[Roger the Chapman 02] - The Plymouth Cloak (17 page)

'Whoever it was climbed up the vine and escaped the same way, exactly as Master Underdown did last night.' She turned to look at me with a sudden, sharp intake of breath. 'Of course,' she said. 'In all the flurry, no one's thought... He couldn't have got out through the courtyard.

The main gate and the postern were locked. None of us has seen fit to inquire... I truly believe our wits have gone woolgathering.'

I shook my head. 'You've all had other things to think about since the body was discovered, and those sort of questions are for the Sergeant to ask when he gets here.' I glanced around me. 'Anyway, there's no harm done. Our would-be thief has not found what he came for.' Janet gave me a curious glance, but forbore to comment.

She respected the confidence I had reposed in her, and her silence intimated more plainly than words could have done that she considered my affairs none of her business. But after a moment, she remarked: 'All the same. Master Steward will have to be informed that there has been an intruder in the house. It may have some relevance to the murder.' She hesitated, then asked. 'How much does Silas Bywater know of you and Master Underdown?'

'He has, as yet, no idea of the truth. He assumes Philip and I were partners, that I have replaced his dead brother, and that we are here as traders, scouring this part of Cornwall for things to buy cheaply and sell overseas at a profit. Including deformed and stunted children.'

A spasm crossed the housekeeper's face, as well it might, at the thought of such revolting traffic, before she returned to the matter in hand. 'I'll go and look for Alwyn,' she said, 'and tell him what has happened. You proceed as you intended, lad, with your inquiries.'

'Before I go, let me show you what we came to find.' I closed the lid of the chest, shifted it an inch or two away from the wall, stooped and stood upright again, the bunch of withered flowers in my hand. 'Here! The stem of knotgrass is among the daisies. You see how dry and broken it is. It's the same one, I'm sure, that Silas Bywater gave me at Buckfast on Friday.'

Janet Overy took the tattered nosegay from me and stared at it in bewilderment. Then she shook her head slowly: 'It could not have been Silas,' she said at last. 'He didn't arrive until this morning - unless he entered the chamber the same way Master Underdown left it, and that, I think, is unlikely.' She raised her eyes and added shrewdly: 'You must have been sleeping soundly not to hear the opening of a window and shutter and the noise of a man heaving himself through to find a foothold on that vine. And if that failed to wake you, I should have thought the cold night air blowing on your face must have roused you long before morning's light. And what did you think when you finally woke to discover Master Underdown's bed empty and the window and shutter set wide?'

Her kindly, still handsome face expressed concern, and I had the feeling that my story of the night's events suddenly appeared to her to be full of holes, now that the first shock of the murder had worn off and she was able to bring her reason to bear on the matter. I also gained the impression that she was trying to put me on my guard; to warn me that these were the sort of questions the Sheriff's officer might ask. For a moment I was tempted to unburden myself to her yet again, to tell her exactly what had happened. But I decided against it. It would be unfair to enmesh her in my lies and so, perhaps, provoke her into untruths of her own in order to protect me. No, far better for me to pursue my course of trying to unmask the real murderer.

I had three main suspects; Silas Bywater, Edgar Warden and the stranger who had stayed the night at the Trenowth inn, and it was the latter who, until now, I had thought the one most likely to elude me. Indeed, I had secretly been afraid that the unknown traveller might have already quit the district, but the ransacking of Philip's and my bedchamber gave me renewed heart that he was still in the neighbourhood.

Moreover, a moment's reflection persuaded me that the man, whoever he might be, was not a Woodville agent, but a Lancastrian working for the Tudors. According to my lord of Gloucester, the Queen's kinfolk only wished Philip dead in case the Duke of Clarence had made him privy to some secret which could be made known to their discredit; in which case, Philip's murder was an end in itself. But for adherents of the House of Lancaster, the finding and destruction of the letter was of nearly equal importance. While they might hope that the death of the royal messenger would prevent its delivery to Duke Francis, they could not be certain of that fact, particularly when it had been discovered that Philip was provided with a companion. For the first time, it occurred to me that I myself could be in some danger.

