Paul Doherty - The Mysterium

‘But that wasn’t the truth of it,’ declared Corbett. ‘Your husband had been communicating with a murderer, a professional assassin known as the Mysterium. An agreement was reached that whilst Master Chauntoys was absent on business, Lady Alice would be killed. This was accomplished. The Mysterium then demanded payment. Your husband was told to go to a tavern, the Liber Albus in Southwark, bringing the blood money with him. However, neither your husband nor the Mysterium realised they were being hunted by a chancery clerk named Walter Evesham.’ Corbett paused at the rude sound Idola made with her lips. ‘Did you ever meet Walter Evesham?’

‘I knew of him, sir, and I’ve heard what has happened. Evesham has received his just deserts, disgraced, dismissed and murdered, all richly deserved.’

‘Why, mistress?’

‘He destroyed my husband. If it hadn’t been for his grace the King, Master Chauntoys would have ended his days on the common gallows at Smithfield.’

‘Evesham was simply doing his duty.’

‘He relished it.’

‘What did your husband say about it?’

‘I married my husband about a year after Lady Alice’s death. He was still very prosperous and eager to begin again. I accepted his proposal. I thought I could make him happy.’

‘And did you?’

‘We were more friends than lovers, a relationship resting on the firm foundations of fidelity and common sense. My husband, however was broken by Evesham’s discovery, and of course he had to face the truth. He was indeed party to his first wife’s murder. During the last year of his life he began to describe what really happened. I shall talk about him rather than the Lady Alice’s many sins. She’s gone to God and can answer for herself. My husband was desperately unhappy with her. He received a message, pushed into his hand, saying that his enemy was also the enemy of the anonymous sender, and if my husband wanted, that enemy could be no more. At the bottom of this scrap of parchment was a reference to St Paul, with two numbers. My husband, being a merchant, knew what that meant: the great hoarding at St Paul’s. Provoked, shamed by his wife as a public cuckold, Master Chauntoys decided to rid himself of her. He placed her name in the numbered square of the hoarding, and a short while later he received a message.’

‘How was that delivered?’

‘Again pushed into his hand. Sir Hugh, you are a royal clerk. You know how it is. My husband would attend the Guildhall; people would present petitions to him, as they would to you. This time the scrap of parchment simply had one name: Lady Alice. If my husband agreed to confirm that, he was to place her name in the stipulated square on the hoarding at St Paul’s. So he did. Oh yes,’ Lady Idola pointed her finger, ‘he did have business with the Merchants of the Staple in Southampton, and during his absence, Lady Alice was apparently attacked in the streets and killed. When he returned to London, he received another message with a reference to St Paul’s; when he went there, he found a note giving the time and place, the amount of money and where he was to leave it. My husband, to put it bluntly, was very relieved to be rid of Lady Alice. He hastened across to Southwark and waited in that tavern.’

‘Did he recognise anyone who came in?’

‘No he did not. The clerk Boniface Ippegrave, the man later accused of being the Mysterium, entered. He seemed-’

Corbett held up a hand. ‘Lady Idola, I must ask you to be precise. What did your husband actually say about him?’

‘I truly will,’ she snapped. ‘According to my husband, Boniface Ippegrave looked very confused, staring around, hand on his dagger. He kept glancing at a scrap of parchment. My husband did wonder if he was the Mysterium, but then Walter Evesham, followed by his creature Engleat and others, burst into the tavern. My husband and Boniface Ippegrave were seized. Adam could not defend himself. He held that scrap of parchment and a considerable amount of gold.’

‘But Boniface Ippegrave?’

‘He seemed totally shocked, very surprised, but then. .’

‘But then what?’

‘My husband, of course, was similarly distraught. He was under arrest. He knew what he had done. He faced the gallows. He glanced across at Ippegrave, but he had been taken aside by Evesham and they were deep in discussion. They all left the tavern, crossed London Bridge and walked up towards Cheapside, and my husband realised they were going to Newgate. Evesham was close to Ippegrave. Adam saw them argue, then Ippegrave apparently crouched down. The bailiffs stopped. The crowd milling around was hostile. It was then that Boniface Ippegrave escaped.

‘My husband was lodged in Newgate. He expected to go on trial, but then he received an offer of a pardon. If he confessed everything, divulged secrets about the machinations of the Guildhall and paid a most considerable fine, he’d be released. He agreed.’

‘How was this done?’

‘Evesham visited him in Newgate. He berated him, threatened him with torture and said he would ensure he’d hang very slowly at Smithfield. Then the King intervened. I understand his grace,’ Lady Idola’s words were tinged with sarcasm, ‘was concerned to discover how the Mysterium worked, and we all know the King.’ She bowed. ‘He is more interested in good silver and valuable information than in seeing a man dangle on the gallows.

‘After his release, my husband lived quietly. Sir Hugh, he did great wrong, but he was sorely provoked. He later went on pilgrimage to Canterbury. He crept to the cross every Good Friday. He was shrived, forgiven his sins, and did penance, but in the end he was a broken man. Only in the last year of his life did he begin to talk.’

‘Lady Idola, did he remark on anything extraordinary or remarkable about the day he was arrested?’

‘Yes, my husband learnt, as we all did, about Boniface Ippegrave: how he took sanctuary at St Botulph’s, his later disappearance. .’

‘And?’

‘To put it bluntly, he did not believe Boniface Ippegrave was the Mysterium.’

‘Why?’

‘Think, Sir Hugh. My husband is sheltering in a tavern. He is there to pay an assassin, and has brought a considerable amount of gold. Boniface Ippegrave enters, but he does not act the resolute killer. Instead he stares around like some lost child who doesn’t know why he is there. True, he glanced at my husband, but then he looked away.’ Lady Idola leaned forward to fill her cup.

Corbett stretched his hands out towards the fire. He felt a horrid chill, a cold creeping up his back, a sense of dread cloying his soul. What had been a mere suspicion hardened into fact. Was the very root of this mystery wrong? He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the scene. If Boniface was the assassin, why hadn’t he moved directly to seize the gold and flee? He opened his eyes.

‘Lady Idola, can you remember if your husband described the tavern as busy or empty?’

‘Oh, it was fairly empty, being mid-morning. He noticed only Boniface Ippegrave.’

Corbett nodded, pushed back the chair and got to his feet. He bowed.

‘Lady Idola, I thank you.’

‘You seem confused, Sir Hugh.’

‘Mistress, I am, and only God can clear the chaos in my mind.’

Corbett swept back into Westminster like a hungry lion. He threw open the door of the chancery chamber and strode in, startling Ranulf and Chanson.

‘Have the coroners’ rolls arrived yet?’ he demanded, clapping his hands. ‘Ranulf, I need them now.’

‘Sir Hugh, I received your message. I’ve sent to the Guildhall; they’ll be here shortly. I’ve also dealt with Mouseman,’ Ranulf added quickly. ‘He came here demanding his pardon. I have never seen a man so happy. He’s taken lodgings while he prepares to return to St Albans.’