The under-sheriff’s mouth opened and closed. Corbett banged his head gently against the wall.
‘Don’t lie, Master Cade. You are responsible for all burials. What happened to this woman’s corpse?’ Corbett smiled thinly. ‘Oh, by the way, you’re well known by the prostitutes in the city.’
Cade gasped. ‘I’ll tell you,’ he grated. ‘Take your hand away and sheath your knife, Sir Hugh. Sooner or later the truth would be out.’
Corbett sheathed his knife and put it away as Maltote and Ranulf suddenly appeared.
‘I told you to wait!’ Corbett shouted. ‘Now, go back!’
The under-sheriff, rubbing his neck, crouched on a stone plinth jutting out from the church wall.
‘Yes, yes,’ he began. ‘I knew some of the murdered girls. I am a bachelor, Sir Hugh. All I have are the clothes on my back and the fees of my office. I take no bribes, I never look the other way but, like any man, I get lonely. The blood boils within me and a fair face and a soft body, any face, any body will be solace enough. I knew the last girl, Hawisa, as well as others, Mabel, Rosamund, Gennora, but Judith was my favourite. You see, Master Corbett, she was attacked but not killed. I took care of her but put her name on that list to protect her.’
‘You what?’ Corbett gasped. ‘You mean to say there is a girl still living who survived an attack by this insane killer?’
‘She saw very little,’ the under-sheriff muttered. ‘She was frightened. She threatened she would tell others what she knew about me and other city officials unless she was protected.’
‘So where is she now?’
‘I lodged her at the Friars Minoresses near the Tower. The good sisters agreed to look after her.’ Cade wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘That is until I raise enough money to send her south to one of the Cinque Ports.’
‘Well, Master Cade, we’d best go there.’
They collected a mystified Ranulf and Maltote and made their way down to the Guildhall where they borrowed horses to continue their journey through the half-waking streets to Aldersgate and out into open countryside. They turned south through lush fields, past dairy farms to where the grey flagstoned building of the Friars Minoresses lay nestling amongst woods and fields.
The Sisters, who followed the rule of St Clare, were welcoming enough, always eager to see visitors, especially males. They fussed and clucked round Corbett’s party like a group of mother hens. The clerk had to pay the usual courtesies of joining them in the small refectory for bread and ale before Cade asked to see ‘his dear sister, Judith’, in one of the guest rooms.
The good Sisters agreed but Corbett caught their coy glances and hidden smiles. Whatever the under-sheriff claimed, the nuns were not as innocent as they seemed and had more than a vague idea of Judith’s true calling. A young novice was immediately despatched to prepare the girl. Ranulf and Maltote were left in the cloister gardens with strict orders to behave themselves and Corbett and Cade went to the white-washed cell where Judith was waiting. She was a plump, red-headed, pleasant-looking girl, dressed in a dark brown smock, tied closely at the neck. She greeted Cade warmly, kissing him on both cheeks and pressing his hand, but the dark rings round her eyes betrayed her anxiety.
‘The nuns still think I am your sister,’ she said pertly.
‘And why do they think you are here?’ Corbett asked.
‘You know who I am, sir, but who are you?’ she retorted archly.
Corbett smiled, apologised and introduced himself.
‘And now my question?’ he repeated.
‘The nuns,’ Cade intervened, ‘think Judith is my sister who was attacked by a house breaker.’
‘And the truth?’
The girl smiled and looked away. ‘I am Master Cade’s doxy,’ she replied. ‘I had a chamber above a shop in Floodgate Lane. Master Cade used to visit me there. I had,’ she continued, her voice rising, betraying a faint sing-song accent, ‘I had other friends. I lived a good life. I heard of the murders but I thought someone was settling a grudge.’ She sat down on the room’s one and only stool. ‘Then one night,’ she continued, ‘I came back late and climbed the outside stairs to my chamber. I often left my door open for my pet cat. I went in and lit a candle. I had a large cupboard, a gift from a carpenter, where I hung my gowns. I heard a sound and, because I couldn’t see the cat, thought the poor animal had got trapped inside.’ Judith stopped speaking and laced her fingers together. ‘I’ll never forget it,’ she whispered. ‘I picked up the candle and opened the cupboard door. I think it was the candle which saved me. I saw a dark figure, the glint of steel and, as I stepped back, the knife cut me.’ The girl undid the lacing at the neck of her dress and pulled it low to reveal a long, angry red welt which ran from shoulder to shoulder beneath her neck. ‘I screamed even as the blood pumped out, then I swooned. Someone must have heard me. Master Cade was sent for.’ She glanced up at Corbett. ‘I think you know the rest?’
‘I thought it best if the killer believed she had died,’ Cade added.
‘So you must have seen something?’ Corbett asked.
The girl made a face. ‘Who would believe me?’
‘What did you see?’
‘I only caught a glimpse but I thought it was a monk.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘The figure was cloaked, cowled and hooded but you see, Sir Hugh,’ the girl smiled primly, ‘when I held the candle up I caught a glimpse of the attacker’s sleeve. It was the dark brown of a monk. I also saw something else.’
‘Come on, girl, tell me!’
‘As I drew away and the candle fell, I am sure I saw a white tasselled cord.’ She looked up. ‘Only a monk wears that.’
Corbett looked accusingly at Cade. ‘That’s why you were quiet when we went to Westminster Abbey and met the sacristan and his bosom friend. Only Benedictines wear brown habits. Don’t you realise, Cade, the killer must be a monk!’
Cade banged his fist against the wall. ‘Of course I realised!’ he retorted. ‘But who would believe a prostitute?’ He looked at Judith’s sad eyes. ‘I am sorry,’ Cade muttered, ‘but that’s what they’d say, a prostitute’s word against a monk’s and what proof would she have, Sir Hugh, except her own assessment? Any monk accused of a crime would have his brethren swearing mighty oaths that Brother So-and-So and Father This-or-That were elsewhere at the time of the attack.’
‘You’ve never put it like that before,’ the girl interrupted. ‘You always said you had me here to protect me. You were protecting yourself!’ She looked at Corbett. ‘Before the under-sheriff continues,’ she added, ‘and asks me what motive a monk would have in attacking a whore, well I’ll tell you, Sir Hugh. You will be the only person I have spoken to about it.’
Corbett crouched before the girl and held her fingers lightly.
‘Tell me the truth,’ he insisted. ‘Tell me everything you know and I will catch the man who attacked you. I will give you protection, the King’s own writ and a substantial reward. Yes,’ he added as he saw the hopeful gleam in the girl’s eyes. ‘Good silver to go elsewhere and begin a new life. A small dowry, perhaps you can return to your village, marry and settle down.’
The girl gripped Corbett’s fingers.
‘You promise?’
Corbett raised his other hand. ‘I swear by the King and by the sacrament, and my oath is a solemn one. You will be protected and rewarded.’
‘About a year ago,’ Judith began, ‘in the late summer and early autumn, I and other girls were hired to go to the empty Palace of Westminster. We were paid good silver and taken down river by barge. We were led up King’s Stairs and into one of the chambers of the deserted palace. We went there at least a dozen times, indulging in the most riotous revelries. I have never seen anything like it. Wine poured like water, food stacked high on platters,’ she smiled. ‘But the light was always poor. We would be joined by men. One I recognised, I think he was Steward or Bailiff of the Palace, he was always drunk.’