[Roger the Chapman 04] - The Holy Innocents (31 page)

'He must have done it somehow,' I pleaded desperately.

'Their deaths would make him even richer than he was already. And surely, sir, you must agree that he also had a sounder reason than the outlaws to kill both Martin Fletcher and Luke Hollis, before they recognized him and gave away his secret.'

'Ye-es.' Oliver Cozin pursed his lips. 'Of course, you will not be aware that the outlaws were smoked out of their lair three days after the Sheriff's arrival, and are now securely under lock and key in the county gaol here, awaiting trial.

Nor will you know that amongst the crimes for which they have vigorously denied responsibility, are the murder of your mummer friends and the Skelton children.'

'There you are then!' I exclaimed excitedly. 'It must have been Eudo Colet, the one person in each case who had something to gain by the murders.'

The lawyer heaved himself to his feet.

'Then prove to me how he removed the children's bodies from that house to the banks of the Harbourne! For he certainly had no opportunity before he left to visit my brother, and none, either, after he returned. Dead bodies weigh heavily, Master Chapman, even children's; and from the time that Bridget found them missing, Master Colet remained, or so I understand, within sight not only of her and Agatha Tenter, but of everyone else called in to aid in the search.'

My elation died and I suddenly felt very tired. Defeat stared me in the face. Yet there had to be an answer! I could no longer believe Eudo Colet innocent of the crimes.

Somehow or another, he had had a hand in his stepchildren's deaths. Master Cozin must have thought so too, for, to my astonishment, he came round the table, pushed me down on to a stool and poured me a cup of wine.

'Here, drink this,' he said. He went to the parlour door and called his housekeeper, instructing her, when she came, to fetch me some food. 'And make the chapman a bed for the night by the kitchen fire. After that, send Tom to the livery stable and say I shall need my wagon and horses soon after breakfast tomorrow.' When the surprised and curious housekeeper had departed to do his bidding, the lawyer turned back to me. 'I shall come with you,' he said, 'back to Tomes.' He added, as one granting an unheard-of concession, 'You may ride with me, in my carriage.'

The painted wagon, with its seats upholstered in dark red velvet and its side-curtains of matching leather was one of the finest equipages I had seen; astonishing it should be that of a lawyer, a profession which, pleading constant poverty, normally travels, then as now, on horseback.

Both Oliver Cozin and his brother, beneath their crusty exteriors, were warmer-hearted men than Oliver, at least, cared to be thought, except, perhaps, by members of his family. I could imagine no other man of his standing giving a common pedlar a place in his carriage, nor permitting me to sit at his table in the roadside tavern where we stopped to eat dinner. He did, of course, insist that I left my pack and cudgel inside the wagon, and frowned a little over my threadbare attire, but otherwise offered no indication that I was an embarrassment to him.

During the first part of our journey, he made me repeat all that I had learned from Ginèvre Napier, nodding at some parts of the narration, shaking his head dubiously over others, but making no comment that was worth the having, other than, when at last I had finished, 'There is still the matter of the disposal of the children's bodies.' After a moment's silence, he added, 'If we cannot prove Eudo Colet guilty of the children's murder, I doubt we shall prove him guilty of the mummers', for I know that the lord Sheriff like everyone else, is ill-disposed to believe the outlaws' protestations of innocence on that head.' He gave a barely perceptible smile. 'No one will be anxious to accuse a seemingly honest citizen when there is a bunch of rogues at hand on whom to pin the blame.'

I began to feel almost an affection for Master Cozin, an emotion I would previously have deemed it impossible for a lawyer to excite. Most of his breed would have been very reluctant to believe ill of a man who was their client, and one, moreover, who was a source of wealth, particularly when the accusations came from so lowly a person as myself. But Oliver Cozin. I realized, was that rare thing, a lawyer who loved justice for its own sake.

