[Roger the Chapman 04] - The Holy Innocents (6 page)

'Then why does he not remain there himself?'
 

The lawyer's tone sharpened. 'Chapman, you either wish to accept my offer or you do not. Nothing else concerns you.' I hesitated. The prospect of spending a night in the comfort of a well furnished house, and one, moreover, I should have all to myself, was tempting. Yet there was something here which made me uneasy, and my instincts bade me refuse.

'But I shall be gone from Totnes in the morning,' I cavilled. ‘What good will my protection be for a single night? The outlaws could strike tomorrow. Besides, how do you know that you can trust me? I might make off with some of your client's goods.'

Oliver Cozin was affronted. 'Do you think me such a fool that I can't tell an honest man when I see one? As for your other question, one night is better than none. As the blessed St Martin said, half a cloak is preferable to no cloak at all.' I glanced at Thomas Cozin, standing at his brother's side, the two grey figures so alike that it was as though I had drunk too much ale and was seeing double. At present, their faces were expressionless, although there was, perhaps, just the tiniest flicker of worry in Thomas's eyes. He did not have a lawyer's ability to hide his emotions completely.

Was I imagining things? After all, what had they offered me but a comfortable lodging for the night? It would be foolish to refuse, even though I did not believe for a second that the outlaws would risk coming into the town. Such an occurrence had reality only in the fevered imagination of the townspeople.

'Very well,' I said. 'I accept. And thank you.'

Chapter Four

It was Oliver who led me to a house north of the Shambles, on the opposite side of the High Street, where it curves towards the West Gate. He unlocked the door and preceded me inside, picking his way carefully across the dust-laden floor and wrinkling his nose fastidiously at the musty smell.

'I suppose I'd better show you the lie of the place,' he said, a trifle grudgingly, as we stood in the stone-flagged passageway. He pushed open a door to his right. 'This is the downstairs parlour, where my old friend and client, Sir Jasper Crouchback, conducted most of his business, and behind it is the counting-house. The stairs in the corner here lead to the upper parlour and main bedchambers, none of which need concern you; for if the outlaws come, they will be sure to enter on the lower level. Follow me, and I will conduct you to the kitchens and the outhouses°'

We walked along the passageway to a stout, oaken door at the far end, now bolted and barred. With my superior height, I was able to render assistance in withdrawing the bolts from their wards; and by tugging with all my strength on the iron handle of the latch, I finally managed to loosen the wooden leaf, which, swollen by the recent spell of wet weather, had stuck in its frame. We stepped out into a paved courtyard, enclosed on either side by high stone walls. Ahead of us was another block of buildings, whose upper storey was connected to the one at our backs by a roofed-in wooden gallery, supported on struts and running the length of the right-hand wall.

The kitchen, into which I was shown by Oliver Cozin, was much like all other kitchens I have ever been in, with a table in the centre, a water barrel, shelves of pots, pans and suchlike cooking utensils, and ovens built into the thickness of the fireplace brick. A ladder gave access to the storerooms and sleeping quarters of the servants above, while a door in one corner, through which we proceeded, brought us to the workshops, hen-coops, pigsties and stables. The latter had stalls for two horses which, along with the rest of the outbuildings, were again protected by high walls, and approached by an alleyway running between the house and its neighbour. An iron-studded, oaken gate kept out intruders.

After I had looked my fill, we retraced our steps.

'I suggest,' the lawyer said, 'that you sleep in the downstairs parlour and keep a candle burning all night so that its light can be glimpsed, if necessary, through the chinks in the shutters. As you have seen, the outhouses are empty, and robbers, having discovered as much, will naturally assume the house to be unoccupied as well, and venture around to the front.

Signs of life might deter them from forcing an entry.'
 

'And if they don't?' I inquired ironically. 'What am I supposed to do then?'

The lawyer eyed me up and down. 'A great lad like you must be able to defend himself, and is probably used to doing so. You carry a good, thick cudgel and I presume you know how to use it.'

