The False Virgin (44 page)

‘I wasn’t sent by the sheriff.’

Richard drew back against the wall, his body rigid, staring up at Grey as if trying to recall why he seemed familiar. Clearly the shock of the arrest had fuddled his wits.

In such a small space it was awkward trying to talk when Grey was towering over the prisoner. He realised that even in his present mood, making Richard feel as if he was being intimidated would
only make him more stubborn. Grey crouched down in the straw so that he was level with him. The stench of dung and stale animal piss did not repel him as it would his fellow clerics. He’d
grown up with it.

‘Master Richard, I called at your house on the night of the murder. I came looking for the reliquary. I’ve orders to take it to be examined to see if it is genuine.’

Grey phrased his next words carefully. He didn’t want to make Richard think his wife or servants had betrayed him – not unless it became necessary.

‘I discovered the reliquary had been moved from the chest where you had placed it for safekeeping. Did you—’

‘He stole it!’ Richard said vehemently. ‘I came home in the afternoon and recognised that little weasel’s horse tethered a short distance from the house. I hurried in,
expecting to find him in the winter parlour, but it was empty. I went upstairs to the solar and I saw the chest had been broken into. I heard a door bang, looked out of the window and saw him
running away across the courtyard.’

‘You recognised the thief ?’

‘Of course I did, I’m not a fool. It was Edward Thornton. But I didn’t kill him, though I would have had every reason. I gave chase simply to recover the reliquary. Once we
reached the forest I was gaining on him, even though he’d had a good start on me; my horse is the younger and stronger, and his beast was beginning to tire. It was dark by that time and he
rounded the bend of the track ahead of me. But when I came round the curve there was no sight of him on the road. I realised he must have turned from the track to try to shake me off. It was only
when I came back down the track that I saw the path leading off through the trees and that’s when I noticed the Hutt beyond. The moon was glinting off the stones.’

‘You saw him go in and followed him,’ Grey said.

Richard rubbed his neck, trying to ease his stiff shoulders. ‘I glimpsed Edward by the door, but before I’d even dismounted he’d slipped inside. I knew how the little
rat’s mind was working. He imagined I’d carry on down the track for miles, leaving him free to ride back to Blidworth, brazen as a cock on a dung heap. Then he could return at his
leisure to retrieve what he had stolen from me. But I’m not a fool. I hid my horse well away from the Hutt and I crept up to the door, planning to catch him hiding the reliquary. It was
pitch-dark in the Hutt, and I’d taken only a pace or two inside when I tripped over something lying on the floor . . .’ He paused, rubbing his eyes as if trying to wipe the memory from
his mind.

‘What happened then?’ Grey prompted softly.

‘I . . . I was shaken up by the fall. Must have lain there a minute or two trying to get my breath. I clambered up and I started groping round to find out what I’d fallen over. I
thought it was a dead animal. I’d only just discovered it was a man when those fools of wardens came bursting in and accused me of murder!’

‘And it would be perfectly understandable if you had murdered Edward,’ Grey said soothingly. ‘After all, a brother guild member breaks in and steals a valuable object, and when
you demand its return, he threatens you, attacks you, and in the heat of the moment . . . I’m sure a jury would be sympathetic.’

Grey thought it politic not to remind Richard that he was as much a thief as Edward.

Richard slammed his fist against his leg. ‘Are you deaf? I told you he was already dead when I found him. If I’d got my hands on the louse I would have cleaved him in two and hung
him up like the pig he is. But I didn’t get a chance. Someone else got there first.’

Grey tried to maintain an understanding tone. ‘You say you saw Edward enter the Hutt. Did you see anyone leave?’

‘Yes, yes, I did!’ Richard pounced on the idea, a little too eagerly. ‘That’s exactly what I saw, someone running from the Hutt after Edward went in. Whoever it was took
off along the path in the opposite direction to me.’

Grey knew he was lying. The wardens had been walking towards the Hutt. Anyone running away would have charged straight past them and they were adamant they’d only seen Richard enter, no
one leaving. They’d no reason to speak anything but the truth.

‘It was dark,’ Grey reminded him. ‘Didn’t you think it was Edward you were seeing leaving the Hutt and chase after him?’