After we had dined, and the sun was climbing slowly towards its zenith, the warmth increasing as midday approached, our conversation dwindled and sleep overtook us both. Master Cozin's man, Tom, who had made it plain, to me at least, that he resented my presence in the carriage, vented his annoyance by jolting us over every bump and irregularity of the road's surface that he could find, without laying himself open to his master's reproaches. In spite of this, however, the lawyer and I, each in our own corner of the velvet-covered bench, began to doze, Master Cozin rather more quickly than I; for by the time I finally lapsed into unconsciousness, the carriage was filled with the sound of his gentle snoring.

I would have sworn that my mind was too preoccupied with the murders of Andrew and Mary Skelton, and the mysterious means by which their bodies had been disposed of for me to sleep. But I had reckoned without the effects of a good dinner, which, together with the motion of the carriage, however erratic, lulled me like a baby in its mother's arms.

It was not, however, a peaceful slumber: the lentil stew, followed by pike in galentyne sauce and then honey cakes with pine nuts, lay heavily on nay stomach. I began to dream...

I was in woods of intense and pillared blackness, being lured forward by the singing of a child. Sometimes the voice was close to me and sometimes farther off but always in the distance, the singer unseen. The roots of trees snaked across my path and I often stumbled, scratching my hands and grazing my knees, until suddenly, the track, absurdly, gave way beneath me, just as the gallery had done, and I began to fall...

I came to my senses literally with a jolt, as the carriage traversed a series of bumps worse than anything we had so far encountered. I could hear Tom whistling to himself as he drove the poor horses forward with a sting of the whip. I glanced at Oliver Cozin, but he still slept on, blissfully unaware of his man's disapproval. I settled myself again in my corner and stared out at the passing countryside, the leather curtains having been drawn back to give us more air.

It would soon be May Day, and the young, green leaves of early summer bedecked the trees. Deep pink flowers of campion starred the tall grasses.

I thought of the night that I had heard the singing; how at times it had seemed to be close at hand, at others far away.

I shivered. Eudo Colet must have been as near to me in the darkness as I was now to Master Cozin, yet always keeping just sufficiently ahead to be out of sight. He had stolen out of Thomas Cozin's house without disturbing the inmates, leaving the door unlocked against his return. Then he let himself into his own house, probably into the outer courtyard, made his way through the kitchen to the inner one, where he loosened, with knife and saw, the middle strut of the gallery.

Returning to the kitchen, he climbed to the lofts and tiptoed gently across the walkway, no doubt taking great care not to tread too heavily on the weakened centre. He had then entered the bedchamber, traversed the landing and let himself into the upstairs parlour, where he could see me asleep, below. Using his talent for mimicry, he had begun to sing...

Yet again, I shivered. He had enticed me forward as he retraced his footsteps, at times falling silent, in order to rest his throat. Once he knew me awake and following, he must have retreated across the gallery, giving himself time to step with caution, and leaving the far door open to attract my attention. The rest had fallen out exactly as he had trusted it might - with the exception that my midnight experiences had not quenched my burning desire to get at the truth. Eudo Colet had not rid himself; as he had hoped, of my inquiring presence.

I must have dozed again, without even being aware of that moment when I crossed the borderline of sleep. For suddenly, although I was still jolting along rough roads, I was sitting beside Jack Carter in the front of his wagon. He was talking to me; I knew because I could see his lips moving, but most of what he was saying, I was unable to hear. It was just a jumble of low-pitched sound. Only now and then, did any words make sense.

'She was pushed.., she was pushed.., she was pushed...' 'The same cloak, the same dress, year in, year out...' 'Pride and the ability to mask her true feelings...'

Then, in the unpredictable manner of dreams, Jack Carter and I were no longer in the wagon, but sitting at a table in Matt's tavern. I could sense that he was about to tell me something of great importance; something which would unlock the key to this mystery of the Skelton children and how their bodies were removed from Eudo Colet's house. He opened his lips to speak, but as he did so, his face seemed to melt and reform, becoming that of Innes Woodsman. He leaned forward until his face was close to mine, and shouted, 'You leave 'er be.'

I was wide awake, to find Master Cozin regarding me with concern.

