As he uttered the word ‘corpse’ he shivered, the realisation seeping over him that his wife was now just a dead body. Though he could generate no affection for her, she had been a part of his life for so long that he found it hard to believe that she was no more.
Henry de Furnellis pulled at the jowls under his chin as he thought what to do next. ‘Can we get Nicholas de Arundell back just to deal with this?’
This was the manor-lord from near Totnes who had temporarily taken on the coronership when John had been called to Westminster.
John shrugged and gave a great sigh. ‘I suppose so. He’s the obvious answer. He must be sent for straight away, so that he may be here in the morning.’
The sheriff looked down again at Matilda. ‘But can we leave the poor woman here until then?’
‘A sheriff and a coroner can hardly go against the rules laid down by the king’s justices,’ said John. ‘The body must be left undisturbed until the coroner has the opportunity to view it.’
Eventually, they decided to leave her where she was, as in any case the alternatives were difficult. Taking her to lie in the usual mortuary in the castle cart-shed was not to be contemplated and putting her before an altar in either the cathedral or St Olave’s was too much of a departure from the legal process.
‘I will send down a soldier from Rougemont to stand guard over the door,’ declared the sheriff. ‘And another can ride at dawn to Hempston Arundell to fetch Sir Nicholas. With forced riding, he could be back here soon after noon.’
With a last look at the shrouded body near the hearth, Henry firmly shepherded his friend from the hall and closed the door.
‘I didn’t do it, you know,’ said John suddenly as they stood in the vestibule.
The sheriff gripped his arm in a gesture of friendship. ‘It never entered my mind that you did, John! But that bastard de Revelle is going to squeeze every ounce of trouble for you out of this.’
He opened the door to the lane. ‘What are you going to do tonight? You can’t stay here.’
‘I’ll sleep down at the Bush — not that I’m likely to get much sleep,’ he answered. ‘Now I must see to Mary.’
When de Furnellis had left, he went around to the yard, where Brutus was whimpering at Mary’s feet. Though he had been treated with disdain by Matilda, the hound knew that something was very wrong in the household.
‘What will you do tonight, Mary?’
The cook-maid raised her hands. ‘What can I do but stay here, as usual? I’m not afraid of ghosts.’
‘I didn’t harm her, Mary,’ he said, repeating the assurance he had made to the sheriff. She reached up and kissed his bristly cheek.
‘Of course you didn’t, Sir John!’ she said vehemently. ‘But I fear for your safety now, all the same.’
De Wolfe went back to the Bush and told his dreadful tale to the horrified Gwyn and Martha. Already patrons were coming into the tavern who had heard the news higher up in the town, spread by the men who had been turned out for the hue and cry. Some looked askance at the coroner, but others came across to offer their sympathy and support.
‘It must be those bloody ship-men that ravished that poor woman,’ said a carpenter he knew. ‘Flood Bretayne with soldiers, I say, to flush them out!’
Gwyn sat John at his table and pressed a jug of ale upon him, as the only way he knew to express his feelings, while Martha tried to get him to eat again, which he declined.
‘De Revelle is out to make trouble for me over this, Gwyn,’ he said soberly. ‘He sees this as his big chance to even up old scores.’
‘It’s nonsense; no one will take him seriously,’ scoffed his officer.
‘I hope not, but I have a bad feeling about this. He found me standing over her still-warm corpse — and I pulled a knife on him, as I thought it was the killer returning.’
Gwyn still dismissed his fears, and soon Martha persuaded him to go up to the loft and lie down on one of the better feather mattresses. In spite of his fears, John slept dreamlessly for a few hours before dawn, but as soon as he awoke all his troubles came tumbling down on him again.
By the time he finished his morning oatmeal gruel, Thomas appeared in a highly agitated state, as by now everyone in Exeter knew of Matilda’s death. He was almost beside himself with concern and fear for his master’s welfare, as already rumours were circulating that the coroner himself was a suspect.
‘And I’ll wager I can guess who is promoting that notion,’ growled Gwyn. ‘I’ll wring the swine’s neck myself if he causes you serious trouble, Crowner!’
Together, the three set off for Rougemont, after John had arranged with Andrew for one of his ostlers to ride to Stoke-in-Teignhead with a hasty note which Thomas had penned for him. His sister Evelyn could read fairly well, as she had spent time in a nunnery when young. In the note, John explained what had happened and expressed his sincere hope that William was improving. He also asked that a message be sent to Hilda, explaining his inability to visit any of them for the time being.
Up at the castle, John went straight to see Henry de Furnellis, who confirmed that a soldier had already left on their swiftest horse to bring Nicholas de Arundell back to Exeter.
‘Is there any news of Richard de Revelle yet?’ demanded John. ‘No doubt he’ll be abroad soon to make as much trouble as he can.’
The sheriff shook his head. ‘Not a sign of him here, but Sergeant Gabriel says the porter on the South Gate saw him riding out with a servant as soon as it was opened at dawn.’
‘He’s up to something,’ growled Gwyn. ‘He’ll not just ride away and lose an opportunity like this.’
The sheriff agreed. ‘He can’t be going to his manor at Tiverton. He’d have used the East Gate for that.’
It was afternoon before they discovered where the
former sheriff had been.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The sheriff was being too optimistic when he expected Sir Nicholas de Arundell to arrive by noon. Though the messenger he sent at dawn to the manor near Totnes went as fast as his good rounsey could take him, de Arundell was not at home. He was out supervising his men assarting the edge of the woodlands, and it took an hour to find him and to persuade him to come to Exeter to resume his former duties as a coroner. His reluctance was all the more stubborn when he discovered that he was expected to hold an inquest on the wife of the existing coroner, a man for whom he had the greatest respect, as well as gratitude for past help. Being told that John de Wolfe was also the prime suspect was even worse, but eventually, when his literate steward read out the letter penned by Henry de Furnellis’s clerk, he felt obliged to comply with what was essentially the king’s command, conveyed through the sheriff.
By the time he reached Exeter, it was well past the middle of the afternoon. He met de Furnellis, and they went to the house in Martin’s Lane for his obligatory viewing of the scene and of Matilda’s body, a task for which he had the greatest distaste.
His examination was cursory, just a glance to identify the deceased and a quick confirmation of the bruises on her throat, which by now had become more prominent, as commonly happened after death.
‘What about the viewing by the jury?’ he wanted to know. ‘Surely we cannot make the poor lady suffer the indignity of being pushed up to the castle on a handcart!’
De Furnellis had already pondered on this, as Rougemont was the obvious place for the inquest. The Guildhall was the only other venue large enough, but he had no jurisdiction over the burgesses and portreeves, who jealously guarded their independence.
‘We must use Rougemont, and Matilda can be laid out decently there in the garrison chapel,’ announced Henry. ‘I’ll arrange for a closed wagon to take the body up there straight away.’