Michael Jecks - The Butcher of St Peter's

‘Jordan’s wife. They’d have to kill her too if they wanted to marry. All I’m saying is, she’s got nothing to do with anything like that. She’s too loyal to have had a part in Daniel’s death. She’d find it impossible to consider taking Jordan. But the rumours were all over the place — and it’s worse since he came here, I dare say. People can’t mind their business, but have to poke their noses in other folks’ affairs. No, I’d bet you’re safe. She’s too bound up in grief still, anyway. If you’re looking at that Coroner, you’re safe.’

‘She’s been seeing Jordan?’

‘There’s enough saw him go to her house when Daniel was out. But I think it was something else, not because he wanted her to part her legs for him. Don’t worry. Maid? What’s the matter?’

She saw Agnes stare at her, retreating from the room, slowly shaking her head as though in horror. All at once Gwen realized that Agnes had not meant what Gwen had thought. She tried to rise, but a fresh pain stabbed at her breast, and she gasped in agony, a hand to her side, sinking back on her stool. She watched Agnes turn and fly from the house, but she could do nothing, not even shout. The pain was too strong.

There was no point even thinking of going to the priory. It would be shut up for the night before long, and the Prior would be easier to speak to in the morning. Instead, Baldwin led the way to Reginald’s house, a large property up the lane that led past the Priory of St Nicholas.

The bailiff was impressed. He had seen many like this down at Dartmouth, imposing places built to enhance the status of the owner as much as provide a space in which to live. This was rather magnificent. It had a broad front, with a bridge to the front door that stood over a basement area like a drawbridge over a moat. It gave the impression of a house that was strong and defensible.

Entering, Simon and Baldwin were brought to a pleasant hall. Sitting in a comfortable-looking chair was a man dressed in fur-trimmed robes and a warm-looking cap, while at his side was a startlingly attractive blonde woman, similarly clothed. As Simon walked in, he thought to himself that they appeared the ideal couple. The man was plainly a successful merchant, while his wife was the perfect adornment for him, a cool beauty with the calmness of a woman who possessed her own intelligence.

And then he approached more closely and he saw the flaws in both.

The man was sad, careworn and grim-faced. The woman was shrewish, with fine-chiselled features that were sharp and almost cruel-looking. Glancing back at Reginald, Simon thought he could see why he looked so solemn and beleaguered. The happiness had been sucked from him by this woman, Simon reckoned, and he found his sympathy going all to the man.

‘Lordings, how may I help you?’ Reginald asked. ‘I have wine — would you like me to serve you with a little?’

Baldwin was still at the stoup by the door. He crossed himself with pensive deliberation, then walked over the floor to stand in front of Reginald. Standing and studying the man with a small frown on his face, he shook his head, then glanced at the man’s wife. ‘I would question your husband, lady. Would you leave us alone for a while?’

‘Why? Should I be ashamed of him?’

‘You should ask him that,’ Baldwin replied mildly.

‘I will stay.’

Reg licked his lips. He called for his bottler and demanded a good goblet of wine for himself, and when it arrived he drank heavily, smacking his lips appreciatively. ‘A good one that. Cost me a fortune, but worth every penny. What’s this all about?’

Baldwin frowned at the ground, and Simon rested his hand on his sword hilt. ‘We have a problem,’ he said.

‘Can I help you with it?’ Reg asked, surprised. He rather liked the look of this bailiff. The man looked like a moorman, with his rugged, leathery skin and dark eyes. He had the appearance of the sort of fellow Reg would like to share a drink with.

Baldwin looked up. ‘We have come from the cathedral chapter. We have heard how you ensnared Gervase le Brent and persuaded him to lie for you, purely to stir up trouble between the cathedral and the priory. I’m not sure why, but I will learn. We know that you are involved in the gambling and whoring down by the docks. Well, that isn’t against the law, although I’m surprised your wife is happy for you to manage all those wenches down there. No, those are little affairs, really. More serious is the systematic theft of Church property, by having your people rob the ships of their cargoes before the cathedral even sees them, and then selling the goods back to the chapter when you have stolen them in the first place. Still, that is not the most important matter — more important than any of these is the affair of the murders. Three of them. And I’m not sure how you achieved them all.’

‘Me? You accuse me of murder?’ Reginald demanded with some shock.

‘You are a partner of Jordan le Bolle. You laid the trap for Gervase, we have learned, and you also helped Canon Peter, didn’t you? With all these aspects of your life so closely bound up with Jordan’s, I think you must have been involved in the murders.’

‘I’ve never killed a man in my life.’

‘Never? And yet we have witnesses who saw you about Daniel’s place when he died, and near the alley when Mick was murdered,’ Baldwin invented. He was sure that this man, if he was an ally and comrade of Jordan, must know something of the murders. Surely they were both involved in the attempt to defraud the cathedral if nothing else; and in the gambling. ‘Tell me, where do you say you were on the day of Daniel’s murder?’

‘I can’t remember exactly … I, um …’

‘You were at Daniel’s house, weren’t you?’ Baldwin said.

‘Whoever told you that was a liar. I was probably here, wasn’t I, darling?’

Baldwin watched as the woman clenched her jaw. She had the look of a bull terrier which has chewed a bone only to find it was a rock.

‘Of course, husband. Whatever you say, husband. If you think you were here, clearly you must have been.’

Agnes was shaking with grief.

It was hard to believe that this was really happening. Surely Jordan wouldn’t have betrayed her so cruelly? He couldn’t have gone to Juliana, could he? The cow couldn’t have ensnared Agnes’s lover as well as Daniel and now Sir Peregrine, in God’s name …

Juliana was a beautiful woman, though. Those lovely flashing eyes of hers, the trim figure even after two births, the delicious colour of her milky skin, all spoke of her attractiveness. She would soon snatch the favours of any man she set her eye upon. Agnes was mere chaff in the wind once Juliana had decided upon a man.

The irony, the bitter, bitter irony of it all. Agnes had always wanted a sister when she was young. A friend to play with, the closest friend of all to grow up with, to share a life with. That was what she had hoped for. Now the flavour left in her mouth was dust and ashes, nothing else. Juliana had ruined every aspect of her life. She had stolen all the men Agnes had ever wanted: Daniel, Jordan and Sir Peregrine. All taken by Juliana before Agnes could snare them. All taken. Agnes’s life was ruined.

She had reached his house and she stood outside for a moment, staring up at the closed and shuttered windows, then went to the door and beat upon it with her fist.

‘Open this door! Open it!’ she screamed, not caring who might hear, who might know. It didn’t matter. Not now. All she knew was, her life was ruined. Even this man, the one whom she had trusted above all others, had betrayed her.

When the door opened, she swept past Mazeline without noticing her. She was just a servant, to her mind. Mazeline didn’t matter compared with her own feelings. What was some other woman when her life was devastated?