Iris Collier - Day of Wrath

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‘And I say it’s a monstrous injustice to accuse someone before they’re proved guilty. Agnes Myles is a harmless old woman and most of the people around here have been grateful for her help. Didn’t you go and see her, Tomkins, when your face sprouted boils last Christmas?’

‘She said my blood needed cleaning,’ he mumbled, not meeting Nicholas’s gaze.

‘And they all cleared up, if I remember rightly?’

‘She gave me a herbal drink.’

‘Well now, would a wicked witch do that?’

‘Could’ve done,’ put in Biddy. ‘Witches are well known to be two-faced. Look how she frightened your horse up in the woods and nearly killed you.’

‘Don’t be such a fool and stop spreading such rumours. I had a fall, that’s all. One of the monks was up in the woods collecting herbs and my horse was taken by surprise and shied, throwing me to the ground. But enough of this talk. Let’s get back to Saturday night. So you heard no one talk about starting a fire?’

‘No, my Lord. Just the usual crowd, out for a drink and a laugh.’

‘And you saw nothing suspicious? No money changing hands, for instance?’

‘Money? Oh no, my Lord, if there was any money around it would’ve come in my direction.’

‘And no laughing about burning an old witch?’

‘Oh no, we wouldn’t have allowed such talk, would we Biddy?’

‘Certainly not. Why waste breath on the likes of her?’

There was no point in probing any further, Nicholas thought as he turned to go. The two had closed ranks. They stood in the doorway watching him mount Harry, who swirled around impatiently. ‘Well, let me know if you do hear anything. We want to know who started the fire. Someone must know. Bovet and Perkins might know and sooner or later they’ll start talking. There’s a reward, you know, for any information leading to the capture of the arsonists. I’ll see that it’s a good one.’

He pulled Harry round, and rode off. He didn’t see the look which the Tomkinses exchanged with one another.

Chapter Twenty-One

‘Just take a look at this lot, my Lord. Where’s the money coming from?’ said Geoffrey, hovering anxiously over Nicholas, who was sitting at a table with a pile of bills in front of him. Nicholas flipped through the pile, paused to read an invoice from the Prior for four butts of Burgundy, then he pushed them aside.

‘Where’s the money coming from? From me, of course. Who do you think’s going to pay ’em? The King? But don’t bother me with these now. If it means that I’ll have to sell the top field, so be it. At least I know old Warrener’ll snap it up, and I’ll see he pays a good price for it. Now who the devil’s this?’

A clatter of hooves in the courtyard; the sound of metal scraping on stone as a horse slithered to a halt; then Anthony burst in, breathless with excitement.

‘A messenger, my Lord, from the Earl of Southampton,’ he stammered.

‘Well, don’t keep him waiting. Just put these somewhere safe, Geoffrey,’ he said, pushing the pile of bills towards him, ‘and I’ll see to them later.’

Geoffrey shuffled the pile together and fastened them with a cord. Anthony returned, followed by a young man in leather breeches and jerkin covered in dust. He handed Nicholas a leather pouch.

‘From the Earl, my Lord. Shall I wait for a reply?’

‘You’d better hang around. Geoffrey, fetch this young man some food and something to drink. Sit down and rest yourself.’

The young man sank down gratefully on the chair which Nicholas pushed towards him and Nicholas opened the bag and took out the message.

‘Peverell,’ he read. ‘No more communications from Ultor. I don’t like it. Either he’s using another port, or he’s gone to ground. That means he’s feeling secure. He’s made his plans and he’s waiting for the right moment to strike. You must check on everyone; and I mean everyone. The King’s coming next week, remember. Destroy this letter immediately. Paget.’

Nicholas cursed under his breath. He was sick and tired of people telling him what to do. And did Southampton take him for a fool? Of course he knew the King was coming. Hadn’t he got a pile of bills to prove it?

He called for pen and a sheet of parchment and sat down and wrote.

‘My Lord. I am well aware of the urgency of the situation. I also would like to see Ultor flushed out. Rest assured I will do all I can to ensure the King’s safety. Would you send me more precise details of the King’s timetable for the seventh, please. Are you planning to feed him after the review and put him up for the night? Peverell.’

Then he got up, gave his letter to the young man wolfing down a plateful of cold meats, and put the Earl’s letter on the fire, kicking up the logs to make sure every scrap of it was destroyed.

Anthony had returned and was standing awkwardly by the door. ‘Not you again,’ Nicholas said, ‘who is it this time?’

‘That monk, my lord. The one who came before. He wants to see you.’

‘Finish your food,’ he said to the messenger as he left the room. ‘Then get back to your master. I shall see you again soon.’

* * *

Nicholas went out into the courtyard where Brother Benedict was waiting for him. He bowed to Nicholas.

‘A message from Mistress Warrener, my Lord. She wants to see you. Can she come straight away?’

‘Tell her, yes. Tell her I’ll meet her in the usual place.’

Benedict bowed and waited. ‘What now?’ said Nicholas impatiently.

‘Prior says will you come and have supper with us tonight. He says he’d appreciate your help with his visitors.’

I’m sure he would, said Nicholas under his breath. ‘Tell him I’ll be delighted to come. What time?’

‘Six. Just an informal supper, he says.’

That means only four courses, thought Nicholas as he watched Benedict leave the house. He paused for a moment, watching the retreating figure of the monk. He needed to speak with Jane, to mull over events, to use her sharp mind. There were so many possible suspects. Brother Benedict, for instance. What did anyone know about him? A visitor from France; always going backwards and forwards to his mother house. He could be in communication with Reginald Pole. He was allowed to roam freely round the village, was the Prior’s favourite and probably knew what was in the Prior’s mind. Could he be Ultor? Or, at least, could he be working for Ultor? So many suspects; so little time to find the right one.

Jane was waiting for him by the stone seat in the orchard. She came over to meet him.

‘We must talk, Nicholas. It’s Agnes.’

That name again, he thought. Somehow he knew instinctively that this old lady was going to lead them to Ultor. ‘How is she, Jane?’ he said.

‘Still confused; but getting stronger. The isolation suits her. She’s beginning to feel safe. But I am worried about her. She’s a key witness, Nicholas. If she remembers the names of all the people who came to see her over the last two weeks and what they wanted, one of them could be the person we’re looking for – the person who killed Bess Knowles, who tried to kill you up in the woods, and is planning to kill again. Agnes could have supplied him with the means. He’ll want her out of the way. And everyone knows where she is and it’s only a matter of time before someone gets her out of that room. It’s very strongly built, but it wouldn’t be difficult to smoke her out or break down the door. And the Prior is under pressure to get rid of her.

‘I know this, because something happened yesterday. I took her some food as usual. She was asleep so I shut the door and waited. Suddenly I heard voices. Now, as you know, there is a small window at the back of the cell so that the anchoress who used to live there could watch Mass being sung. Now I heard two of the Brothers talking. I stood on a chair and saw Father Hubert talking to Brother Michael and the upshot of it was that both said they wanted to get rid of Agnes. They called her names, old hag, dirty witch, and so on, and then went on to discuss the King’s visitors who are coming today. They talked about ours being a godless society; you know how they witter on. Then they started talking about Agnes again and how she was putting a curse on the place and they would all be destroyed if they didn’t throw her out. Utter nonsense, of course. Agnes isn’t capable of cursing anyone, even if she knew how to.’

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