'You cried out in your sleep,' he said. 'I couldn't quite make out what you were saying, but you seemed to be disturbed. You're very pale. Are you feeling unwell?'

I shook my head. 'No, not unwell. Just sick that I have allowed myself to be so blind and foolish.' I slewed round on the seat to face him. 'For I know now how the bodies were removed from the house, to be found, weeks later, on the banks of the Harbourne.'

Chapter Twenty

'You!' Grizelda exclaimed, staring at me in astonishment. 'I thought you'd left Totnes.'

She had taken a minute or two to answer the door, and I had begun to fear that she had gone from the old Crouchback house near the West Gate. I had redoubled my knocking and also shouted her name.

'Fate brought me back this way again,' I replied, 'and I had to see you once more before taking my final farewell. At our last meeting there were many things left unspoken between us. Won't you invite me in?'

She hesitated, then shrugged and stood aside to let me enter.

'I'm in the kitchen,' she said, 'preparing my supper. You can come and watch me if you wish. Whatever you have to say can be heard as well there, I imagine, as anywhere else.' I offered to bolt the door behind us, then followed her along the passage and across the inner courtyard to the kitchen, where the appetizing smell of rabbit stew made my mouth water. Grizelda went over to the table and continued chopping herbs, an occupation I had obviously interrupted.

'Well?' she asked discouragingly. 'What is it?' She eyed me sharply. 'What have you done with your pack?'

'I left it where I'm lodging for the night.' I had no wish to tell her that this was with Master Thomas Cozin, a circumstance demanding explanation, so I hurried on. 'I confess I'm somewhat surprised to find you still here. I thought Master Colet might have turned you out by now.'

Grizelda finished her chopping and wiped the knife clean on a piece of cloth. Then she tipped the herbs into the iron pot hanging over the fire before replying.

'Master Colet and I,' she said, carefully avoiding my eyes, 'have come to an understanding. I have acknowledged that I did him a grave injustice when I accused him of being a party to the children's disappearance and subsequent murder, and he' - she took a deep breath - 'has been gracious enough to accept that I might have had good reason for my suspicions.

We have, in short, made up our differences.' She returned to the table and began to knead a mound of dough, which was resting on a marble slab. And still she did not look at me.

'But I shall,' she continued, 'be leaving this house very shortly.

Master Colet has asked me to be his housekeeper in his new home.' Here, she gave me a brief glance from beneath her lashes, before lowering her eyes once again. 'Don't judge me too harshly, Roger. I am sincere when I say that I no longer think him guilty of having had any hand in Mary and Andrew's deaths. And as for the other, what else am I to do? I need a roof over my head and money in my purse quickly, before he finds either a tenant or a purchaser for this house.

And it could be many months, if at all, before I find such employment elsewhere.' Her voice softened. 'Tell me you understand.'

I was leaning against the wall, just inside the door, one foot hooked behind my other ankle, and there was a pause while I shifted my weight to my opposite leg.

'Is it important that I should think well of you?' I inquired eventually. 'Do you care?'

Now she smiled directly at me. 'Yes, I do care. Don't ask me why, for I don't know myself But your good opinion matters to me.'

Again, I did not answer immediately. Instead, I stared thoughtfully at her; at the strong hands which continued their kneading, at the strong forearms, revealed by the rolled-up sleeves of her shabby blue gown, at the strong, dark features with the faint white scar running from eyebrow to cheek.

Strength, I realized now, was the one word which best summed up Grizelda Harboume; strength of body and also strength of will. I recalled her self-proclaimed ability to haul heavy buckets of water up the steep banks of the river to her cottage. I remembered Jack Carter's description of her as a woman who had shown fortitude in the face of an adversity which had dogged her all her life; a woman who did not waste time and energy bemoaning her fate, but who bided her time and who, I believed, had seized her opportunity when it was finally offered to her in the shape of Eudo Colet. A woman who allowed neither the natural ties of affection nor the milk of human kindness nor Christian teaching to stand in the way of what she wanted. An evil woman, Innes Woodsman had called her. And it was for that, and for what else he had known, that he had been burned alive ...