A Maiden Weeping Page 15

  Lenny’s eyes darted here and there throughout the room. His greasy sparse hair hung from the edges of his bald pate down to his shoulders. His crooked nose twitched. Crispin stared at the bunched and crusted flesh where his ear used to be before the sheriff had it hacked off for thievery.

  Tremayne looked him over. ‘Have I seen you before, Master Munch?’

  ‘Well, m’lord.’ Lenny’s voice was parchment dry and vinegar sharp. ‘It’s possible. I, er … have had dealings with the sheriffs from time to time.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Tremayne. He folded his arms over his chest. ‘Proceed.’

  ‘Well … I seen Master Guest coming out of that poor woman’s lodgings. Staggering and distressed he was. And angry.’

  Crispin glared. ‘You lying son of a whore.’

  ‘Oi! You see that, my lord? As angry as a dog pissed on by his brethren.’

  Tremayne tensed his jaw. ‘You say you saw him leaving the premises?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘You are the only witness that says so. No one else has testimony of this kind. What time was this?’

  ‘It had gone midnight. Oh, he was in a foul mood! Murderous, you might say.’

  ‘My lord,’ said Crispin. ‘I submit to you that this man is lying.’

  ‘Listen to him!’ said Lenny, throwing a hand in the air. ‘Just because it shows him as the guilty knave he is, he claims I am lying.’

  ‘He wants his ill-advised revenge on me,’ Crispin went on. ‘We used to work together, he and I. I would pay him to be my spy, but I sacked him for his thievery. He has been in gaol many a time.’

  ‘As have you!’ cried Lenny.

  ‘Both of you! Be still!’ They both clamped shut their mouths and looked toward Tremayne. ‘I will not have this in my court room. You!’ He pointed a finger at Lenny. ‘The prisoner says you are lying. And by my contention I believe it, too. Can you prove, Master Guest, that he is lying?’

  ‘He’s moving his lips.’

  ‘Master Guest,’ warned Tremayne.

  ‘Call as a witness my landlord Martin Kemp. He saw me return not at midnight but in the morning. The time was just after Terce.’

  ‘I need bring no witness,’ said Tremayne. ‘He’s a thief. He has been brought to me before. Why he hasn’t been hanged is a very good question. This witness is dismissed and to be disregarded.’

  ‘My lord!’ cried Lenny.

  ‘Do you wish to be thrown in prison? I would gladly do so for your perjury.’

  Lenny shook his head and fell silent.

  ‘Serjeant, remove this man.’

  The serjeant seemed only too happy to do so, and the crowd jeered and threw stubs of bread and apple cores at him as he was shoved none too gently toward the entry.

  ‘Give me another witness, one I can use,’ muttered Tremayne.

  The clerk mussed his parchments and drew one toward his face. ‘Hugh Buckton, eel monger.’

  The man had short chestnut colored hair, a round shaven face, and a blunt nose. His green cotehardie was mostly clean, and he again wore a red hood with its liripipe wrapped tightly around his neck. Nervously, he shuffled forward, wringing his thick fingers. He bowed to the judge and the sheriff. He gave Crispin a sideways glance, almost apologetically.

  ‘Now then,’ said Tremayne, leaning back against the bench. ‘Tell us what you saw on Wednesday last.’

  ‘My lords. I, er, I was tending to my shop. It was time to close and I was wheeling my barrels back inside. It’s heavy work. The barrels are full of water and eels. I had just gotten the last one in – near Vespers, it was, since I had just heard the bells at St Anthonine’s. I seen this man …’ – he gestured toward Crispin, but kept his eyes averted – ‘I seen him knocking on the door of the private stair. You see, my lord, it is an outside stair but is enclosed all around with a door below. But it isn’t locked. He … he was in his cups, that I could tell, and I told him he need not knock, but to go up. Which he did.’

  ‘How well did you know the deceased?’

  ‘Not well, my lord. But I did note that she had callers from time to time. Men.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Tremayne lifted his drooping eyes to Buckton. ‘What manner of woman was this?’

  ‘Begging the court’s mercy, my lord.’

  Shocked at the outburst, Crispin turned to face Jack Tucker addressing the recorder.

