Paul Doherty - Satan in St Mary

"I mean, " Corbett said slowly, "that Duket sat here in the sanctuary in the dark and then quietly made his way down into the gloom to collect a piece of rope to kill himself?"

"He had a candle, " the priest answered quickly.

"If he did, " Corbett commented, waving his hand round the porch, "then he did not use it. There is no trace of fresh wax on the floor!" He looked at Bellet, pleased to see the sardonic grin disappear from his face. "An agitated man, " Corbett continued, "carrying a candle, stumbling around in the dark. His hand would shake. " Corbett scuffed the floor with the toe of his boot. "There would be more wax here than dirt!"

Corbett turned and walked into the nave of the church, a large paved area which stretched down to the rood screen, a wooden trellised partition with a huge door in the centre which led into the sanctuary and the stairs to the high altar. There was a row of stout squat pillars down either side of the nave. Each of the transepts looked black and empty except for the stacked wooden benches and the faded frescoes on the dirty whitewashed walls. High above each transept was a row of small oval-shaped windows. Corbett stared up at them, they were all firmly shuttered both inside and out except for one where the shutters hung loose, though still too small for any man to get through unnoticed by either Duket or the ward watch.

Corbett pulled his cloak around him and walked further down the nave, noting even how his leather-soled boots echoed like drumbeats round the church. He could hear the priest slithering behind him like some rat creeping along a pipe. Corbett walked into the sanctuary. The Blessed Chair, thick heavy and wooden, sat like a throne at the bottom of the white stone altar. There was nothing to see, though Corbett realized that he had never been in such a stark, lonely sanctuary. The high altar rose above him, lonely and impassive, its marble ledge unadorned by flowers or linen cloths. Behind it was a reredos, a blank screen with a faded fresco and above it a lonely red sanctuary lamp gleamed and winked in the gloom. There were benches at either side. Corbett turned and looked up, there was a trefoil window meshed with wire and horn above the high altar, which provided most of the light, flanked by a row of shuttered windows as in the rest of the church.

He walked over to the right of the sanctuary and looked up at the iron bar jutting out beside the large, wooden shuttered window. "Is that the bar?"

The priest, standing behind him, one hand on the arm of the Blessed Chair, nodded. "Yes, " he replied slowly. "The chair had been moved by Duket. He must have used it to fasten the rope round the bar. "

Corbett turned, looked directly at Bellet and shook his head. "I would not be too sure about that, " he replied and, not waiting for a reply, walked back down the nave of the church.

Corbett left the church and turned into the area below

Friday Street occupied by foreign tanners. The place was now a scene of frenetic building activity as workmen were engaged in constructing a huge cistern or conduit which would hold water run through elm. pipes from the Tyburn Stream. It was also the gallows ground and two bodies, fresh carrion by the look of them, hung twirling by their necks from the crude crossbeam of the scaffold. At any other time Corbett would have quickly passed such a scene but now, with the image of Lawrence Duket hanging by his neck at Saint Mary Le Bow fresh in his mind, Corbett went up and closely studied the bodies. Impervious to the smell and the horror of the grisly corpses, Corbett stayed till he was satisfied and then moved away to ask the whereabouts of Duket's house. His enquiries usually drew dark looks or blank stares but at last he was directed to a house on the corner of Bread Street.

A modest, two-storeyed building, Corbett thought it was deserted for the front door was secured tightly as were all the shutters. Corbett, however, pounded on the door, shouting for it to be opened "on the King's business". He heard footsteps, the bolts drawn and the door was opened by a small slim woman of medium height with auburn hair caught up in a wimple, the air of sobriety and mourning completed by a long, black dress. The only concession to fashion was a filigree gold chain round her waist and fresh white lace round the cuffs and long slim neck. Her face was severe with petulant lips and arrogant grey eyes. Corbett offered his warrant, the woman took it and read it quietly, her lips moving slowly over the words, she returned it and beckoned Corbett into the lower room, opening the shutters to allow in some air and light. The place was bereft of furniture except for leather trunks and heaps of clothing.

The woman watched Corbett for a while. "I am Jean Duket, " she said softly. "What do you want with me?" The words had a faint suggestive tone which Corbett ignored as he described his interest in Lawrence Duket's death. Although the woman was in mourning weeds, she seemed little disturbed by her brother's death. Only when Corbett mentioned Crepyn's name did Jean's eyes narrow, the colour rising in her cheeks.

"I did not like Crepyn, Master Clerk, " she snapped. "He was, " she searched for words.

"A blackmailer?" Corbett prompted her.

"Yes, Master Corbett, a blackmailer, a nothing, a fornicator and despoiler of women!"

"So, the story is true?" Corbett queried. Jean did not answer but turned and nodded her head vigorously.

"Is that why Lawrence killed him?" Corbett persisted.

Jean turned and laughed, almost hysterical. "Master Clerk, my brother and I, though we shared the same womb and later the same house, did not love each other. " She laughed nervously. "My brother did not kill for me. There were other things!" She looked quickly at Corbett. "I do not know, but the Bitch will know!"

"Who is this Bitch, Madam?"

"Alice atte Bowe, she keeps a tavern in St. Mark's Lane, the haunt of others of her coven or company. Reginald de Lanfer, Robert Pinnot, Paul Stubberhead, Thomas Coroner…?" Her voice trailed off and she stood twisting her waist chain in her fingers. "She was Crepyn's mistress. An evil whore!" She almost spat the words out of her mouth. "Crepyn forced me to sleep with him, to strip and pose, and then he told her and others what had happened. " Jean slumped on to one of the trunks, her head in her hands.

Corbett just stood and watched for a while. "Was Lawrence Alice's lover as well?" he asked.

Jean lifted her head back and laughed loudly. "My brother, Master Clerk, did not like women. As to the real cause of his quarrel with Crepyn, " she looked directly at Corbett. "I do not know, I do not care and, in days, I will be free of here. I have relatives in Oxford. I shall go there. " She rose and smoothed the folds of her dress. "That is all, Master Corbett. I wish you well. " She opened the door and stood aside to let Corbett pass through into the street.

Outside Corbett suddenly felt tired and hungry and eager for his own bed. He bought a pie from a nearby stall and ate it as he walked, quite determined to stay away from the taverns and their heady drink, at least for one night. He had begun his task as a good clerk should by collecting facts and information and, now was trying to organize it into some recognizable pattern. Yet there were items which confused and perplexed him and he knew his chancery-trained mind would give him no rest until everything was in order.

He turned off Cheapside down Paternoster Row and eventually arrived outside his lodgings in Thames Street just as darkness fell. He entered the house, ordered a lighted brazier from the owner, the sulky wife of a merchant, and climbed the rickety stairs to his garret. For a while he lay on his bed, swathed in his cloak as he recalled all he had seen, heard or said. Gradually, a pattern began to emerge in his mind and, having lit candles, he undid his bundle and, picking out his writing tray, slowly began to write on a piece of used parchment the facts now so clear in his mind.