[Roger the Chapman 04] - The Holy Innocents (22 page)

Grizelda's head reared up sharply. 'Do you suspect Eudo of trickery? For trickery's not witchcraft, although I sometimes think that there is kinship between them.'
 

I pressed a hand to my forehead. I had a nagging pain between my eyes and a slight feeling of sickness in my stomach; the undoubted results of a disturbed night and a delayed breakfast. I took another long draught of the goodwife's excellent mead and felt a little better.

'The truth is,' I admitted, '! don't know what to think any longer. I am confused, and cannot see the part played by Master Colet in the disappearance of his stepchildren. Indeed, except for last night's occurrence, I might begin to think that there was none. Now, why does that vex you?'
 

'Because I think you too easily fooled,' Grizelda responded tartly. 'There is some connection between him and the outlaws if only we could find it. But enough of that for now. I must get to Totnes without any further delay and present myself at Dame Tenter's? She smiled suddenly. 'Will you give me the pleasure of your company on the journey? I'm sorry for what I said just now. I don't really think you easily fooled. Far from it. But I think you won't regret getting back on the road and putting these unhappy events behind you. You'll be your own man again, Roger, and I believe that to be the most important thing to you in the whole wide world. And dare you look me in the eye and tell me that I'm not right?'

Chapter Fourteen

I accompanied Grizelda as far as the Foregate, where we separated just beyond the stockade, she to cross the bridge to visit Eudo Colet at Dame Tenter's cottage, I to make my way uphill to the East Gate. During our walk together, she had shed a few tears over the loss of her own cottage, a weakness she immediately condemned, and which she attributed to the shock of seeing Innes Woodsman's charred body.

'For you must understand,' she apologized, 'that I despise women who cry. And Our Lady knows that I have had enough unhappiness in my life to give me practice at controlling my grief. But I cannot help feeling responsible for Innes's death.'
 

'Nonsense!' I declared stoutly. 'And as the Novice Master used to tell me, in the days before I gave up the religious life, it's as great a sin to take too much guilt upon your shoulders as it is to take none at all. Every man and woman must accept responsibility for his or her own actions.'

This seemed to comfort her, and she was calmer by the time we parted company. After seeing her safely over the bridge, I climbed the hill and sought out the keeper of the East Gate.

He, too, was busy, diverting as much of the afternoon's traffic as he could away from the town in anticipation of the Sheriff's visit.

'For you never know,' he said, mopping his forehead on his sleeve, 'his lordship might make all speed from Exeter, and the sun's well overhead. It must be turned midday already.'
 

'I doubt we'll see anything of him much before evening,' I offered by way of consolation, quoting the cowherd. 'His Worship's messenger has to reach Exeter first, and you know how ponderously the law reacts to any situation. Tell me. Did you, by chance, let Master Colet into the town last evening, shortly before sunset?'

The gatekeeper gave a final wipe to his face and sniffed.

'Aye, that I did, and let him out again first thing this morning as soon as the Angelus sounded. Last in, first out. But I thought you might have know that. Aren't you the man lodged in his house by Lawyer Cozin? It came to me that Master Colet must have passed the night there.' It was on the tip of my tongue to answer, 'And so he did,' but instead I merely asked, 'Was he mounted?' 'No, afoot, now you mention it.' The gatekeeper sounded surprised. 'Now that's strange, for he's proud of that beast of his and rarely walks anywhere. Odd, but I thought nothing of it at the time.'

I murmured my thanks and made my way through the postern gate, before I could be questioned more closely. So! I had my answer. Nevertheless, I thought it prudent to make inquiries of the Priory porter, for Eudo could have sought a bed in St Mary's guest-hall. The porter, however, disclaimed all knowledge of Master Colet.

'But you were here, on duty yesterevening? And you know him?'

The porter, a lay brother, wrinkled his nose and nodded.

