‘All quiet, then, friend?’ I asked, and he nodded.
‘Aye. Mind you, it’s not often like this. Most times it’s nothing but clatter.’
‘I don’t doubt it for a moment.’ I smiled, at my most conciliatory. ‘Not a job I could do. I haven’t the patience.’ He was flattered and disposed to gossip, in order to enliven the tedium. I saw my chance and took it.
‘Are you the regular keeper on this gate?’
‘Mostly.’ He sucked his teeth, probing with his tongue to dislodge some sliver of meat or bread that had lodged itself among them. ‘I have a deputy for when I’m sick or on festival days, but he’s a young lad, green and none too bright, so I’m on duty as much as possible.’
‘And you were here, no doubt, that day last January when the stepchildren of Master Eudo Colet went astray?’ The gatekeeper raised two bushy eyebrows and regarded me quizzically.
‘So! You’ve ferreted out that story mighty quick. Yet I’ll swear I only saw you for the first time yesterday morning, when you passed through the gate near dinnertime. You were chatting to Tom the drover. I remember thinking to myself that I’d not seen you around these parts before. You’re a pedlar if I’m not mistaken. What have you done with your pack?’
‘It’s at my lodging,’ I answered. ‘As for the story about the children, I had it from Jacinta at the castle tavern, when I supped there last evening.’
The gatekeeper laughed. ‘Oh, her! She has a nose in everybody’s business, that one. Bound to, I guess, in her calling. And that son of hers can’t be much of a companion. A miserable cur, with very little to say for himself.’
‘I barely saw him, but yes, you’re right, he did seem a taciturn fellow. To return, however, to Andrew and Mary Skelton. The story captured my imagination, as I suppose any unresolved mystery is bound to do.’
My companion interrupted me. ‘No mystery, friend, and not unresolved, neither. The varmints went adventuring in the woods and fell into the hands of the outlaws. That’s all there is to it.’ Here, obviously, was a man of whom William of Occam would have approved.
‘But according to the cook, Agatha Tenter, and the maid, Bridget Praule, they couldn’t possibly have left the house without being seen. Or so I’ve been informed.’
The gatekeeper gave a roar of laughter and clapped me on the back with one of his enormous hands.
‘They would say that, wouldn’t they, to safeguard themselves? Who’d take the word of a couple of silly, empty-headed women? And it’s as plain as the nose on your face, that whatever those two say, the children escaped somehow, or their bodies would never have been found, six weeks later, on the banks of the Harbourne.’
‘They didn’t pass through this gate, though, or surely you would have seen them?’
‘As it happens, I didn’t see them, no. But as I told all the civic busybodies who came inquiring, there were the usual number of carts going in and out that day, piled high with their various cargoes. And not knowing then that anything was amiss, I let them all pass through, once the toll was paid, without searching the contents. So, who’s to say that those two children weren’t curled up somewhere between bales of cloth being transported to the quay, or hidden away under some sacking?’
I considered this answer to the problem with a sinking heart. The man was right, it was a possibility which could not be lightly dismissed, and one which Grizelda had not seen fit to mention. Nor had it occurred to me, though I felt now that it should have done. Both of us had been blinded into looking for a more sinister explanation, she by her hatred of Eudo Colet and I by my desire to dazzle her with my cleverness.
‘All the same,’ I persisted, ‘you did not, with your own two eyes, see either Andrew or Mary Skelton?’
‘I’ve told you, no!’ The gatekeeper showed a touch of impatience. ‘Nor were they marked by either of my fellow gatekeepers, for we were all questioned together by the Sheriff, in the guardroom of the castle.’
‘Would those men have any cause to lie?’ I queried.
He gave me a pitying look, as though I were a fool, irritating but harmless.
‘Why should they? They’d nothing to gain by denial.’
‘Not unless they were in league with the outlaws,’ I agreed, musing aloud rather than making any real accusation.
But the effect on my companion was to swell his chest to almost twice its normal size and banish all his former comradeship. The massive arm, which had been laid in friendly fashion across my shoulders, now tightened its grip until I could almost hear the cracking of my bones. The big red face advanced to within half an inch of mine.
‘Now, listen to me, chapman! I’ve known these men all my life. Boys and men, we’ve grown up together. They’re good, honest, God-fearing citizens of this borough, and I’ll not listen quietly while anyone, let alone a stranger, implies otherwise. If you value your hide,’ he added menacingly, ‘you’ll not repeat that suggestion.’
‘You mistake me,’ I said hurriedly. ‘It was not meant as it sounded. I was merely clearing my mind of even the remotest possibilities before searching elsewhere for a solution.’ The arm about my shoulders relaxed a little, but was not immediately removed. Nor did the ruddy face so close to mine lose one jot of its grimness.
‘There’s no solution to find, my friend. It’s there, plain for all to see. Those two children got out of the house and clear of the town one way or another, and with all the cunning that younglings bent on mischief employ in such matters. I don’t hold with Master Eudo Colet no more than the next man, but you can’t hold him guilty of a crime he hasn’t committed because you don’t like him. If that were the case, there are a great many acquaintances of mine, and of yours, too, I daresay, who’d end up on the gallows, dangling at the end of a rope.’
‘You’re very right,’ I heartily agreed, at which he finally released me and grew more amiable. I ventured a further inquiry. ‘You referred to the children just now as varmints. Yet they have been described to me as two little innocents, almost contenders for sainthood.’
The gatekeeper snorted violently. ‘Sainthood, is it? I’ve never known any youngling who’d qualify for that description, and I doubt you have, either. No, young Andrew and his sister were no better – nor no worse, mark you! – than other children of their age from what I saw of them. But saints they weren’t. Whoever told you that, took you for a fool, my lad.’
I shook my head. ‘The landlady at the castle ale-house described the girl as a little angel, and her brother not far short of one. And I’d take my oath she meant every word. I was doubtful, remembering myself at that age. But recollecting that Mistress Cozin had called them a pair of holy innocents, I thought maybe Jacinta was right after all. And Mistress Harbourne was devoted to her charges.’ The gatekeeper regarded me curiously, his animosity fading and his tufted eyebrows climbing once more up his forehead.
‘Dang me, chapman, you’ve been busy since you got here! Been in touch with half the town, I reckon. This affair of the young Skeltons seems to have taken a powerful hold on your imagination. But Jacinta Jessard’s a maudlin old woman who thinks any child with a whit more manners than that graceless son of hers a veritable wonder, while Mistress Cozin is a sweet and pleasant lady who’d think no ill of anyone, let alone a child, for all she’s three young minxes of her own to give her the lie. As for Grizelda Harbourne, of course she’d think her little dearlings perfect. She was mother, aye and father to them, too, from the moment they were born, for their true mother had no time for them. A selfish piece, Rosamund Crouchback was, with never a thought in her silly head except her own pleasure. So, no, you’d hear nothing but praise from Grizelda, that’s only natural. But take it from me, they could be just as naughty and mischievous as other children when the fancy took them, which is why I say they made their way out of the town somehow or another on that morning. There’d been great trouble between them and Master Colet, I understand. Enough, at any rate, to drive Mistress Harbourne to leave the house, and for that, they’d want to punish him. How better than to disappear for an hour or two and cause him an agony of worry?’