[Roger the Chapman 04] - The Holy Innocents (3 page)

'They?' Grizelda frowned. 'Who are "they", Master Chapman?'

'Why, the outlaws who, I understand, have been terrorizing this district for some months past. Surely, living as you do in these parts, you can't be ignorant of their depredations?' She turned very pale and raised one hand to her heart, as though to still its beating. Her eyes dilated.

'The robbers, you mean? The idea had not occurred to me. I assumed it was some local thief - largely, I suppose, because there is no other damage apart from the theft of Félice. I know of these men, of course, but they slaughter cattle, root up whole plantations.' She drew a long, shuddering breath. 'They even do murder. But none of that has happened here. Only my poor little hen has been stolen. Why should you think them responsible for the theft?'

Briefly, I told her of my encounter with the outlaws earlier that morning. 'And one of them was carrying a hen under his arm, her beak tied to keep her from squawking.' Grizelda blinked back tears. 'Will they kill her?' I straightened up, stretching my cramped legs, and smiled reassuringly. 'I shouldn't think so. If that had been their intention, they would have wrung her neck before carrying her off. They would never have gone to the trouble of muffling her. They have taken her as a layer. Outlaws, I presume, enjoy eggs as well as their more law-abiding brothers.' I glanced round me yet again, at the little clearing, bright with spring grass, surrounded by the shadowy trees. 'I repeat, you were extremely lucky. They must have come across your cottage when they were already laden down with booty. They probably heard the hen clucking and decided to take her on the spur of the moment. I'm sorry. You'll miss her.' Grizelda nodded slowly. 'Félice was not only a companion, but also a source of livelihood. I was able to sell her eggs in Totnes market and the scrapings from the coop to the washerwomen of the town for bleach. Bird droppings help make an excellent lye, as you probably know.' Her worried gaze met mine, and she shivered. 'I can't believe those devils were here, prowling around my cottage, while I slept in ignorance inside. It makes my flesh crawl to think of it.' I hesitated, unwilling to commit myself; but at the same time racked with guilt at the thought of her sleeping here alone. Having once stumbled upon her holding, it was probable that the outlaws would return to steal the cow and pig they had been forced to leave behind. Reluctantly, I said, 'I propose selling my wares in Totnes today, but I can return at sundown, should you wish it. If you can provide me with bracken and a blanket, I shall be comfortable on the floor. It's what I'm used to.'

A smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and she touched me fleetingly on the arm. 'You're very kind, Master Chapman, but I have no need to impose upon you. I have a friend in Ashprington. She and her goodman will give me and the animals shelter if I ask it.'
 

I breathed a silent sigh of relief, then caught the mocking look of understanding in those deep brown eyes. Flushing slightly, I urged, 'Let me beg you to do so, for tonight at least, and for some nights to come, if they can shelter you.'

 
'I shall visit my friend as soon as you have left. Now, let me get you your breakfast. We have the last eggs Félice laid before she was taken.' Her voice trembled, and she turned abruptly on her heel, moving in the direction of the cottage.

I was about to follow her, but suddenly stood rooted to the spot. Had I been a dog, my hackles would have risen.

Grizelda, pausing to look over her shoulder, called, 'What's the matter?' When I did not reply, she retraced her steps a little. 'What is it?' she insisted.

For answer, I shook my head, waving her to silence and scanning the encircling trees, but, except for the distant drilling of a woodpecker, all was still and silent. Cautiously, I advanced to the edge of that pillared darkness and padded between the ivy-covered trunks, some with yawning holes wide enough for owls to nest in... Then, from the corner of one eye, I detected a flash of movement and spun about to meet it, cursing that I did not have my cudgel with me. It was in the cottage, where I had abandoned it when Grizelda and I went out to inspect the hen-coop.

The scarecrow figure who came at me had a knife. I saw the bright flash of the blade as he raised it, ready to strike.

