Steward has the key. I'm sure Mistress Overy will fetch it for you if you wish to view the body.'

Janet could do no other than comply and reluctantly conducted the priest in search of Alwyn, but she gave me an imploring, backward glance across her shoulder. Leave well alone, it said, you have your answer. This is my home, and you and Philip Underdown have already brought it trouble enough.

I followed Mistress Overy and Father Anselm from the housekeeper's room, but not into the courtyard. Instead I turned back along the flagged passageway, thoughtfully considering the other doors set in the wails on either side of it. One gave access to the room of Edgar and Isobel Warden, but I had no means of knowing which. There was no alternative but to knock on each one in turn and trust that Isobel herself would answer my summons. She had disappeared from the kitchen after dinner directly the meal was finished, not offering to help with the dishes. There had been no sign of her in the courtyard earlier, and I thought it unlikely, in the circumstances, that she would have gone walking in the woods alone. I could only hope that she had retired to her room.

I was in luck. I knocked on the first two doors I came to without evoking any response, but after waiting a moment outside the third, I heard a rustling noise within the room.

Seconds later the door opened to reveal Isobel Warden, slightly dishevelled but looking more beautiful than ever, her red hair unbraided and cascading over her shoulders as far as her knees. The green eyes were clouded, unfocused, and the untidy bed, visible in the background, indicated that she had been asleep. This did not surprise me; all her movements were languorous and I suspected that there was only one pleasure that would keep her awake for any length of time.

'You!' she exclaimed, astonished, but not displeased.

Her eyes, now alert and wide open, raked me slowly from head to foot. She held the door wider. 'Come in and sit down.'

The room which I entered was of much the same proportions and furnished in the same way as the housekeeper's, but there the likeness ended. Janet Overy's room was as neat and as shining as a new pin, while this was untidy enough to remind me forcibly of the Trenowth inn.

Clothes spilled from the chest or were tossed, unfolded, on the floor and chair and window-sill. The smell of unwashed linen was overlaid with the musty scent of perfumed oils and unguents, which came from a collection of unstoppered phials and small pots on a shelf above the bed. The bed itself was covered with a piece of rich red silk, probably from the east and purchased from some passing chapman. I often carried such rolls of material myself, obtained directly from trading-ships docked in the ports of Southampton, London or Bristol. But this was stained with patches of candle grease and other marks, less identifiable. Whatever talents Isobel Warden possessed, housewifery was not among them.

She waved me to a stool and herself curled up on the bed, propped on one elbow. A languid smile curled the red lips as she asked the question she should have put earlier.

'What do you want?'

I regarded her curiously while considering how best to reply. She did not look at all like someone who had witnessed a brutal murder only some twelve hours before. Surely even a person as heartless as she appeared to be would have been marked by such an experience. There would have been some lurking horror at the back of the eyes, some expression of regret or terror. But her glance held nothing but invitation, which I did my best to ignore.

I passed my tongue over lips which were suddenly dry and cast about in my mind for the necessary words. 'Master Underdown,' I said at last. 'You liked him?'

Her eyes widened almost, I could have sworn, with indignation. This was not what she had expected. Then she shrugged. 'I've seen worse men,' she admitted. 'But he was old. He could have been the same age as my father.' I had to suppress a smile at the thought of Philip's outrage had he been able to hear her. But my mirth did not last long.

'He was a fine figure of a man, nevertheless,' I pressed her.

'I've already said, I've seen worse.'

'Did... did he attract you?'

She frowned, seemingly still ignorant of the path along which I was leading her. 'I hardly saw him, only at breakfast and at dinner yesterday. A forward man with a bold eye, but I'm used to that. It doesn't disturb me.'

'Nor the fact that he put his arm about your waist? Nor that your husband was angry?'

Her face clouded at this; a sullen expression which spoke of contempt, but also of fear. Nothing could have told me more plainly that she disliked Edgar and that Janet Overy was right: she was beginning to regret a marriage into which, no doubt, her parents and her own ambition had pushed her, for as bailiff to Sir Peveril Trenowth, Edgar's standing in the community was greater than hers.

'My husband is always angry if another man so much as looks at me.' She shrugged and gave me an upward glance beneath her long, thick lashes. 'I don't know what he'd do if he found you here, a strong, handsome lad like you. Oh, don't fret! He won't return until supper-time.' She stretched herself full-length on the bed, linking her hands behind her head, the upthrust of her breasts beneath the dark green woollen gown full and inviting. She had removed her shoes, and now wriggled her bare toes provocatively. I felt suddenly hot and embarrassed.

It was two years since, at the age when many men are already fathers, I had laid my first girl in the long, lush grasses which border the River Stout, and from then on I had hardly lived like the monk my mother had wished me to be.

There had been girls at fairs, where I had gone to sell my wares, in villages through which I had passed, in towns and cities, and all of them willing and knowledgeable. (I would never force myself on any woman or deflower the innocent.) But there was something about Isobel Warden which made me uncomfortable. She was certainly beautiful, one of the loveliest girls I had ever seen, and with the promise of an even richer beauty as she grew older. But for some reason, it was that which made me uneasy. Had she been less stridently female I might have been attracted to her, but such blatant femininity I found unnerving. Philip, on the other hand, would not have done so, and I decided that there was nothing for it but to put my question bluntly, and to hope that its abruptness shocked her into telling me the truth.

'Did you and Master Underdown have a tryst last night in the woods?'

I don't know what reaction I had expected; self-righteous denial, the furious indignation of guilt, perhaps. What I had not been prepared for was the look of frank amazement which she turned on me, followed by the snapping together of her brows in bewildered curiosity.

'Why do you think that?' she asked me.

'He obviously fell victim to your charms when he saw you at breakfast yesterday, nor did I think you averse to him. He was a man who took what he wanted, and there was no doubt in my mind that he wanted you.'

Isobel gave me a small, superior smile, as one who knew men.

'Not enough to risk another beating from my husband. Master Underdown had sufficient sense to recognize that he was no match for Edgar. Edgar is young, and in a fight that will always give the more youthful participant the edge. And in my life I have met one or two men like your master; men who hold such high opinions of themselves that they consider no woman worth imperilling their precious skins for.' I sat staring at her, chewing my underlip, which is a habit I have when perplexed, as my children are never tired of pointing out to me. I found myself believing her against my will. For one thing, she neither looked nor behaved like a young woman who had witnessed murder done, or who had even stumbled, later, across the body. For another, there was truth in what she said about Philip's character: I could well imagine that he would not have thought any woman worth the risk of humiliation or pain. I accepted his boast that he had had practice enough with jealous husbands, but that was in the past when he was younger and could outwit or outfight them. And yet...

'He could have wished for revenge,' I said. 'Your husband felled him with a single blow, and called down upon his head a rebuke from Master Steward. My... my master would have found that hard to forgive.'

Again she shrugged, the red lips pulled down at the comers. 'That may be, and no doubt, had he lived, he would have taken his revenge in one way or another. A letter of complaint to Sir Peveril or a word in the ear of someone with influence to get Edgar dismissed from his office. But not the risk of seducing his wife. Besides,' she added, anger suddenly informing her voice, 'what makes you so sure that I would have been party to a tryst, supposing he had proposed it?'