Iris Collier - Day of Wrath

The wind was blowing the smoke back through the hole in the roof, and Jane could only just see the two boys and the girl, sitting on the damp mud floor watching the pot with hungry eyes, like three cats. Two chickens, perched on the wooden bed head, started up in surprise as she went in and flew out of the front door, squawking angrily. The children jumped up to welcome her. They were polite children, as Abigail was strict with them, and they tried not to look too eagerly at the pots of honey she’d brought with her. Jane hugged them all, and gave the eldest boy one of the pots.

‘Here, Simon, go and share this with your brother and sister.’

Simon took the pot and they rushed to the table where they greedily scooped out the honey with their fingers, licking up every drop.

‘Don’t eat it all,’ said their mother. ‘Save some to put on your gruel when it’s ready.’

They grinned across at her and went on eating. Jane went over the fire and looked closely at Abigail, who was still weak from childbirth. She was a young woman, still in her twenties, but already the strain of bearing four children in five years was beginning to show in her tired, worn face. Her long hair hung in lank strands round her face and her torn brown dress was mud-stained and hardly covered her body. However, she was pleased to see Jane and told her to bring up a stool and dry herself off.

‘The fire’s got the sulks today,’ Abigail said, giving it a poke. ‘It takes a long time to get the food cooked. It’s good of you to come, Mistress Warrener. Just take a look at those three with the honey.’

Jane waved across at the children. ‘How are you, Abigail? Are you getting a bit stronger after Daniel’s birth?’

‘Ah, the poor darling. He was just a wee bit of a thing. Didn’t really know who we were or where he was. But the Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.’

‘You’re not angry about his death?’

‘Angry? Lord, Mistress, why should I be angry? These things happen; and it’s best that it turned out the way it did. How could I cope with a child with a twisted body? He’ll be up in Heaven now, with a beautiful straight body and a fine pair of wings on him. He was fair, you know; not like my three darlings over there. Daniel was meant to be an angel.’

‘You don’t blame the midwife who delivered him?’

‘Oh no, she’s not to blame. He was a bit upside down when he was inside me and we had a struggle to get him out. But Mistress Agatha was very clever and Agnes Myles was very helpful too with her potions. At one stage, when the pains were real bad, she gave me something to drink which knocked me out. The next thing I remember Daniel was born. He’s happy now, and that’s an end to it. Some wicked people are saying that Agnes put a curse on him, but I don’t believe that. She loves babies and has never harmed anyone. No, God wanted Daniel for his own.’

Jane stayed until the gruel was bubbling in the pot. Then she got up and went over to talk to the children, who were now extracting the final smears of honey from the jar. The two little boys were sturdy and lively and she asked if they were going to the monks’ school. Abigail looked across at them.

‘Yes, the Prior says they can start soon. I want them all to read and write. Neither Jack nor I can. Will you teach little Rose to read when she’s a bit older?’

‘Of course I will. It opens up a whole new world when you learn how to read.’

‘I’ve told them that. It’s the only way out of this dreary life we lead. Just think of all the people who live in this village. How many of them can read and write? Most people just scrape around for a living as best they can.’

Jane left the Butchers’ house and untied Melissa. So that was that. She was quite sure that none of the Butcher family would harm Agnes Myles. But who, in the village, she thought as she jumped up on Melissa, could read and write? The priest, of course, the churchwarden, the monks Geoffrey Lowe. Not many people, but, of course, someone else could have written that message. Someone from outside the village. Lots of people could read and write in Marchester.

She rode off. Already it was time to see to her father’s midday meal. Later, when he took his afternoon nap she’d go and see the churchwarden. Not that she could visualise Edgar Pierrepoint skulking out in the middle of the night to string up a cat.

* * *

Edgar Pierrepoint was also taking an afternoon nap when Jane knocked on his door. He lived in a large, timber-framed house next to the church and, as a freeholder, he enjoyed a comfortable life-style. After a few minutes, he opened the door, recognised Jane and ushered her in to his front room. His wife, Phyllis, who was overweight and found it difficult to get about these days, was upstairs asleep. As Jane went in, a large tabby cat stood up on the settee where he’d been curled up asleep, arched his back, yawned and jumped down on to the floor where he proceeded to rub himself round Jane’s legs, purring loudly.

‘He’s a beautiful cat,’ she said as Edgar indicated a chair by the fire.

‘Yes, he’s got some fine markings on him. We’re very fond of him, as you know. He’s a good ratter. Getting on a bit, like us.’

‘You’ve heard the news about what happened to poor Agnes Myles’s cat?’

‘Oh yes, I’m really angry about that. I’ve been down to see her and she’s very cut up. There are wicked people around, Mistress Warrener. Who’d want to harm a cat who never bothered anyone, and who keeps down the vermin? Agnes might not be a regular churchgoer but she’s a good Christian soul all the same. It’s wicked what people are saying about her.’

‘So you’ve heard the rumours too. Do you know who started them?’

‘No, I don’t. But I intend to find out. I’m going to start with the ale-house. A lot of rogues get together down there and there’s always trouble after they’ve had a few jars. I’ll get to the bottom of it even if it takes me the rest of the summer. I can’t abide persecution of innocent people; and I can’t abide cruelty to harmless animals. Don’t you fret yourself, Mistress Warrener, I’ll sort this out.’

* * *

Once again, she’d drawn a blank. Pierrepoint and his wife would no more kill a cat than fly to the moon. Maybe he’d find out something from the ale-house regulars.

* * *

It was after dark when Nicholas got back to Peverell Manor. Geoffrey Lowe was waiting up for him. When he helped him off with his boots and brought him a tray of food, he told him about what had happened to Agnes Myles’s cat.

‘Mistress Warrener came looking for you this morning. I expect it was about this. It’s a wicked thing to happen and I hope the devils who did it are found. Not much you can do tonight, sir,’ he said, as Nicholas reached out for his boots. ‘Master Warrener wouldn’t take kindly to you bothering his daughter at this hour. Best go and see her tomorrow.’

Wearily, Nicholas went up to his room. He fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. Just after midnight, he was woken up by a loud banging on the door and Geoffrey came in.

‘Wake up, my Lord. There’s a fire down in the village. You can see it from the gatehouse. Seems to be coming from the direction of Agnes Myles’s house.’

Nicholas leapt out of bed and threw on some clothes. Then he went to the gatehouse and saw the flames which were lighting up the night sky over Agnes Myles’s cottage. Already his servants were running down towards the blaze. Fire was everybody’s dread, and everyone had a responsibility to try to put it out. Unfortunately the rain had stopped, but at least Agnes had her own well in her garden.

A groom brought round one of the other horses, and Nicholas mounted and galloped off down to the village.