‘Peterkin’s been stupid,’ the simpleton mumbled, head down. ‘Peterkin’s been wicked.’
‘Look at me!’ Corbett ordered.
The man raised his head. Corbett judged the woebegone look genuine: beneath the dirt and stubble, Peterkin’s face had paled.
‘Where did he meet you?’ Corbett demanded.
‘He’d wait for me,’ came the stumbled reply, ‘at the bottom of the lane. At first I was curious.’
‘How tall was he?’ Corbett asked.
‘I don’t know. He made me stand behind an oak, he was on the other side. Sometimes his face would peep round. The mask was hideous, red like blood. He carried. .’ Peterkin imitated a bracelet round his wrist.
‘A cord?’ Corbett asked. ‘With a bell on it?’
‘Yes. That’s why I knew he was there. I’d go out early in the morning. Most times there’s a mist. I’d hear the bell tinkle. At first I thought it was some silly jape. He told me how he knew who I was. He said he had the ear of Justice Tressilyian. Yes.’ Peterkin licked his lips. ‘That’s how he put it. He knew about the way I spied on the young women. How in summer I followed couples out into the countryside. He also claimed I had stolen things: that he’d tell Master Blidscote, who would put me in the stocks.’
‘So, he taught you the rhyme?’ Corbett asked.
‘Yes, he did, but no name was mentioned at first. He returned a few mornings later; ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling his bell would ring. He asked me to repeat the rhyme and I did so. Then he told me to take a message to this person or that.’ He shook his head. ‘I forget who.’
‘Then, eventually, the name of his first victim?’
‘Yes.’ Peterkin blinked. ‘I thought it was all a harmless game. Poor Peterkin.’ He clasped his hands together and stared beseechingly at Corbett. ‘Poor Peterkin didn’t know.’
‘And what did the Mummer’s Man order you to do?’
‘I must find the young woman by herself: I had a great secret for her so she was to tell no one. Only when she had solemnly promised and crossed herself did I give the message.’
‘What happened?’ Ranulf asked, getting up and coming forward, intrigued by how this cunning murderer had worked. ‘What happened?’ he repeated. ‘Young Elizabeth, the last victim — what did she do?’
‘I found her in the lane coming from the marketplace.’ Peterkin closed his eyes. ‘ “Elizabeth,” I said, “I have a great secret for you.” “Oh, Peterkin, don’t be silly,” she replied. “No, no,” I whispered. “It’s true.”
‘Then you showed her a coin, didn’t you?’ Corbett asked.
Peterkin, now terrified, nodded.
‘You said how an admirer had given you that coin so Elizabeth knew you weren’t jesting? Yes?’
The simpleton agreed. ‘ “Oh, Peterkin,” she said. “Who is it?” I shook my head. I was sworn not to tell her. I delivered the message and ran away.’
‘Skilful,’ Corbett murmured. ‘Everyone’s trapped. Peterkin must deliver the message. He’s told to show the victim a coin so she’ll believe him. Now, do you understand, Mother?’
‘I do.’ The old woman’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘God knows, poor Elizabeth wouldn’t dream of telling anyone else. They’d either follow her to the place or race her to it. Of course, no one really believes poor Peterkin. It might be some madcap notion. She wouldn’t want to appear foolish. .’
‘Yes, but Elizabeth, like the other victims, had her curiosity whetted. Peterkin’s message was so clear yet so mysterious. The town’s simpleton had been paid to carry it so it must mean something. She wouldn’t dare tell anyone and so sealed her own fate.’
‘What was his voice like?’ Ranulf asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Peterkin wailed. ‘A soft voice.’
‘Have you ever heard it before?’
‘For God’s sake, Sir Hugh!’ Mother Crauford exclaimed. ‘The man wore a mask!’
‘Did you ever follow him out?’ Ranulf asked.
Peterkin, eyes terrified, shook his head.