Richard hesitated. ‘It didn’t look like Edward . . . the man was . . . was taller, broader. Besides, I was only interested in recovering the reliquary. So I saw no point in charging
after him and I went straight into the Hutt to search for it.’

Grey heard the bluster in his voice and was convinced Richard had only just thought of this.

‘And did you find it?’

‘Haven’t you even got the wits you were born with?’ Richard snapped. ‘I didn’t get a chance to search the Hutt. I told you, I fell over Edward’s body in the
dark and then those numbskulls lumbered in, dragged me out and tied me to a tree. They refused to let me go back inside.’ He leaned forward, staring into Grey’s face. ‘Have you
found it? Was it in there?’

‘We searched thoroughly, Master Richard. The reliquary isn’t there. Wherever Master Edward hid it, it was not in the Hutt.’ A thought struck Grey and he plucked at his lip.
‘How would Edward have known you had the reliquary in the house? Did you tell him?’

‘Him! I’d have told Cromwell himself before telling Edward. I didn’t even tell my wife. It could only have been Father James who betrayed me. He didn’t want the reliquary
removed from the church. He probably put Edward up to this. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were in on this together. That priest’s already tried once to trick me into giving it to him,
so when that didn’t work, he arranged to have it stolen. It’s Father James behind all of this. He probably killed Edward himself, once he’d brought him the reliquary. You know,
the more I think of it, the more certain I am it
was
that priest I saw running away from the Hutt. I’d swear to it.’

Grey didn’t believe for one moment that Richard had seen anyone running from the Hutt, much less Father James, but he was convinced that Richard had pursued Edward
because he genuinely believed he had stolen the reliquary, and had killed him. Certainly the theft would have given a man like Richard reason enough, and that made a great deal more sense than Sir
Layton’s belief that Edward had lured Richard to the Hutt with the intention of murdering him.

But if Richard had followed Edward in close pursuit, how had the man managed to stop off along the route and hide Beornwyn’s statue? If he had it with him, he’d surely try to hide it
in the Hutt. But he hadn’t had much time to conceal it there, so why hadn’t they found it?

Grey left the lockup and made his way slowly towards the church. He had no idea if Father James would be inside, but was pleased to find the door of the church standing open. But when he stepped
inside it was not the priest he saw.

A spindly young lad was standing up near the altar. He seemed to be handing something to a man standing in the shadow of one of the pillars. The boy spun round as he heard the sound of footsteps
on the flagstones. As he turned, a meaty hand shot out from behind the pillar and cuffed the boy’s head.

‘I’ve told you before, brat. You can’t leave offerings before the statue of the Virgin Mary. ’Gainst the law, it is. Don’t let me catch you again.’

The lad turned and ran back down the church. Grey tried to block his way, but the boy was too nimble. He evaded his grasp and was out of the door before Grey could stop him.

The man, whom Grey took to be the churchwarden, emerged from behind the pillar and ambled down the church, shaking his head.

‘Can’t get the new laws into their heads, some of them. Old women, it is mostly, won’t give up the old ways, but you get a few of the young ones at it, too. That lad’s
one of the worst, devoted to the Church he is. Should have been a priest or a monk, by rights, not a butcher’s boy. I do my best to keep ’em out, but I’ve my own business to
attend to. Can’t be here every minute to watch ’em and they sneak in behind my back.’

From the stench of wet fish that clung to his skin and clothes, Grey could make a good guess as to what the man’s business might be. He glanced at the warden’s hands, scarred with a
hundred old nicks and scratches, but they were empty. Whatever he taken from the lad had disappeared quicker than a starving dog gobbles a scrap.

‘What did the boy give you?’

The man gave a puzzled smile. ‘Me? Nowt. He was trying to leave some tawdry at the feet of the Virgin Mary, but, as you saw, I sent him packing.’

Grey was certain he had seen the boy hand something over. But he didn’t press the matter. Better the warden confiscate the offering than leave it with the lad to try again.

‘What’s the boy’s name?’

‘Alan. Master Richard’s apprentice.’ Yarrow shook his head sorrowfully. ‘Bad business, bad business. But can’t say I’m surprised. Only a matter of time, if
you ask me. Master Richard always did have a violent temper. I reckon young Alan there would testify to that. Lashed out at the lad regularly, he did, and at his wife, too, so the market crones
say. Not that you can set much store by women’s gossip.’

