Bernard Knight - The Tinner's corpse

‘Strictly speaking, I should be holding this inquest at Teignmouth, where the body was found, but that would be even more pointless.’

Lucy’s mother gave a loud sniff, but de Wolfe felt it was more for appearance’s sake than a true expression of grief. Joan remained impassive, and he felt sure that not a tear had been shed down that calm and lovely face all night.

‘There is no doubt that Walter was deliberately slain?’ she asked, in a low monotone. ‘Could he not have fallen from his horse?’

‘He might have fallen, but he could not have received such a blow across his back. Riding into a low branch would have marked his face or chest but not his back, lady. And the evidence of the boy from the mill strongly suggests that two other men were involved.’

‘Did he suffer at the end?’ she persisted.

John failed to decide whether she was forcing herself to appear concerned or whether she was trying to punish herself from guilt at betraying her late husband. ‘He had a severe injury to the head, madam,’ he answered gruffly, ‘which would have rendered him senseless and unable to feel pain or distress — but I honestly cannot say when that blow was inflicted. It might even have been due to the final fall from his steed on to hard ground.’

Matthew, flushed from the wine he had been supping through most of the day, slapped his palm on the table. ‘Walter was a fine horseman. I do not recollect him coming off his mount since we were children. He must have been attacked — and by more than one person, for he would never have been taken unawares unless he was distracted by someone else.’

De Wolfe thought that this probably excluded Matthew as a suspect. No guilty person would pass up the chance of having his crime mistaken for an accident — unless it was a double bluff.

‘We know roughly how and where he died, for his body had to be taken to the river and his horse was found in the same vicinity. What we have no idea about is why he was killed.’ He stared directly into the beautiful eyes of the dead man’s wife, then swung round to Knapman’s twin brother. ‘He was a rich and active trader, with a forceful manner. No doubt he had rivals and those who envied him — but would that be enough to encourage his murder?’

Matthew’s eyes dropped from de Wolfe’s glare, and for the first time the coroner sensed that the tin-merchant had something to hide.

‘It must be connected with the tinning, Crowner. I heard what happened at the Great Court the other day. There are those who were for Walter, who wanted him to displace the sheriff as Lord Warden, but there were others who coveted his success.’

He paused and his eyes came up to meet de Wolfe’s again. ‘Of course, there were also those who were furious that he wished to lead all the tinners as Warden. Not least Richard de Revelle — but some of the tinners strongly favoured other leaders.’

Lucy cut in from across the room, surprising de Wolfe with her apparent grasp of tinners’ politics: ‘Don’t forget William de Wrotham and Geoffrey Fitz-Peters! They’ve both got their eye on the Wardenship — and William fancies his chances as sheriff, when that rogue de Revelle is dismissed … or hanged, which is more likely.’

At this, de Wolfe warmed a little to the old harridan. He turned again to the brother. ‘Matthew, do you suspect anyone in particular in all this intrigue?’

The man from Exeter glanced warily at Joan. ‘I’d not wish to blacken any man’s character without proof, which seems singularly lacking here. But I’m sure the answer lies among the tinners somewhere, unless this was some stray band of forest outlaws or cutpurses who set upon my brother.’

De Wolfe shook his head abruptly, his thick black hair swinging across his neck. ‘He still had a leather scrip strapped to his belt with ample coin inside. He was not killed for theft.’

Matthew gestured his incomprehension and took a deep draught of his wine.

‘What about this mad old Saxon we heard about at the last inquest, Aethelfrith? Is there any news of him?’ demanded the coroner.

Matthew knew nothing of him and Joan remained silent, but then a voice from the doorway said, ‘I beg your leave, Crowner, but I heard something yesterday.’

It was Harold, who was lurking within earshot, like most veteran servants. ‘A man in the Crown Inn, when I was there, said he had heard that Aethelfrith had been seen up on Scorhill Down a few days ago.’

‘Where’s that?’ asked de Wolfe.

‘On the edge of the high moor, only a couple of miles from here, above the North Teign stream,’ offered Matthew, who had been raised in Chagford and knew it as well as his brother.

‘It seems he was trying to smash the furnace in a small blowing-house, but a couple of tinners arrived and he ran away,’ finished Harold.

‘Was it one of ours?’ demanded Matthew, and de Wolfe noted the possessiveness in his tone.

‘No, it belonged to Acland,’ said the steward, with a trace of satisfaction in his voice. His eyes slid to the mistress of the house.

Joan caught the glance and her smooth cheeks reddened, but she took her revenge on the old servant. ‘You may leave us now, Harold. These are private matters. Go and see that some late supper is set out for our guests.’

The Saxon scowled as he turned to leave, all too conscious that a new regime held sway, now that the master he had served for so long had been replaced by this enigmatic beauty.

De Wolfe spent a few more minutes in fruitlessly seeking more information, trying to discover if Knapman had had any specific enemies, but neither Matthew nor Joan could — or would — offer any suggestion. He changed his approach. ‘Did he own the entire business or were you a partner?’ he asked Matthew.

‘We were not exactly partners but were both wholly involved in the tin trade. When we were young we learned the business the hard way, working as ordinary tinners for our father. Then we became overmen. Eventually Walter and I shared in the profits, rather than getting a wage. When our father died about ten years ago, he left his half-dozen tin workings to Walter, but bequeathed me money to set up in Exeter as the outlet for Walter’s production. I dealt with the buyers, in England and abroad, and arranged transport and shipment, taking a share of the sale price for my efforts. It worked well and we were both happy with the arrangement. I handled some tin for others as well, but all Walter’s output goes through my warehouse.’

‘What will happen now that he’s dead?’ asked the coroner.

Matthew Knapman looked anxiously across at his sister-in-law. ‘I don’t know. We’ll just have to carry on as we were until something is settled. His stepson Peter Jordan will have to come up here for now and do his best to organise the stream-work gangs and the smelting. I must handle the Exeter end. Peter knows enough about tinning to keep the business afloat, while the overmen can handle the streaming teams and keep the tin coming.’

‘So who will inherit the business?

Matthew turned up his hands in a gesture of dismayed resignation. ‘God knows! Walter was in the prime of life and the best of health. We had made no plans for his sudden departure. I think that, long ago, he went to the lawyer to make a will, and if that’s true, it all depends on what’s in it.’

The serene widow, who had been listening silently to this exchange, decided it was time that she put her stamp of authority on the discussion. ‘Nothing can be settled until I visit Walter’s lawyer in Exeter. He told me some time ago that Robert Courteman handled his affairs, but I have no knowledge of what arrangements he made. We never discussed business matters. Now I have no choice but to seek out this man.’