Kate Sedley: The Hanged Man

Edward Herepath cast himself down in the armchair but did not invite me to sit. 'Now,' he snapped, 'what is this nonsense? You weary me, so make it brief.'

'Very well,' I said. 'You killed your brother as surely as if you had strangled him yourself, by arranging the disappearance of William Woodward in circumstances which made it seem that he had been murdered. Is that brief enough?'

He looked at me as though I had taken leave of my senses, then threw back his head and laughed. 'Get out of my house,' he commanded, 'before I have you thrown in prison!'

He was a good actor, and I might have been convinced had I not noticed the nervous twitch at the comer of his mouth. Deep down he was frightened, and was unable completely to conceal the fact. I stood my ground.

'You also attempted the life of William Woodward,' I went on, 'but failed. You left him for dead, but he was found in time by a tin miner from the forest, who took him home and nursed him back to health. Or as much health as was left to him. His mind never recovered, but you couldn't have known a moment's peace during those few months of life remaining to him, in case he suddenly recovered his wits and told the truth.'

'What truth?' Edward Herepath sneered. 'He told the sheriff's officers that he had been abducted by slavers and taken to Ireland, from where he had eventually escaped. Many doubted the story, I know, but I saw no reason to. Meanwhile, my poor unfortunate brother had been hanged for a murder he had not done, though, as Heaven's my witness, no one could be blamed for disbelieving his protestations of innocence. The money — the rents and debts collected on Lady Day by William — was in his possession, and one of the pouches containing it was bloodstained, as was the breast of his jerkin. Furthermore, several days later, William's hat, also bloodstained, was fished out of the Frome.' The sneer became more pronounced. 'Are you claiming that William arranged all these things himself?'

'With your help and guidance, yes. Oh, you couldn't force your brother to steal the money, that I admit. It was the one risk you had to run in your otherwise carefully laid plan. But given Robert's character, the fact that he was wild and constantly in debt, it was a very small risk.

Mistress Walker told me that you admitted to informing your brother that William was to hold the money for you until your return from Gloucester.' It was I who laughed this time. 'You carefully make an arrangement with your rent collector, the whole purpose of which is to ensure that Robert and the money are not under the same roof during your absence, and then you let the information slip? That made me suspicious of you from the very first. It would have been the action of an incompetent fool, and that you most certainly are not.'

Edward Herepath came to his feet with a sudden movement which was surprisingly lithe in so heavily built a man. I was not expecting it and, caught off-guard, lost my balance and fell to the floor, pinned down beneath his weight. His hands found my throat while I was still struggling to free my arms, and had begun to tighten their grip when I managed, using all my strength, to throw him off.

Before I could scramble to my feet, however, he was at me again, his murderous intent plainly written on his face.

He had had time to reflect that I knew too much, that I had at least one witness to William Woodward's being in the neighbourhood of Gloucester when Edward himself was known to have been staying there; sufficient to plant the seeds of doubt in people's minds. I could not be allowed to tell my story, and my death was the only way to stop me. He had, as I well knew, a subtler, surer means of death at his command, but it would not serve his purpose. It had to seem that he had killed me while defending himself, and with only the two of us in the house, he could make up whatever story he pleased to satisfy the sheriff.

The murderous hands were almost at my throat again, but now I was ready and rolled beyond his reach. At the same time, I grabbed the top of the coffer and hauled myself to my feet. Edward Herepath was swiftly up as well and swung his fist in a well-aimed blow at my jaw.

Fortunately I saw it coming, and jerked my head back so that it merely grazed my chin. He lost his balance, clutched at me for support and, a moment later, we were once more on the floor, locked in a lover-like embrace.

Had he been wearing a knife, he would not have scrupled to use it, and it was my good fortune that there was no such weapon to hand. He was a strong man; not so strong as I was when in the best of health, but my strength had been sapped by my illness, and by undertaking my recent journey before I was really well. And he had the advantage that, if he murdered me, he could explain the killing, whereas my salvation rested on keeping him alive.

As I felt my limbs begin to turn to water, I was filled with panic. My senses were swimming and my body was running with sweat. My adversary scented victory and, with a last great effort, he managed to get on top of me and plant one knee on my chest. I clutched desperately at his wrists, but his splayed hands fought their way nearer and nearer to my throat. In another minute, his thumbs would gouge at my windpipe…

The door opened, although neither Edward Herepath nor I was aware of it until a horrified voice exclaimed, 'Stop it! Stop it! Whatever is going on here? Both of you, get up!'

Edward Herepath's arms went limp; the spread fingers relaxed and, with one heave, I dislodged him, scrambling to my feet. I saw his eyes widen with horror at the sight of Cicely Ford, standing in the doorway. Leaning against the coffer, I drew several deep breaths in order to clear my head.

The girl closed the parlour door behind her and advanced into the room. She was still clutching her missal, but had rid herself of the candle. She looked pale but composed.

'I was correct, then,' she said. 'I had this unaccountable feeling that something was wrong. I could not explain it, either to Dame Freda or to myself, and tried to shake it off. But at the very door of St Ewen's, I had to turn back and come home. Edward, what has happened? And Master Chapman, what are you doing here? When we met earlier, you did not say that you had business with my guardian.'

Edward Herepath had by now got up from the floor, and he sank once more into his chair. He was sweating, his skin grey with fear, but he was not yet ready to admit defeat. He gave an unpleasant laugh. 'You may well ask the pedlar what he is doing here! He has come with some pernicious story, accusing me of murdering my own brother.'

'Robert?' Cicely's breath caught in her throat as she uttered the name. 'How could you? He was… he was… hanged.' She repeated, 'Hanged,' as though facing up to the word and all its implications for the very first time.

Her guardian nodded. 'And so the chapman knows full well. You may judge for yourself why I lost my temper, and so far forgot myself as to attack him.'

Cicely Ford turned towards me, her delicate oval features rigid with anger. 'What have you to say for yourself, Master Chapman?' She added reproachfully, 'I thought you my friend.'

'And so I am,' I answered levelly. 'I am also a friend to the truth, and I repeat that Master Herepath here killed his brother as surely as if he had set the noose about his neck with his own two hands. He also tried to murder William Woodward.'

'That's a foolish lie!' Her scorn was palpable. 'Edward was in Gloucester when William was abducted.'

'But Master Woodward was not abducted,' I said. Now that I was no longer in danger of violence from Edward Herepath — for he would hardly dare attack me in front of his ward — I felt myself to be once more in command of the situation. When Cicely Ford started to protest at this statement, I interrupted. 'If you would be willing to sit down and listen to me, you may judge my story for yourself.'