The False Virgin (45 page)

Grey pushed his way to the front of the gaggle of women. They protested indignantly until they saw who he was, then they stepped aside, hauling their children behind their skirts as if he were a
leper. But they didn’t move far, their chatter ceasing instantly as they craned their necks to listen.

‘Is this Richard Whitney’s stall?’ Grey asked.

‘Do you want to buy anything or not?’ The woman continued to cut thick even slices from the cow’s tongue, without looking up.

‘I’m Roger Grey and I want to know if this is Richard’s stall.’

Her head shot up and she pointed the sharp blade straight at Grey’s chest; the furious expression on her face told him that if he annoyed her any further she might well use the knife on
him instead of the tongue.

‘Look,’ she said. ‘I don’t know nothing about any murder, so it’s no use your asking.’ She gestured behind her with the point of the knife. ‘Thomas
here’s the journeyman, so I reckon he’s the man in charge now. You go ask him. I shouldn’t even be working here today. Wouldn’t be if that brat of an apprentice of his
hadn’t gone missing, yet again.’

‘Now don’t you go spreading rumours that Alan’s gone missing. Folk’ll reckon he’s been murdered ’n’ all,’ Thomas said.

He stared at Grey over his shoulder, while running his blade down the spine of the kid, peeling the flesh back to the bone. Grey winced for him, sure he would cut his own hand off, but it seemed
the journeyman was so skilled at his craft, he could slice a carcass open with his eyes closed, or even, Grey suddenly realised, in the dark.

‘Alan’s run off again, but I know where he is all right,’ the journeyman added. ‘He’ll be hanging around the church again. Haven’t had a decent day’s
work out of the little runt since the statue of St Beornwyn went missing, not that we ever did before. I reckon he was in love with that statue; spent all his time gazing at her breasts, he did.
Can’t get a real lass to look at him, so he has to drool over a wooden one.’

‘The boy was devoted to the statue then?’ Grey was more willing to put the lad’s interest down to religious fervour rather than lust, but both states could produce a blind and
unreasoning passion in the young. He might not have been strong enough to murder a man, but he could certainly have stolen the reliquary from Richard’s house before Edward got there, in which
case, it might never have been taken to the Hutt at all.

‘Can you remember where Alan was on the afternoon Edward was murdered?’

The journeyman took off his filthy cap, and ran his fingers through hair already matted with grease, dung and blood. ‘Here, I should think, but I couldn’t rightly say. I was away
m’self buying a couple of pigs.’

The woman snorted. ‘He wasn’t here, not one of you buggers was. Left me on my own again, same as always.’

‘You get paid, don’t you, you old besom?’ Thomas said.

‘The runny-nosed squabs who pick up dog shit for the tanner get paid more than me.’

‘So why don’t you . . .’

Grey left them bickering, gesturing recklessly with their knives to the amusement of the customers, who were evidently well used to this. He picked his way up the street towards the church, his
thoughts whirling as he walked.

So, the journeyman had also been absent. Either he or Alan could have stolen the statue from the house or from Edward. The journeyman certainly had the butchering skills to kill Edward, just as
easily as Richard. But Grey still couldn’t see how he had got out of the Hutt without being seen by either Richard or the forest wardens, and Richard would surely have recognised Thomas if
he’d seen him running away. There was something else nagging at the back of Grey’s mind. Something that didn’t fit, but he couldn’t seem to grasp hold of it.

But neither Alan nor Thomas knew the statue was in Richard’s house. According to Richard, only one man did and that was Father James. Was Richard right to suspect him after all? The priest
also knew Grey was going to Richard’s house to seize it later that day. Could he have got there first? But no, Richard said he arrived home in the afternoon to find the lock of the chest
broken. His wife and maid saw him riding off shortly afterwards. The reliquary must already have been missing when Grey was talking to the priest in the church.

Richard had said his wife hadn’t known the reliquary was in the house. Yet she and her maid had both told Grey it had been in the chest. And for a woman who claimed her husband had gone
off on business she had seemed unusually distressed by his absence that night. Grey turned and hurried back up the road towards Richard’s house.

