Michael Jecks - The Butcher of St Peter's

And then Emma killed herself.

Ach, the horror of that night would never leave him. It never could. And now he longed so much for the family he had once possessed that he would sometimes go and see other folk’s. Not to hurt anyone, just to look. To see what his little darling girl might have been like now, had she lived. She would have been nine or so now. A little girl like that one of Daniel Austyn’s. Perhaps if Emma had lived, they might have made another child, a boy this time. He could be like that lad of Reginald Gylla’s — Michael. He was a good-looking little fellow. And then there was the Carters’ boy down in Stepcote Lane. All of them so perfect, especially in their sleep. He would go sometimes to look at them, just to watch them as they slept, so perfect, so beautiful, so unbearably alive and fit, when his own precious little petal was nothing now, only yellowish bones in the red soil of the cathedral’s yard, unbaptized, a soul wandering lost in the wilderness, never to find her way to Heaven …

‘Christ Jesus!’ he groaned, curling into a ball with the pain and grief. God had decreed this fate for him, and he had no idea what crime he could have committed which merited so unkind a punishment.

A priest had once told him that he shouldn’t be concerned, because those who suffered most on earth would be the first to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Est had looked at him in horror. What purpose would there be in his walking through those gates if he could never see his two loves? None.

There was a fresh sensation. It was like a lion’s claw in his belly, the nails raking his stomach from within, and the pain wouldn’t leave him. He had to eat something. He had felt this before; many times before. It began as a griping like this, and soon he would be curled up on himself, unaware of anything but his grief. One day, perhaps, if he was brave enough, he would leave it a little too long, and his pain would overwhelm him, and at last he would leave this cruel world.

But not today. Today he needed food. Slowly, he unwrapped his arms from about his body and forced himself to stand. He was lonely, so lonely … and so scared.

He kept seeing the look in that little girl’s eyes as he ran away. It terrified him.

‘How does he live? Does he beg?’ Sir Peregrine asked.

‘He has a house of his own, and he still works when he needs the money. I think that most butchers at the fleshfold use him often enough, and they’ll let him take a cut of meat to keep him going. But he can’t work all the time.’

‘What else does he do, then?’ Baldwin pressed him.

‘He walks and he mutters to himself,’ Saul said stolidly. ‘He has been wrecked by the loss of his wife.’

‘Is it he who has entered other men’s houses?’ Baldwin asked.

Saul looked away as though unwilling to respond, but then nodded. ‘Who else? He means no harm, though.’

‘He’s killed a man,’ Sir Peregrine grated.

‘Nah! That wasn’t Est killed Daniel.’

‘You have even told us why,’ Sir Peregrine said. ‘Because Daniel was arse enough to try to beat him when all he wanted was a patch of ground to bury his poor woman!’

Saul looked at him, but it was Baldwin who voiced his thoughts. ‘Why, though? Why wait all these years and suddenly attack the fellow just now?’

Saul nodded. ‘I know him well. All of us do. I found him in my place a couple of times. Last time, I sat down with him and gave him some wine. He didn’t speak, just wept silently. Not for himself, but for his daughter, I think.’

‘He wanted to rape your child and you let him stay there?’ Sir Peregrine asked, appalled.

‘I don’t know where you get ideas like that, Coroner,’ Saul said with quiet contempt. ‘Est is no rapist, nor is he a sodomite. He just wanted to see my lad. I think that the only peace he ever knows is when he sees healthy children sleeping. He can’t cope with them awake, but he is entranced by the sight of them asleep — and scared too.’

‘Why scared?’ Baldwin asked.

‘I think because he hates to think of them alone in their chambers with no one there to guard them.’

‘You put locks on your doors after he got in the second time, though?’ Sir Peregrine asked.

‘Why’d I do that? No, as soon as we moved our son into our own bedchamber, Est knew my lad was safe. From that day on, he never tried to break in again. All he wants is to see children safe and well. He would never hurt them.’

‘But he might carry a knife to protect them from others,’ Sir Peregrine guessed. ‘And if a man appeared suddenly, carrying a weapon, Est might be shocked into thinking that it was a murderer come to harm the children, and strike first. I think that explains the whole matter, Sir Baldwin! Where does this Est live, Saul?’

‘Take us there, please,’ Baldwin said, but it was not a request.

Saul stood reluctantly. ‘I won’t see you hurt him. He’s no harm to anyone.’

Baldwin said soothingly, ‘I wouldn’t wish to see him hurt either. All I wish is an opportunity to talk to him, and find out whether he was there that evening. Someone was in there, and did kill Daniel.’

As he made that statement, he suddenly wondered again. He was assuming that the evidence of Daniel’s wife was truthful, but what if it wasn’t? What if she was lying? In that case, it might mean that there was no intruder, that the murder was a treasonous attack by a woman on her husband.

As they left the inn and made their way eastwards along the road towards the alley where Estmund lived, Baldwin could not but ask, ‘What of Daniel? Was he a good father? If Est was in there and saw Daniel beating his children, how would he have reacted?’

‘Wouldn’t matter, would it?’ Saul shrugged. ‘Daniel was in his own home, dealing with his own family.’

‘True, but if Est saw him mistreating them, how would he respond to that?’

‘He’d not go in.’

Sir Peregrine scoffed. ‘You mean to tell me that after all these years of wandering the city to peep in at other men’s children, because of losing his own, if he saw one of the little darlings being assaulted he wouldn’t do anything about it? It sounds to me more as though he’d jump into that room and kill the man attacking the children he so adored.’

‘What do you say to that, Saul?’ Baldwin asked.

‘It’s wrong. Est wouldn’t pick a fight with anyone.’

‘Not even Daniel, the man who had prevented his burying his wife?’

‘If anyone would hurt Daniel for that, it’d be Henry.’

‘The man who was crippled by him.’ Baldwin nodded. ‘I shall have to speak to him.’

They were soon at the house, a scruffy place on the alley, one of a few of about the same size, but although Saul hammered loudly on the door there was no answer. Baldwin looked at Sir Peregrine, who told Saul he could go, provided he was available for the inquest later, and they waited until he had disappeared round the corner before speaking.

Sir Peregrine was first to speak. ‘I have lost a child and lover, Sir Baldwin. I know how I felt about it. And I can tell you now: I would have slaughtered any petty-minded fool who told me not to bury her where I saw fit.’

‘Even now?’

‘Certainly. I would feel the same in ten years, or twenty.’

‘That makes sense … but would you delay your assault until ten years afterwards? Why should Est have been so slow to avenge the insult?’ Baldwin asked, his brow knotted.

‘I don’t know, but we shall hopefully discover that too before long,’ Sir Peregrine said. ‘Perhaps for now we ought to consider searching for this Estmund Webber and calling the inquest into Daniel’s death. More can be learned there than here. If you don’t mind, Sir Baldwin, I shall go and begin to arrange matters for the inquest itself. It should be conducted as soon as possible. At least we now have a likely murderer, rather than the widow. Will you be able to attend this afternoon?’