That was motive enough for any hot-headed apprentice to commit murder, Grey thought, especially if he attacked the wrong man in the dark.

‘Did you happen to see Alan the night Edward was murdered?’

Yarrow gave a wry smile. ‘ ’Course I saw him. Had to drive him out of here, so I could lock up at dusk.’

If the boy had borrowed a horse and ridden to the Hutt, he would have had time to get there before Richard, and he was certainly slim enough to squeeze out through that window at the back, or
even to have hidden inside until the wardens were occupied chasing Richard and then slipped out of the door. But even so, it didn’t seem likely that he could have killed Edward. The lad was
so skinny, he’d have had trouble overpowering a cat, never mind a grown man with the brawn and muscles of a butcher. All the same, Grey resolved to speak to Alan as soon as he could. In his
experience, inquisitive boys often noticed more than adults realised, especially the quiet ones.

‘Where is Beornwyn’s reliquary now?’ Grey asked suddenly, hoping the abrupt change of subject might catch the man off guard.

But Yarrow was not thrown. ‘Father James took it. You’ll have to ask him what he did with it. For all I know he’s chopped it into firewood. Up at this church at least twice a
day, I am. It’s as well I never took a wife, for she’d still be a virgin waiting on me to come home. The church would fall down round the vicar’s ears if it wasn’t for me
tending to it night and day. But for all that, I’m the last person he’d consult about such things as reliquaries. I’m only the churchwarden, after all!’

There was a bitter note in his voice. Clearly there was no love wasted between the churchwarden and his parish priest.

‘Richard Whitney tells me it was he, not Father James, who removed the reliquary from the church,’ Grey said. ‘He hid it in his house and Richard believes Edward Thornton stole
the statue from him, which is why Richard pursued him to the Hutt. But if he did, the reliquary was not found with his body. Have you any idea where Edward might have hidden it?’

The churchwarden laughed. ‘There’s a bloody great forest out there, or hadn’t you noticed? If Edward hid it, I reckon that’s where you want to be looking, but even if you
had every soldier in King Henry’s army hunting for it, they could search till their beards turn white and they’d still not discover every hollow tree or thicket or yard of leaf mould
where a man might bury such a thing. Can’t see why you’re even bothering to question folk. If St Beornwyn’s vanished, then you’ve got what you wanted, for no man will be
able to worship her relics now.’

‘I’ve known other reliquaries
vanish
until the enforcers have left a parish, then miraculously they reappear,’ Grey said.

Yarrow shook his head. ‘That might be true for other parishes, but unless dead men can talk, there’s no likelihood of St Beornwyn appearing in this church again. Edward’s taken
that secret to his grave.’

He moved past Grey and stood at the door of the church, pointedly holding it open and swinging the ring of iron keys around the great knuckle of his finger. Grey took the hint.

The small row of shops in the village was bustling, for it was Christmas Eve and every woman in the village wanted to prepare a fine feast. Neighbours would be calling on each other daily, for
it was said to bring good luck for the following year to eat a minced pie on each of the twelve days of Christmas in a different house and no goodwife wanted to be shamed by others whispering that
her pies were not as good as the next woman’s.

Such superstition annoyed Grey, although it was as much because he remembered the shame of his own childhood as for any religious objection. Unlike the other boys, his mother never cooked such
delicacies, for who would brave the stink of the tanner’s yard to eat with them?

He threaded his way through the women struggling with baskets and bundles. They jostled around the wares laid out on the open benches in front of the little houses. The exotic smell of aniseed,
mace, nutmeg and cloves from the grocer’s stall mingled with stench of eels, herring and dried cod from the fishmonger, while the fragrant steam of newly baked bread and spiced meat pies made
the stomach grumble to be fed.

The crowd seemed thickest round the butcher’s stall. Hunks of bloody meat and offal were ranged along a stone bench. A harassed-looking woman was slicing a fat purple cow’s tongue,
while a strapping young man was tying a rope around the back legs of a skinned goat and heaving it onto one of the vicious-looking iron hooks that stuck out from under the overhanging upper storey
of the building behind. The carcass of the goat swayed gently as spots of blood splashed onto the cobbles below.