When he arrived, he found a group of women standing across the street, talking earnestly, repeatedly glancing up at the casements as if they expected to see blood running from them or the Devil
to come flying out of the chimney.

After Grey had tolled the bell several times, the maid, Jennet, finally opened the door a crack. She shook her head when Grey asked to speak to her mistress.

‘She doesn’t want to see anyone. She’s in a terrible state. Been sobbing all night, she has, and she’s not eaten a bite.’

Grey tried to sound sympathetic but firm. ‘Her husband has been accused of murder. It’s only to be expected she is distressed; nevertheless, whether she wants to see me or not, I
must speak with her. This is the King’s business.’

Reluctantly, Jennet opened the door just wide enough for Grey to squeeze through before slamming it shut again, as if she feared the entire village might force their way in behind him.

‘She’s in the winter parlour, sir,’ Jennet said, leading the way to a door at the back of the hall.

Grey nodded. ‘I may wish to speak with you and William later. Do not leave the house.’

Jennet gave him a frightened look before ushering him in with the briefest of announcements. Mary was sitting by the fire staring into the flames, twisting a kerchief in her lap. She did not
look round as Grey crossed the room.

‘I told Jennet I can’t see anyone,’ she said. ‘Please have the goodness to leave me alone.’ Her voice was hoarse, as if her throat was dry and sore.

‘I understand your distress, Mistress Mary,’ Grey said, taking the seat opposite her without waiting for it to be offered. ‘You’re naturally worried about your
husband.’

‘Husband?’ Mary lifted her head.

Her eyes were swollen from crying, but they were dry now as if she was drained of tears. She gazed at him uncomprehendingly.

‘Your husband being accused of murder,’ Grey reminded her, wondering if shock and exhaustion had dulled her wits.

She made a little gesture with her hand, which was almost one of dismissal. ‘I cannot think about that now.’

He could understand that. She was probably more worried for her own future. If Richard was hanged she could well see herself evicted from the house and Grey had no idea if Mary had relatives who
would take her in or who would even be prepared to acknowledge her after this disgrace. The guild, which was supposed to provide for the widows and orphans of its members, would hardly be prepared
to provide for a murderer’s wife, especially when the victim was one of their own. Nevertheless, Grey could not afford to be too understanding. The longer that reliquary remained missing, the
greater the chances of someone else finding it and spiriting it away.

‘Mistress Mary, I spoke this morning with your husband. He tells me that he returned to the house earlier than usual and found the chest broken into and saw Edward Thornton hurrying away.
He gave chase, assuming that Edward had taken the reliquary. But he says he did not tell Edward the reliquary was in the house. Did you tell him?’

She hastily turned her face back towards the fire, but not before Grey had glimpsed the expression of alarm that flashed across it.

‘I knew nothing of the reliquary.’

‘But you and Jennet both knew that the chest had been broken into and the reliquary was missing, so you must have known it was there. Think, mistress, it’s important, could you have
let slip anything by accident, perhaps to a friend or neighbour?’

She shook her head vehemently, but still did not look at him. Grey gazed about the small chamber, thinking back over the exact words Richard had used. He suddenly leaned forward.

‘Your husband says when he returned to the house, he saw Edward’s horse tethered a little way from here and he rushed to this room expecting to find him here. Why this room in
particular? Surely it is more usual for servants to leave guests waiting in the hall for their master’s return.’

A slight flush crept over Mary’s pale cheeks. ‘My husband often entertained fellow guild brothers in here. It was more private if they had guild matters to discuss.’

‘But Master Edward knew that your husband would be about his business at that time in the afternoon. Why would Edward call on him here at a time when he knew Richard would not be at
home?’

‘One of the men must have told Edward he’d returned here.’

‘And why did he return here?’ Grey persisted.

‘I don’t know! All I know is my husband is arrested and Edward is . . . dead.’ Mary sprang from her seat and paced over to the window, staring out at the bleak sky through the
tiny diamonds of glass. Grey could see her shoulders shaking as she fought to stifle her sobs.

He felt a twinge of guilt. He disliked harrying women, but she was lying to him. He knew that.

