12 - Nine Men Dancing (17 page)

With great difficulty, I managed to get down the last spoonful of broth and pushed my bowl aside. Then I cleansed my palate with a draft of good ale.

‘Father,’ I said, ‘let’s assume for the sake of argument that Eris
was
murdered. On her way home, somewhere between Dragonswick Farm and the Lilywhite smallholding, soaked to the skin, head down against the wind and rain, she ran into … someone. Someone who, perhaps, did not at first intend to kill her, but who was so infuriated by the events of that evening that he – or she – was incapable of self-control when confronted by the cause of all the trouble. Who – again just for the sake of argument – do you think that someone could have been?’

Sir Anselm breathed deeply. ‘My son, I cannot say.’

I was about to deride his caution and timidity, when I hesitated. There had been something about his reply, some slight inflection in his voice, the merest emphasis on the word ‘cannot’, that arrested and held my attention. As if sensing my sudden suspicion, he bent down and began to make much of Hercules, who immediately jumped on to his lap and started to lick his face. I said no more, but just sat there, thinking.

The priest knew something, I was convinced of it. But what? Was it possible that the murderer had confessed his or her crime, knowing the secret to be safe if made in the sanctuary of the confessional? Had all that Sir Anselm said so far been merely a blind in order to deceive me and everyone else into thinking him as ignorant as ourselves? ‘I cannot say,’ he had said. Yet that slight stress on the word ‘cannot’ was hardly a sound enough foundation on which to build a solid theory. ‘Bricks without straw, my lad,’ I told myself severely, but it had no effect. My conviction that the priest possessed the answer to the mystery had taken root and refused to be easily dislodged.

He was deliberately allowing himself to be distracted by Hercules, so I leaned over, lifted the dog off his lap and dropped the animal to the floor. Hercules, incensed, ran to the kitchen door, scratching at it and barking to be let out. I ordered him, pretty sharply, to desist; so, recognizing the tone of voice, he retired under the table to sulk.

I stretched out a hand and gripped the priest’s wrist.

‘Father,’ I said gently, ‘when you say that you cannot say, does that mean you know no more than I do? Or does it mean … something else?’

He disengaged his arm. ‘It means just that, chapman. Don’t read more into the remark than is intended. Let us hope that wherever Eris Lilywhite is now, she has repented of her sins and is happy.’

There was a protracted silence, then I nodded.

‘Very well … But I beg you to be careful, especially if you are in possession of dangerous knowledge.’

‘All knowledge is dangerous,’ he answered tartly, ‘as Adam and Eve discovered when they ate the apple in the Garden of Eden.’

‘All right,’ I laughed. ‘Let’s change the subject … What do you know about the murder of two men who sank the well in Upper Brockhurst Hall?’

Sir Anselm stared at me blankly while his mind adjusted to this totally unexpected twist in the conversation. At length, however, he said, frowning, ‘I’ve heard the story, of course. I’ve been priest in this village for more then twenty years.’ He indulged himself with a momentary reminiscence. ‘It must be all of that, I daresay. I went through the usual progression, acolyte, subdeacon, deacon before being ordained a priest, but I eventually came to Lower Brockhurst in the same year that the Earl of Warwick, who was then Keeper of the Sea, defeated the Spanish fleet off Calais, on Trinity Sunday morning. That must be over a score of years ago, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Probably,’ I agreed. ‘But as I would only have been five or six at the time, I can’t be certain. Anyway,’ I continued, ‘you’re familiar with the story?’

‘No one can live here for twenty years and not be familiar with it. It’s one of the legends of the place, all the more enduring because the mystery of who did it has never been resolved.’ He added curiously, ‘Why do you ask? It can have nothing to do with what we’ve been talking about. Or are you hoping to solve a 130-year-old murder as well?’

I didn’t reply directly. I leaned my elbows on the table and cupped my chin in my hands. ‘Do you have any thoughts on the subject?’ I asked him.

The priest laughed dismissively. ‘My son, I have other things to occupy my attention than a murder committed all that time ago. What is the point? Even if there were the remotest chance of solving the mystery, it’s far too late. No one can be brought to justice for the crime now.’ He regarded me straitly. ‘What makes you ask? You can’t think that it has any connection with the disappearance of Eris Lilywhite, surely?’