Grizelda, who had come running, screamed at the sight of it, fortunately deflecting my adversary's attention and giving me that necessary moment's grace in which to grab his wrist in a crushing grip, before twisting his arm up behind him. The man yelped with pain and dropped his knife from fingers which suddenly had no feeling. I let him go, stooping quickly to obtain possession of the weapon before he could retrieve it. Then, while he was still nursing his injured wrist, I put one arm in a stranglehold about his neck, pinioning him with the other clasped around his body.

'Run back to the cottage and get something to tie him up with,' I commanded Grizelda.

She did not move, however. 'I know this man,' she said. 'He's not one of the outlaws, if that is what you're thinking. His name is Innes Woodsman, and he's slept rough in the woods around here for a number of years. When my father was alive, he did occasional jobs about the holding for his meals and shelter in the wintertime. Let him go, Chapman. He's harmless.'

'No man is harmless who carries a knife such as this.' And with a jerk of my head, I indicated the wicked-looking blade which I had tucked into my belt.

Grizelda raised a determined chin. 'All the same, I owe him a favour. I should be grateful if you would turn him loose and say nothing to anyone of this incident.' She added a shade defiantly, 'To please me.'

I released my prisoner with great reluctance. 'Very well, to please you,' I agreed. 'But I'm keeping the knife. He's too ready to use it on strangers.'

Innes Woodsman spoke abruptly, in a vicious, rasping voice. 'It's my hunting knife. I need it for killing rabbits and the like.'
 

I eyed him with abhorrence. The strong sense of evil, which had alerted me to his presence, remained with me and refused to be shaken off.

'If it's a hunting knife, why did you try to kill me with it?'
 

The narrow, weather-beaten face took on a shifty look and he made no answer.
 

Grizelda said quietly, 'He probably thought it was me. Oh, he wouldn't really have harmed me,' she added swiftly, in explanation. 'He intended giving me a fright, that's all. He bears me a grudge.'

I was appalled. 'And you're willing to let him go? The rogue should be handed over to the Sheriff and clapped in gaol.'

'No,' she answered firmly. 'He has some reason for his resentment. It would be unjust to imprison him.' She looked straitly at the woodsman. 'This is your last chance for clememcy, Innes. My patience is wearing thin. If you don't go away from here and leave me alone, I shall take Master Chapman's advice and lay a complaint against you.' She tilted her head to one side and, as a shaft of sunlight struck between the branches of the trees, I saw something which, surprisingly, I had not noticed before; the faint, white puckering of a longhealed scar, running from her right eyebrow halfway down her cheek. She went on, 'I suppose it wasn't you who stole my hen, Félice?'

Innes Woodsman spat viciously. 'I wouldn't touch that scrawny bird if you paid me.'

Grizelda nodded. 'Very well, I believe you. But remember what I've said and go away from here or I'll carry out my threat. I mean it.'

°I'm not going without my knife,' he answered sullenly.

She turned to me. 'Give it to him, please, Chapman. He needs it to survive.' I complied, but with the greatest misgivings. She smiled her thanks and, when the man had sloped out of sight amongst the trees, took my arm and squeezed it.

'Now, let's return to the cottage and I'll cook you those eggs.'

I cleared my plate and scraped up the remains with a crust of black bread. The eggs, beaten and thickened over the fire, had tasted delicious, flavoured with the fat from a small lump of bacon. Grizelda, seated beside me on a bench I had dragged up to the table, pushed a plate of oatcakes and a crock of honey towards me.

'Now that you've blunted the edge of your appetite, let me ask you a question. How did you know that Innes was there, in the woods? I'm sure you could neither have heard nor seen him from where you were standing, alongside the coop.'

I spread honey, thick and golden, on an oatcake and bit into it before replying. 'I... I had a sensation of evil somewhere close at hand.'

I half expected her to eye me askance, but she didn't. 'You have the sight?' she asked me.

I took another bite of oatcake, wiping the honey from my chin with the back of my hand, and glanced furtively towards the open doorway, as though I were afraid someone might be outside, listening. I lowered my voice.

