Paul Doherty - The Waxman Murders

‘Did Lechlade find out?’

‘No, he was in one of his drunken stupors, though I later told him about the map. The day after I was arrested, I was taken to the dungeons in the Guildhall. Lechlade visited me. I bribed him to search Sir Rauf’s chamber for a map showing where treasure was hidden in Suffolk. He just gazed blearily at me. I told him that if he did find it he might become rich.’

‘Why did you ask Lechlade for help?’ Ranulf asked. ‘Not Berengaria?’

‘I’d grown wary of Berengaria — she even more so of me. I suspect she was frightened of being depicted as my accomplice.’ Lady Adelicia laughed sharply. ‘And Berengaria always looked after herself. I had my suspicions about her. I was also desperate,’ she confessed. ‘I needed certain things, comforts, luxuries. I also wanted to write letters to the King. Lechlade will do anything to buy ale. He hired a scribe and brought him to my dungeon. He also brought other things I needed: clothes, wraps, soap and money, at least Castledene permitted that. Once you are a prisoner, Master Ranulf, you have no right; silver and gold are the only language people understand.’

‘But surely you’d searched for the map before?’

‘Of course, Sir Hugh. From that night onwards I was obsessed by it. I knew Stonecrop had brought something precious. When I went into the chamber I saw Sir Rauf holding a small scroll, yellowing with age, but since that night I have never seen it again. You must remember, Sir Hugh, Sir Rauf rarely left the house. When he did, I would search everywhere, but I never found it.’

‘Did you talk to Wendover about it?’

‘Of course I did. I suppose,’ Lady Adelicia blinked, ‘in the full moon of our passion we laid our plans and schemes. How we’d find that map, discover the great treasure, move away from Canterbury, begin a new life. Wendover was much taken by it.’

‘Do you think Wendover ever came back here to look for it?’ Ranulf asked.

Lady Adelicia laughed thinly. ‘Sir Rauf would never allow a man like Wendover into his house, let alone to search his belongings. Moreover, Master Ranulf, Wendover is a thief.’

Corbett stared at Lady Adelicia, who gazed coolly back. ‘We will leave Wendover for the moment. You know, Lady Adelicia,’ Corbett chose his words carefully, ‘the manner of your husband’s death is truly mysterious. He was found in his chancery office, the back of his skull smashed, yet the door to that chamber was locked and secured. The lock is singular and special, I recognise that. It would be virtually impossible to replicate a key for it. Moreover, the key of this chamber was found on your husband’s belt, as was the key to your chamber, the other one being held by you, and yet-’

‘What do you mean, Sir Hugh?’ Adelicia’s voice was harsh.

‘Well, mistress, why was your husband murdered? Nothing was stolen, nothing disturbed, so why kill him? And why make such a mystery of it?’

‘Sir Hugh, I cannot answer that.’

‘No, madam, nor can I.’

Corbett rose to his feet, left the parlour and went to sit in Sir Rauf’s high-backed leather chair in the chancery chamber. He clutched the arms. Once again he felt those grooves beneath. Curious, he crouched down and studied them carefully. The weals or grooves were evenly placed in the wood on either arm, and freshly done. Corbett shook his head. There was some mystery here, but what? He sat down and gazed at the shelves and the manuscripts stacked there: the tagged rolls of vellum, the account books, the memoranda, all neatly filed and organised. He had no doubt that Sir Rauf had once owned the Cloister Map. Had he memorised it, then destroyed it? If that was the case, why hadn’t he moved to discover the treasure? What had he been waiting for? ‘Of course!’ Corbett exclaimed, beating the arms of the chair with his fists. ‘He was waiting-’

‘He was waiting for what, master?’ Ranulf stood in the doorway. He’d put his cloak around him and was standing with his thumbs pushed into his war belt.

‘Come in.’ Corbett indicated the stool. Ranulf sat down. ‘I believe Sir Rauf had the Cloister Map. I suspect he memorised and destroyed it, but he was waiting. Clever man, Sir Rauf! He knew Castledene and Paulents were also searching for that treasure, not to mention Hubert the Monk. He was also wary of his prying wife. He allowed her to continue her trysts with Wendover, and took his revenge in accepting sexual favours from Berengaria. Eventually he would have applied to the Court of Consistory, an appeal to the Archbishop of Canterbury, demanding his marriage be annulled. Once he’d rid himself of Lady Adelicia, once he believed it was safe, he would have used his undoubted wealth, skill and secret knowledge to travel to Suffolk and hunt for that treasure. Sir Rauf was a cold-hearted man, he could bide his time.’

‘Anything else?’

‘At this time, I don’t know, Ranulf. I truly don’t. We’ve discovered two new facts this morning. First, Servinus did not touch wine or any strong drink. I have to reflect on that. Second, Berengaria, a woman who lived on her wits, who had no more religion in her than perhaps. .’ he gestured at a coffer, ‘took a piece of charcoal and scrawled the word “Nazareth” on her bedchamber wall. Why?’

Ranulf shook his head. ‘Do you think Wendover,’ he asked, ‘could have had a hand in Sir Rauf’s death? He did leave Lady Adelicia early that day.’

‘Ah yes, our unfinished conversation.’ Corbett rose to his feet. He walked back in to where Lady Adelicia still sat staring into the fire. ‘You said Wendover was a thief?’

‘Of course, Sir Hugh, and there’s no honour amongst thieves. When I visited Wendover at The Chequer of Hope, I always took money. I have my own petty source of income, though my late husband took care of the rest. On frequent occasions I found something missing. Wendover and I lay together. He satisfied his lust as well as mine. I fell asleep. He always left before I did, claiming this duty or that.’

‘And he invariably stole?’ Corbett asked.

‘Yes, Sir Hugh, it is humiliating, isn’t it? He took a coin or a bracelet, some small item he thought I wouldn’t notice.’

‘Why?’ Corbett asked.

‘I don’t know, Sir Hugh. Perhaps that was the nature of the man; perhaps he was like Berengaria, collecting money, wealth against the evil day.’

‘That is why he left early?’

‘Of course it was, Sir Hugh, to steal and sneak away. When I woke there was no one to remonstrate with. I always thought I would but I never did. Perhaps it was pride. Our passion, Sir Hugh, was like a fire: it burnt fiercely, then the flames died, leaving nothing but cold ash.’ She paused. ‘Sir Hugh, what will happen to me?’

‘Madam, matters have become so confused, no judge could sit and listen to this case, yet there’s a malignancy here which I must root out.’

Corbett made his farewells still lost in his own thoughts. He and Ranulf dressed against the cold and waited for Chanson, who arrived from Maubisson declaring he’d discovered nothing new. They mounted their horses and made their way across the wasteland into the city. The break in the weather had brought everyone out. All the cocklebrains and twisted hearts, every rogue who swarmed in the King’s city of Canterbury, had emerged looking for easy pickings. These mingled with the rich garbed in woollen robes wrapped firmly around well-lined bellies. Pilgrims flocked the streets, pale and wan after their days of abstinence, eager that Advent be over so they could give up dry bread and brackish water to feast on wine, sweet manchet loaves and juicy meats. A prisoner recently released from the castle dungeons perched drunkenly on a cart, shaking the manacles on his hands, as he begged for alms and mockingly gave his last will and testament.