I regarded him straitly. 'These men are killers, or so I've been told. I don't imagine a cudgel to be of much use against them.'

There was a moment's silence, then Oliver Cozin grimaced.

'Chapman, you are, I should guess, a sensible man, and of' greater intelligence than is suggested by your calling. You do not believe, any more than I do, that the outlaws will penetrate beyond the town's defences. Such men do not like enclosed spaces. There is nowhere to run. But my client, Master Colet, who is not a clever man' - there was a slight note of contempt in the lawyer's tone - 'and who is gripped by the general hysteria, fears for his property, and so I do what I can, even if it is just for a night.'

I frowned. 'I thought you said that this house belonged to your old friend, Sir Jasper Crouchback?'

Oliver inclined his head. 'And so it did, once. But he has been dead these five years, and now it is in the possession of his son-in-law, Master Eudo Colet.'

There was a reserve in both his tone and manner that deterred me from asking too many questions. Nevertheless, I could not stop myself from probing a little further.

'Surely,' I said, 'even if this Master Colet and his lady, Sir Jasper's daughter, are not prepared to remain in the house themselves while they conclude the purchase of another property, there can be no shortage of tenants who would be more than willing to occupy it for them. Indeed, such an arrangement would earn them money. So why are they forced to rely on the good offices of a passing traveller?'

Once again, the lawyer's eyes grew wary, while he tried unsuccessfully to appear frank and open.

'My client is a widower, and he does not wish to rent out the house. He wishes to sell. It is only the scourge of these outlaws which has made him uneasy about it standing empty.'
 

I shook my head. 'That does not answer my objection. As Master Colet, for reasons not known to me, is unwilling to remain here himself, then why does he not sell at once?'

'Because a purchaser has not yet been found. Now. let that suffice. You ask too many questions about matters which do not concern you. You have free lodgings for the night. Be content.'

I bowed my head in submission and the lawyer seemed relieved. 'I will leave you now. Here is the key. It fits all locks, should you wish to go out before curfew. You will want food, I daresay. But I saw a supply of candles on a shelf in the kitchen, so you will not need to buy those, at least.'
 

I thanked him gravely and accompanied him, like any good host, to the street door, but as he was about to step across the threshold, he hesitated and turned back.

'Master Colet is... a valuable client,' he said, with some constraint. 'One that I should wish to please. I wonder therefore...' He made a determined effort to smile, trying to make his request sound as natural as possible. 'Would you be willing to remain as a lodger in this house until next Saturday? I am leaving then, for Exeter, and what you do after that is up to you. But I shall have shown myself willing, whilst here, to comply with Master Colet s wishes, and so escape his reproaches.'

'And earned yourself an even fatter fee,' I thought, 'than the one you are charging him already.' Aloud I said, 'I must give the idea some consideration before making my answer. I had not intended to stay in Totnes for more than one night.'
 

'If... if money is short, I might arrange for.., for a small sum to be paid to you.'

I shook my head. 'My purse is, at present, as full as it will hold, Master Cozin. But it is spring, and I need to be on the road. The confinement of four walls is all very well in the winter, when the wind blows from the north, and there is snow and ice underfoot, but once the thaw sets in and the trees begin to leaf then I like to be on the open road. But I promise that I will think about your proposal and let you have my reply in the morning.'

And with that, the lawyer had to be content. After a moment's silence, he said, 'You're an honest man. I do right to trust you. Very well, I will await your verdict tomorrow.

You know where to find me, at my brother's house. And I shall accept your decision whatever it might be. I shan't try to persuade you otherwise.'

I watched him walk away, until he disappeared round a bend in the roadway, then went back inside, closing the front door behind me. The bells of the Priory were only just ringing for Vespers, and it would be light for an hour or two yet.

