A Maiden Weeping Page 14

  ‘Indeed, madam. What?’

  They both fell silent, each staring intently at the other. But Madam Peverel blinked first. ‘This is an unusual occupation you and your master have chosen,’ she said, picking up her needle again and giving her embroidery her attention.

  For several silent moments Jack watched her stitch. His breathing was so harsh he was certain the steward, whom he could see just beyond the doorway, must have heard him.

  But her façade had cracked. Her fingers trembled and she laid them down on the linen of her stretcher stand. ‘Perhaps … if you shared what you know, Master Tucker.’

  ‘Very well. I know that John and Walter Noreys hired Mistress le Porter to steal your Virgin’s Tears.’

  Her eyes were like two furies swooping down with murder in their hearts. She rose so abruptly the squirrel chittered and leapt down from the platform. But the leash made its escape impossible. ‘How dare they! I shall call the law down on them.’

  ‘The law of God has already fallen upon one of them, for John Noreys is dead. My master … killed him in self-defense.’

  Isabel made a sound of shock behind him, but he heard her stifle it behind her hand.

  It took a long moment for Madam Peverel to hastily cross herself. But it looked more as if she wanted to say, ‘Good riddance.’

  ‘The Noreyses, madam. Who are they to you?’

  ‘Miscreants. Devils, apparently. Did one of them kill Elizabeth?’

  ‘That … has yet to be determined. Why would they kill her if they had clearly hoped that she had done the deed they hired her to do?’

  ‘I cannot know. Only if … if she had not done what they wanted, might they wish to silence her so that she would speak to no one of it?’

  He nodded. ‘That is my contention as well, madam. Would you be willing to testify as to their character?’

  ‘I most certainly would.’

  ‘Oh, madam! I would be grateful to you for such a boon! Thank you.’ He bowed and made ready to leave when something gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, poked and prodded. It was as if his master was speaking to him over his shoulder. Had he not heard him enough over the last six years when interrogating a witness?

  He stopped in mid-step and abruptly turned back. ‘Madam, may I ask one thing more? Are you … are you quite sure that she didn’t steal the Tears?’

  Her murderous expression was back. ‘What kind of question is that?’

  ‘Well … a thorough one, madam. One my master would expect of me. You see, there has been many a time when an object – say a jewel in a ring or on a chest – was stolen and replaced with a duplicate. So that the owner would not know it was missing. Is it possible that something like that could have occurred?’

  Not only was Madam Peverel staring at him, but Isabel’s mouth had dropped open as well.

  Madam Peverel rose and fisted her hands over her belly. ‘I see nothing can be done until you are satisfied. Come with me, young man.’

  The squirrel made a leap for her shoulder and was content to hold on with its tiny claws. She stalked ahead, and Jack and Isabel followed.

  They pursued her down a long corridor to a chapel door. She unlocked it and opened it for him, showing him the chapel within but not inviting him inside. ‘There, on the small altar, is the monstrance containing the Virgin’s Tears.’

  Jack peered into the gloom and saw the gold of the monstrance gleam from the single candle flame. Behind a locked grille was the golden casket containing what looked like a phial no bigger than a man’s palm filled with some clear liquid. The casket sported golden radiant beams, made of gilt wood or metal.

  Jack’s eyes widened. He marveled at such things and was grateful that he had a chance to observe these most precious of objects so closely, even though his master was not as enamored. Indeed, his master would doubt its authenticity, disdain the qualities attributed to it. Often he’d question why God would allow these items and their power into the greedy hands of man.

  ‘It is there,’ she said, ‘as it has ever been.’

  Jack pushed his awe aside and took on the mantle of his master. ‘Very well, madam. The Noreys family believes it belongs to them.’

  ‘It does not! Years and years ago my departed husband – a blessed man – obtained it for me. But wretched have I been ever since, for it only brings grief to those around it. You know the tale.’

  ‘Forgive me, madam, but I do not.’

