And as soon as he turned his back in there, she had drawn her knife and struck at him.
Oh, it had been scary at first. Her first blow had made him swear, as though he didn’t realise what was happening. He made to turn, so she struck again and again, to silence him and kill him swiftly. Even when he fell, she kept raining blows upon his back and then his chest, and after a while she realised that his breath had stopped. He stared up at the ceiling sightlessly, his shirt stained ruby red.
He was in the way of the door so she had dragged him away, then took a thin piece of leather and wiped her hands with it, thinking she should return home now, but just as the thought came into her head she heard footsteps. Panic took hold of her – it must be the Bailiff! She frantically sought a place of concealment, then rushed to the door and pushed it shut, locking it. But no one tried to enter. She could hear the dim fool apprentice calling, but then he left.
Relief gave her a new idea. Taking care to see that no one was about, she slipped out of the shop and into the merchant’s house. Upstairs in the chamber, she saw the money-box. And, miraculously, Elias’s knife and keys. At once she saw their importance. She could take the money and put all blame onto the merchant’s apprentice.
Swiftly she pocketed the small sack of coins and gems and, taking the keys and dagger with her, she went downstairs. The apprentice was at the back of the house now; she hardly dared to breathe while the latch jiggled up and down. Then she heard him call to his master, over and over. Hawisia knew there was no time to lose. She hurtled through the hall, unlocked the front door, and dived into the shop just as feet came running along the alley beside it. Panting in her quick fear, she heard Elias enter, shouting for his master, and then she knew she was safe for another couple of minutes. She stabbed Ralph with Elias’s knife to bloody the blade, then dropped Elias’s keys at his master’s side, before, with a happy smile, taking an armful of leathers – it was a terrible weight – and staggering with it to the cart outside, throwing them in and covering them with a sheet.
And that was that. She set off with the cart, pushing it down the slight incline to the Guildhall, where she saw her husband, but he was involved in discussions and couldn’t waste time with her. Vincent had given her one of his men to take the cart back to the shop. All so easy! She had planned it very carefully, but even she hadn’t quite expected to have everything go so smoothly.
The poisoning of Peter was annoying in the extreme. She had delivered the bread, stopping Adam outside the Cathedral on his round, and it had been intended for Jolly, but the Devil had made her stepson give it to his friend instead. Not that it would matter for much longer, she reflected, patting the loaf in her basket. Everyone knew Jolly was her stepson, and no one could associate her with any malice towards him. That made it so much easier, she thought. And in retrospect it was good that Peter had died. He could have been embarrassing after what he told Karvinel.
She was outside Jolly’s place now. Knocking, she entered, staring about her at the wrecked walls. It looked as if rabbits had burrowed to find shelter in the floor. Jolly wasn’t about when she called – he must still be at the Cathedral helping to tidy up after the service, or perhaps he was in the Chapter meeting – so she put the bread on his table and left.
It was while she was walking along the grassed yard towards the Fissand Gate that she saw them, the Bailiff and Sir Baldwin. She was about to wave to them politely, go to meet them and enquire about Jeanne, when the Coroner loomed up behind them and pointed. All at once their faces turned towards her, and in their expressions she saw only accusation and loathing.
Without a second thought she dropped the basket and fled. She knew the way to the secret passages, for Jolly had shown them to Vincent, and he had shown her, proud of his son. She darted through the workings to the little door and wrenched it open, then hurried down, into the darkness of the city’s tunnels.
Water dripped in the blackness. Behind her, light was reflected from the world above, but here was only dark and gloom. Occasional drips were caught in a shaft of sunlight and glistened momentarily like jewels, only to disappear as they fell. She could move quite swiftly here, knowing the direction the passage would take.
How could they have learned of her guilt? Was it something she had done which made them realise the killings were her work? Had someone seen her outside Karvinel’s place after she had been in to see Juliana and added her drops to the wine on the table? It was terrible to feel, after so much effort, that her work was all in vain, that all those people had died, their lives snuffed out, to no purpose. It was so unreasonable!
A shudder of remorse shivered up her spine as she thought of that poor man Ralph flinching as she thrust again and again. All to help her husband, all to protect him and ensure his safe promotion. All failed; all pointless.
Would it affect him? Yes, of course it would. His career was over. There was nothing she could do for him. Not now. It was too late.
Her mood altered. She was close to collapse, awash with devastation at the realisation that all her plans were destroyed. Where she had intended to serve her husband, all she had achieved was his total ruin. It was dreadful, ridiculous, that a gaggle of busybodies should have been responsible for Vincent’s downfall. Why had they insisted upon tracking her down? There was no need.
She heard a stone chink against another. Not behind her but ahead. They shouldn’t be there yet – how could they have got in front of her? They must have run like the wind along the High Street. A furtive step slapped into a puddle, and she shrank into a slight depression in the wall nearby, her eyes wide with the fear of the hunted. That was a man’s step, surely. It couldn’t have been a rat or anything, for a soft, muttered curse followed it. The owner of the voice had soaked his foot.
Reaching for her knife’s handle, she slowly eased it free as a figure gradually became visible ahead.
Baldwin and Simon chased after her as soon as she sped off past the side of the cloisters towards the building works. There they found themselves confronted with an empty space in the angle between the cloisters, the Bishop’s Palace and the Cathedral. As they gazed at each other in bafflement, the Coroner ran off to the far side of the Bishop’s Palace and stared over southwards towards the city’s wall. He turned back with a frown of incomprehension.
‘She can’t have disappeared,’ Coroner Roger panted.
‘Certainly not,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘But where could she have gone?’
Simon peered about the area. There were innumerable doors to lean-to storehouses and workshops built to accommodate the builders. He began to pull at doors, rattling latches and tugging to see whether any were unlocked, but he had the conviction that it was a pointless exercise. If she were concealed inside one of them, she would surely have barred the door somehow.
Baldwin watched him for a moment; he had a feeling that they should hurry, that there was a strong chance of someone else being killed if they didn’t find Hawisia swiftly.
Behind him, a small crowd had formed. Hawkers and beggars had seen Baldwin and the others chase after the woman, and several had drifted over to see what was happening. Members of the congregation and choir had joined them, and already there was jostling as Canons and Vicars thrust themselves through. Stephen was the first to reach Baldwin and the Coroner.