‘Edward came here to see you, didn’t he?’ he said sharply. ‘Was that why your husband returned unexpectedly, because he had his suspicions that you and Edward were
playing him for a cuckold?’

Mary’s legs buckled and she sank down onto her knees. For a moment, Grey thought she had fainted, but she remained kneeling at the casement, sobbing uncontrollably into her kerchief.

He hurried over and lifted her up, settling her into the window seat.

He waited, until she quietened a little.

‘Mistress Mary, you have my word I will not utter a word to any about your dalliance. That’s no concern of mine. But if your husband’s lawyer learns of it he might raise the
matter at your husband’s trial. Juries tend to be sympathetic to husbands who’ve been wronged. They are, after all, husbands themselves. Although from what little I know of Richard, the
fact that he didn’t mention it to me probably means he would sooner be hanged than have the world know he’d been cuckolded. But there is one thing that is my concern. Did Edward take
that reliquary?’

He saw the muscle in the side of Mary’s face twitch as she clenched her jaw.

‘Edward is dead, Mary. It cannot harm him now if you tell me the truth. And that reliquary has already brought enough misery to this household. Don’t force me to add more by having
my men tear this place apart looking for it.’

She swallowed hard, then took a deep breath. ‘I’m not as stupid as my husband thinks. I heard him lumbering up the stairs that night long after the servants were abed and I heard the
chest in the solar being opened. It’s right next door to the bedchamber. Next morning, the rumour was all round the village that St Beornwyn had vanished from the church in the night. I know
how much my husband likes to show off the reliquary for its gold and jewels. He wasn’t interested in her holy relics, just the statue that housed them. I guessed at once he had taken it and
where he’d put it.’

‘And you told Edward.’

Her head jerked up. ‘We were not lovers,’ she said fiercely, ‘at least not in the way you mean. Edward was kind and intelligent. He should have been Guild Master, not Richard,
but half the men were afraid of Richard and dared not vote against him. I enjoyed talking to Edward. He didn’t treat me as if I was one of his apprentices. He took to calling on me and we
enjoyed spending time in each other’s company. Richard came home unexpectedly one day and found us in here laughing together. He was convinced I was betraying him, but I wasn’t . . .
not then. After that Richard began coming home at odd hours, trying to catch us, and his moods got worse. Edward could see how miserable I was, how Richard treated me, and asked me to run away with
him.

‘But taking St Beornwyn was my idea. Edward would be giving up everything for me and we needed money to begin a new life far from here. Besides, Richard had taken all the money and
property I brought with me as a bride, so why should he have the statue as well? He deserved to lose it!’ she added vehemently.

Clearly, Grey thought, Mary cared as little for the relics as her husband. Her only thought was to use the reliquary to finance her new life with her lover, and to spite Richard too, of
course.

‘William always slips out to his mother’s in the afternoon, so I arranged that Jennet and I should sit with a friend, so that if Richard checked, we could prove we were not in the
house when it was robbed. My husband had warned us there was a gang of robbers come to this village, so I knew if the house were left empty Richard would be bound to think it was them. Edward was
to take the reliquary and hide it. In a few days, after the fuss of the reliquary had died down, I would join Edward and we’d disappear. But Richard returned early in the hope of finding us
together. He must have seen Edward and followed him, and then . . . then he killed him. He . . . he cut his throat as if Edward were nothing more than a pig in his slaughter yard!’ She broke
down into sobs again.

Grey thought that it was as well for Richard that a wife could not be called as a witness against her husband, for she’d surely put a rope around his neck herself, and probably offer to
kick the ladder away, too.

‘You said that Edward intended to hide the reliquary. Where?’

Mary scrubbed at her tear-stained face. ‘He didn’t tell me in case I was questioned. He thought it would be easier to deny everything if I didn’t know.’

Grey could understand that, and he was inclined to believe her, but once again he felt a growing frustration.

‘Then where were you to meet?’

‘The village of Linby; it lies beyond Newstead Priory. Edward has a distant cousin who owned a watermill there, but it’s not been running these past few years, since one of the
landowners diverted the stream and put him out of work.’