  Tremayne didn’t appear to like being interrupted. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I am Jack Tucker, my lord, apprentice to the Tracker … to Crispin Guest.’

  ‘You are not a witness.’ He shook his head at the clerk. ‘He’s not a witness?’

  The clerk desperately shuffled his parchments. Nigellus Cobmartin whispered to the clerk and seemed also to signal Jack.

  ‘I cannot find … cannot find …’ said the clerk.

  ‘Never mind,’ said Tremayne. ‘Tucker, you say? Why are you interrupting the testimony of this witness?’

  ‘Because this man don’t know the whole story about Elizabeth le Porter. And I do.’

  THIRTEEN

  Saturday, 17 October

  Jack looked up with a solemn face toward John Tremayne. He longed to tell his master that all would be well, but even with the information he wished to impart, he knew there were still too many unanswered questions.

  And that coroner had done them no favors.

  ‘My lord,’ Jack began, clearing his throat and fitting his thumbs in his belt. ‘According to the information I obtained in my capacity as the Tracker’s apprentice, I have discovered that Elizabeth le Porter was once employed as a lady’s maid to Helewise Peverel, widow on Trinity Street, and had recently left her employ. And further, that Walter and John Noreys, brothers, living in the family household on Lombard Street, did hire Mistress le Porter to steal a certain relic owned by the Peverel household, the Tears of the Virgin Mary.’

  The crowd gasped. Jack took courage from it.

  ‘The Noreys brothers were unsuccessful with this enterprise,’ Jack continued, ‘as Mistress le Porter failed – or refused – to do as requested. My lord, I submit to you that more witnesses be called. That of Walter Noreys and Madam Peverel, and that the Tears of the Virgin be brought forth as evidence. And I further submit to you that there have been two other murders of women in London, strangled, all too similar to that of the murdered Elizabeth le Porter on Friday last. Murders my master couldn’t possibly have committed.’

  Tremayne clutched his knees. ‘And so we have heard.’ He angled toward the sheriff. ‘Though you, Lord Sheriff, have accused this man here,’ and he gestured toward Jack.

  Jack took a step back, mouth open in shock.

  ‘Perhaps it is time to talk of these murders,’ said Tremayne.

  The door burst open and Sheriff Walcote pushed his way through. He scoured the crowd and spotted Jack. He raised his arm and pointed a finger. ‘There you are, you murdering miscreant!’

  ‘Oh! Time to go!’ said Jack, and he threw himself into the crowd opposite the sheriff, and amid screams and shouts, scrambled toward a window.

  ‘Stop him!’ cried Walcote.

  ‘God’s teeth!’ shouted Tremayne. ‘Stop! Stop all of you! Tucker! You there!’

  Jack was halfway out the window when he turned sharply.

  ‘This is all madness,’ grumbled Tremayne when the room quieted from the uproar. Jack was still hanging halfway to freedom, but there was something in Tremayne’s tone that halted his progress. The sheriff’s men, with pikes and swords drawn, had entered the chamber, and Tremayne motioned for them to stand down. ‘We will get to the bottom of this. But for now, we will adjourn this trial for the day. There is more here than meets the eye. I want Tucker, Guest, and the sheriffs in that chamber. Now!’

  The crowd didn’t like that they were being pushed out by the sheriff’s men, but Tremayne stomped off the dais and entered through a door to a smaller chamber just behind the raised area.

  Nigellus looked up at Jack with a grateful smile and a nod, and Jac
k slowly pulled himself down from the sill. Well, that’s done it, he mused. He looked toward his master, and Master Crispin was giving him a sly grin. Jack felt better about it then, but when he glanced at Walcote he shrank again. The sheriff was staring at him with murderous eyes. That didn’t bode well. But at least he would offer enough doubt all around, just as Nigellus said he needed.

  When they assembled in the chamber and the door was closed, Tremayne turned on all of them. ‘Just what the hell is going on? I have never presided over a trial as mad as this.’

  They all tried to talk at once. Tremayne silenced them with a wave of his hand. ‘Sheriff Walcote. You begin. Why are you after Jack Tucker here?’

  ‘Because he’s a murderer!’

  ‘No I’m not! And you know it … my lord.’

  ‘Then what were you doing at the scene of the murder of that woman?’

