I took one last look. The young cleric – the Night Wanderer’s fourth victim – lay like a patch of deeper shadow in the darkness.
EIGHT
‘I can stand!’ I hissed urgently to Jack as we emerged into the market square. I could willingly have let him go on carrying me – just then his solidity and warmth were things to cling to in the desperate night – but officers of the watch had already spotted us and were hurrying over.
‘Are you sure?’ he whispered back.
‘Yes! Please put me down!’
He did, and my wobbly legs just about held me up. Jack stepped in front of me, shielding me from the pair of officers rapidly approaching us.
‘What do you think you’re doing, breaking curfew?’ the first man said. He was squat and angry-faced, and already his hand was on the cudgel stuck in his heavy leather belt. Then, making out Jack’s face, he said, ‘Oh, sorry. Didn’t recognize you.’ He made a sort of bow, and his colleague did the same; they were, it appeared, subordinate to Jack.
Wild thoughts ran through my mind as I wondered how on earth Jack would explain our presence. He didn’t even try, simply saying curtly, ‘Another death. A young priest, in St Bene’t’s. You’ – he pointed at the man bringing up the rear – ‘go and watch over him. You’ – the first man – ‘go back to the castle, report the death and bring men to remove the body.’
The two men repeated their sketchy bow and hurried away. Their footfalls echoed eerily through the silent town. ‘What should we do?’ I asked Jack.
He turned to me. ‘I’ll take you home. You shouldn’t be out on the streets.’
I heartily agreed with him. ‘I should check on Adela first.’
He nodded. ‘Of course.’ He reached for my hand and we ran across the square to Mistress Judith’s house, where we found Adela just as we had left her. She was deeply asleep, and short of sitting with her for the rest of the night – which I really didn’t want to do – there was nothing more I could do for her.
So Jack escorted me back to Gurdyman’s house.
I don’t believe I could have managed the journey alone. It was so familiar – I walked it at least once a day all the time I was in Cambridge – but the shock of the night’s events turned it into a nightmare scene where every dark corner held a savage animal with long blood-stained claws and every tiny movement in the shadows was a ruthless, deranged killer out for my blood. I clung to Jack’s hand and it was all I could do not to whimper in terror.
At last we stood before Gurdyman’s door. I opened it, careful to make no noise, and Jack and I slipped inside. ‘You don’t need to come in,’ I said. I wanted him to, very much, but I knew he must be aching to return to St Bene’t’s. He and I had been eyewitnesses to the murder; surely he had to be there.
But he said, ‘I will wait. Go and find Gurdyman and tell him what’s happened.’
‘He’ll be working, or asleep,’ I protested.
‘Go.’
I spun round and ran along the passage, turning off to the right into the corridor leading down to the crypt. There was something slightly amiss, and I noted distractedly that the door which was usually folded back flat against the passage wall had been moved slightly. It was a clever device of Gurdyman’s – or perhaps of some previous inhabitant of the ancient house – in case he ever needed to hide, for when the door was closed it fitted so well, and was such an exact copy of the walls on either side, that you just couldn’t detect that there was a door there at all.
I ran on, stumbling down the steps in my anxiety, my feet sounding noisily. In a part of my mind I registered Jack’s heavy tread up above, as he moved along towards the rear of the house. It was good to know he was still there.
I burst into the crypt. Briefly there was light – dim, flickering – and then suddenly it was gone. In the dense, impenetrable darkness, it was exactly as if I’d been struck blind.
I screamed.
I don’t know how Jack managed to reach me so quickly. He was there, arms round me, muttering soothing words, big, strong hands stroking across my back. Then, pulling away a little, he said, ‘I have brought a light.’
He struck a spark, once, twice, and then it caught the oil-soaked rag wound round the head of the torch and a blessed, golden illumination flooded out. I stared frantically round, again and again. The crypt was uncharacteristically tidy, with the blankets neatly folded on Gurdyman’s little cot, the normal disarray of the crowded shelves rearranged so that glass bottles, pots, dishes and vials were standing in ordered ranks, and the surface of the long wooden workbench was quite empty and scrubbed clean.
And there was nobody there.
I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. What was the matter with me? Had I been more affected by witnessing the poor priest’s murder than I thought? Was I in shock, so that my eyes had seen what I wanted to see and not what was really there?
‘What is it?’ Jack spoke quietly, but there was some note in his voice that told me he knew something was badly wrong.
I turned to him. ‘I think I’m going mad.’
He went on looking into my eyes. ‘Tell me.’
But I couldn’t. I forced a laugh – a silly, unconvincing sound – and said, ‘Oh, it’s nothing. The after-effects of the night’s events, nothing more.’
He waited, clearly expecting me to elucidate. I wasn’t going to. ‘Gurdyman’s obviously gone off somewhere, since he’s not here,’ I said, pleased at how close to normal I sounded, ‘so I’ll go up to bed and you can-’
But Jack shook his head. ‘I’m not leaving you alone.’
‘I don’t think you ought to stay,’ I said doubtfully. Although Gurdyman seemed to like him, having him take up residence in the house, even temporarily, was probably a step too far.
‘I wasn’t planning to.’ Jack took my hand in the one not holding the torch and we went back up the steps leading out of the crypt. ‘Is there anything you need for the night?’
‘I already have it.’ I indicated my leather satchel, which I always carry with me, and my shawl.
‘Good. Come on, then.’
I thought we’d be going back to St Bene’t’s, but Jack turned the other way, towards the Great Bridge. We kept to the shadows and used the smaller, hidden-away alleys whenever we could, and I guessed he was still eager not to be seen by the night watch. Not that we saw any evidence of them; presumably all available men had been sent scurrying round in the aftermath of the latest murder.
As we drew near to the castle I saw that there were lights flaring, and I thought I caught the sound of raised voices in the distance. I guessed Sheriff Picot had been dragged from his bed, and wondered just how angry he was at having been disturbed. We passed the priory and took the turn on the right leading up to the castle. For a short while we had to walk out in the open, and anyone going to or from the castle would have seen us, but our luck held, and soon we turned into the narrow alley that wound round the base of the castle rise and led to the workmen’s village.
I hoped and prayed that we weren’t going to view any dead bodies tonight…
We moved through the deserted alleys and squares like shadows. Expecting to be terrified all over again, I realized suddenly that I wasn’t; quite the contrary. I squeezed Jack’s hand to catch his attention. When he turned to look at me, I said softly, ‘I like this place,’ and he grinned.
The little chapel loomed up before us, but it seemed we weren’t going there. Passing it, Jack went on up a very narrow track, its surface no more than trodden mud, which we followed for perhaps twenty paces. We seemed to be in an alley of what had once been artisans’ dwellings; small, one-roomed houses, at first attached to one another but then, as we went further from the deserted village, bigger properties set in their own small patches of land. One or two were clearly still in use.