I grimaced. ‘I must admit I’m unable to see how the two events could be linked. It’s just that I have this irrational feeling – a conviction, almost – that somehow or other they are. All nonsense, of course! A hundred and thirty years is a long time.’

‘A very long time,’ Sir Anselm agreed.

‘Where were the bodies found?’ I asked. ‘Do you know?’

He puckered his forehead. ‘In the woods not far from the Hall, I’ve always been led to believe. But whether or not that tradition is correct, I wouldn’t like to say with any certainty.’

‘But if you’re right, the men hadn’t got far before being set upon. Why do you think they were killed, Father?’

‘What a question! How do I know? But judging by what I’ve been told, robbery would
not
seem to be the answer. Not unless, that is, the robbers were disturbed by someone or something before they could empty the men’s purses.’

‘I suppose that is a possibility.’

But there was no point in pursuing the subject. At this distance of time, the priest could have no more notion than I, or anyone else, of the truth of the matter. So I changed the subject yet again and invited him to tell me all he knew about the Lilywhites. ‘Were you the priest here when Maud Haycombe and Gilbert Lilywhite were married?’

‘Most certainly. I married them. In fact, I remember when Gilbert first arrived in Lower Brockhurst from Gloucester. He came to dig a new well for the village, and never went home again. Fell in love with Maud instead.’

‘Someone—’ I decided it might be better not to mention Alice Tucker – ‘told me that Ned Rawbone wanted to marry Mistress Maud, but was forbidden to do so by his father. Is that true?’

The priest cut himself a piece of cheese with his knife and stuffed it in his mouth, thus rendering further conversation impossible for at least a minute. Finally, he admitted thickly, ‘I think there may have been some tenderness between them. On his part, at least.’

‘Not on hers?’

He cleaned around his teeth with his tongue. ‘Well, if there was, it obviously didn’t survive Gilbert’s arrival. Gilbert and Maud were wed within two months of him appearing in the village. They wasted no time once the banns were called. Neither her father nor his mother were pleased about it, but it didn’t deter them. Dame Theresa, who came from Gloucester for the wedding, made her objections plain from the start. She considered her son had married beneath him. She despised the country and country people. The fact that Maud was sole heir to her father’s smallholding didn’t impress Theresa. She looked on farming as “grubbing a living from dirt”. That’s what she said. She insisted that Gilbert could make better money as a weller.’

‘He didn’t continue in his calling, then?’

Sir Anselm shook his head. ‘It was one of old Haycombe’s conditions for consenting to the marriage that Gilbert should give up his trade and help out on the smallholding.’

‘And he was willing to do that?’

‘Of course. He and Maud were very much in love. It was no surprise to anyone when Eris was born just under nine months later.’

I thought about this. ‘Are you suggesting that Maud might have been with child before they married?’ Father Anselm nodded. ‘Did they ever have any more children?’

‘Two boys, both of whom died young. They were sickly from birth; fragile-looking, like Gilbert. Eris was the only one with health and strength, a fine child who grew into a beautiful woman. A beauty, alas, that was to prove destructive, not only to herself but also to other people.’

We were silent for a moment, contemplating that destruction, during which time Hercules emerged from under the table and went to scratch and whine again at the kitchen door. With a sigh, I got up and let him into the hall, where I was immediately conscious of a draught from the open front door, swinging wide on its creaking hinges.

‘Master Rawbone must have left it open,’ I said to the priest, who had joined me, tuttutting under his breath.

‘Not Ned’s fault.’ He hastened to close it. ‘Sometimes the latch springs after it’s been shut. The wood is old and has warped. There, that’s got it. Does your dog want to go out? If so, take him into the yard at the back.’

But Hercules, perverse as ever, returned to the warmth of the kitchen, his urgent desire to relieve himself evidently having evaporated at the first whiff of cold air. Sir Anselm and I followed him, resuming our places at the table.

I asked, ‘How old was Eris when her father died?’

My companion poured more ale.

‘Well, let me see, Gilbert died the same year the Duke of Gloucester married the Lady Anne Neville. When would that have been?’

