Kate Sedley - The Plymouth Cloak

I was equally determined, however, to ask one more.

'What does knotgrass mean to you?' I demanded.

He was sufficiently astonished to be betrayed into a reply.

'Knotgrass?' he said, opening his eyes. 'It's a plant. A weed. Why should it mean anything to me?'

'No reason,' I answered, rising. 'But you're sure it has no 'special significance for you?’

’None whatsoever!' was the emphatic response.

I nodded and rapped on the door to let the guard know that I was about to come out, in case he thought Jeremiah Fletcher was trying to escape.

'All right, maister?' Luke asked me.

'I think your prisoner could do with food and water. I'll request Mistress Overy to see that he's fed.'

I made my obeisance in front of the altar, then went outside. The hay had been unloaded, but the empty cart still stood in the middle of the courtyard. The carter had arrived to claim his property some time ago, or so I deduced from the fact that he and John Groom were seated on the bench outside the servants' quarters and were sipping ale together like lifelong friends. They were so deep in wide-eyed conversation that they did not even notice me as I crossed to the kitchen and made my plea on the prisoner's behalf to Mistress Overy. She, good soul, proved as sympathetic to his needs as I had expected her to be.

'Supper won't be long,' she said, despatching one of the kitchen-maids to assemble a tray of food for Jeremiah Fletcher.

'How's your throat? Can you eat?'

I sniffed the air. 'If supper tastes as good as it smells, I'll force myself, however great the effort.' She laughed and I went on: 'Where's Silas Bywater? Have you seen him lately?'

She looked surprised. 'Didn't you know? He's gone.'

I stared at her, momentarily struck dumb with surprise.

When eventually I found my voice, I asked: 'How can he be gone? Who gave him permission? And why has the hue and cry not been raised? We were all to remain on the manor until the Sheriff's officer arrives.'

'But matters stand differently now,' Janet argued comfortably. 'The murderer is under lock and key. You know him. He is the man, according to your story, who has already made two attempts on Master Underdown's life. Furthermore, he was taken in the act of trying to strangle you when you caught him stealing from your belongings. Silas Bywater wished to be on his way, and neither Alwyn nor I saw any reason to detain him longer. The Sergeant will have no need to question anyone except yourself.' She turned to stir the contents of a pot hanging over the fire, adding curiously: 'By the way, did this Jeremiah Fletcher find what he was looking for?' I shook my head absently. 'How long ago did Silas leave?'

She straightened her back, spoon in hand, and considered me doubtfully. 'While you were questioning the prisoner in the chapel robe-room. Why? You are not thinking of going after him, surely?'

'There are things I still want to ask him. If I hurry, I may catch him up.'

The housekeeper banged down the spoon on the table.

'You and your questions!' she exclaimed with angry impatience. 'What do they do except make more trouble for all of us? Why can't you accept the fact that the murderer is caught?'

I had been moving towards the kitchen door, but such was the vehemence of her tone that I paused and looked at her.

For the first time, I wondered if Janet knew a little more about Philip's death than she had so far admitted. She had certainly been at great pains to persuade me that no one in or around Trenowth could have any knowledge of the murder.

She had seized on the existence of Jeremiah Fletcher to convince me that there could be only one possible killer.

I hesitated, then decided against voicing my suspicions. If I were wrong, I should only incur her ill-will; if right, then my silence might eventually cause her to make a slip and point me in the direction of Philip's real murderer. I could not explain, even to myself, why I was so reluctant to accept what seemed so obvious to everyone else, that Jeremiah Fletcher, by his own admission a paid assassin, had successfully carried out his instructions. I suppose, looking back from the distance of years, the answer is that somewhere in my mind I already knew the identity of the killer. All the knowledge was there, with the exception of one vital piece, just waiting to be assembled in the proper order.

I heaved a great sigh and let my hands hang slack at my side. 'You're right,' I said meekly. 'I've caused nothing but trouble for you and Isobel Warden and her husband. I'm sorry.'

Relief at my capitulation made her genial in an instant.

'That's all right, lad. You're not bred to this kind of thing, any more than the rest of us. And I must take some of the blame for encouraging your suspicions about Isobel in the first place. I thought myself that it was her Master Underdown had gone to meet, when all the time it was this Jeremiah Fletcher. He admits to the killing, does he?'

'To the first two attempts, yes, but denies the actual deed.'

Janet snorted contemptuously. 'Well, no one is going to believe that! Certainly not the Sheriffs officer. He's seen too many villains in his time to be taken in by such a story. And once he's heard from you the true version of events, he'll have no doubts whatsoever.'

There I could agree with her. So neat a solution to the murder could not but appeal to one already hard pressed by the march of far more important happenings in the country.

Comishmen were arming themselves against the possibility, even the probability, of invasion and had little time to spare at present for other distractions. The Sergeant from Launceston Castle would be only too pleased to be able to report to Sir John Arundel the happy outcome of a case which, if left unsolved, might have brought down upon their heads much royal displeasure. So he would not be seeking any other solution to the mystery of who killed Philip Underdown.

Jeremiah Fletcher's protestations of innocence, if he bothered to make any, would go unregarded. I recalled with a wry smile my earlier hope that I might be able to keep Philip's mission a secret from the Sheriff's officer. I had been too optimistic and too naive, but at least the Queen's relatives were not involved, which would spare the King and his family much embarrassment. Looking back, I could see that I had been far too indiscreet, an innocent cast adrift in a world of intrigue. Had the Earl of Oxford's invasion of St Michael's Mount never happened, and everything gone according to plan, it would not have mattered. Philip would have been in Brittany by now, the King's letter safely delivered, and I would have been on the road again, happy and contented.

Janet's voice interrupted my thoughts. 'You have it safe? That letter that's caused all the trouble?'

If I fingered the left-hand edge of my jerkin, I could feel the stiff crackle of parchment between the leather and the lining, but I refrained from doing so and merely nodded.

'How long to supper?' I asked. 'I'm hungry.' 'When are you not?' she scolded gently. She dipped her spoon into the pot and tasted its contents. 'A little while yet, but not too long. Go outside and get some air, but don't go far. And don't go chasing after Silas Bywater.'

'I won't,' I promised, suddenly feeling very weary. All that had happened that day, from the discovery of Philip's body to being nearly throttled twice, with all my exertions in between, was at last beginning to take its toll. What did it matter if the questions I wanted to ask Silas Bywater were never put to him? If a self-confessed murderer was convicted for a crime he hadn't committed? The energy which had coursed through me for the past hours was abruptly quenched.

The only thing I wanted to do at the moment was to sleep. I stretched my arms until the bones cracked and yawned hugely.