Michael JECKS - The Leper's Return

“No, all I did was refit the old one.”

“So you nailed it back on, went through to the buttery – was it dark by then?”

“Oh, no. It was a good hour before nightfall.”

“And in the buttery you drank quarts of ale with Putthe. Did he leave you alone while he got on with his duties?”

“No, he said there was nothing for him to do.”

“But you didn’t leave until night?”

“That’s right. I can remember it quite clearly: it was so black outside I tripped over a loose cobble in the road, and I thought to myself, if this was daylight, I’d not have missed that.”

“And you left Putthe asleep?” Simon interrupted again. “Did you hear a man shouting? A scream, anything like that?”

“No, sir. If I had, I’d have gone back immediately. No, if I’d thought poor Master Godfrey would be dead so soon after I was drinking his health with him and…”

“He was with you in the buttery?” Baldwin asked. “For how long?”

“Not long. He walked in before checking his fencing. Looked surprised to see me there, but he had a drop of ale with me and Putthe before he went out.”

“Did you see anyone else in there? Did Mistress Cecily come in?”

“No, sir. No one ’cepting the master himself.”

“Which way did you come home?”

“Along the main road, through the town, past the church, and down the hill to here.”

“Did you see anyone else on your way?”

“No, sir, it was empty. But it was quite late.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us about that night? Anything you feel could help us find the murderer?”

For the first time the smith let his eyes fleetingly meet the knight’s, and Baldwin saw he was debating whether to mention something, seeking reassurance from the Keeper before raising it. “Yes?”

“It’s nothing, I daresay, but as I left the place, I could have sworn I heard voices in the hall itself. A man and a girl.”

“Did she scream, or cry out in some way?”

“You asked me that,” Jack said peevishly. “I told you, no one screamed or anything while I was there, but I was fairly sure I heard these two voices. Just talking low, almost whispering. There was one thing, though: the girl sounded sad, I reckon. Really sad.”

Riding from the little smithy, Baldwin turned to Simon and held out his hands in a gesture of bafflement. “So what do you make of all this? I tell you now, I feel that the more people I speak to, the more confusing it becomes.”

Simon tilted his head on one side. “You know as well as I do that often these crimes are utterly incomprehensible until you have all the facts laid out, and then the whole picture locks together. At least we know the people who were present, which means we can isolate who might have had a motive to crush Godfrey’s skull.”

“I suppose so, but I wish I knew who the two were in Godfrey’s garden.”

“If John was telling the truth and wasn’t simply confused by seeing two bushes in the dark, you mean?” Simon chuckled. “Come on, Baldwin, don’t look so glum! You’re on your way to meet your Lady.”

“Oh, shut up!”

Simon laughed. They made their way into the outer fringe of the town, then on up to the church. Here they were about to turn right to head up to the north, when the bailiff saw Cecily’s maid at her gate. “Baldwin?”

Following his friend’s gaze, the knight gave a low whistle.

At the entrance to Godfrey’s house, hidden from the road by the wall, and only visible from this angle because the gate was ajar, Alison stood laughing and chatting to John of Irelaunde. As Baldwin watched, he saw John tweak a curl from her wimple and chuck her under the chin.

“That bloody Irishman,” Simon grumbled. “Look at him!”

“He certainly appears to take his pleasures where he can,” Baldwin chuckled. “Ah, and who’s this?”

Riding toward them was William. He smiled broadly to them, and jogged off back the way they had come. The knight stared after him. “I wonder where he’s off to?”

Jack wiped his hands on his heavy leather apron, and stood contemplating the view bitterly. The questioning by the Keeper had unsettled him. The smith was a man of few words normally, and now he felt as if he had been forced into giving away too much – something he could regret later. Jack was all too well aware of the risks of telling law officers too much. It often led to a man being arrested and hanged.

There was a scuttling noise near the forge, and he turned to see his cat lying, tail twitching, watching a large rat scrabbling for a crumb. Jack let out a curse, and swung his boot at the cat, who, realizing her master was not of a mind to scratch her ears, flattened them against her skull before pelting off to a dark corner where she judged she should be safe enough.

Jack turned back and supped ale, disconsolately studying the sweep of the river. He was still standing there, his great mug in his fist, when he was hailed.

Entering his yard was a cheerful-looking man on a decent palfrey. “Smith? Can you make me a shoe? My fellow here has cast one.”

Jack looked up into William’s face and grunted.

“I’m very glad to find you here,” said William with feeling, falling from his saddle and strolling to a bench while Jack set to pumping the bellows. The guard held his hands to the fire, a small frown creasing his brow. He had also seen John and the maid in the road, and it had interested him a great deal. He decided he would have to tell his master as soon as he returned to Coffyn’s house. For now, though, he had another task to perform.

He grinned up at the smith. “Smiths always hear all the gossip before anyone else. But I suppose you need a tale in exchange, yes? Have you heard what the lepers are up to?”

Baldwin walked into his hall and threw his gloves onto the table. Margaret was there, sitting at the fire as she unpicked stitches from a tapestry. When Simon walked in, she stood to greet him, and he glanced down at her work.

“But you never make mistakes with your needlework!”

“Sometimes even the best seamstress must have a bad day,” she said. “How has yours been?”

Baldwin bellowed for Wat and sank down into his chair. His boots were too tight, and after wearing them all day, his feet felt as if they had swollen so much he would never be able to get them off. “Where is that blasted lad? WAT!”

“Don’t shout at him, Baldwin,” Margaret said urgently. “You’re not the only one to have had a bad day.”

Baldwin and Simon exchanged a glance as the boy came in, snivelling. Immediately behind him was Emma.

To the knight she looked as threatening as a war-horse pawing at the ground, and he flinched as he felt her eyes flit over him, registering his mud-bespattered hose and tunic, the hair lying lankly where he had been wearing his hat, and his booted feet.

“That dog of yours,” she stated firmly, “ought to be killed.”

Emma was disgruntled. This place was so far from anywhere important, she was seriously alarmed her mistress might choose to marry the knight and move here permanently. Here! So far from any decent town or city.

It had been bad enough when she had been told she was to join Jeanne when her charge was wedded the first time, to Ralph of Liddinstone. That was very hard, when she was so fond of the shops of Bordeaux, the little pie shops and sweetmeat stalls where she could purchase whatever she wanted while escorting Jeanne around, but she had accepted that it was necessary for her mistress to be married, and had finally agreed to stay with her.

But for little Jeanne to consider coming to a benighted spot like this was intolerable! The road – hah, it was what passed for a road here, at any rate – was little more than a quagmire. At the moment it was frozen into reddish muddy ruts, each of which threatened to snap the bones of a horse’s leg, but the nearest town was miles away, either northward up to Tiverton, or south to Crediton or Exeter. There was literally nothing in between, just a few hamlets filled with grubby peasants and their ragamuffin brats. How could poor Jeanne consider living in a place like this?