'Yes on both counts. And indeed, I've always found Master Color a pleasant enough gentleman, whatever others in this town might tell you different. I've spent an evening or two in his company, at Matt's tavern or the castle ale-house. Mostly he kept to himself, but I've known him when he's been drink-taken, and then he could make a man laugh at his antics. He was never drunk, you understand,' the porter hastened to add, 'but on occasions, the ale loosened his tongue a little.'

'What sort of antics?' I asked, frowning.

The porter shrugged. 'He could sing a bit. Ballads, ditties. Quite a few of 'era, the funniest ones, not fit for a lady's ears, I can tell you. And once, when a strolling flute-player came visiting Matt's, Master Colet took the instrument from him and played it well enough. He could caper a few steps, too, when the mood was on him. But, as I say, for the most part he was quiet and sober as befitted the husband of Rosamund Crouchback. Now, there was a woman with a fine notion of her own importance. She was always the same from girlhood, though, ruined by her father's indulgence. I wouldn't have been a servant or a poor kinsman in that house, not if they'd offered me a free barrel of the best malmsey wine every day for the rest of my life.'

I spared a smile for what seemed to be the porter's idea of paradise, but was too wrapped up in my thoughts to pay him any further attention. I bade him good-day, continuing my climb towards the pillory on the brow of High Street. I had much to mull over. In the past hour, I had learned that Eudo Colet had spent the night within the town walls, that he had not stayed at the Priory, and that he had sufficiently sweet a voice to entertain fellow ale-house guests without giving them cause to complain of his singing. I supposed it just possible that he had sought out lodgings other than at St Mary's, but somehow I could not bring myself to believe it. He had entered the East Gate on foot and walked up High Street under cover of the encroaching darkness. Then, he had kept watch on the house until my visit to the castle tavern had offered him the chance to slip along the alleyway and unlock the gate into the outer courtyard. But even had I remained within doors all evening, he must have been able, at sometime or another, to let himself in without being noticed. He had keys to all the locks, and the peculiarity of the Totnes houses made it possible to be in one part of the building without having any idea of what was happening in the other, separated as they were by that inner courtyard.

What Master Colet did next was conjecture on my part, but of sufficient likelihood to make it seem that I had watched him do it. He had taken a knife from the kitchen and hacked through the stay of the gallery, a structure he knew to be already weakened by neglect and decay; he had then returned to the loft to wait until the small, chill hours of early morning, when he had crossed the gallery, treading lightly and with the utmost care, to lure me from my bed with his singing...

But it had been a child's voice, not a man's, which had sung those poignant words; a voice which had sometimes been close at hand, and at others, far away. Was it possible that Eudo Colet had not been alone? And if not, who had been with him? I cursed silently to myself. It seemed that as soon as one door opened upon daylight, another closed, leaving me once again floundering in the dark.

I was so engrossed by my thoughts that I traversed the busy market-place and shambles, weaving my way between the throngs of townspeople, without really being aware of anyone. I did not even feel the hand laid upon my arm until the fingers nipped me.

'Master Chapman,' said a voice at my elbow, 'why do you not have your pack with you? I was hoping to buy some ribbon.'

I turned what I'm sure must have been a sleepwalker's face towards my indignant questioner, to find myself accosted by the child, Ursula Cozin, attended by the faithful Jenny. The grey eyes which regarded me were the same colour as her father's, but there the similarity ended. Whereas Thomas Cozin's gaze was calm and a little diffident, his youngest daughter's was pert and provocative; and the plump features, snub nose and pouting, pretty mouth were all her mother's.

'I... I'm sorry,' I stammered, 'but my wares are not for sale today.' I sought desperately for some further topic of conversation, which seemed to be expected of me. 'Is... Is Mistress Cozin still pleased with the length of silk she purchased?'

'Oh yes.' The eyes sparkled with affectionate laughter.

'Mother's very vain, you know, and she adores new finery.

She even brought it out to show Master Colet, yestereverting.' 'M - Master Colet?' I gibbered like an idiot, and Ursula stared at me in some astonishment. 'Master Colet called on your family last evening?'

The head was tilted consideringly to one side. 'Indeed. He came to see my uncle on business.'

'Did... Did he stay long?'

