City of Fiends

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Paffards’ House

Baldwin and Sir Richard had told Simon about the inquest results and that a man had been heard running away from the area.

‘So, Simon, with luck we should be able to leave here very soon,’ Baldwin concluded. ‘Tomorrow morning, I hope to be able to advise Precentor Adam that either the murderer has escaped, or that he remains in the Cathedral and his name is Father Laurence.’

‘What is the point of coming here to the Paffards’ house, then?’

Baldwin waited while Peter knocked at the door. ‘We are merely completing the task. Collecting facts. As you know, it is my belief that a murder is a story like any other. If we can understand what the dead are trying to tell us, we can uncover the truth.’

‘But you know the truth, surely. The priest was there: he admits it.’

‘Yet he does not confess to murder – even though he would suffer little punishment, for his robes protect him. Why did he admit to being there? If he were the killer, surely he would lie about that?’

‘So you think he’s innocent?’

‘I do not know, but I would like to be convinced that there was nobody else in the alley that night. Did the maid have a lover? Gregory Paffard was convinced she did not, but she did lie with a man the day she died. And then was killed.’

‘Priests have taken women before now.’

‘Possibly, yes,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘But that would involve the priest being with her quite some time. How would that be, when he has already told me that he was only free for a short time? Perhaps that was a lie, and Father Paul will expose him. We must speak with the good Father.’

He was still musing on these matters when the door swung open and John the bottler allowed them inside. He led them along a corridor, past a business chamber and a parlour, and out to a large hall beyond.

As they walked, a door opened, and Baldwin saw Claricia Paffard standing there. She was a tall, well-built woman. Outside, Baldwin had scarcely noticed her because his attention was fixed on the witnesses and Alice’s body, but now he saw Claricia more closely, he was struck by her appearance.

Once she would have been beautiful. Her hair was restrained decorously beneath her wimple, but her face was well-featured and very pleasing. She wore a long tunic of green velvet, bound about her waist with a belt decorated with enamelled panels. There was rich embroidery at her throat and hem, and the overall impression was of a comfortable, wealthy woman, but for the expression in her large, lustrous eyes. In them, Baldwin saw a despair that reminded him of something.

That expression nagged at him as he followed the steward into the hall. There, John stood aside to let them all in.

‘Ah, Peter! To what do I owe this pleasure?’ Henry said, rising from his chair.

Baldwin studied him. He saw that Paffard was under a strain. He tried hard, but could not hide his tension. ‘We met this morning, Master Paffard. At the inquest.’

‘Of course. Apart from you, I think?’ he said, looking at Simon, who introduced himself, and when he had done so, Henry continued, looking from one to the other: ‘I am at a loss, I confess. How may I help you?’

‘How long had Alice been living here?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Some two years, I suppose – no, three. She was seventeen, and I recall she came here when she was but fourteen.’

‘She was happy?’

‘She was assiduous in the tasks given to her. I think she found satisfaction, yes.’

‘Did she have many friends?’

‘All the servants here would have been happy with her,’ Henry said quietly. ‘I am sure she wouldn’t have lacked companions.’

‘But what of men? She was young and attractive. Was there no one wooing her?’

‘If there was, I’d have had him thrashed, and if she had encouraged him, I’d have had her thrashed too, and thrown her from my door. I have a daughter of her age. I wouldn’t have an incontinent maid under my roof fornicating with all and sundry!’

‘You take a strong line on such behaviour?’

‘There are many who relax their rules. I do not. It is not merely prurience: I have to consider the security of my house. If my maids were to bring young lemans here, any one of them could be the first of a gang of picklocks who sought to steal in under dead of night to rob me. I will not have promiscuous wenches working here.’

‘That is very clear, I thank you,’ Baldwin said.

Simon could see from his friend’s expression that he disliked this merchant. Arrogant, bullying in manner, he was the archetype of the modern rich men whom Baldwin so detested.

‘So, you never saw her bring a friend into the house?’

‘Of course not!’

There was a kind of suppressed fury in his manner that intrigued Simon. Something Baldwin had said must have struck home, but he had no idea what that might be.

‘Did you see her in the company of a priest?’ Baldwin asked. ‘A vicar from the Cathedral?’

‘I said to you-’

A vicar is hardly the same as a young apprentice draw-latch, Master Paffard,’ Baldwin said bluntly. ‘Not many would attribute to a priest the same imperfections you attribute to others.’

‘I saw no priest here. No. And she had no need of a vicar from the Cathedral. She was well served by the vicar at Trinity Church.’

‘Do you know of a Father Laurence?’

Henry shook his head quickly. ‘He’s from the Cathedral?’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. ‘He actually found the girl before Joan – but he denies killing her.’

‘The bastard! He denies it? You should question him most vigorously. Put him to the peine forte et dure until he confesses!’

‘We cannot do that, as you know. I shall definitely tell the Precentor of your suggestion, however. I am sure he will be pleased to do as you suggest,’ Baldwin said suavely.

Combe Street

Joan was glad to be out of the house when she was sent to empty the washing barrel. She carried it laboriously down to the street, and gazed into the gutter. There was a dead rat and a dog blocking the way, and she carried the water a little further, tipping the heavy bowl beyond them so they wouldn’t dam the flow.

It was hard, doing all this work. Still, it was good to be out in the open air, even if the daylight was dying.

‘Hello, Joan. How are you?’

‘Peg – hello. I’m all right, but you’re about the first person to ask me. My own household are so bound up with the trouble Alice has put them to that they don’t give me a thought.’

‘It must have been awful. Anastasia’s been desperate to get any bloodthirsty clues she can. I’ve told her to stop playing the ghoul, but you know what she’s like.’

‘Yes.’ Joan shivered. She had herself been a young girl until Saturday, she thought.

‘Here, I heard you say the priest was running past. Was it the man from Holy Trinity? He’s been less good than he should have been,’ Peg said, eager to change the subject now she noticed the sudden greenish tinge of Joan’s face. ‘Are you well?’

‘Yes, I’m fine. What do you mean about Father Paul?’

‘He’s been entertaining whores, according to two of the stable boys I heard talking about him. Apparently he takes them in at night. He says,’ Peg added with a roll of her eyes, ‘that he’s just praying with them and feeding them. I’ll bet I can guess what sort of payment they give in return . . .’

Suddenly John the bottler was with them. ‘Well, you shouldn’t listen to such gossip, should you, Peg? Joan, back inside, girl, before Sal starts shouting for you. And I’m sure you have work to get on with, Peg, eh?’