[Roger the Chapman 02] - The Plymouth Cloak (22 page)

'Nevertheless, I am not prepared to take chances. Please ~ do as I ask.' And the steward flung up an admonishing hand.

I gave my promise and was conducted into the gloom of the chapel which stood in one comer of the courtyard. The room where the prisoner was held was to the left of the altar, and was used by the chaplain to put on his vestments and say his prayers before Mass. A heavy oak door ensured his privacy at such times, and was equipped, for no good reason that I could see, with a stout lock and key. They were, however, proving useful at the moment, the key turned and removed from its resting-place, safely held in one of Luke's large brown hands. The other held a stout cudgel of only slightly smaller proportions than my own 'Plymouth Cloak', ! which I recalled leaving propped up against one wall of the kitchen this morning, before sitting down to breakfast. The arrival of the sawyer's cart and the rest of the day's happenings had made me forget it was there. I must remember to move it out of Janet Overy's way.

The steward instructed Luke to let me into the robing-room and added sharply: 'Leave the door unlocked while Master Chapman is inside and be alert to go to his assistance should he need you. After his departure, mind you lock the door again.' Then he hurried fussily away.

Luke surveyed me curiously but asked no questions, merely doing as he was bidden. The key grated rustily in the lock as it was turned: obviously Sir Peveril's chaplain felt no need to secure himself against prying eyes. The door creaked a little on its hinges as Luke held it half open. I stepped inside.

The room was sparsely furnished, with a stone bench running the length of one wall and a chest in one comer. daylight struggled to enter through a small window with leaded panes made of horn, and there was the customary bag, hanging from a nail, containing flint and tinder. A candle and candlestick, the former not yet lit, stood atop the chest.

Jeremiah Fletcher, hands and feet tied together and a large bruise forming on his left cheek, was huddled at one end of the bench. I sat down at the other end and twisted round to face him. He eyed me balefully in return.

'And what do you want?'

'The truth, if that's not too much to ask.' My voice was still hoarse and he grinned malevolently, plainly wishing that he could have finished his handiwork.

After a moment or two's consideration, he shrugged.

'Why not? I'm a condemned man anyway, and have nothing more to lose. I've killed many men in my time, but ironically I shall be hanged for the murder I did not commit. Oh, I don't deny that I intended to take Philip Underdown's life - it's what I was being paid for - nor that I made two attempts to do so which went awry, once at the Abbey and again at the inn in Plymouth. But his death, when it came, was not by my hand. You can believe me or not as you please.'
 

'I think I believe you,' I answered. 'But if you did not kill him, you might have seen who did.'

He looked at me in astonishment, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his hair. 'Why in heaven's name should you think that? When Master Underdown was murdered late last night - and that information I had from the landlord - I was asleep in my flea-infested bed in that equally flea-infested inn. Why should I be wandering the woods in the middle of the night?'

'For the same reason that you wandered Buckfast Abbey and the Plymouth streets. To do the bidding of your masters and prevent the King's messenger from reaching Brittany. You see, I am being perfectly frank. You followed Philip and me from Plymouth, arriving in Trenowth, according to Father Anselm, not long after us yesterday morning. And again according to the good father, you kept to your room at the inn all day, not even going downstairs for meals. You therefore had to spy out the land at night. I think you were abroad after dark and could have seen murder done.'

Jeremiah Fletcher smiled thinly. 'Very well, as you have guessed so much, I'll tell you that you are right, but only partly so. I was abroad last night with the intent, as you surmised, of spying out the land. But not until long after the murder had been committed. As I mounted the path towards the house, something, what exactly I cannot now say, but something attracted my attention to the river bank, where I found Philip Underdown's body, already stiffening and cold.

It was a shock to discover that someone else had done my work for me, and so thoroughly. But to stab him, and then be forced to beat in the back of his head in order to kill him suggested that this obliging person was a novice at the task of murder.'

Did you search the body for the letter?' I asked.

His face clouded. 'Ah, that letter! That has been the undoing of me.' He shifted, trying to ease the constraint of his bonds. 'Or perhaps I should rather say that you have been my nemesis. My masters certainly enjoined me to find and destroy the letter to Duke Francis if I could, but they did not know that Philip Underdown would be protected by a second man travelling with him. And indeed, until his arrival at Exeter, he was on his own, as is customary with royal messengers, who prefer to travel fast and unencumbered. But to have attacked him before his meeting with Duke Richard would have been useless. He did not then have the letter.'

I frowned. 'But how did your masters, as you call them, know that?'

He laughed. 'Who are you? What are you that you can ask such a question? Don't you know that the court of any country or state is riddled with spies? Even friends and allies spy upon each other. No noble lord worth his salt can afford but to have his paid informer in every other nobleman's household. Brother spies upon brother, father upon son. It's the way of the world. Wherever you go, France, Italy, Spain, you will find that to be the truth. The man whom Master Chaucer called the smiler with the knife under the cloak is everywhere.'

He was right. I was still very innocent in those days, unversed in man's cupidity, but I was learning fast. I repeated my question. 'Did you search the body?'

'Yes, of course I searched the body!' He was growing tired of my interrogation and was in great discomfort. 'Later, as you know, I searched the bedchamber, but, as you also know, I was out of luck.'

'And how did you know which room to search?'
 

Jeremiah Fletcher groaned and leaned back heavily against the wall behind him. 'You have persistence, I'll grant you that! I didn't know. I saw a shutter and a window both open and a vine asking to be climbed. It was not until I was safely inside that I realized, by the articles of baggage strewn about, that it was yours and Master Underdown's. And now,' he added wearily, 'if you have finished with me, leave me to my misery. I don't ask how you knew of my ruse to make a further search. The carter is a garrulous as well as a gullible fool, and you fell in with him. Let us leave it at that.' And he closed his eyes, his thin mouth set firmly, obviously determined to answer no more questions.