  ‘You mean like all them other people crammed into that room off Watling Street?’

  The sheriff puffed and said nothing.

  Jack gestured to his master. ‘Master Crispin and I investigate crimes. My lord, you know we do. It’s what pays our fees. It’s how we make our living, one honest and true. If you had only asked me instead of sending your men after me …’

  ‘I can do what I like with my men,’ countered the sheriff, face growing red.

  ‘But that don’t help no one—’

  ‘Jack.’ Master Crispin’s soft voice interjected. He shook his head. ‘That’s enough.’ It was his master who turned to both sheriffs. He spread out his hands. ‘The both of you know me. You have been told – or warned – by the previous sheriffs. And the sheriffs before that knew what we do to fill our tables. And the ones before that. And before that. It is no secret what I do … what we do for a living, my lords. And if Jack is found – among the company of others – examining a corpse, then you should know that he does so with the authority of the Tracker. We find thieves, criminals, and murderers. It’s what we do, for good or ill. I’d like to think it’s for the good of London. Now. There is no question that I am guilty as the First Finder for failing to call the hue and cry, for allowing someone else to find the corpse. I have given my reasons for not doing so. We are now standing in the midst of my reasons.’

  Tremayne examined his nails. ‘Sheriff Walcote, do you wish to make charges against Jack Tucker for murder?’

  Jack’s breath caught. His eyes fastened on the sheriff, scowling as if his supper had been snatched from his plate. After a long pause the sheriff finally shook his head, mouth clamped tightly.

  Tremayne cracked his neck. ‘Right. And so. This other matter of women strangled. My lords?’ He looked at each sheriff in turn.

  ‘We have no information on them yet, Lord Recorder,’ said Loveney.

  ‘Do you think it may have to do with the murder of which Master Guest is accused?’

  Loveney, again, shook his head. ‘We do not know, my lord.’

  Tremayne paced, hands pressed behind his back. Master Crispin watched him mildly. ‘I tell you, gentlemen, I am not pleased by this. All the evidence must be presented to the jury prior to coming to court. It is the custom since King Henry III’s day. Yet now we have new witnesses, new information. It’s what comes of holding the trial at a breakneck pace, gentlemen.’ He stopped and speared Jack with his sharp eyes. ‘And you! You came into my court most impolitely, Master Tucker.’

  ‘I am heartily sorry for that, my lord, and I beg your mercy. My only thought was for the deliverance of my master.’

  Tremayne’s narrowed gaze did not leave Jack. ‘Such a loyal apprentice,’ he muttered. He elbowed Master Crispin. ‘I hope you are properly humbled.’

  ‘You have no idea,’ said Master Crispin, gazing at Jack fondly.

  Jack’s face flushed.

  ‘Very well,’ said Tremayne with a deep sigh. ‘We will call in new witnesses – that Peverel woman and those Noreys brothers—’

  Sheriff Loveney cleared his throat.

  ‘You have something to say, my lord?’

  ‘Yes. It’s just that … one of the brothers recently died by misadventure.’

  ‘By Saint Cuthbert! What is happening to this city? Deaths everywhere you look!’

  ‘He was attempting to assail … er … the prisoner, when the prisoner threw … him out the window.’

  Tremayne glared, mouth agape, at Master Crispin. Jack’s master stared at his own shuffling feet. ‘It was self-defense,’ he said quietly.

  ‘My God. There is no respite from this, is there? Was Master Guest charged with this murder, too?’

  ‘It was a clear case of self-defense, my lord,’ said Loveney.

  ‘Thank Christ for that,’ he muttered. He blinked and then looked up at the assembly. ‘Well. What are you standing around here for? Get that relic as evidence, send this prisoner back to Newgate, and gather your new witnesses. Court will convene again on Monday. Thank God for Sunday.’

  The sheriffs moved toward Master Crispin, but he raised a hand and asked if he could speak to Jack for a moment. Seeing Tremayne of a mind to let him, they backed off, talking quietly together.

  Jack hastened to his master’s side since those heavy irons still encircled the man’s ankles.

  ‘You’ve been busy, Jack.’

  ‘Aye, master. I’ve been trying me best.’

  ‘And a good job, too. What else have you learned?’