‘After the first death what could I do?’ he wailed. Peterkin rubbed his hands together, tears streaking his dirty face. ‘I was frightened, I was frightened. Where could I go to? Poor Peterkin!’ He beat his chest.
Corbett glanced at Ranulf and shook his head. Peterkin acted more stupid that he really was but what he said possessed its own logic. He was like a trained dog, governed by greed and fear, sent hither and thither on his master’s commands.
‘You’ll catch him.’
Mother Crauford glanced up at Corbett, who now got to his feet, tightening his war belt.
‘Oh, I’ll catch him. Like a bird in a net. And then I’ll hang him, Mother Crauford, on the scaffold outside Melford, like the cruel soul he is.’
Corbett walked to the door. He put his hands on the latch.
‘And now you know why I call this place Haceldema?’ she called after him.
‘Oh yes, Mother, I do.’
Corbett glanced back. Mother Crauford had dried her tears.
‘You had your suspicions from the start, didn’t you?’
Mother Crauford blinked away her cunning look.
‘Couldn’t you have done something?’ Corbett asked.
‘I am an old woman, clerk. I haven’t got a bullyboy.’ She plucked at her dusty gown. ‘I don’t carry sword and dagger. Nor can I produce the King’s Writ, with a piece of wax on the end, telling everyone to stand aside and bow their heads. You talk of help? How could I mumble my suspicions? Have you ever seen a woman burnt for witchcraft, Sir Hugh? Watched her old body hang above the flames whilst her eyes bubble and her skin shrivels like that of rotten fruit? Don’t act the preacher with me!’
Corbett smiled grimly and nodded in agreement. They went out to where Chanson was holding their horses. Corbett refused to answer Ranulf’s questions but swung himself into the saddle, riding ahead during their short journey up to the mill.
This time Corbett did not stand on ceremony. When Ralph the miller came out, shouting and gesticulating that he was a busy man, Corbett rapped out an order. Ranulf drew his sword and brought the flat of its blade down on the young man’s shoulder.
‘Keep a civil tongue in your head!’ the Clerk of the Green Wax warned. ‘My master has a terrible temper.’
Corbett swung himself out of the saddle, gave the reins to Chanson and pushed open the kitchen door. Ursula was standing by the fire. She was not fully dressed but wearing a dark-brown robe fringed with squirrel fur, tied round the waist by a cord. She didn’t look so pretty now, her face heavy-eyed with sleep. She pushed the hair away from her face.
‘I thought you were Molkyn,’ she said archly. ‘He used to come charging in like that.’
‘Molkyn’s dancing with the devil!’ Corbett snapped. ‘And what a dance it will be, eh, Ursula? Your husband was corrupt, a dishonest bullyboy, and those are just his petty crimes.’
‘What do you mean?’ Ursula’s face paled.
‘Why did you send Margaret to be Widow Walmer’s companion? To get her out of the house? Away from Molkyn?’
‘Why?’ she stuttered.
‘I’ve been to many towns and villages, Mistress. I have seen what happens to men who commit incest with their daughters, who abuse their own children! A sin which stinks in the eyes of God and man!’
‘How dare you?’
‘Oh, I dare,’ Corbett replied. He stared round the kitchen. ‘You are Molkyn’s second wife, aren’t you? How old was Margaret when Molkyn lurched into her bedchamber? Twelve, thirteen?’
‘How do you know all this? It’s a lie!’
‘Is it?’ Corbett asked. ‘Molkyn may have killed his first wife. He certainly abused his daughter and, when you married him, you stumbled on his little nest of hideous secrets. But you are a good woman, aren’t you, Ursula, behind the bold glance and pert reply? You protected Margaret. You warned Molkyn. Someone else learnt the miller’s secret. When Molkyn was chosen by that lazy, dishonest bastard Blidscote to sit on the jury and try Sir Roger Chapeleys, the time of retribution had arrived. Molkyn was blackmailed: find Chapeleys guilty or all of Melford would discover his secret sin.’