A gurgle of laughter escaped my young lady. 'I'm glad to know that there's someone else as nosey as I am. My parents all it my besetting sin, but I say it's just natural curiosity. How am I to know what's going on in this town if I don't ask questions concerning my neighbours? If you really want to know, Master Colet stayed for the night. My father pressed him to do so as curfew had sounded, and he considers it unsafe at present for anyone to walk abroad after sunset. He sent to a neighbour for the loan of a truckle bed, as my uncle is using ours during his visit, and it was put up for Master Colet in the downstairs parlour because he had to leave very early this morning, and so could let himself out without disturbing anyone.'

Within the hour, I found myself confronting yet another of the Cozin household; this time, Master Oliver. And with him came Grizelda.

I had returned to the house after my encounter with the child, Ursula, dazed and confused by this brutal shattering of all my notions. Eudo Colet had spent the night with the Cozins, his movements accounted for by respectable people.

But who, then, had been my nocturnal visitor? I had thought and thought about it, my mind going round in circles, my aching head clutched in my hands, until I suddenly discovered that I no longer cared. By the time Lawyer Cozin presented himself at the door to inform me that my tenure of the house was no longer necessary, I could have shouted aloud with joy and willingly embraced him.

'Mistress Harbourne, whose holding was razed to the ground last night by the outlaws, has obtained permission from Master Colet to lodge ha her old home until she is able to settle her affairs to her greater satisfaction. I believe,' the lawyer added austerely, 'that you already know Mistress Harbourne and have no need of my introduction.' Grizelda smiled and stepped past him into the passageway.

'Eudo has agreed, albeit with very bad grace, to my tenancy.

It suits his purpose as well as mine, otherwise I think he would have been less inclined to oblige me. But my being here will allow you to be on your way, which you must surely wish for soon, whilst I can remain until a more permanent occupant is found for the house.'

The lawyer nodded briskly in agreement. *Mistress Harbourne is right. I thank you for your good offices, chapman, but you may now take your leave with a clear conscience. You are absolved from your promise to remain as custodian until Saturday.'

He inclined his head and turned away. I wondered whether or not to mention the broken gallery, but decided against it.

It would involve an explanation of my clumsiness which I was not prepared to give at present, and, possibly, recriminations. He might even demand that I pay for its mending.

So I watched him go in silence. But as soon as he had vanished from sight, I turned to Grizelda.

'I don't like leaving you here alone,' I said, regarding her anxiously, and proceeded to tell her of all my discoveries since parting from her that morning. When I had finished, I added earnestly, 'You could well be in some danger. I wish you would let me stay here with you.'

'No you don't,' she answered quietly. 'I can see it in your eyes. You need to be gone. You are straining at the leash, like an animal at the end of its tether. Besides, I have my good name to think of. To be staying with you alone, under one roof, would give rise to more gossip than I care to think off' She placed her hands on my shoulders, reaching up to kiss my cheek. 'I have looked after myself from childhood, and no one and nothing has worsted me yet. Never fear, I shall be a match for whoever, or whatever, haunts this house.

Nor,' she went on, trying to suppress the laughter in her voice, 'shall I be visiting Jacinta's tavern.'

I pushed her hands from my shoulders.

'Is that what you really think?' I asked furiously. 'That I was drunk? That I dreamed the voice and the singing? Then let me advise you to examine the broken stay of the walkway, annd you will see what I saw; that it has been cut through and is not the result of my drunken blunderings.'

'Roger–!' she began, reaching out to me once more, but I pushed her roughly aside and picked up my pack and cudgel.

'I bid you good-day, Mistress Harbourne. You're right. I shall be glad to be away from here.' I lifted the latch and stepped into the street.

'Roger! Please wait! Don't go like this, I beg you!' There was distress in her voice, but I was too hurt and angry to heed it. I thought she had believed my story, but now I could see that she had merely been humouring me, privately considering me a drunken sot, lying to account for my clumsiness. She stumbled after me across the cobbles, clutching beseechingly at my sleeve, but I shook her off and lengthened my stride.