  Absently, she stroked the fluffy squirrel tail lying upon her shoulder. ‘The Tears can heal, but they also confer the pain felt by others upon those around them. In this household, we greatly suffer the pain of the heart as well as the body of one another. It was why Elizabeth left me. She could no longer bear the grief of others.’

  ‘That is a sore thing indeed.’

  ‘Yes. But it is my burden to bear for the sake of our Lord, who suffered for our sins.’

  ‘Aye. That is the truth of it.’

  She pulled the door closed again and smartly locked it. With her hands clutching the keys, she glared down her nose at Jack. ‘Well? Is there anything more? I fear I have helped you little in your cause.’

  ‘No, madam. I shall obtain a writ to have you come to the Guildhall for my master’s trial.’

  ‘Then God speed you on your way, young man.’ It was a firm dismissal.

  ‘Thank you, madam.’ He bowed and Isabel curtseyed.

  They all retreated together down the passage. At the solar, Madam Peverel went one way back to the garden, while Jack and Isabel went the other, back toward the entrance where they were greeted by the steward. Jack tapped his chin in thought, absently stroking the few hairs there. ‘Master Steward?’

  The man stepped closer. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Have you ever seen the relic in the chapel? The Virgin’s Tears?’

  ‘Oh yes. Many a time. On Sundays the household take communion there.’

  ‘I see. Have you ever observed it closely?’

  ‘Well … I supervise the cleaning of the chapel. I am always present when the scullion cleans the altar and scrubs the floor.’

  ‘Have you ever noted a change in its appearance?’

  He frowned. ‘I do not understand your meaning.’

  ‘Have the tears in its phial ever looked different to you? Fuller? Emptier?’

  He shook his head, still frowning. ‘No.’

  ‘And Master Steward, are you aware of the relic’s power?’

  He gave a wan smile. ‘My mistress exclaims that it has properties to force those around it to feel each other’s pain.’

  ‘Aye. That’s what she told me.’

  The steward looked carefully around and slowly shook his head. ‘I have never felt this of my person. At first, I thought it was a fault of mine. I prayed on it. I fasted. For I felt that I somehow lacked the empathy required of my faith. But after hearing the same from the other servants, I concluded that the tales must be false.’

  ‘Hold. Are you saying that—’ He looked around, too, hoping Madam Peverel was well and truly ensconced in her garden. ‘Are you saying,’ he said softly, ‘that none of the servants in this household did feel the pain and suffering of one another?’

  ‘Not in the sense you mean. Of course we are sensitive to each other’s grief – living in common as we do – but we did not suffer what it is said the Virgin’s Tears confer.’

  ‘And how long have you served in this household, Master Steward?’

  ‘More than ten years. After my father. And before the master died.’

  ‘Were you here, then, when the Virgin’s Tears were brought into the house?’

  ‘Yes. My father oversaw the construction of the altar’s grille and monstrance. It was a very great honor.’

  ‘But you never felt this suffering attributed to the Tears?’

  ‘No, as I have said.’

  Jack frowned. He looked back down the corridor toward the chapel, he glanced back toward the doorway leading to the garden, then up the stairs toward, he
presumed, the bedchambers. Something definitely was not right.

  His final glance was toward the front entrance. ‘Master Steward, is there another way out of here?’

  ‘Yes. It’s in the back.’

  ‘Can you take us there? I would confound the sheriff’s men for as long as possible.’

  With a jerk of his head, the steward motioned for them to follow. They passed through a narrow door, down some stairs, through the warm kitchens with their savory smells of smoke and roasted flesh, and out the back garden. A wall surrounded it but another locked door was there in the wall, which the steward unlocked and stepped out of. He hastily looked around and came back. ‘It is clear, Master Tucker. Will you help my mistress? This death has affected her so.’

  ‘I will do my best, sir.’ He nodded his thanks, took Isabel’s hand, and darted out the door. It was closed and locked behind him, and he found himself in an alley. ‘Come on.’ Still holding her hand, Jack trotted away toward Walbrook and didn’t slow until he saw no signs of any man who looked to be in livery.

