‘True, true,’ Corbett replied. ‘And these recent killings?’
Parson John touched the scar on his forehead. ‘Someone, Sir Hugh, who, rightly or wrongly, wages unholy war on my father and all his kin.’
‘Did Fleschner ever discuss your father?’
‘Fleschner was a good but very weak man. Like me he feared my father, but he hardly ever spoke of him.’
‘You know he was guilty of looking the other way regarding your mother’s death.’
‘Yes, so you told me, but that would be Fleschner’s way. He was hardly going to confess such a sin to me, was he?’
Corbett smiled in agreement.
‘I owe Fleschner my life,’ Parson John whispered. ‘He rescued me here in this hideous church.’ He began to mumble, and Corbett dismissed him, eager for Lapwing and his mother, Mistress Isabella, to take their seats. He gestured at this subtle clerk.
‘Master Lapwing, or Master Stephen Escolier, or whatever you like to call yourself, we do have questions about that riot in Newgate.’
‘Which are?’ The reply was impudent, delivered in an arrogant tone.
‘You went there,’ Corbett said, ‘you spread the rumours that one of the gang was to turn King’s Approver and accuse the other. A riot ensued.’ He leaned across the table. ‘No one here gives a fig about such wolfsheads, but they broke out and killed innocents, the King’s loyal, law-abiding subjects.’ He jabbed a finger. ‘You also spun the tale that St Botulph’s would be a secure refuge with a secret passageway to safety. In truth all you did was bring about the total destruction of those felons, as well as the savage murder of innocents, men hacked down, women raped and abused.’
‘If I did what you claim, sir, I was acting on the King’s orders. What these felons did, however, is a matter for their own consciences.’
‘Mistress Isabella,’ Corbett turned to the woman, ‘we were told you were sickly, yet you look comely and healthy enough.’
‘I was very ill with fever last Advent. Indeed, I feared death was so close I went to receive my Christmas shriving at St Paul’s, but yes, I am better, particularly now that my son has returned. Sir Hugh, he is a royal clerk, but what do I have to do with this business?’
‘Yes, yes.’ Corbett lowered his head to hide his excitement. He was sure, he was certain. ‘What do you, Mistress Beatrice, have to do with this business?’
‘Nothing!’ The woman’s hand flew to her lips. ‘I am sorry,’ she stammered, ‘you startled me.’
‘Of course I did,’ Corbett replied. ‘Let me see now. Isabella Escolier, so the son, so the mother. You were once called Mathilda? Yes? Or some other name beginning with M, but the one given you at the baptismal font was Beatrice. Twenty years ago you were maid to Emma Evesham, wife to Sir Walter, now deceased. You were with her when she was attacked in the streets. What happened to you afterwards, well, I don’t know the details, but one thing is certain. You became the leman, the mistress, perhaps even the wife of the chancery clerk Boniface Ippegrave, and this,’ Corbett pointed at Lapwing, ‘is your son, the child you had by Boniface.’ His raised voice alerted those clustered further down the nave. Parson John, Brother Cuthbert and Adelicia left their stools and were staring back up the church. Corbett waved at them to sit.
‘Oh yes,’ he insisted, ‘Beatrice who became Mathilda. Boniface was so in love with you, he scrawled the first letter of your new name against his, separated by a heart, the mark of lovers.’
‘I don’t know what you are talking about,’ spluttered Lapwing, all the arrogant certainty drained from his face. ‘Sir Hugh, how can you say that about my mother?’
‘Very easily,’ Sandewic snarled. ‘You and your mother are on solemn pledge before the King’s commissioners. Lying on oath is perjury, and she can hang for that, as can you, sir.’
‘I’m a clerk.’
‘You’re still a liar,’ taunted Ranulf, hiding his own surprise. Sir Hugh had kept all this well hidden.
‘You’re wondering how I know?’ Corbett asked. ‘Stare around this church, Mistress Beatrice. Name me one person who knew exactly what happened twenty years ago, and I mean exactly. Staunton or Blandeford? They were only spectators. Parson John? A mere child. Brother Cuthbert and Adelicia? Broken by a man you hated deeply.’ Corbett pointed at her. ‘I believe only you know the truth, mistress. Now this is what will happen if you continue to lie. You will be confined to Newgate, and your son will tell you what a foul pit that is. It has a great cobbled yard, the stones of which are particularly sharp and pointed. You will be stretched out on your back and a door will be placed over you, then weights, increasingly heavy, will be loaded on to that. You’ll be pressed until you confess the truth.’
‘I am innocent.’
‘You are not innocent,’ Corbett countered. ‘You know the secrets behind all the murderous frenzy that plagues this church.’
‘I do not.’
‘Or at least some of those secrets,’ Corbett continued remorselessly. ‘One thing is certain, mistress, you are not going to leave this church wiping your mouth on the back of your hand and claiming you know nothing when indeed you do. Moreover, I’ll make careful investigation. Oh, it may take a week, two weeks, a month perhaps, but eventually,’ his voice rose, ‘you will be depicted as the liar you truly are and your son as the killer he is.’
‘That’s not true!’ Lapwing protested
‘It is, according to the evidence,’ Corbett retorted. ‘Someone in this church knew what happened twenty years ago. Your mother did and she passed that information to you. Take a mirror, Master Lapwing, look into it. I knew your father vaguely. I remember the colour of his hair. You have the same; that’s what made me wonder about young Lapwing flapping like a busy bird around all this. Sir Ralph, call your guards and have Mistress Beatrice taken into custody. She’ll spend the rest of the day in Newgate and be pressed tomorrow morning.’
‘It’s true,’ Lapwing blurted out. ‘It’s true.’ He stilled his mother’s protests with his hand, holding Corbett’s gaze. ‘Mother, I know what he’ll do. He’ll pursue us like some lurcher after a hare. He’ll urge you to confess. He’ll inflict pain. It doesn’t really matter what happens as long as he gets the truth, so tell him I’m no killer, no assassin.’
‘I think you are,’ Corbett retorted, ‘and I shall prove that according to the law, but you’ve saved your mother from being pressed. So, Mistress Beatrice,’ he shifted his gaze, ‘the truth, every morsel of it!’
14
Maindefer: hand of iron
‘I was born Beatrice Sturmy,’ she began, ‘a clothier’s daughter. I knew the Lady Emma before her marriage. After she became hand-fast to Sir Walter, she invited me to be her maid. I accepted. She was gracious, kind and sweet-natured. I entered her household.’
‘And the marriage?’
‘Lady Emma seemed happy enough. She became pregnant and bore Sir Walter a son.’
‘Did you know about Evesham’s secret life, his nefarious activities under the cloak of night?’
‘Sir Hugh, I knew very little. Sir Walter was always smiling, though I would use the word smirking. He could be free with his hands. I often glimpsed him staring hotly at me. On one occasion he tried to seduce me, but I pushed him away. I threatened to tell his wife but I never did, I hadn’t the heart. She seemed happy enough. Sir Walter always gave the impression that he’d married beneath him, but that was part of his sneering attitude. He liked to show how clever and subtle he was, how highly regarded in the chancery at Westminster.
‘Lady Emma and I were often invited to this banquet or that, and it was at one of these that I met Boniface Ippegrave. He was a good clerk, Sir Hugh; who knows, he may have risen to the same high position as yourself. He was clever, industrious, witty and kind. He had a passion for gambling, but he was good at it. On one occasion he took me aside and showed me his winnings, a heavy purse of gold.’