The Saltergate Psalter (12 page)

‘It's possible, but I don't think anyone would dare walk around here in their clothes. People would recognise them.'

De Harville chewed at a thumbnail as he thought, a scowl on his face.

‘I went to Dronfield and asked a few questions about Julian the Butcher,' John continued.

The coroner stared at him. ‘And why would you want to do that?' he asked quietly.

‘There's something about him. I hear you've had problems with him before.'

‘For a carpenter you listen to a lot of gossip.'

‘The people I talked to out there didn't have a good word to say about him. Someone told him; this morning he threatened me and my family.'

‘What did you do?'

‘I threw him on his back and held a knife to his throat.'

‘There's still some fire about you, then,' the coroner chuckled. ‘So you believe Julian's behind it all?'

‘I don't know,' he admitted. ‘Even if he is, I don't know how I can prove it.'

‘The truth becomes very slippery around that man.' He flexed one hand into a fist and opened it again. ‘I'd like to see Chesterfield rid of him.'

‘I can't promise that.'

‘No?' He raised an eyebrow. ‘You disappoint me, Carpenter. You did so well last time.'

‘He has a friend. Christian, the steward in Dronfield. They're cousins.'

‘I've met him,' the coroner said. ‘A surly sort. Yes,' he agreed thoughtfully, ‘I could see the two of them as close. But what about it?'

‘I'm not sure yet. I just want you to know in case Julian kills me,' John said plainly.

‘Do you think he'll try?'

‘He might. I humiliated him.' John shrugged. ‘A man like him can't let that lie.'

‘Then you'd better watch out for yourself.'

‘I will,' he said with a grim smile. For all the threats and bluster, Julian would come after him, not his family. Even if John stopped investigating the murders. It was a matter of pride now. Julian needed to avenge what had been done. That was the way he'd think. It was a very personal matter, one to be settled man to man.

He'd make sure he was ready and alert. Julian had killed before, they said. Another death wouldn't trouble him too greatly.

‘Do you need men to help you?' the coroner asked, his voice serious.

‘No, they wouldn't do any good,' he answered. ‘It would help me if you let people keep thinking you're satisfied that Edward and Gilbert were the killers.'

‘Easily done.'

‘Julian's arrogant. He'll make a mistake.'

‘He hasn't yet,' de Harville said.

‘How closely have you looked?'

‘Perhaps not close enough,' he admitted. ‘If he's guilty, I want him, Carpenter.'

‘It might take time.'

‘Make sure you're careful.' It was the first time he'd heard the coroner express any concern. He studied the man's face. His gaze was intense.

‘Yes,' John replied and walked away. Now to pray God that Walter hadn't said a word. He didn't want Katherine to have worries on top of everything else.

But no one muttered when they saw him. No strange glances from folk as he walked along the street. In a town like this gossip passed like breathing. The lad had kept quiet. Much safer that way.

He was aware of everything as he moved. Faces, movement, sounds, taking it all in with a hand ready on the hilt of his knife. He'd need to be on his guard every single moment. And it would be better to stay clear of the Shambles.

How could he find any evidence? He didn't know where to begin. Even
how
he could begin. Julian must have friends, there must be a weak link in the chain around him. Finding it would be the problem.

By the time he reached the house on Saltergate he was none the wiser. The others were already seated at the table, eating a supper of bread and cheese, a jug of ale standing between them.

He glanced at Walter, but the lad was intent on his food.

‘I'm sorry, I started talking to Gabriel after I finished the job.'

When they'd eaten, the girls wanted to show him what they'd learned from Martha. They scraped shapes on to their slates, explaining what they letters were and how they sounded. They were bright and so eager to learn.

He saw Walter crowd close, saying nothing but drinking it all in. Later, after Janette and Eleanor had gone up to the solar to sleep, John wandered out into the garden, relishing the evening air with its soft smells and quiet, contented sounds.

Walter was out there, scraping at the dust with a stick, concentrating on every movement. The same shapes he'd seen the girls make earlier. The boy's lips moved silently. John watched for a moment then gave a quiet cough. Walter turned quickly, scrubbing out his work.