'You look worried, lad.' The housekeeper's voice made me jump: I had for a moment forgotten her presence. She drew close to me, and, echoing my thoughts, said: 'And so you might well be if you are determined to go ahead with this scheme of yours. A person who has killed once may have no qualms about doing it a second time if you get in the way. Take my advice and leave questions to the Sergeant from Launceston Castle.'

'I can't,' I replied reluctantly. 'And in answer to your earlier query, I am a very heavy sleeper.' It was not true. I still, after almost three years, woke more often than not in the middle of the night and in the early morning for the offices of Matins and Prime. The old disciplines of my novitiate continued to exert their power.

Janet Overy sighed. 'Ah well, if that's the case there's no more to be said. But look after yourself. Try not to get into trouble. Now, it's time we were both about our business, I to find Master Steward and you to the village to begin your inquiries. All the same, I wish you'd let well alone.'

As I have said before, in those days Trenowth village was little more than a cluster of cottages huddled around the parish church and the inn. It may have grown in the half century between then and now - I have never been back to see - but I doubt it, unless later generations have increased in size. Like most small communities, it was sufficient unto itself and did not welcome strangers.

The inn, which was dignified with no particular name, comprised one large room on the lower floor, with accommodation for the landlord and his wife above, and one spare room for any passing traveller. The outhouses included a privy, a hen-coop and a byte for the cow. The ale was brewed in the brewhouse set back among the trees, which also supplied Sir Peveril, his lady and servants up at the manor. The two wenches who waited on the evening revellers slept at home. For all of which information I was indebted to Janet Overy, before I left the house. It would have taken much longer to discover it for myself.

My reception by the landlord was cool, as befitted an unfamiliar face. When I entered, he was just broaching a new keg of ale and he glanced round in annoyance at being disturbed.

'Who are you?' he demanded sourly.

'I'm staying at the manor house. My master was murdered last night. His body was found earlier this morning by the sawyer.'

The inn-keeper straightened his back and stared at me. He was an undersized man, but compactly made, giving an impression of strength, something he would need in the business of humping casks and barrels. His colouring was flint of the Celt, black hair and blue eyes, and I guessed him Io be younger than he looked. A life of small rewards and little comfort had taken its toll and seamed his face with worry.

'So that's who you are. I heard there were two of you. So what do you want with me? You don't have the air of a man who's come to sup ale.'

'I'll have a cup, nevertheless,' I said, seating myself on one of the benches ranged along each wall and reaching into my purse for the necessary coins. 'After that, perhaps you'd answer me some questions."

'Depends what they are.' He plucked a wooden beaker down from a shelf and proceeded to fill it from the newly opened barrel. He added shrewdly: 'Not my place to answer anything you might ask. If I did know something of the killing - which I don't! - only the Sheriff's man has a right to hear it.'

'True,' I acknowledged as I pledged his health. 'Nor,' I went on handsomely, 'would I ask for information about your friends here, in the village. No, my inquiries concern a man who, according to Father Anselm, slept at this inn last night and arrived in Trenowth sometime yesterday morning. He was served all his meals in his room and did not go to Vespers, a fact which seems to have upset the good father.'

'Oh, him!" The landlord's manner thawed a little, although even now it could hardly be deemed friendly. 'He's gone.

Went at first light. Paid his shot and had his horse saddled just on sun-up. Said he had a long day's journey ahead of him.'

'Did he say where he was going?' I asked. 'This is an excellent ale. Some of the best I've tasted.'

A faint glimmer of gratification appeared in the landlord's eyes, but there was no accompanying smile. 'He said he had business in Launceston, but whether that's true or not, I'm in no position to hazard. As far as I'm concerned, that's where he went when he left here. Why? What's your interest in him?'

I countered with yet another question. 'What was his name? Did he tell you?'

'He said it was Jeremiah Fletcher. And so it may have been, for all that I know.'

