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.
‘Who’s that?’ I asked sharply, starting forward.
Grizelda whirled about, raising the lantern higher, sending long shadows dancing up the walls. But the passageway was empty. She turned on me fiercely.
‘Why are you trying to frighten me?’ she snapped.
‘There was someone there,’ I told her urgently. ‘I saw him.’ Why was I so certain that it had been a man? ‘Martin! You must have noticed something.’
But my new acquaintance shook his head. ‘The tight from the lantern was shining in my eyes.’
‘Nevertheless, there was someone there,’ I insisted. ‘Grizelda, let me come in and search.’
‘No!’ She blocked the doorway with her body, but her voice softened a little. ‘Roger, I know you mean well and that you are concerned for my safety, but you have allowed your imagination to get the better of you, just as you did last night. Oh, it’s not altogether your fault. I accept my share of the responsibility. I should never have encouraged you to inquire into this business in the first place, but I was angry and griefstricken for my little innocents.’
‘And now you are not?’ My tone was icy.
‘How can you ask such a question?’ She reared her head. ‘Do you think anything can ever assuage my grief? But I have come to accept that there is no mystery, that the simple explanation of how things happened is the right one.’
‘This is a sudden conversion,’ I flung at her angrily.
She sighed. ‘Roger, I’m sorry. I suppose I always knew where the truth lay, but it was an indulgence to unburden myself to a sympathetic ear, and one I was unable to resist. Forgive me. But the events of the past night have made me realize how fragile our hold upon our destiny is. I must put the past behind me. Forget it, and look towards the future. So must you. You have a child, and by your own admission, you have been absent from Bristol many weeks. Return to her.’ Grizelda held out her free hand. The harshness had gone from her face and there was a rueful gleam in her eyes. ‘I’m not the woman for you. No, don’t deny that the thought has crossed your mind once or twice during these past three days, as, I must confess, it has crossed mine. But we should not suit. Now, go away, go home, and forget me. I’m sorry I cannot accommodate your friend and his companions, but if I am to find a place as housekeeper in this town, then I dare not let my good name be sullied by even the merest suspicion of disorderly conduct.’
I took her fingers in mine and pressed them against my lips. I was ashamed of myself both for the way in which I had treated her earlier in the day, and for attributing vengeful motives to her.
‘We’ll be off,’ I said, clapping Martin on the back, ‘and trouble you no further.’ But I could not help glancing over her shoulder, peering anxiously into the gloom of the passageway. Had I indeed seen someone lurking there? Or was Grizelda right, and was my imagination beginning to get the better of me? ‘Take care,’ I urged her, pressing her hand before releasing it.
She smiled. ‘I promise.’ She retreated from the threshold and closed the door.
Martin Fletcher turned curious eyes upon me, plainly sensing a story which he would dearly love to explore, but for the moment, his chief concern was for the safe bestowal of his wagon. Peter Coucheneed and Luke Hollis were equally dismayed with the failure of our mission.
‘We must make haste and leave before the gates are closed,’ Martin told them. ‘There’s nothing for it but to sleep in the Foregate. One of the cottagers will give us food and water for Clotilde.’ And he tickled the mule affectionately behind the ears. ‘Rogues and vagabonds like us can’t be permitted to clutter up the streets of a respectable town.’
Meantime, Jacinta had emerged from the tavern to lure us back inside again, custom not being so brisk that she could afford to lose four young men set upon a convivial evening.
When she knew of the mummers’ predicament, she was angry, but could offer no remedy. The ale-house was hemmed in on all sides by houses and the outer walls of the castle. She turned to me.
‘And you, lad, where will you be sleeping, now that you’ve lost your former lodging?’ She eyed me up and down in a manner which made me most uneasy. ‘You’re welcome to find a bed here for the night, if you don’t mind sharing a pallet with my son.’
I hurriedly declined the invitation, dismissing as unworthy the suspicion that the bed I would end up sharing might well be her own.
‘I’ll try the Priory guest-hall first,’ I said, ‘when I’ve seen my friends here safely beyond the walls.’ And I set off downhill once again, walking beside the wagonette.
We were within yards of the East Gate when there was a sudden commotion, and a party of horsemen rode through, showing a fine disregard for the gatekeeper and anyone else who happened to be in their path. The central figure was richly attired and mounted on a handsome black gelding, its jingling harness glinting in the torchlight. Half a dozen other men, in jackets of thick green frieze and helmets of boiled leather, were of only slightly less importance, in their own eyes at least, and one of them shouted for someone to run and fetch the Mayor. Behind these gentlemen, streamed a small cohort of servants. The lord Sheriff, having made all speed from Exeter, had arrived.
‘I’ll not get a bed in the Priory tonight,’ I said to Martin, ‘so I might as well come with you. I’ve acquaintances in the Foregate,’ I added, thinking of Granny Praule, ‘where I might find a welcome.’
He nodded and drove the wagon forward. Its tail had barely cleared the archway when the bell rang for curfew, and the town gates creaked shut behind us.
By the time a sheltered nook had been found for the wagon, food and water obtained for the mule and I had knocked on the door of Granny Praule’s cottage, it was growing late and we were all tired and hungry. I refused Granny’s pressing invitation for us to sup with her, guessing from her granddaughter’s worried expression that they did not have sufficient food on the shelves for four extra people. I accepted with gratitude, however, the offer of Bridget’s mattress for the night, while she shared her grandmother’s.
‘But we’ll away to Matt’s tavern for our victuals.’
‘A pity, a pity,’ Granny Praule mumbled. ‘Four young men together under my roof, that’s a chance I’m not likely to have again in a hurry.’
‘We’ll perform a special entertainment for you and Mistress Bridget tomorrow,’ Martin Fletcher promised, kissing her wrinkled cheek. ‘And no payment asked in return.’ Granny cackled delightedly and told me she would leave the cottage door on the latch. ‘But don’t be long, lad, and mind you push the bolts to, once you’re inside.’
Matt’s tavern was quiet and he was already thinking of locking up for the night as defence against any marauders, but the prospect of losing good money if he turned us away was not to be countenanced lightly. So he sat us down at a table, fetched us bread and cheese and ale and exhorted us to eat our fill, although it was plain that he hoped we wouldn’t dally. After that, he left us to ourselves, disappearing down the cellar steps with his potman, to attend to his barrels.
I was grateful that sufficient time had by now elapsed to blunt Martin Fletcher’s curiosity concerning my friendship with Grizelda, for I had no wish to discuss it. Instead, he and his friends kept me amused with tales of their life as wandering entertainers.
‘The summer’s the best time,’ Martin said, and the other two nodded vigorous agreement. ‘Going from village to village, town to town, the sun shining and the people running out to greet you, that’s as great a reward sometimes as the money you can make. But best of all are the fairs, especially the big ones, like St Bartholomew’s in London. Everyone’s there. You meet up with all your old friends, hear all their gossip, find out how they fared during the winter, whether or not they had a roof over their heads, and so on.’