  ‘I went to the Widow Peverel and something about that curse or gift or whatever you’d call what that relic does …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Whatever Madam Peverel said, it don’t seem to do it.’

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘I talked to the steward. He said he’d been there since the relic came to the household and he never felt naught for no one because of it.’

  ‘So the story that Elizabeth le Porter left because of this relic … is false?’

  ‘That’s my thinking.’

  ‘Then why did she leave? I’ve been doing my own thinking, Jack. I’m thinking that it was me that the mysterious stranger intended to hire after all. He wanted me to go to Elizabeth. He knew I would relay the message but do her no harm. And, further, she knew it, too. She knew who it was that had sent her that warning. And that it was merely a threat. And it might have been a threat from those Noreys boys. They hired her to steal the Tears, she didn’t, and now they wanted to force her hand.’

  ‘Did they kill her after all, master?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Especially in light of these other murders.’

  ‘When I questioned Master Noreys and his son …’

  ‘God’s blood, Jack! You didn’t! How on earth did you? They’re a house in mourning.’

  Jack adjusted his coat. ‘Took a page out of your book, sir. I told them I was a clerk from the sheriff’s office.’

  He laughed. ‘Well done!’

  It felt good to see his master smile, see him cheered. Jack smiled back. But he sobered again on relating his information. ‘Master William Noreys said that they are in dire straits. Poverty is creeping upon them. They wanted the relic to sell. And I don’t think he approved of his sons’ plan. It was a surprise to him as well as the murder.’

  ‘And what of Walter Noreys?’

  ‘Oh, he hired her right enough. But he seemed surprised at her death. And he still thinks you got the relic.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Master Crispin folded his arms over his chest. ‘This all may be coincidence. It seems as if we are looking at a killer of many women. Perhaps now that the sheriff is not after you, you might enquire as to the details. Find out also if there have been more women in the past that were strangled, the killer unfound.’

  ‘Aye, master. I’m … I’m sorry you must spend another two nights in gaol. It’s not right, sir. They know you’re not guilty.’

  ‘All the better for me, for now there is doubt. But it doesn’t mean you have time to rest.’

  ‘I shall never rest, sir, until I find the knave what done it.’

 
; ‘That’s the spirit.’ He slapped Jack’s back. ‘The sheriffs are eyeing us most carefully. Confer with Cobmartin. And … thank you for finding him.’

  ‘Aye, sir. I didn’t think we could do this alone.’

  ‘I’m not alone. I have you.’

  Jack beamed. ‘Right, sir … Blind me, here they come.’

  Sheriff Walcote approached and sneered at Jack. ‘Time to return to your cell, Guest.’

  ‘Very well, Lord Sheriff. I would thank you for your hospitality but … well …’

  He shoved Master Crispin forward. ‘Be still or be struck.’ His master turned back once to offer a nod before he was ushered out of the chamber, manacles clanking.

  ‘You’re free to go, Tucker,’ said Loveney down the length of his nose. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest.

  ‘Yes, my lord. Thank you, sir.’ Jack straightened his coat again and hurried out.

  Nigellus was waiting for him.

  ‘Master Tucker, we must talk.’

  ‘I will meet you outside, Master Nigellus. Staying within …’ he looked back and caught Loveney eyeing him again, ‘isn’t good for me health.’

  Jack breathed deep as he left the confines of the Guildhall. He hated such places, especially crowds that meant to hang his master. He shook out his cloak as if shaking the gloom of the proceedings from his heart. He already felt lighter.

  ‘You’re the Tracker’s apprentice,’ said a gruff voice behind him. He turned and saw the eel monger’s round face. Hugh Buckton was his name, he recalled.

  ‘Aye.’

  He thumbed back toward the Guildhall. ‘I didn’t know the man I saw was the Tracker. I never would have said naught had I known.’

  ‘You saw what you saw. It’s the truth, isn’t it?’

  ‘Aye. I saw him go in. Didn’t see him go out.’

  Jack smiled, nodded, then turned away.

  Buckton seemed reluctant to leave him. He fidgeted with the hem of his coat. ‘I wouldn’t have said naught. The Tracker’s done a lot of good in London.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Jack, keeping a polite expression on his face.

  ‘I’d like to help make it right.’

  ‘How could you do that?’