'Not truly, no; but now and then, I have dreams, and, on occasions such as this morning, a sense of being threatened. You don't find that.., heretical?'

She shook her head. 'I don't have the gift myself, but my mother did, a little. She kept it a secret from everyone but me, for fear that she might be branded a witch.' There was silence for a moment or two while I munched my way through yet another oatcake.
 

When I had swallowed the final crumb, I said, 'Now it's my turn to pose a question. What grudge does that villain hold against you?' I thought for a moment that she might refuse to answer, or tell me that it was none of my business; that breaking bread with her did not give me the fight to pry into her affairs. I believe, indeed, that she did momentarily entertain the notion, for she closed her lips tightly and shot me a speculative glance from beneath lowered lids. But almost immediately, she relented, opened her eyes wide and smiled.

'When my father died five years ago, I allowed Innes Woodsman, somewhat against my better judgement, to live here, in return for his work about the holding. As I told you, he had helped my father in his latter years and knew the running of the place. I had not lived here myself since my ninth birthday, shortly after the death of my mother. Understandably, I suppose, Innes thought himself well set up for the rest of his days, and, indeed, I should probably have left him here, undisturbed, if only because I was too lazy to dispose of the property.' She took an oatcake from the dish and began to nibble it, absent-mindedly, her face grown suddenly sombre. 'At least... Perhaps that was true for a while, But of latter years...'

Her voice tailed away into silence, and she stared past me, lost in thought, lost to her surroundings.

'Of latter years?' I prompted, when my curiosity could no Ionger be contained.

Grizelda started. 'I'm sorry, Chapman, my wits were wool-gathering. What was I saying?'

'That you let Innes Woodsman stay here as tenant because you were at first too lazy to get rid of the holding, but that after that... ?'

'Ah, yes. After that,' she added, deliberately lightening her tone, 'I think I must have experienced one of your premonitions, or something like. It was almost as if I knew that one day I should need to return here again.'

'Which you did.'

'Yes. Some three months since, it became necessary for me to do so.' The smile she gave me was palpably false, and the slight quaver in her voice indicated suppressed emotion. 'I had, therefore, to turn Innes Woodsman out, and I'm afraid that I did not do it very gently. I was not in a... a gentle mood at the time. He found himself forced once more to sleep rough, bereft of the shelter he had come to take for granted.' I could see that she felt guilty about what had happened and hastened to offer what comfort I could. Leaning my elbows on the table, I said, 'But the holding belongs to you, as it belonged to your father? It is not held in fief from some landlord?'

This time, her smile was genuine. 'Do I say yea or nay to that? Yes to your first question, no to your second.' 'Well, then!' I encouraged her. 'You were within your rights. There is nothing to blame yourself for.'

She shook her head, still smiling. 'As I said just now, I could have treated Innes with greater kindness, shown more consideration for his plight.' She rose from the bench to' fetch me a mazer of ale from the barrel which stood in one corner.

'You are too severe on yourself' I answered. 'There was nothing you could have said or done which would have made him less resentful. All in all, it was probably kinder to be blunt with him than try to sweeten the unpalatable.' She laughed, returning to the table and setting the brimming mazer down in front of me. She did not resume her seat, but stood at the end of the table, watching me while I drank.

I was thirstier than I knew and drained the bowl in one go, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. 'That's good ale,' I said, when I had finished.

Grizelda took the mazer to refill it. 'Oh, you'll get none of your inferior brews here, and no sallop, either.' She glanced disparagingly around her. 'This place may look what it is, Chapman, a hovel, but I've been used to better things' Her tone was mocking, but also slightly bitter.

I replied gently: 'This is no hovel, believe me I know. I've seen plenty on my travels.'

She made no answer, going to the door and looking out while I drank my second cup of ale. Seen in profile, she looked a little older than she did when face to face; but she was a handsome creature, for all that. I experienced the familiar stirring of attraction, but hastily suppressed it. I was too recently a widower to bed another woman, and felt that it would be a betrayal of Lillis's memory to do so too soon.