  He dropped Isabel’s hand and smiled. ‘I thank you for that. It was most useful. And now to get you back to Gutter Lane before Master Gilbert finds you missing.’

  ‘This is an unusual occupation you have.’

  ‘Aye. I sort of … er, tumbled into it. But it’s a fine way to use your mind. My master is one of the cleverest in all the kingdom. He’s schooled, he is. And he’s taught me plenty. Oh, not just reading and writing, but of the philosophers and history. And arms. Master Crispin … he’s an unusual man.’

  ‘Is it hard being a Tracker?’

  ‘Well.’ He puffed out his chest a bit as he walked. ‘It’s taken me years to learn the skills of my master, and I improve every day. It’s a lot to learn, though. You have to learn to truly listen to what your witnesses say. As my master says, it’s what they don’t say what says the most.’

  ‘Jack,’ she said thoughtfully as they slowly made their way up to Poultry Street, ‘I’ve been thinking about what Madam Peverel said. Just as you say, I listened to her words. And if the murdered woman left because she felt too keenly the grief of others … when no one else in the household felt it … what does that mean?’

  Jack smiled. She had listened. He liked this Isabel Langton. Liked her pretty face, her sparkling eyes, and the fact that there was something more than just a silly maid’s notions behind them.

  ‘Well, one of two things. First, that Elizabeth le Porter did steal the relic. Or … Madam Peverel was lying.’

  TWELVE

  Saturday, 17 October

  Crispin had eaten, grateful to the recorder for ordering that he be brought food, but now he waited with everyone else. The crowd was leaning against the walls, and even the sheriff was fidgeting in his seat. The jurymen sat and laughed together on their benches, passing a jug of ale between them.

  Crispin asked permission to confer with his lawyer near the dais and that, too, was granted.

  The lawyer leaned forward and said quietly, ‘It is going well, Master Crispin.’

  ‘Indeed? I thought the opposite.’

  ‘Oh, no. For look where we are now? We await the coroner, the jurymen are at their ease with food and drink, and the crowds are docile. What will the coroner say?’

  ‘He will say that he has heard me make the same statements and that they have proven his cases more times than he can count.’

  ‘And that will also prove for your favor.’

  ‘But what of the witnesses and jurymen? Will they not be angered at the delay and cause me harm because of it?’

  ‘For the most part, they have already decided. You just might have turned their minds.’

  ‘Let us hope so. Where is that damned man?’

  But the serjeant had felt Crispin had spent enough time with his lawyer, and he pushed him away back to his place before the bar with wary eyes upon him, while everyone else milled and waited for the coroner to arrive.

  ‘This is damnable,’ said the sheriff suddenly. His growl quieted the room. ‘If the man cannot be found then we should return the prisoner back to Newgate. I have better things to do than wait in this courtroom the whole day.’

  The recorder, who had been sitting at a table with his own meal, raised his head. ‘And so you would have been had the coroner been here in the first place. It is nearly two of the clock, Lord Sheriff. Can you not wait a half hour more?’

  The sheriff sighed pitifully. ‘I suppose,’ he huffed.

  But the wait wasn’t necessary, for the doors opened and the coroner, John Charneye, was announced.

  He moved in next to Crispin. He gave Crispin a cursory inspection and then turned to the dais. ‘Forgive me, my Lord Recorder. If I had known I was required I would have attended you.’ His statement was for the sheriff though he did not glance his way.

  Tremayne set his cup and his food aside, wiped his mouth and hands on the tablecloth, and moved toward the bench. He sat, arranging his gown around him. ‘Now then,’ he said, ‘the court will reconvene. Jurymen, assemble yourselves.’

  They set down their ales and crusts of bread and sat properly on the benches, settling in.

  Tremayne then nodded to the coroner. ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘Crispin Guest has been testifying on his own behalf, and made the statement …’ He turned to Crispin. ‘What did you say, Master Guest, before we were forced to await the coroner?’

  ‘I said that to have strangled her would have taken great strength and determination, both of which I did not possess at that hour. And further, she fought her assailant. Under her nails was blood and hair. And I haven’t any marks upon me.’