I was equally determined, however, to ask one more.

'What does knotgrass mean to you?' I demanded.

He was sufficiently astonished to be betrayed into a reply.

'Knotgrass?' he said, opening his eyes. 'It's a plant. A weed. Why should it mean anything to me?'
 

'No reason,' I answered, rising. 'But you're sure it has no 'special significance for you?’

’None whatsoever!' was the emphatic response.

I nodded and rapped on the door to let the guard know that I was about to come out, in case he thought Jeremiah Fletcher was trying to escape.

'All right, maister?' Luke asked me.

'I think your prisoner could do with food and water. I'll request Mistress Overy to see that he's fed.'

I made my obeisance in front of the altar, then went outside. The hay had been unloaded, but the empty cart still stood in the middle of the courtyard. The carter had arrived to claim his property some time ago, or so I deduced from the fact that he and John Groom were seated on the bench outside the servants' quarters and were sipping ale together like lifelong friends. They were so deep in wide-eyed conversation that they did not even notice me as I crossed to the kitchen and made my plea on the prisoner's behalf to Mistress Overy. She, good soul, proved as sympathetic to his needs as I had expected her to be.

'Supper won't be long,' she said, despatching one of the kitchen-maids to assemble a tray of food for Jeremiah Fletcher.

'How's your throat? Can you eat?'

I sniffed the air. 'If supper tastes as good as it smells, I'll force myself, however great the effort.' She laughed and I went on: 'Where's Silas Bywater? Have you seen him lately?'

She looked surprised. 'Didn't you know? He's gone.'

CHAPTER 18

I stared at her, momentarily struck dumb with surprise.

When eventually I found my voice, I asked: 'How can he be gone? Who gave him permission? And why has the hue and cry not been raised? We were all to remain on the manor until the Sheriff's officer arrives.'

'But matters stand differently now,' Janet argued comfortably. 'The murderer is under lock and key. You know him. He is the man, according to your story, who has already made two attempts on Master Underdown's life. Furthermore, he was taken in the act of trying to strangle you when you caught him stealing from your belongings. Silas Bywater wished to be on his way, and neither Alwyn nor I saw any reason to detain him longer. The Sergeant will have no need to question anyone except yourself.' She turned to stir the contents of a pot hanging over the fire, adding curiously: 'By the way, did this Jeremiah Fletcher find what he was looking for?' I shook my head absently. 'How long ago did Silas leave?'

She straightened her back, spoon in hand, and considered me doubtfully. 'While you were questioning the prisoner in the chapel robe-room. Why? You are not thinking of going after him, surely?'

'There are things I still want to ask him. If I hurry, I may catch him up.'

The housekeeper banged down the spoon on the table.

'You and your questions!' she exclaimed with angry impatience. 'What do they do except make more trouble for all of us? Why can't you accept the fact that the murderer is caught?'

I had been moving towards the kitchen door, but such was the vehemence of her tone that I paused and looked at her.

For the first time, I wondered if Janet knew a little more about Philip's death than she had so far admitted. She had certainly been at great pains to persuade me that no one in or around Trenowth could have any knowledge of the murder.

She had seized on the existence of Jeremiah Fletcher to convince me that there could be only one possible killer.

I hesitated, then decided against voicing my suspicions. If I were wrong, I should only incur her ill-will; if right, then my silence might eventually cause her to make a slip and point me in the direction of Philip's real murderer. I could not explain, even to myself, why I was so reluctant to accept what seemed so obvious to everyone else, that Jeremiah Fletcher, by his own admission a paid assassin, had successfully carried out his instructions. I suppose, looking back from the distance of years, the answer is that somewhere in my mind I already knew the identity of the killer. All the knowledge was there, with the exception of one vital piece, just waiting to be assembled in the proper order.

I heaved a great sigh and let my hands hang slack at my side. 'You're right,' I said meekly. 'I've caused nothing but trouble for you and Isobel Warden and her husband. I'm sorry.'

Relief at my capitulation made her genial in an instant.

'That's all right, lad. You're not bred to this kind of thing, any more than the rest of us. And I must take some of the blame for encouraging your suspicions about Isobel in the first place. I thought myself that it was her Master Underdown had gone to meet, when all the time it was this Jeremiah Fletcher. He admits to the killing, does he?'

'To the first two attempts, yes, but denies the actual deed.'

Janet snorted contemptuously. 'Well, no one is going to believe that! Certainly not the Sheriffs officer. He's seen too many villains in his time to be taken in by such a story. And once he's heard from you the true version of events, he'll have no doubts whatsoever.'

There I could agree with her. So neat a solution to the murder could not but appeal to one already hard pressed by the march of far more important happenings in the country.

Comishmen were arming themselves against the possibility, even the probability, of invasion and had little time to spare at present for other distractions. The Sergeant from Launceston Castle would be only too pleased to be able to report to Sir John Arundel the happy outcome of a case which, if left unsolved, might have brought down upon their heads much royal displeasure. So he would not be seeking any other solution to the mystery of who killed Philip Underdown.

Jeremiah Fletcher's protestations of innocence, if he bothered to make any, would go unregarded. I recalled with a wry smile my earlier hope that I might be able to keep Philip's mission a secret from the Sheriff's officer. I had been too optimistic and too naive, but at least the Queen's relatives were not involved, which would spare the King and his family much embarrassment. Looking back, I could see that I had been far too indiscreet, an innocent cast adrift in a world of intrigue. Had the Earl of Oxford's invasion of St Michael's Mount never happened, and everything gone according to plan, it would not have mattered. Philip would have been in Brittany by now, the King's letter safely delivered, and I would have been on the road again, happy and contented.