An Excellent Mystery (26 page)

“I
am sure she will. And a good witness, careful and clear.”

“So
it seems,” said Hugh, and shut his fingers decisively over the ring. “Nicholas,
you must take some food and wine now, while this downpour continues — for why
should you drown a second time when we have our quarry already in safe hold?
But as soon as it stops, you and I will go and confront Master Heriet with this
pretty thing, and see if we cannot prise more out of him this time than a
child’s tale of gaping at the wonders of Winchester.”

Ever
since dinner Brother Cadfael had been dividing his time between the mill and
the gatehouse, forewarned of possible trouble by the massing of the clouds long
before the rain began. When the storm broke he took refuge in the mill, from
which vantage-point he could keep an eye on both the pond and its outlet to the
brook, and the road from the town, in case Madog should have found it advisable
to land his charges for shelter in Frankwell, rather than completing the long
circuit of the town, in which case he would come afoot to report as much.

The
mill’s busy season was over, it was quiet and dim within, no sound but the
monotonous dull drumming of the rain. It was there that Madog found him, a
drowned rat of a Madog, alone. He had come by the path outside the abbey
enclave, by which the town customers approached with their grain to be milled,
rather than enter at the gatehouse. He loomed shadowy against the open doorway,
and stood mute, dangling long, helpless arms. No man’s strength could fight off
the powers of weather and storm and thunder. Even his long endurance had its
limits.

“Well?”
said Cadfael, chilled with foreboding.

“Not
well, but very ill.” Madog came slowly within, and what light there was showed
the dour set of his face. “Anything to astonish me, you said! I have had my
fill of astonishment, and I bring it straight to you, as you wished. God
knows,” he said, wringing out beard and hair, and shaking rivulets of rain from
his shoulders, “I’m at a loss to know what to do about it. If you had
foreknowledge, you may be able to see a way forward — I’m blind!” He drew deep
breath, and told it all in words blunt and brief. “The rain alone would not
have troubled us. The lightning struck a tree, heaved it at us as we passed,
and split us asunder. The boat’s gone piecemeal down the river, where the shreds
will fetch up there’s no guessing. And those two brothers of yours…”

“Drowned?”
said Cadfael in a stunned whisper.

“The
older one, Marescot, yes… Dead, at any rate. I got him out, the young one
helping, though him I had to loose, I could not grapple with both. But I could
get no breath back into Marescot. There was barely time for him to drown, the
shock more likely stopped his heart, frail as he was — the cold, even the noise
of the thunder. However it was, he’s dead. There’s an end. As for the other — what
is there I could tell you of the other, that you do not know?”

He
was searching Cadfael’s face with close and wondering attention. “No, there’s
no astonishment in it for you, is there? You knew it all before. Now what do we
do?”

Cadfael
stirred out of his stillness, gnawed a cautious lip, and stared out into the
rain. The worst had passed, the sky was growing lighter. Far along the river
valley the diminishing rolls of thunder followed the foul brown flood-water
downstream.

“Where
have you left them?”

“On
the far side of Frankwell, not a mile from the bridge, there’s a hut on the
bank, the fishermen use it. We fetched up close by, and I got them into cover
there. We’ll need a litter to bring Marescot home, but what of the other?”

“Nothing
of the other! The other’s gone, drowned, the Severn has taken him. And no
alarm, no litter, not yet. Bear with me, Madog, for this is a desperate
business, but if we tread carefully now we may come through it unscathed. Go
back to them, and wait for me there. I’m coming with you as far as the town,
then you go on to the hut, and I’ll come to you there as soon as I can. And
never a word of this, never to any, for the sake of us all.”

The
rain had stopped by the time Cadfael turned in at the gate of Hugh’s house.
Every roof glistened, every gutter streamed, as the grey remnants of cloud
cleared from a sun now bright and benevolent, all its coppery malignancy gone
down-river with the storm.

“Hugh
is still at the castle,” said Aline, surprised and pleased as she rose to meet
him. “He has a visitor with him there
—
Nicholas Harnage is come back, he says
with grim news, but he did not stay to confide it to me.”

“He?
He’s back?” Cadfael was momentarily distracted, even alarmed. “What can he have
found, I wonder? And how wide will he have spread it already?” He shook the
speculation away from him. “Well, that makes my business all the more urgent.
Girl dear, it’s you I want! Had Hugh been here, I would have begged the loan of
you of your lord in a proper civil fashion, but as things are… I need you for
an hour or two. Will you ride with me in a good cause? We’ll need horses — one
for you to go and return, and one for me to go further still — one of Hugh’s
big fellows that can carry two at a pinch. Will you be my advocate, and see me
back into good odour if I borrow such a horse? Trust me, the need is urgent.”

“Hugh’s
stables have always been open to you,” said Aline, “since ever we got to know
you. And I’ll lend myself for any enterprise you tell me is urgent. How far
have we to go?”

“Not
far. Over the western bridge and across Frankwell. I must ask the loan of some
of your possessions, too,” said Cadfael.

“Tell
me what you want, and then you go and saddle the horses — Jehan is there, tell
him you have my leave. And you can tell me what all this means and what I’m
needed for on the way.”

Adam
Heriet looked up sharply and alertly when the door of his prison was opened at
an unexpected hour of the early evening. He drew himself together with
composure and caution when he saw who entered. He was practised and prepared in
all the questions with which he had so far had to contend, but this promised or
threatened something new. The bold oaken face the jeweller’s wife had so
shrewdly observed served him well. He rose civilly in the presence of his
betters, but with a formal stiffness and a blank countenance which suggested
that he did not feel himself to be in any way inferior. The door closed behind
them, though the key was not turned. There was no need, there would be a guard
outside.

