‘Never!’
Corbett glanced sharply at Adelicia.
‘Never!’ she repeated, yet she refused to hold his gaze.
‘Tell me, Brother,’ Corbett toyed with the manuscripts lying before him, ‘on your oath now. Did Evesham ever confess anything to you that might explain his own death or the events of twenty years ago?’
‘On that, Sir Hugh, I have told the truth. I hardly spoke to him; he rarely spoke to me. I could not stand the man’s stink, his stare, his touch. If I had my way I would have driven him from the abbey.’
‘And Adelicia, did you at any time approach Evesham and question him?’
‘No.’ This time her tone was more precise. ‘I would never approach such a man. Sir Hugh, we did not murder him.’
‘You say that.’ Ranulf spoke up. ‘Brother Cuthbert, your fingers are pained with the rheums, yet you secured that door sure enough.’
‘Oh, it was painful,’ declared Cuthbert. ‘But I was so startled to find Evesham dead, all I wanted to do was close that door, seal it off and present it as a mystery. Of course I realised people might think that I had murdered him, but there was no proof, no evidence, and don’t forget, clerk,’ he tapped the side of his head, ‘up here I know I am innocent. I did not carry out what I would have loved to have done.’
‘Surely,’ Adelicia declared, ‘if we, or one of us, murdered Evesham, are we not therefore responsible for the other dreadful deaths? Engleat, the two riffler leaders executed in a London tavern, the disgusting murders of Mistress Clarice and her steward Richard Fink? Oh yes, clerk, we’ve heard the rumours! The good brothers of the abbey are full of the chatter from the city. They may live the lives of monks, but they take a deep interest in the affairs of the world.’
‘To be blunt, mistress,’ Corbett smiled, ‘I watched you come into this room. You are not old, you’re strong, it’s possible you could have committed those murders or assisted someone else to do them. I will ask both of you again: is there anything you can tell me, on oath, that would help my investigation?’
They replied that there was not.
‘And you, Mistress Adelicia. This midnight conversation with a stranger claiming to be your brother, Boniface. He questioned you about a certain Beatrice; do you know who she was?’
‘No.’
‘Did your brother ever mention a woman called Beatrice?’
‘Never.’
Corbett sat back in his chair. ‘In which case, I thank you. You may return to the abbey, where, if I need to, I will visit you again. One final question.’ He picked up a piece of parchment. ‘Boniface Ippegrave wrote a riddle at the back of the Book of the Gospels in St Botulph’s: “I stand in the centre guiltless and point to the four corners”; you gave that to Mistress Adelicia?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do either of you know what he meant?’
Both chorused: ‘No.’
Too swift, too glib, Corbett thought, but he lifted his hand. ‘You may go. I wish you a safe journey.’
8
Ribaudaille: camp-followers, the dispossessed
‘How did you. .’? asked Ranulf as the door closed behind them.
‘Logic, Ranulf.’ Corbett chewed the corner of his lip. ‘It’s the only feasible answer. If two people really love each other and live in such close proximity, they will meet, and only death will stop that. I suspect they see each other quite regularly — oh, nothing wrong, like two children sitting whispering in the dark.’ He paused. ‘They’ve not told me the full truth. Oh no, Brother Cuthbert is far too curt. He watches me intently. He dreads a certain question, but for the life of me I don’t know what. Well,’ he called, ‘Chanson, bring in Parson John and Master Fleschner.’
The two men entered the room, swore the oath and took their seats. Parson John had shaved his face, though the bruises and marks still looked angry and there were dark rings around his eyes. Both men looked calmer, more composed than the day before, though the priest remained agitated, moving on the seat, playing with the folds of his robe. Master Fleschner on the other hand seemed half asleep. Corbett wondered if he had taken a deep-bowled goblet of wine to help him through the questioning.
‘I thank you for coming here,’ Corbett began. ‘Both of you have sworn the oath. You must realise how important this is and what penalties perjury carries. I know that you witnessed yesterday heinous and gruesome sins, but with your help I can solve these mysteries and bring the malefactor to justice. Now, Master Fleschner, I understand you are parish clerk at St Botulph’s and have been-’
‘For at least twenty-five years. I was also coroner in the ward, though I gave that up about ten years ago. I became tired of viewing corpses, gashed and garrotted, their heads caved in, limbs missing, dragged from the river or some rubbish heap covered in slime. There is more to life than death.’
‘Did you know Boniface Ippegrave?’
‘No, I didn’t. I had nothing to do with the affray of twenty years ago. I was busy elsewhere.’
‘But you knew the parish priest, now Brother Cuthbert, a recluse in Syon Abbey?’
‘Of course.’
‘And his friendship with Mistress Adelicia?’
‘I heard rumours, but that was tavern gossip, market chatter. I cannot help you with anything on that.’
Corbett stared hard at this peevish-faced man with his wispy moustache and beard. He was undoubtedly timid, yet he was too quick for one so nervous.
‘And the affray at St Botulph’s when the malefactors broke out of Newgate?’
‘Again, Sir Hugh, I know nothing of that. You summoned me to take down the proceedings of their trial in the church; what I know, you know.’
‘Tell me, Master Fleschner.’ Ranulf spoke up, putting down his pen. ‘Are you aware of any secret entrance to or from St Botulph’s church? After all, you are the parish clerk.’
‘No. If there is one it is very secret and very well concealed. I was born and raised in Cripplegate. I know of no secret passageway.’
‘And the attack on Parson John?’
‘I’ve told you what happened. Parson John asked me to meet him around the third hour after the sext bell. He told me he would leave the corpse door off the latch. I approached St Botulph’s. I heard a sound and went in. I saw a shadow come darting into the sanctuary, then it disappeared back into the sacristy. I heard a groan. I went across, entered the sacristy and found Parson John bound, though he’d broken free of the gag. I helped free him.’
‘On the same night Lord Evesham was murdered,’ Corbett continued, ‘Ignacio Engleat his clerk was barbarously slain at Queenshithe. Where were you, Master Fleschner?’
‘At home with my lady wife like any good citizen should be.’ Fleschner tugged at his robe. ‘Why, Sir Hugh, do you think I’m an assassin, a man like me?’
‘And where were you,’ Corbett insisted, ‘yesterday around midday, when Giles Waldene and Hubert the Monk were executed in the Angel’s Salutation?’
Fleschner closed his eyes and leaned back slightly. ‘I was busy on my own affairs. I was in Cheapside looking at the stalls.’
‘Do you have witnesses to that?’ Ranulf barked. ‘Witnesses who could swear to it?’
‘Of course not, of course not,’ Fleschner flustered.
‘Perhaps earlier in the day?’ Ranulf insisted. ‘When Mistress Clarice and Richard Fink were so cruelly slain at their house in Clothiers Lane.’
‘This is preposterous, ridiculous! I’m no assassin. I could no more wield an axe-’
‘Who said it was an axe?’
‘It must have been.’ Fleschner threw his hands out. ‘It must have been an axe to sever their heads.’
Corbett noticed how flushed the clerk’s face had become. He decided to leave him and turn to Parson John, who now sat like a man half asleep, just staring at the wall above Corbett’s head as if fascinated by the tapestry depicting Christ in judgement on the Last Day.
‘Parson John, tell me about yourself.’