'What did he look like?' I persisted, but I could see that I was stretching my informant's patience to its limit.

'Polite and quiet and minded his own business, unlike some people I could mention.' The landlord relented a trifle and added: 'A long, thin face. Sad-looking. A gentleman, wall-dressed. Shy, my woman thought him.'

I sat staring thoughtfully ahead of me, my ale momentarily forgotten. For, unless I was very much mistaken, I had just been given a description of the gentleman of Buckfast Abbey.

CHAPTER 14

The landlord's voice cut into my reverie. 'You know this man? '

'I - er - Yes, I think I may have seen him once before.' I asked for another cup of ale, and while it was being drawn, inquired: 'Would it be possible..
•
? Could a man leave the inn at night without disturbing you and your good lady?'

He gave a short bark of laughter at this description of his wife and snorted: 'Lady, God help us!' under his breath. Still grinning sourly, he placed the refilled mazer in front of me before answering my question. 'It's possible, aye, if a man were so foolish as to quit his warm bed to go wandering in the woods.' His thin face sharpened with sudden understanding. 'Oho, that's the way of it, is it? You think our fine gentleman might be the murderer?' The landlord shrugged disparagingly. 'He could be, who's to say otherwise? Any man's capable of killing I suppose, although for my money, some are less likely to than others. And this one looked as if he couldn't say boo to a goose.'

I didn't argue the point that sheep's clothing can often disguise a wolfish soul, but I did ask, when I had finished and paid for my second cup of ale, if I might look around upstairs.

The landlord gave grudging assent. 'But do it quickly, before my wife gets back from her sister's, which she might well do at any time. The stairs are at the side of the house, as you no doubt noticed when you came in. You have to pass through our bedchamber to reach the guest-room.' That information discouraged me for a moment, until I reflected that the landlord and his good wife probably slept so soundly, worn out by the toils of the day, that very little would disturb their slumbers; certainly not someone in stockinged feet, taking every care not to wake them. So I thanked him and, going outside, mounted the staircase to the upper storey. A door at the top, set in the wall to the left of the tiny landing, opened directly into the chaos of the first bedchamber, where, although the morning was well advanced, the bed was still unmade, the chamber-pot still unemptied, the rushes old and stale-smelling and a rushlight left carelessly burning. I snuffed the flame between my fingers, trusting that all would be put to rights before some other traveller wanted to spend a night at the inn.

I opened the door to the second bedchamber and found that although the bed had been decently covered with a patterned spread dyed blue and green, the room itself smelled no more savoury than the first. The rushes on the floor were, by my reckoning, several days old, and even though there were candles instead of a rushlight, these were made of tallow rather than wax. The "all-night' was untouched, and upon closer inspection I discovered why. The bread was stale and unappetizing and a spider had drowned in the jug of ale.

I returned to the little landing at the top of the stairs and leaned against the wall, drawing in great gulps of fresh air.

The scent of river-water, grasses and the faint, distant smell of pine filled my grateful nostrils and cleared my head. I considered the description given to me by the landlord of his last night's visitor, and pictured the man I had met four days ago at Buckfast Abbey. I was sure that they were one and the same. But if this Jeremiah Fletcher were indeed what he seemed to be, refined and rather particular in his ways, would he have chosen to stay at Trenowth? According to Father Anselm, he had arrived yesterday morning with plenty of time, having inspected the accommodation, to ride on towards Launceston...

To have reached Launceston, and that well before eventide! Surely no one would stop at the Trenowth inn unless circumstances forced his hand, and certainly not when within a day's journey of his goal. No! Jeremiah Fletcher's destination had been Trenowth itself, with what objective I could imagine only too well. And yet, even as common sense told me that I need look no further for Philip's killer, doubts assailed me. The murder had been too clumsy to be the work of a trained assassin, who would hardly have confronted his victim, thus giving warning of his intention and offering a chance, however slender, of self-defence. Philip would have been taken in ambush and stabbed from behind.