“Sit,
Adam! We have been showing some interest in your movements in Winchester, at
the time you know of,” said Hugh mildly. “Would you care to add anything to
what you’ve already told us? Or to change anything?”

“No,
my lord. I have told you what I did and where I went. There is no more to
tell.”

“Your
memory may be faulty. All men are fallible. Can we not remind you, for
instance, of a silversmith’s shop in the High Street? Where you sold three
small things of value — not your property?”

Adam’s
face remained stonily stoical, but his eyes flickered briefly from one face to
the other. “I never sold anything in Winchester. If anyone says so, they have
mistaken me for some other man.”

“You
lie!” said Nicholas, flaring. “Who else would be carrying these very three
things? A necklace of polished stones, an engraved silver bracelet — and this!”

The
ring lay in his open palm, thrust close under Adam’s nose, its enamels shining
with a delicate lustre, a small work of art so singular that there could not be
a second like it. And he had known the girl from infancy, and must have been
familiar with her trinkets long before that journey south. If he denied this,
he proclaimed himself a liar, for there were plenty of others who could swear
to it.

He
did not deny it. He even stared at it with a well-assumed wonder and surprise,
and said at once: “That is Julian’s! Where did you get it?”

“From
the silversmith’s wife. She kept it for her own, and she remembered very well
the man who brought it, and painted as good a picture of him as the law will
need to put your name to him. Yes, this is Julian’s!” said Nicholas, hoarse
with passion. “That is what you did with her goods. What did you do with her?”

“I’ve
told you! I parted from her a mile or more from Wherwell, at her orders, and I
never saw her again.”

“You
lie in your teeth! You destroyed her.”

Hugh
laid a hand on the young man’s arm, which started and quivered at the touch,
like a pointing hound distracted from his aim.

“Adam,
you waste your lying, which is worse. Here is a ring you acknowledge for your
mistress’s property, sold, according to two good witnesses, on the twentieth of
August three years ago, in a Winchester shop, by a man whose description fits
you better than your own clothes…”

“Then
it could fit many a man of my age,” protested Adam stoutly. “What is there
singular about me? The woman has not pointed the finger at me, she has not seen
me…”

“She
will, Adam, she will. We can bring her, and her husband, too, to accuse you to
your face. As I accuse you,” said Hugh firmly. “This is too much to be passed
off as a children’s tale, or a curious chance. We need no better case against
you than this ring and those two witnesses provide — for robbery, if not for
murder. Yes, murder! How else did you get possession of her jewellery? And if
you did not connive at her death, then where is she now? She never reached
Wherwell, nor was she expected there, it was quite safe to put her out of the
world, her kin here believing her safe in a nunnery, the nunnery undisturbed by
her never arriving, for she had given no forewarning. So where is she, Adam? On
the earth or under it?”

“I
know no more than I’ve told you,” said Adam, setting his teeth.

“Ah,
but you do! You know how much you got from the silversmith — and how much of it
you paid over to your hired assassin, outside the shop. Who was he, Adam?”
demanded Hugh softly. “The woman saw you meet him, pay him, slither away round
the corner with him when you saw her standing at the door. Who was he?”

“I
know nothing of any such man. It was not I who went there, I tell you.” His
voice was still firm, but a shade hurried now, and had risen a tone, and he was
beginning to sweat.

“The
woman has described him, too. A young fellow about twenty, slender, and kept
his capuchon over his head. Give him a name, Adam, and it may somewhat lighten
your load. If you know a name for him? Where did you find him? In the market?
Or was he bespoken well before for the work?”

“I
never entered such a shop. If all this happened, it happened to other men, not
to me. I was not there.”

“But
Julian’s possessions were, Adam! That’s certain. And brought by someone who
much resembled you. When the woman sees you in the flesh, then I may say,
brought by you. Better to tell us, Adam. Spare yourself a long uncovering, make
your confession of your own will, and be done. Spare the silversmith’s wife a
long journey. For she will point the finger, Adam. This, she will say when she
sets eyes on you, this is the man.”

“I
have nothing to confess. I’ve done no wrong.”

“Why
did you choose that particular shop, Adam?”

“I
was never in the shop. I had nothing to sell. I was not there…”

“But
this ring was, Adam. How did it get there? And with neckless and bracelet, too?
Chance? How far can chance stretch?”

“I
left her a mile from Wherwell…”

“Dead,
Adam?”

“I
parted from her living, I swear it!”

“Yet
you told the silversmith that the lady who had owned these gems was dead. Why
did you so?”

“I
told you, it was not I, I was never in the shop.”

“Some
other man, was it? A stranger, and yet he had those ornaments, all three, and
he resembled you, and he knew and said that the lady was dead. Here are so many
miraculous chances, Adam, how do you account for them?”

The
prisoner let his head fall back against the wall. His face was grey. “I never
laid hand on her. I loved her!”

“And
this is not her ring?”

“It
is her ring. Anyone at Lai will tell you so.”

“Yes,
they will, Adam, they will! They will tell the court so, when your time comes.
But only you can tell us how it came into your possession, unless by murder.
Who was the man you paid?”

“There
was none. I was not there. It was not I…”

The
pace had steadily increased, the questions coming thick as arrows and as
deadly. Round and round, over and over the same ground, and the man was tiring
at last. If he was breakable at all, he must break soon.

They
were so intent, and strung so taut, like overtuned instruments, that they all
three started violently when there was a knock at the door of the cell, and a
sergeant put his head in, visibly agape with sensational news. “My lord,
pardon, but they thought you should know at once… There’s word in town that a
boat sank today in the storm. Two brothers from the abbey drowned in Severn,
they’re saying, and Madog’s boat smashed to flinders by a tree the lightning
fetched down. They’re searching downstream for one of the pair…”