The Holy Innocents
- Автор: Sedley Kate
- Серия: Roger the Chapman #4
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Canelo
- ISBN: 9781800326026
- Жанр: Исторические детективы
Электронная книга - «The Holy Innocents». Краткое содержание книги:
A town paralysed with fear, two children gone missing. Roger’s most difficult case yet…
April, 1475. As Roger approaches the thriving village of Totnes, danger crackles in the air. A pack of cutthroats wanders the forest after a night of pillaging, and Roger barely manages to hide from them in the brush.
He soon learns that the marauding band has been terrorizing the countryside for weeks. And worse, they are believed to be responsible for the disappearance of two village children.
But how did the children get out of the house unnoticed in broad daylight? And would the outlaws really kill just for the sake of killing? Roger cannot rest – or rule out the possibility of more violence – until he solves the puzzle.
Two small children had vanished from their home without being seen by either of the servants in charge of them. Both Bridget Praule and Agatha Tenter swore that this was impossible. But knowing the cunning of the young, and recalling my own youthful shifts and ploys to escape the watchful eyes of my mother, I was perfectly ready to accept that it had happened. More difficult for me to accept, however, was the fact that Eudo Colet, the one person with anything to gain from his stepchildren’s deaths, had been in no way involved in their disappearance and subsequent murder. Yet he had been out of the house, visiting one of his most respected neighbours, at the time they had vanished. They had been there when he left, gone when he returned. Both maid and cook testified to that fact, and would not be shaken.
So, what did I and others know about Eudo Colet? Very little before his arrival in Totnes as husband of the town’s richest heiress. His origins were shrouded in mystery, but his air and manner proclaimed him of lowly birth, a man who had used his good looks to ensnare a vain and wealthy woman. A common enough story, and one told over and over again throughout the ages. Nevertheless it demonstrated Eudo Colet to be a man of few scruples, as all adventurers are, of necessity. Grizelda had pressed me to consider the possibility that he had links with the outlaws, and who was to say that she was wrong? Who knew what dubious connections he had formed in his youth? He might himself have once been a felon. Perhaps some chance meeting with a member of the robber band had renewed an old friendship, and with his wife recently dead in childbirth, and his newly acquired wealth burning holes in his pockets, Master Eudo had seen a way to help himself to an even greater fortune. But this posed me a problem: by what reasoning had he been able to persuade the children to escape secretly into the countryside, where his murderous cronies awaited them?
I jerked upright on the bench, now thoroughly wide awake, and stared around at the sun-dappled garden. The goodwife was still busy about her weeding and had not noticed my sudden start. I sank back once more against the wall, but this time did not close my eyes.
I remained uneasy concerning this notion of Grizelda’s, it seemed too much dependent on chance and luck. But neither could I dismiss it, my experiences of the past night convincing me that Eudo Colet had tried to get me out of his house, either by injury or by playing on my superstitious fears. And his only reason for doing so must be my visit to Dame Tenter’s cottage and my poorly concealed interest in the fate of Mary and Andrew Skelton. Moreover, I had mentioned the lullaby heard by Jack Carter on the morning of the children’s disappearance, which must have suggested a means by which he could be rid of me. The discovery that Master Colet had indeed spent the night within the town wails, confirmed this suspicion, only to have doubt cast upon it by Ursula Cozin’s information. But Mistress Ursula had said that the guest slept on a truckle bed in the downstairs parlour, so that he could be away at first light without disturbing the rest of the household. And now that I had leisure to consider her words, I realized that if Eudo Colet could let himself noiselessly out of the house in the morning, he could equally well have done so during the night. My turmoil of mind following Ursula’s revelation, had merely been the result of tiredness due to lack of sleep. Another excuse for leaving, the belief that I had reached a dead end, was knocked from under me. I had no longer any choice but to return.
I got to my feet, thanked the goodwife for her welcome, added a spool of fine silk thread to my gift of the leather strap, hoisted my pack on to my shoulders and, grasping my cudgel, set off back the way I had come, towards Totnes.
Chapter Fifteen
The first shadows of evening were stroking pasture and garden as I made my way along the track, steadily putting the miles behind me. On the far horizon, black-fingered clouds stretched towards the sun, an intimation that the spell of fine weather might soon be over. There was a chill in the air, and the distant hills were lost behind gathering mist. Here and there, plumes of smoke rose from a cottage roof as the goodwife began her preparations for supper.
I was careful, on this return journey, not to stray into the forest, but to keep to the course of the river and in sight of habitation. It was not yet time for the outlaws to be up and stirring, but there were others who hunted alone, or in twos and threes, lying in wait for the unwary traveller. I had always been capable of protecting myself against these enemies, and my cudgel was my trusty friend, but it would be untrue to say that I had never suffered injury, and I had no wish at present to risk my hide.
The track broadened as I reached the great tidal marsh, just north of Totnes. Golden-headed kingcups were beginning to close with the fading light, and dumps of reeds and grasses were slowly drained of colour as banks of clouds diminished the sun. Lights from the Foregate pricked the gathering darkness and, high on the hill, torches had been lit on the castle walls.
I was nearing East Gate, skirting the fences of St Mary’s Priory, when I heard the rattle of wheels behind me. I had been vaguely aware for some minutes past of a cart approaching, and now, turning my head, I saw a gaily painted wagonette, its wooden sides picked out in yellows, reds and greens, and between its beribboned shafts, a patient-eyed mule plodding decorously over the rough and stony ground. A willow framework supported a canvas covering, and within the body of the cart was a tumble of bedding and brightly coloured costumes.
Three young men walked alongside the wagon, one at the head of the mule, his hand on the bridle, the other two lagging a little, and all of them plainly footsore. Shoes and hose were white with dust, their tunics well worn and, in places, threadbare. A flute and tabor were tied to the slats at one side of the cart, but even without them, I should have had no difficulty in recognizing this little party of vagabonds as travelling entertainers. Early spring was the time when such bands took to the roads, mumming and miming, juggling and dancing, after spending the winter, if they were luck, in the household of some great lord, or, if less fortunate, earning a few pence in the streets of a town. And if all else failed, they had a home of sorts in their covered wagon.
The youngest of the three, the one leading the mule, was a thickset lad with a shock of red hair, blue eyes, turned-up nose and a round, jolly face, peppered with freckles. I recognized him on the instant, and without stopping to think that I had to be mistaken, put out a hand and gripped his arm.
‘Nicholas!’ I exclaimed. ‘Nicholas Fletcher!’
He turned a startled gaze in my direction before giving a good-natured grin.
‘My name is surely Fletcher, sir, for my great-grandsire was a maker of arrows. But my baptismal name is Martin.’ He knotted his sandy brows. ‘Although I do have an older brother called Nicholas.’ The grin widened. ‘A brother twice over in fact, for he’s not only my parents’ child, but also a Brother of the Benedictine order at Glastonbury Abbey.’
‘Of course!’ I said, clapping a hand to my forehead and cursing my own stupidity. ‘Forgive me, but you’re as like as two peas in a pod.’
‘You know him?’ Martin Fletcher asked delightedly, while his two friends crowded round, eager to discover what was happening. ‘You’re acquainted with Nick?’
‘We were novices together,’ I explained, ‘but the cowl and tonsure were not for me, and I never took my vows, unlike your brother.’