Paul Doherty - The Magician

‘Revenge, hatred?’

‘Look, Chanson.’ Corbett snapped his fingers. ‘Go down to the castle yard, bring up Alusia and Mistress Feyner. Tell them the King’s man wants a word with them.’

When Chanson had left, Corbett sat in the chair as Ranulf read through what he had written. The clerk of the Chancery of Green Wax was impatient. The day was almost halfway through and he had not yet seen the Lady Constance. He’d received a small scroll last night tied with a purple ribbon in which Lady Constance had assured him that if he wished to walk the castle gardens with her, his company would be most acceptable. Corbett watched his companion most closely and hid a smile. In any other instance he would have teased him, but Ranulf was so quiet, it was clear he was smitten.

‘We will have to go to the woods, Ranulf. We need to meet that outlaw band and find out what they mean about the horror in the forest.’

Ranulf agreed. He stared across at the black wooden cross, the yellowing figure of Christ writhing there, and hid his fears. The King had often plucked him by the sleeve, taken him to one side and showed him what could be his; ambition burned fiercely within him. Sometimes he considered the Church as a path to advancement, but now he thought that the Lady Constance would be a good match, her father a friend of the King. He felt Corbett’s hand on his shoulder.

‘Be careful,’ Corbett whispered. ‘Remember, Ranulf, we are guests here.’

Before Ranulf could answer, there was a knock on the door and Chanson led in Mistress Feyner. ‘I could not find Alusia,’ the groom announced breathlessly. ‘No one has seen her.’

‘Probably gone off with that Martin,’ Mistress Feyner sniffed, plumping herself down on a stool. ‘Well, sir.’ Mistress Feyner pulled off her woollen mittens. Corbett glanced at the chapped red hands. The cloak was patched and she pulled it closely around her whilst staring round the room. ‘My husband made some of the furniture here; he was a carpenter. What do you wish? I’m a busy woman, and tongues will clack.’

‘Let them clack.’ Corbett smiled. ‘Mistress, would you like some wine?’

Mistress Feyner’s small black eyes creased into a smile. ‘Why, sir, that would be most welcome; heated with an iron would be better.’

Corbett nodded at Chanson to do it. The groom took a pewter goblet, filled it with wine and, taking an ember from the fire, placed it in the cup before sprinkling in a little nutmeg and mace from the small spice box.

‘You are chief laundrywoman of the castle?’

Mistress Feyner’s black eyes were cold and watchful, one thin hand combing her tangle of grey hair. She quickly grasped the pewter cup wrapped in a cloth, nursing it before taking a sip.

‘You know what I am, sir. What do you want?’

‘When did your daughter disappear?’

‘Just after the Feast of the Exaltation of the True Cross. It was Harvest Sunday, that’s right. Father Matthew had organised a special mass in which the Holy Rood would be taken in solemn procession around the cemetery. Phillipa was there.’ The black eyes blinked. ‘I thought she was with the other girls, but that afternoon she never came home. Sir Edmund was kind and organised a search, but nothing was found.’

‘Do you think she has run away?’

‘Run away, sir? Why should my daughter run away? She was the apple of my eye. A good girl, Sir Hugh, with fine skin and lovely eyes, gentle as a baby fawn she was. Father Matthew’s best scholar, or that’s how he used to tease her. She had many friends.’

Mistress Feyner held the goblet in one hand and tapped her chest with the other. ‘I carried that girl for nine months. I would like to tell you, sir, that she ran away, that she is safe in some city or town, but a mother knows, sir, here, in the heart. Phillipa’s gone.’ Her voice broke. ‘If only I could have her body back for burial, sir.’

‘What do you suspect happened?’

‘Killed, like the rest,’ came the tired reply. ‘The forest is full of swamps, marshes and morasses, but I would like her back, just to hold her one more time.’

Corbett opened his purse and drew out three silver coins. ‘Here,’ he urged, ‘take them for yourself and for a Mass offering.’

Mistress Feyner nodded softly.

‘Now, the morning Rebecca’s corpse was found?’

Mistress Feyner lowered her head, a formidable woman, determined not to let this man see her cry.

‘I apologise for my questions, Mistress,’ Corbett pulled his chair a little closer, ‘but the people of this castle want justice.’

‘Alusia and Rebecca planned to visit Marion’s grave. They wished to place greenery on it, they wanted a lift on the cart. Alusia arrived but Rebecca never did. I had to leave. I stopped outside the cemetery, on the trackway. Alusia climbed down, I continued. You see, sir, Master Reginald has a fierce temper and a sharp tongue. The linen from the tavern is brought to the castle to be washed and cleaned. Master Reginald pays well, he buys supplies from Sir Edmund and often sells goods to our Constable. There’s a good understanding between Corfe and Master Reginald. However, when the taverner wants his clean washing, he wants it immediately.’

‘Mistress?’

She looked at Ranulf. Corbett she liked, felt comfortable with, with his soft dark eyes and smiling mouth, a man who could speak in honeyed tones, but this one, with the hair the colour of the devil and eyes like the castle cat, she would have to be wary of. ‘Yes, sir?’

‘You went along the trackway that winds past the church. It was there that Rebecca’s body was found. Did you see anything?’

‘Well of course not, though her corpse may have been there. You must remember the snow was falling. I kept my eyes on the horse and the trackway ahead. Bitter cold it was. Alusia said the same, huddled in her cloak sitting beside me.’

‘So,’ Ranulf put his quill down, ‘Rebecca might have gone to the cemetery beforehand and met her killer?’

‘But why didn’t she wait for me? What I think happened,’ Mistress Feyner drank from the cup, ‘is that she must have left the castle after me and met her death.’ She glanced at Corbett. ‘I can tell you no more, sir. People blame the outlaws, but I do not.’ She drained her goblet and got to her feet. ‘I thank you for the money.’

‘Mistress Feyner?’ She lifted the latch and turned round. ‘If I put you on oath, if I formed a jury and asked you under the law to name a suspect . . .’ The laundrywoman dropped the latch and came back.

‘Why, sir, would you do that? If you did, you could not summons me; my daughter is one of the victims, I’m certain of that. But I shall tell you something, sir, and I think of it every time I visit that tavern. Mine host is a former soldier. Many of the girls have worked in his tap room, and Master Reginald, well, his hands and his lips are always hungry. My Phillipa served there as a slattern in the kitchen. She called him as lecherous and hot as a sparrow.’

‘But he is not of the castle.’

‘Oh yes he is, Sir Hugh. He often brings his cart here; his purse is always jingling and his eye always bright.’

‘But none of the girls were ravished?’

Mistress Feyner returned to the door. ‘Ask amongst the girls, Sir Hugh. Master Reginald, how can I put it, may be a cock in a small barnyard, but he’s a gelded one.’

‘You are repeating rumour,’ Ranulf mused.

‘No, sir, whoever you are.’ Mistress Feyner grinned over her shoulder. ‘Master Reginald has tried to finger my bodice and got nothing for his pains. He’s tumbled others; the soil has been fresh but the plough has been weak. Master Reginald secretly knows that, for all his crowing, he’s mocked by the very ones he pursues. You should go down to the tavern, Sir Hugh, and ask your questions. He does business with Horehound.’