Hugh Corbett 12 - The Treason of the Ghosts by Paul Doherty Read Free Book Online Page B

swear to that.’ He coloured slightly and shifted uneasily. ‘It’s cold down here,’ he added. ‘How long do you intend this to go on?’
    ‘One person is missing.’ Ranulf-atte-Newgate swaggered into the pool of light, thumbs stuck in his sword belt. ‘Blidscote, you received my master’s message. Where is the justice?’
    ‘I asked Sir Louis to be here.’ The bailiff shrugged. ‘I am not my brother’s keeper, certainly not Sir Louis’s!’
    ‘Master Blidscote!’ Corbett called across. ‘For the time being, let us concentrate on the murder of these young women. In the last five years or so there have been six such victims? And that includes Goodwoman Walmer?’
    ‘There’s neither rhyme nor reason to it,’ the bailiff replied. ‘Local women, usually pretty, coming or going to the market or town.’
    ‘Isn’t that dangerous?’ Ranulf asked. ‘The trackways and lanes here are lonely. Copses of woods, dark forests, hiding places for outlaws and wolfs-heads.’
    Blidscote stared blearily back.
    ‘That’s a good question,’ Corbett insisted. ‘Why should five young women, not including Walmer, go out by themselves? If I understand correctly from the court record, and the same applies to the two most recent deaths, all five were killed outside the town. Now, if I follow the accepted story, Sir Roger was judged guilty of four of the murders but he can’t very well have killed the last two, can he?’ Corbett pointed to the coffin. ‘Take this poor woman. What’s her name?’
    ‘Elizabeth the wheelwright’s daughter.’
    ‘And her corpse was found under a hedge?’
    ‘Yes, she disappeared two nights ago.’
    ‘And when was she last seen?’
    ‘I have the father upstairs in the church,’ the bailiff replied.
    ‘Then you’d best fetch him!’
    Blidscote, breathing heavily through his nose, stamped off. They heard the sound of voices and the bailiff returned, the wheelwright trailing behind him. A burly, fat-faced man, his sallow skin discoloured with warts, he stood in the doorway shuffling his feet, passing the staff he carried from hand to hand.
    ‘Come in, Master Wheelwright!’ Corbett invited.
    The man wasn’t listening. He was staring at the coffin. His shoulders began to shake, tears raining silently down his weather-worn cheeks. He stretched out one great red chapped hand as if he could draw his poor daughter back to life.
    ‘Come in, Master Wheelwright.’
    Corbett got to his feet and walked across. He opened his purse and put a silver coin into the man’s outstretched hand.
    ‘I know that’s little comfort,’ he said, ‘but I am sorry for your pain. Master Wheelwright, my name is Sir Hugh Corbett. I am the King’s clerk—’
    ‘I know who you are.’ The man lifted his head and glared balefully at Corbett. ‘And I am an earthworm, sir—’
    ‘No, you are not,’ Corbett interrupted. ‘Master Wheelwright, you are a citizen of this town and the King’s loyal subject. I swear on everything holy,’ Corbett’s voice rose, ‘I am here to trap the murderer of your daughter. Then I will personally supervise his execution.’
    ‘They said that before,’ the wheelwright murmured. ‘They said there would be no more deaths after they hanged Sir Roger.’
    ‘Well, they were wrong. But,’ Corbett touched the man’s arm, ‘if God gives me strength, I shall be right and your daughter’s death will be avenged. Now, come in!’
    He made the wheelwright sit down next to him in one of the strange carved sedilia. The wheelwright now became aware of his surroundings and looked nervously about.
    ‘How many children do you have?’
    ‘Elizabeth and two boys; she was the eldest.’
    ‘And the day she died?’
    Corbett waited patiently. The wheelwright’s shoulders hunched and he began to sob again. At last he coughed and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand.
    ‘I have a house and yard on the edge of Melford. Elizabeth was a pretty young thing. It was market day. She wanted to