Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

‘Honestly, you have nothing to worry about.’

‘Are you mad? We are just servants here. You talk as if we’re secure!’

‘Master won’t throw us out,’ Jen said confidently. ‘We are perfectly safe here.’

‘No, Jen. You don’t know the man like I do — he’d throw you out in a blink if he thought it would make his life easier.’

‘He loves me.’

Sarra was silenced for a moment. She stopped and turned slowly to face Jen. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said: “He loves me.” ’

Sarra stared for a moment, and then, disconcertingly, laughed aloud. ‘Are you mad? Look at the way he watches his wife, Jen! He has eyes for no one else at all.’

‘You haven’t seen how he looks at me. I have seen it in his eyes. Even this morning, when he arrived back from his ride, heoffered himself to me. Asked me if I wanted him, and it was only my shyness stopped me from asking for him there and then!’

‘Jen, honest, he’d not do anything to upset his lady. If he offered you a tumble tonight, well, that’s one thing …’

‘A tumble? You’re stupid , you are! If you can’t see the love in his face, you’re blind! Don’t you know that every time he sees me his whole face lightsup? Haven’t you seen how he thrills when I walk into a room? He is embarrassed when his wife enters. She is so hard and cruelto him, it is a miracle that he never beats her. Better that he did, perhaps. Or just asked for a divorce. Then he and I could…’

‘No!’ Sarra grabbed her upper arms and shook her. ‘Jen, you mustn’t think like that. If you want, let him have you some night. Let him — well, you can’t stop him. But don’t try to convince yourself that you’re his lady love. You are his servant, andnothing more than that. You won’t ever be more than that to him. You can’t be! He’s married, and he’s not going to leave hislady.’

‘You just don’t understand,’ Jen said calmly. She glanced down at Sarra’s hands, and gradually Sarra loosened her grip, standingback, eyeing Jen with mingled alarm and concern. Jen shook her head. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll not forget you, dearest Sarra. Evenif I marry him, I can’t forget my oldest friend.’

Sarra shook her head and began to weep as she realised she was serious.

Exeter City

Baldwin had knocked on enough doors asking to see the recently bereaved to recognise the signs, but there was something about widow Mucheton that struck him more than almost any.

It was not that she was beautiful. Even when her face was not ravaged with grief she would have been plain at best, with aface slightly too round, her eyes a little close-set, her mouth thin and hard. Her complexion was pale, but that was probablylargely due to the grief, Baldwin reckoned.

No, it was the obvious distress that affected him. So often women were so inured to the idea of death — it was such a majorpart of life, after all — that even when a close and loved person died, they would steel themselves and try to show littleof their misery. People simply did not show their feelings like that. A man or woman had to have pride, and believe in thepromise of the Church that they would see their loved ones again.

This woman would have none of that. She was distraught, and she was content that her neighbours should know it.

‘Mistress?’ Baldwin said quietly. ‘Would you mind if we were to ask you some questions? We seek your husband’s murderer.’

‘Come inside,’ she said after a moment. It was not that she was reflecting, more that she could only think slowly now, since theloss of her man.

It was a small room, but well maintained. The floor actually had some tiles set into the dirt to walk on. They ran to theedge of the hearth, which was delineated by a circle of little red stones, much the same rough stones as had been used tomake Exeter’s walls. A single chair stood near it, clearly Norman’s own, while a stool sat by a table in the corner. That Norman had been wealthy was proved by the two tapestries on one wall, but more generally by the feeling of comfort. Therewas a sideboard with pots and three pewter plates on it, a large box for clothing, and a pantry cupboard in a corner. Candlesilluminated the room, and Baldwin could see that there was a ladder climbing to the floor above. When he glanced up at it,he saw a pair of faces peering down at him: two children.

She made an effort to show that she was functioning, and offered them some food and ale, which Baldwin quickly declined, glaringferociously at the coroner as he did so. All to no avail.

‘Mistress, if you have a little good, strong ale, that would be most kindly received.’

The barrels, two of them, stood on a trestle at the far wall, and she took a pot from the sideboard to fill. But as she walkedfrom the shelves, her apron snagged at the edge. The whole structure moved, and two pots tumbled down to the tiled floor,where both smashed.

She stood as though stunned by this latest disaster. Pots and pans were not overly expensive, but to a widow with no income,to lose two at a stroke was a disaster. As Baldwin watched, her face slowly wrinkled with despair, and then her eyes closed as her misery overwhelmed her again.

‘Coroner, fetch her some ale,’ he commanded harshly, while he himself stood and took her hand to try to comfort her. It tooksome little while, but at last she drew some deep, shuddering breaths, and drank deeply from the cup which the coroner proffered.

‘Thank you, masters. I am sorry to be so weakly.’

‘Mistress, you deserve only sympathy after your sad loss,’ Baldwin said.

‘You are kind. I miss him so!’

Before she could dissolve into tears again, Baldwin patted her hand. ‘What did he do, your husband?’

‘My Norman? He was an honest man.’

‘Of course.’

‘He was an antler worker. He made combs and other devices.’

Baldwin nodded encouragingly. He knew of such workers: they would take a complete set of antlers and cut them carefully intodiscrete parts, and then saw each down to specific sizes. A comb would be made as a composite, with two blanks for each sideof the handle, more inserted between them with cuts to create the teeth, and usually another composite section, a sheath intowhich the teeth would be thrust for safekeeping. An antler could be used for making almost anything. Even the harder, bonierpart from near the skull itself could be cut into cubes and dots burned into it to create dice. Little would go to waste.

Seeing his calm interest, the widow wiped at her eyes and concentrated, sitting on her stool and sniffing.

‘Had he been working on the night he died?’ Baldwin asked.

‘That was Monday last. Yes, he’d been here in his room all day, and then when it grew later, he walked out to the tavern for a fill of ale.’

‘There was nothing apparently upsetting him?’

‘My man?’ She smiled. It made her look a little younger. ‘Nothing ever got to him. So long as he had his work in the daytimeand an ale or two at night, he was ever happy. So were we …’ Her eyes were drawn up to the children overhead. ‘We allwere.’

‘Why should he have travelled along that alley? Do you know?’ Baldwin asked.

Her face fractured again, and her mouth was drawn down into an upturned bow. She closed her eyes, but then opened them again,and now there was an angry glitter in them. ‘Those bitches over the way have been saying he was going to the stews, to visitthe draggle-tails in their brothels — but, sir, he wouldn’t have. He never did before. Always home here, he was, as soon ashe left the tavern. You ask any of the men there. They’ll all vouch for him. He was as honest as a man could be.’