‘I didn't hear you, John,' he said.

‘I'm sorry,' He drew close and said quietly, ‘You remember what happened earlier.' The lad nodded quickly. ‘You didn't tell anyone, did you?'

‘No, John.' His eyes were guileless. He never lied.

‘It's probably better if your sister never hears about it.' He was putting a weight on Walter, an obligation. He knew that. He knew it wasn't fair. But he didn't want Katherine fearful and fretting every time he left the house.

Women were hardy, even more than men. Martha had told him that. They'd been having babies for centuries. It was natural. But so was losing the infant or dying in childbed. He was the one who was scared – for her. A small lie now might make her life easier.

But the only way to be truly safe was to find evidence that would put Julian on the gibbet.

‘I saw you go over to the coroner's house.'

He smiled. Walter might not say a great deal, but his eyes didn't miss much that happened.

‘He wants us to look at Julian.' He almost whispered the words and saw the lad smile and nod. ‘We'll talk about it in the morning.'

• • •

In the bed, Katherine cuddled against his back. Her breath was warm on his neck as she said, ‘When are you back to work?'

‘Another day,' he told her and cautiously moved his shoulder. ‘Or the one after that.'

‘There's nothing else, is there?'

‘No. Why would there be?'

‘It doesn't matter.' She kissed his skin.

He lay there, hearing the rhythm of her breathing gradually change. All around him the family was asleep. There was even the gentle night purr of the cat from the bed the girls shared. He wished it would come so easily to him.

He was up early and on his way back to Dronfield before the sun had topped the horizon. He'd only managed to sleep in fits and starts, disturbed by wild dreams until rising was better than trying to rest more. He was outside, not even fully awake, letting his feet lead him wherever they would.

The sky was clear, stars bright over his head, the air light with the scents of dawn. It was past daylight when he arrived. He'd seen no one on the road, just the occasional distant figure of a woman trudging to the barn to milk the cows.

The River Drone was little more than a beck, lost in its trickle through the valley bottom. He continued through the village, past an inn to where the road curved up the hill. Three men were gathered, hoes and picks on the ground beside them. They watched him approach, standing silent. Labourers by the look of them, led by a bondman in old hose and muddy boots, shirtsleeves rolled up to show weatherbeaten arms.

‘God be with you,' John said.

Warily, they nodded their greeting.

‘I'm looking for Christian.'

‘He'll be along when he's ready,' the man in the shirt answered. He had a thick growth of bristles on his cheeks and dark, suspicious eyes. ‘What do you want with him?'

‘Just some business.'

‘He'll still be at the manor house,' the man said grudgingly. ‘Top of the hill.' He looked at the others and they began work. It was slow, digging down and drawing the sludge from the stream. Two of them were stripped to their braies, standing in the water, hunched over and straining. The one still fully dressed spread what they dug up on to the field.

Backbreaking labour, and they moved slowly and methodically. This was some of the service they owed their lord, he guessed, so there was no rush to complete it. So many days each year. They ploughed and planted his land, harvested his crops and did whatever else was demanded. In return they had a house and strips of land for themselves. Their fathers and grandfathers had done it, their descendants would do it in the time to come.

He settled back on his haunches, watching and thinking. He couldn't have ordered anyone to do that. Just as well he never became steward of the coroner's manor. He didn't know country ways, all the tasks that needed to be done.

He was still musing when he heard the footsteps and a shadow fell over him.

‘Who are you?'

‘I'm John the Carpenter.' He stood, facing a broad man in good clothes. Expensive leather boots, a jacket of tight-woven wool and sturdy hose.

‘What do you want?' The man had his hands on his hips, a sword hanging by his leg.

‘If you're Christian, I'm looking for you.'

‘Why?' He had a hard face with a long, thin nose, pale lips, and nervous blue eyes. His long hair lay lank on his shoulders.

‘A few questions for the coroner in Chesterfield.'

