Paul Doherty - The Gallows Murders

Ah well, on that summer's day so many years ago, she took us along a dusty passageway and into a small writing office at the back of the house. The man seated at a desk beneath the window, rose as we came in. He was dressed in the city livery, a chain of office round his neck. His square, honest face and clear eyes were a testament to his strength and integrity. He shook our hands, asked Miranda to pull up stools and bring refreshments for his guests. He turned his chair round to face us and sat down grimacing, favouring his back. ‘You are in pain, sir?' Benjamin asked.

'I was attacked.' Pelleter replied. 'About two weeks ago, an assassin outside Whitefriars. A flesh wound, but the pain is still there. Well?' he asked, pausing as Miranda returned with a tray bearing jugs of ale.

She served us delicately, smiling at her father, though her smile widened as she handed Benjamin a tankard. She didn't ignore me, but stared shyly at me from under her eyelids. She then sat on a stool beside her father and returned (oh Lord save me from jealousy!) to studying Benjamin. My master, too, was distracted. Pelleter leaned forward and tapped his tankard against my master's.

‘Your good health, Master Daunbey. You know who I am, where I live. You know I have a pain in my back,' he smiled. 'And you have met my lovely daughter, the light of my life. But why are you here?' 'Robert Sakker,' Benjamin declared brusquely.

Pelleter groaned and sat back in his chair, favouring his wound.

'God have mercy!' he breathed. 'Sakker's responsible for this!'

We must have sat there for at least two hours whilst the under-sheriff described the depredations of the Sakker gang on the Canterbury road. I must admit I did not object. Why should I? Miranda was sitting there like a rose in full bloom, as fascinated by Benjamin as he was with her. I knew why jealousy is such a terrible sin. My stomach curdled, my blood boiled. I heartily wished that Benjamin wasn't there. She seemed impervious to me, apart from the odd kind smile or an offer to fill my tankard. Now and again Benjamin would turn, gaze adoringly at her, then return to questioning her father. When he had finished, Benjamin told Pelleter the reason for our visit: the blackmailing letters sent to the King and the grisly murders of the hangmen. Pelleter leaned back in his chair, whispering under his breath and shaking his head.

'I always thought Undershaft was a good man,' he said quietly. 'So his death was murder.'

‘But do you know he's dead?' I asked. I was tempted to tell him how I had seen Undershaft's corpse, but I was fearful this might lower my status in Miranda's eyes.

Pelleter looked at me, bushy eyebrows raised. 'What makes you think he isn't?'

I explained about the blackmailing letters: how both Benjamin and I believed there was one villain in the Tower and another outside.

'In which case I’ll make inquiries,' Pelleter offered. 'I’ll ask the bailiffs and wardsmen to keep their eyes and ears open. But – ' he pointed a finger at Benjamin – 'if I follow the gist of what you are saying, you believe Robert Sakker's involved in this villainy?' ‘Do you think it's possible?' Benjamin retorted.

'Robert Sakker was the most intelligent member of the gang. He went to Stapleton Hall in Oxford. He was quite skilled as a clerk and served for a while in one of the royal palaces.' 'So, he could draft a letter?' I asked.

'Possibly, but where would he get the seals of Edward V?' ‘What did he look like?' Benjamin asked.

‘Like all his family: tall, dark with reddish hair, cleanshaven, deep-chested; a merry-looking rogue despite the scar on his cheek. The sort who'd smile as he slipped a dagger between your ribs. A man who could act many parts: the boisterous soldier or the crafty clerk.'

Benjamin and I glanced at each other: the description fitted no one we had met in our inquiries.

'And so he escaped?' Benjamin continued. 'And has now threatened you?'

Pelleter put his cup down and spread his hands. 'Master Daunbey, I have no real evidence, but there was an attack on me recently. On two other occasions I've had scraps of parchment pushed into my hands. One was of a gibbet with me dangling from it.' He paused and glanced sideways at his daughter. The second, well, it was my daughter. That's what made me think it was Sakker.'

That beautiful smile faded from Miranda's lovely face, but I could see the steel in her eyes and the determined set to her jaw. She leaned over and kissed her father on the cheek. (Oh, most fortunate of men!) 'Have you made inquiries?' I asked.

Pelleter snorted with laughter. 'Of course. I offered rewards, even the prospect of pardon from the Mayor and Aldermen to any felon who could give me the smallest scrap of information.' He shrugged. 'But I couldn't discover anything.'

‘What happens if Sakker isn't living in London?' I asked. What if he has returned to his old haunts.'

The Sakkers' tavern near St Thomas's watering-hole has been torn down,' Pelleter replied. Though they did have a lair: an old hunting lodge deep in the forest.' 'Could we go there?' Benjamin asked.

Pelleter blew his cheeks out. 'Not today: it's too late and I have other business. But tomorrow at dawn? ‘I’ll meet you at the tavern in Southwark.' He grinned. The Tabard, the place Chaucer's pilgrims left from. Now, sirs, I do have other business.'

Benjamin and I made our apologies. My master grasped Miranda's hand and kissed it. My heart skipped a beat! She held his fingers much longer than courtesy demanded. She was kind to me, proffering her hand. I lifted my head to murmur how pleasant it had been to meet her, but her gaze had already returned to Benjamin.

We left Pelleter's house. Benjamin was pleased, rubbing his hands in satisfaction.

‘We have flushed a coney from the hay, Roger!' he exclaimed, slapping me on the back. 'Oh, the evidence is meagre, the proof paltry, but I believe Robert Sakker is involved in this villainy.'

He paused on a corner of an alleyway and watched as two officials of the city seized a wandering pig, thrust it squealing to the ground and cut its throat. I turned away as the hot blood rushed out. 'And Mistress Miranda?' I asked.

Benjamin's face grew serious; he grasped me by the shoulder. 'An angel, Roger. Have you ever seen such eyes? The sheer harmony of her features!' ‘You were taken by her?' 'Ravished,' he replied. I glanced away, thrusting my hands between my cloak so my master would not see my fists curled in fury. 'And you, Roger?' I stepped back and his hand fell away.

'She was comely enough,' I muttered. 'Master, should we not return to the Tower?'

Benjamin, the innocent, unaware of the black storm raging in my heart, gazed back in the direction of Pelleter's house.

'Do you realise. Roger,' he whispered, 'if this Sakker is involved, if he's hunting our under-sheriff, perhaps at this very moment, he is not far away'

I didn't care. I had to hide my envy and resentment and said we should leave. It was a fine day so we decided to walk down Lombard Street and into Eastcheap, the most direct path back to the Tower. Benjamin chattered like a magpie, unaware of my seething passion. (I once told Will Shakespeare about this in a tavern on Bank Side. He'd asked me what was the most powerful emotion a man could feel? Lust? Anger? The desire for riches? I told him jealousy! I sat back against the tavern wall, the tears streaming down my face, and told him about Benjamin and Miranda, that golden couple who lived so long ago. Will heard me out in that quiet attentive way of his, his olive-skinned features betraying nothing. Then he nodded and murmured that he would remember what I had said. Go and see his play Othello, about the Moor of Venice, the wicked Iago and the lovely Desdemona. I never asked him who Iago was! Last Yuletide, I hired a troupe of actors and made them recite the lines whilst I sat and quietly cried about the lovely Miranda.)