  ‘There,’ said Tremayne. ‘Master Charneye, Master Guest claims that he has proposed this … this method of examination to you before and that you have used it to great effect. This examination of the nails for blood, skin, and hair. And to look upon the assailant to see if he had any validating marks that would indicate he was the culprit. Is this true?’

  ‘My Lord Recorder, my Lord Sheriff.’ The coroner bowed to both. ‘While it is true Crispin Guest has mentioned such to me, I have found little use in the matter.’

  What the devil? Crispin gripped his empty scabbard and pressed his lips tight. He’s perjuring himself!

  Tremayne leaned his arm on his thigh. ‘Do you mean to say that you have never used this method to catch a miscreant?’

  Charneye shuffled his feet. ‘Well … there … was a time or two.’

  Crispin let out the breath he was holding.

  ‘But certainly not every time.’

  ‘My lords,’ Crispin interjected. ‘May I question the witness?’

  Tremayne sat back with a scowl and waved his hand in acquiescence.

  Facing Charneye, Crispin squared with him. ‘My Lord Coroner, in those instances where this method did not prove true, was there a significant time elapse between the discovery of the body and the catching of the guilty person?’

  Charneye’s brows dug into his eyes. ‘I don’t …’

  ‘Long enough for scars to heal, my lord,’ Crispin clarified.

  The coroner snorted. ‘I … suppose.’

  ‘Then this being a legitimate form of examination and investigation, would you say that the same can hold true for this instance?’

  ‘It could,’ he acknowledged grudgingly.

  ‘And did you detect blood, skin, and hair beneath the nails of the deceased?’

  Charneye took a deep breath. ‘Elizabeth le Porter was found to have such evidence under her nails.’

  Crispin tore open his cotehardie and the chemise within, showing his chest to the coroner. ‘The crime occurred only three days ago. Are there any marks upon me?’ He further pushed up his sleeves, showing his untouched arms.

  The coroner’s gaze swept the room, from the rapt and slack-jawed faces of the jurymen, to the crowd, and finally back to the sheriff and recorder. He smiled grimly. ‘No …’

  The room erupted in cries and exclamations.


  ‘However …’ he shouted to be heard above the noise. The serjeants strode the room with their cudgels, glaring at each man and woman to be still. ‘However,’ the coroner went on. ‘Since you were the only one to have been seen entering the room and you did not call the hue and cry I would still conclude that you are the culprit.’

  The crowd guffawed, made unpleasant noises, and shouted down the coroner.

  Crispin’s gaze flicked toward Cobmartin, but the lawyer didn’t look happy.

  God’s blood.

  ‘Very well, very well,’ said Tremayne. ‘The court of the Common Pleas thanks you, John Charneye for your testimony. There are more trailbaston cases before us today. Please await us in yon chamber.’ He pointed to a door at the back of the crowd.

  Charneye didn’t so much as glance back at Crispin as he swept out of the room, indifferent to the trouble he had caused. And after all the help I gave him. Ungrateful whoreson. Crispin shook his sleeves down in place and proceeded to re-button his coat.

  Tremayne resettled himself in his seat. ‘I think it time we talk to the witnesses.’

  There was a scramble at the door. Some of the crowd were pushed aside, squawking and complaining at the harsh treatment, until the cause of the commotion made his way to the front. Jack Tucker stood straight and tall, chin raised. Crispin’s heart flooded with relief on seeing him there. What a presence the boy seemed to have these days. Crispin saw something of his own posture and gestures in him, and little wonder when they spent nearly all their waking moments together. But he could not read his face. Did he bring good news or not?

  He gave an acknowledging nod to Crispin before he slowly crept around the crowd toward Cobmartin.

  Tremayne signaled to the clerk and after consulting his parchments announced in a clear, loud voice, ‘Will Leonard Munch come forth?’

  Crispin snapped his head around and scowled as Lenny pushed his stoop-postured way through the crowd and stood next to Crispin. Perhaps he saw Crispin’s hands contract into fists and that was what made him take several steps away from him.