‘Is that right?' Christian gave a cruel smile. ‘Then he can come and ask them himself.'

‘I don't think you'd want that,' John said quietly. From the corner of his eyes he could see the men staring. ‘He's not a good man to cross.'

‘Neither is my lord.'

‘Then better we take care of things ourselves,' John said with an easy smile. He held out a hand. ‘What do you say?'

Christian ignored it, turning to the men. ‘You have work to do.' His gaze came back to John. ‘You were asking questions yesterday, too.'

‘I was,' he admitted. ‘But I didn't talk to you.'

The man stroked his chin. ‘You might have had a wasted journey.'

‘Then so be it.' He shrugged.

‘Why do you want to know about Julian?'

‘The coroner's business. People say you know him well.'

‘All my life,' Christian told him. ‘We're cousins. Did they tell you that?' John nodded. ‘So you won't hear me say a bad word about him. Understand?'

‘I do.' He smiled. ‘But it's not going to stop the questions. If you don't answer them now, they'll be asked again later.'

The man snorted. ‘Ask all you like. I'm still not going to answer.' He stalked away, back towards the village and the manor house. John stood and watched him leave. It was what he'd expected, but a man could always hope for more.

‘You were lucky,' one of the labourers said.

‘Why's that?' He turned to face the man.

‘I've seen him beat people when he has a mood on him.'

‘I'm safe enough. He wouldn't want to anger the coroner.'

‘Don't be too sure, friend,' he said slowly. ‘Christian has a powerful lord behind him. And you can guess whose side he'd take.'

‘I appreciate the warning. You know,' he added after a moment, ‘there's a way that job could be faster and easier.'

The man sneered. ‘You know all about it, do you?'

‘I've been watching you. Do you have an old bucket?'

‘I daresay.'

‘Put some holes in the bottom of that. Drag it along the stream then lift it up. The water will run out and the dirt will stay. You'll find it easier.'

The man considered the idea, working it through in his mind.

‘That might work,' he admitted and nodded his head. ‘Thank you. I'll warn you, though, watch out for Christian. He has an evil temper.'

‘As bad as Julian?'

The man made the sign of the evil eye.

‘You just met the only man here who misses him. It was a good day for Dronfield when he left.'

‘And a bad day for Chesterfield when he arrived,' John said wryly. ‘I'll bid you God speed. But try that idea.'

‘We will,' the man assured him. ‘A word to the wise, Master. A man should keep his eyes open just the far side of Unstone, where the wood comes down the hill, close to the road.'

‘Is it dangerous there?'

‘People have been robbed,' he answered and tapped the side of his nose. ‘The roads can be dangerous.'

‘Good advice.' He waved his farewell. ‘Thank you.'

• • •

But there was no one lying in wait. For the first time he noticed that the stretch of wood was eerily quiet, though. There was no birdsong or scuffling of animals. Everything was hushed. Even the sunlight seemed to fade. It was as if something cut the place off from life. Many of the trees were dead, empty branches reaching to the sky. A dreadful place, as if something terrible had once happened here and the land was still in mourning.

He was past it soon enough, and the colours seemed even brighter than before, the scents in the air stronger. John strode out for Chesterfield, the spire tall in the distance.

He was home in time for dinner, everyone already at the table and eating. Even Martha was there; the slates she used for teaching were carefully stacked on the settle.

The walk had given him an appetite and he ate quickly, listening to the chatter but staying silent.

‘You left early this morning,' Katherine said finally as she turned to him.

‘I didn't want to wake you. I had to go to Dronfield.'

She looked at him sharply. ‘I didn't know you had business out there.' Her voice was too low for the others to make out.'

‘The coroner's business,' he admitted, and she arched a brow.

‘I thought that was done,' Katherine hissed.

‘I'm not sure it is. Not yet.'

For a moment she seemed ready to say more. Her eyes flashed. Then she gave a tight shake of her head and began to clear away the trenchers. The girls ran off to play with the cat and Walter left quickly, returning to work.