‘Seven years ago next month,’ I answered promptly. I had good reason to remember the date. I had been instrumental in helping Duke Richard to find his future wife after George of Clarence had hidden her in the city of London, disguised as a cook-maid.

If the priest was surprised by the accuracy of my reply, he didn’t show it.

‘Then Eris would have been about ten years old,’ he said. ‘A bad age for any child to be left without a father, but especially one left in the care of a mother and doting grandmother. Dame Theresa came for her son’s funeral and, unfortunately perhaps, never returned home. I don’t think her visit was intended to be permanent, not to begin with at least, and I’m sure Maud didn’t want her to stay. The two women never really got on. Maud resented, not unnaturally, her mother-in-law’s belief that Gilbert had married beneath him. But they rubbed along together without any overt hostility, and if the truth be told, they must both have been lonely. Maud’s father had died several years before.’

‘You said that Dame Theresa was a doting grandmother. What about Mistress Lilywhite? Was she a doting mother?’

The priest sucked his teeth, no doubt searching for more scraps of food. ‘I think she did try to instil some sense of discipline into Eris, but the child was too self-willed, like Dame Theresa. Maud herself is a biddable woman, shy and retiring; someone who dislikes confrontation. And now,’ he added, swallowing his ale, ‘I’ve talked enough about the Lilywhites. My advice to you, chapman, is to do as Maud wants. Leave well alone. Eris is … has gone. William Bush and his family and the Rawbones are just beginning to pick up the shattered pieces of their lives and put them back together again.’

I made no answer for a moment, then leaned forward and once more gripped the priest’s wrist.

‘Sir Anselm,’ I urged, ‘If you know anything,
anything at all
, concerning Eris, you would do better to share it with someone.’

‘You, I suppose?’ he asked mockingly.

‘Not necessarily, although it might not be a bad idea. But if not me, then go to the Sheriff’s Officer in Gloucester. Tell him what you know.’ I shook his arm. ‘You may be in some danger if you don’t.’

He smiled and patted my hand. ‘I’m in no danger, my son. Because,’ he went on hastily, ‘I don’t know anything. Now, let us drop the subject. Is there something else you want to ask me? Provided, of course, that it doesn’t touch on the subject of the Lilywhites.’

I removed my hand from his wrist.

‘Very well.’ There was nothing further I could say. After all, I might have been mistaken about the extent of his knowledge, my imagination running away with me as usual. So I accepted defeat on that score and changed the subject for a third time. ‘Who is it,’ I wanted to know, ‘who hangs the corn dollies and clooties on the trees around Upper Brockhurst?’

‘My son, I’ve no idea and I don’t enquire. Oh, you probably think it very lax of me, but the old religion still flourishes in many places throughout the western counties. It does no harm that I can see. Not, I admit, a view that would find favour with my superiors. Indeed, it would probably be regarded as heresy and lead to my being hailed before a church court without delay. But I can, I’m sure, trust you to keep my secret. And I very much doubt if I’m the only priest who takes this stand. The early Church itself was built on the marriage of Christian rites with pagan. Easter, the greatest festival of all, is celebrated to coincide with the festival of Eostra, the Norse goddess of spring. Christmas was when our forefathers welcomed back the lengthening days. The Green Man, Robin Goodfellow, the gods of the trees, they all lead men to worship. God may not be one Person, chapman. He may not even be Three in One or One in Three. He may have many faces and forms.’ Sir Anselm smiled. ‘There, now! I’ve put my life in your hands. You see how I trust you!’

But not enough, I thought, to confide in me what you know concerning Eris Lilywhite’s disappearance.

I stayed another hour with the priest, both of us talking desultorily of this and that, but with our own secret thoughts running like undercurrents in the stream of idle chatter. I can’t, of course, vouch for what was going through Sir Anselm’s mind, but I recall that he seemed a little abstracted, asking questions at random and barely listening to the answers. For my part, I was concerned with how much he might know and how much danger such knowledge might put him in. On the other hand, I had no proof that he knew anything at all. I had convinced myself purely on instinct that he did.

‘You and your instinct!’ Adela would often mock me, at the same time entwining her arms lovingly around my neck in order to rob her words of their sting. ‘It’s just another name for drawing your bow at a venture.’

Perhaps she was right. In this case I was afraid that she might well be.