“Don’t know. ’E never said much of ’em. Poor John only lived ’ere on the street since Lammastide. Didn’t talk much, an’ was never ’ome for long.”
I thanked the woman for her time and turned my attention to the chapman’s house. Perhaps within the dwelling there might be some evidence of the sisters to whom the contents of the chapman’s cart might now belong. The windows were small, and covered by shutters which seemed fragile and easily torn aside. Prosperous families lived on East St. Helen Street, but John Thrale’s house was one of the meanest, and in need of some repair.
I did not wish to call to myself the attention which pulling down a shutter would bring, so tried the door. It was securely shut, as I expected, even though there was no lock. It was barred from within. This being so, there must be another door, with a lock, at the rear, in the toft, else there would be no means of entry to the place.
I circled the house and saw my assumption correct. The rear of the house had but one small window, shuttered like those in the front, and in the middle of the wall was a door secured with a heavy iron latch. A large keyhole was centered in this lock, and when I tried the latch handle it would not move.
I had found no key in the chapman’s cart, nor did Thrale carry it upon his person. Who would? Such a key is as long as my hand and the iron would weigh heavily upon a man.
My eyes found the barn at the rear of the toft and I left the house to search the place for a key. If I was the chapman, I thought, where would I hide a key that no man might discover it?
I would not hang it upon a nail, no matter how well hidden it might be. Such a place would surely be sought first.
The interior of the barn — which, in truth, was little more than a shed — was dark, stinking of manure, and shaded from the setting sun by the roof of the neighboring house. My eyes did not readily conform to the shadows, but when they did I surveyed the interior before moving to seek a key.
I saw a rusted nail, driven part-way into a corner post, which in such place could serve no purpose but to hang upon it some object. But no key was there. Perhaps some time past Thrale, or some earlier inhabitant of the house, had hung a key there and some miscreant found it and looted the house while the owner was away. I saw no key in any other place, so began to search under beams and in hidden, shadowy places. I found no key.
Was the chapman a careless, slovenly fellow? Or had he allowed his beast’s manure to accumulate upon the befouled straw so as to ensure no man was likely to plunge in his hand seeking a key beneath the filth? In a corner of the small barn I saw a shovel and rake, which tools the chapman must have used when he did clean the stable. I seized the rake and began to pull aside the fouled straw. Half-way across the shed I felt the wooden teeth of the rake strike some solid object. It was the key.
A moment later I entered the chapman’s house. The interior was near pitch-black, for the autumn day was fading and the shutters over the windows were closed, permitting only narrow slivers of light to illuminate the place. The house was like those of most of King Edward’s more prosperous subjects, however, so I did not require much light to find my way about.
The house had two rooms upon the ground floor, and the larger of these could be warmed by a fireplace. This was a puzzle, for itinerant chapmen do not usually possess such wealth as to afford a house of two floors, complete with fireplace, even if the house was in some disrepair.
In one corner of the larger room was a table, upon which rested a small chest and a cupboard. In another corner was the chapman’s bed. A larger chest, complete with iron hasp and lock, occupied a third corner, close to the fireplace. Closer inspection of the table showed a cresset, and resting nearby, flint and steel for striking a fire.
I sought no heat, but desired more light, so unraveled a few threads from Thrale’s bed covering, set these alight with sparks from the flint and steel, then transferred the flame to the wick of the cresset.
I opened the small chest. I sought there some document or letter which might lead me to Thrale’s sisters. Likely he could not read, for I found nothing written there. Or perhaps he kept such things in his large chest. If so, I would not see them unless the chest was not locked, or I could find another key.
The chest was locked. The key for this box would not be so large as the one which opened Thrale’s door, therefore easier hid. I returned to the small chest and inspected its contents. No key was there. I removed the bed covers and shook them out, to no purpose. I inspected the mattress, to see if some seam might show where a key was hid in the straw, and pounded upon the pillow to learn if a key might be among the goose feathers. I found nothing.
Next I overturned the bed to see if a key might be fixed somewhere under the frame. None was there. I moved the table and cupboard from the wall. Perhaps Thrale had hidden the key behind the cupboard. He had not, and running my fingers under the table showed no key there. I found only a splinter from the crudely made table.
I sucked upon the offended finger and surveyed the room. Did the chapman have this smaller key with him, and it lay now buried with him in his grave, or was it yet in his cart, and I had overlooked it when I took inventory of Thrale’s possessions?
I next inspected the smaller ground-floor room, beyond the stairs. It was empty — no bench or chest or bed or cupboard was there. I climbed the stairs and with the flame of the cresset examined the two upper rooms. They were as bare as the small ground-floor room. John Thrale lived in but one room of this house. Why, at Lammastide, had he moved to a house much larger than his need?
I returned to the ground floor, studied again the larger room, and saw another place a man might hide a key. I bent to the hearth and from it drew a footed iron pot. Inside the pot I found the key. Whatever the chapman had stored in the larger chest, he had taken some pains that no man would open the box and discover his secret.
The key fit the lock poorly, and I thought at first it was a key to some other lock. But eventually, after some twisting and force, I made the key to work and drew open the chest. I was stunned at what I found there.
No letters or documents lay in the chest, but I found three leather pouches, a hammer near as large as a smith might use to pound out a horseshoe, a small, hand-operated bellows, and a tiny iron box, open at its top, narrow at the base, which was about the length of a finger and half as wide and deep.
I could not guess why such objects might be hid securely in such a chest, but thought the contents of the sacks might explain. They did so, for one sack contained thirty or more coins similar to the one which had dropped from the chapman’s lips in St. Andrew’s Chapel churchyard. Another sack held jewelry of various and wondrous designs: wrist bands, rings, and necklaces of gold, some of these studded with precious stones.
The third sack was smaller, and when I untied the thong which closed it I found within five small ingots of silver and one of gold, and seven small stones, one of which was green and much like an emerald. One glance at the small iron box told me whence these ingots had come. I took an ingot and fitted it to the box. It was a perfect match. After prising out the jewels, the silver and gold had been melted to fit the iron mold.
A bench lay against the wall beside the cupboard. I sat upon it and pondered this discovery. Much wealth was in this house. Why was this so, and where did the gold and silver come from? The silver and gold ingots were made of coins and jewelry like that found in the other two sacks. The chapman had used the bellows to create a fire upon his hearth hot enough to melt the coins and jewelry found in the other two sacks. What then did he do with them?
Some men had followed John Thrale and beat him to death in the forest to the east of Bampton. I now knew why. They knew of his secret wealth and desired to have it for themselves. They did not know all, else they would have come to this house and entered it while the chapman was away, as I had done. Unless they did not know where Thrale lived when he was not about the shire. But surely they knew some of what I had discovered, and battered the chapman to make him tell of what they did not know. This they had failed to do. Or had they?