Michael Jecks - The Butcher of St Peter's

‘I will be there,’ Baldwin said, but without enthusiasm. Just now his breast was giving him not a little pain, and he would have preferred to return to his inn and his bed.

Sir Peregrine marched off back towards the street at the top of the alley, where he paused a moment. As Baldwin watched, he saw the knight turn left, to head west along Smythen Street.

Edgar saw it too. ‘If I was a betting man, I’d think he was not going straight to arrange an inquest, but first to make sure that a widow was not too distressed by the questions of his brutal associate.’

‘His associate must be brutal indeed for the noble knight to have noticed,’ Baldwin grunted, and began to walk slowly after Sir Peregrine. ‘I crave a place to rest awhile. My bones ache within me.’

Agnes had gone, thank God! Juliana wasn’t sure that she could cope much longer with that supercilious expression of hers. It was so knowing, and so accusatory, as if Juliana had ruined her whole life’s joy when she took Daniel from her. Well, that was ridiculous, and Juliana wouldn’t think about it … She was so unhappy!

Hugging Cecily as her two children sobbed, she felt the tears welling again. Daniel was gone, and here she was with two little ones to look after. ‘You’ll have to be brave for me, both of you. I can’t cope if you don’t help.’

The widow Gwen came in just then, carrying a tray of bread and cheese and some ale. Juliana sat in her seat with her arms about Cecily and Arthur while Gwen asked one of her daughters to find a small table, and set the food down for them. Then she sat at her own table, watching with sympathetic eyes.

It was not surprising that the children had no appetite, but Juliana was not going to allow them to go without their food. She herself poured them their ale, and took a long draught herself before breaking the bread and cheese into manageable hunks and distributing them to Arthur and Cecily. It was good of Gwen to produce her best plate — three fine pewter dishes — and Juliana looked up in gratitude at this small sign of respect. Gwen smiled in return, but her own eyes were clouded with tears. Juliana saw her gaze go to the children and realized that the gesture was intended for them rather than for her. No matter.

She pressed food on her children, forcing them to take bread and drink ale through it to make it more easily digestible, refusing to let them reject it all. They must eat something.

That was one of the first things that people learned when they survived the famine: no food should be turned away, because that would be to dishonour God’s generosity in providing it. And although they may not be hungry today, there might be no food tomorrow. Juliana had no breadwinner now. They must eat while they could.

When Gwen’s daughter returned to say that the Coroner had come to the door once more, it was a relief to Juliana. The children were exhausted, the boy in particular was sagging. He needed a chance to lie down. Cecily was more reluctant to leave her mother, clinging like a small limpet to a rock. Except Juliana felt little like a rock today. She had failed her husband, and now he was dead she was committed to concealing the truth. For ever. She willingly passed both children to the young maid, who was only a little more than fifteen herself, and had comforted her brothers and sisters when two of their number died. Now she spoke soothingly to Juliana’s children and led them away to her mother’s chamber upstairs. There was a large bed there, and the girl promised she would lie down with them to help them sleep. They wouldn’t be able to be left for some while.

When Sir Peregrine entered, Juliana looked at Gwen. The older woman grudgingly left the room. She would have preferred to remain to protect Juliana from any harsh questioning.

‘My lady, I am sorry to return like this,’ the Coroner said gently, ‘but it is necessary that we arrange for the inquest at the earliest opportunity. I have a responsibility to record the events of the night.’

‘I understand.’

‘And it must be before all the jury. I wanted to warn you …’ he waved a hand unhappily, ‘we must have the facts recorded.’

‘It would ease my pain to know that my husband’s murderer was being sought.’

‘There I can help you. My friend Sir Baldwin de Furnshill is already actively seeking the man who did this.’

She felt a faint wash of nausea. ‘Will he be successful at such a search?’

‘He is perhaps the most capable hunter of felons in the whole of Devonshire,’ Sir Peregrine said. ‘It can make him appear disrespectful and … perhaps unnecessarily direct, but it is his way.’

‘I hate him!’

‘He always discovers who is guilty,’ Sir Peregrine said gently. ‘He will help us to learn the truth.’

‘I wish someone else would take on the matter,’ she said brokenly. ‘I thought him very blunt.’

Sir Peregrine felt his upper body lean towards her as though of its own volition, and only the exercise of strict self-discipline prevented him from going to her side as she averted her head and wiped at the tears that had begun to trickle once more down her cheeks.

‘I feel so alone!’

Juliana glanced at him, then away, as though to hold him in view could weaken her resolve.

‘My lady — please — let me help you.’

‘When Sir Baldwin questioned me, I found myself questioning all. I even wondered …’ She met his eye defiantly. ‘I even suspected it could have been my sister. She and my husband had an argument, and she left our house. For a moment, when Sir Baldwin asked about someone with a grudge against Daniel, I thought of her.’

‘It is only natural-’ he began.

‘No! Agnes could not do something like that!’ Juliana blazed.

Sir Peregrine hung his head. He could not believe a woman could be capable of killing a man like her husband, and his conventional chivalric soul quailed at the idea that she might hire an assassin. It was equally as impossible to think that this lovely woman could have a sister capable of such a deed.

Tentatively he ventured: ‘My lady, if there was anything I could do to help … You are very … I cannot imagine any other woman being so brave. Now! I must go and organize the court. It will be held in the room where he died, of course. I shall send a man to fetch you when we need you there.’

‘Thank you, Sir Peregrine.’

He nodded and bowed and left her, all the while trying to concentrate on the inquest: whom to order to attend, the bailiffs he must call, the clerk who would record the details … but he remembered only the hint of a grateful, sad smile on Juliana’s lips as he took his leave of her.

She was a woman to whom any man would be happy to lose his heart, he thought, and then he sternly thrust the thought from his mind. Her husband had died only the night before. This was no time to daydream about her. He had graver duties to attend to.

Henry was feeling every year of his age when he walked out of the Blue Rache and glanced up and down the lane. He was starving, and had nothing saved, so rather than wander homewards and feel his belly rumbling there he made his way to Cook’s Row and walked along it hopefully. Sometimes Tom would have a pie or pastry that couldn’t be sold which he’d offer to a beggar rather than throw away.

He was in luck. Tom gave him a small pastry coffin filled with a sweetened apple and cinnamon custard, and he ate it quickly as he walked up towards Carfoix, wondering how Estmund was. It would have been good to see Est, but not just while the death of Daniel was on everybody’s lips, and he might be followed. Est would want to know all that Henry had heard. Likely enough, he’d not believe anything Henry said, because everyone knew what Henry thought of the murderous shit. So far as he was concerned, Daniel had lived far too long. His frenzied attack on Henry had effectually ended his life.