Time enough later to go out and buy myself food and ale before curfew. Moreover, whatever Oliver Cozin might say, I wished to see all of my new domain. But before I did either, I had need to sit quietly and think. I returned, therefore, to the downstairs parlour, where I dusted the large, carved armchair with the sleeve of my tunic and seated myself; face tilted upwards, so that my eyes were not distracted by my surroundings. And thus, staring at the smoke-blackened ceiling, where cobwebs festooned the corners like folds of grey gauze, I considered my present situation.

Even if my suspicions had not already been aroused, this last exchange with the lawyer would have alerted me to something being wrong. No landlord, or his agent, offers to pay a tenant for living in his house; such a proposal is to turn the world of business dealing upon its head. That apart, however, there were other things which intrigued me. Why did the widowed Eudo Colet not wish to remain here, even though he was worried by a possible attack from the outlaws? And why was the assiduous Master Cozin unable to find a native of the town willing to oblige? Was there no neighbour ready to despatch a son, or one of his men, to play the role of caretaker? And why did there appear to be no single person eager to purchase such a handsome dwelling, even if it were solely for the purpose of renting it out to others? There was only one conclusion to be drawn in answer to all these questions. Something had happened here; some event which had given everyone, including its owner, a distaste or fear of the house. I could think of no other explanation which fitted the facts, so I decided that while there was still enough daylight to see by, the sooner I looked it over, the better. I stood up and fetched my cudgel from beside my pack, having left both of them just inside the street door.

The downstairs parlour, which the late Sir Jasper Crouchback had also used for trading purposes - whatever those might have been - I already knew, with its panelled walls, its pair of finely carved armchairs, large table, handsome fireplace, decorated overmantel and flagged stone floor. There was also a cupboard whose shelves had most probably once contained silver and pewter plate, but whose doors now swung wide to reveal nothing but dust. The twisting comer stair, which led to the upper storey, had a delicately carved banister to help with the ascent. Altogether, this was a room whose furnishings were designed to impress.

By contrast, the counting-house behind did no more than serve its purpose. A greater air of neglect hung about it, as though it had been long unused. A table, a bench, two stools and a stout cupboard, secured by a rusting lock and chain, was all that it contained, while the beaten-earth floor showed no drift of mouldering rushes, nor any other sign of recent occupancy. The walls were a greenish-grey colour, but it was impossible to guess, at the first cursory glance, whether this was caused by dirt, or by potash and sulphur mixed with the wash of lime. There was nothing here of interest, and I returned to the passageway.

I stepped into the courtyard, which was rinsed with a pale golden light in the rays of the westering sun. The covered gallery to my right threw long, slanting shadows across the paving stones, where soft cushions of moss and tall stems of nettle and hairy bittercress were forcing themselves between the uneven flags. The well and the pump stood close to the kitchen door, which I unlocked with my key. There being nothing there that I had not already seen in the company of Master Cozin, I mounted the ladder to the storeroom and servants' quarters above° The same musty odour of damp and disuse met me here as it did everywhere else in the house, and the bareness of the boards, denuded of all hint of human habitation, only served to emphasize the fact that it was surely some months since anyone had slept here. The walls had again been lime-washed, but this time there was no doubt that red oxide had been added to the quick lime to give it a pinkish colour.

A door in the far wall led into the storeroom, which had a faint, lingering scent of apples to sweeten the less pleasant smells. But this, too, was empty except for a sack of grain in the comer. Sharp teeth had torn a hole in the cloth, and corn was spilling on to the floor. A bright-eyed mouse turned to look at me as I entered; then, with a whisk of its tail and a scutter of tiny claws, disappeared into a hole between the boards. In the comer directly opposite me was another door, and this, when unlocked, opened on to the gallery connecting the two blocks of buildings which comprised the whole.

I descended to the kitchen, locked the door from the inside, and returned once more to the storeroom, stepping out on to the covered way and again meticulously locking the door behind me. The planking shook and creaked a little beneath my weight as I walked the length of the courtyard wall, and I was glad of the handrail for support. Nevertheless, the structure seemed safe enough and in no danger of collapsing.