Ashes of the Elements

Chapter Ten

Sheriff Harry Pelham, Helewise observed, had made about as favourable an impression on Josse as he had done on her.

Josse had given the sheriff his seat when the officer had come into the room; on the surface a courteous gesture, but she had realised — as surely Josse had done — that, for the sheriff to squat on a low and insubstantial stool while Josse stood over him, nonchalantly leaning against the wall, put the sheriff at a distinct disadvantage.

‘It’s those damnable Godless Forest People again, you mark my words,’ Harry Pelham, was saying, shaking an aggressive, finger at Josse. ‘First one murder, then another. And both on the night of the full moon! I ask you, what more proof do you need?’

‘Hmm,’ Josse said. He glanced at Helewise, and she thought that he, like her, was probably wondering if Sheriff Pelham had noticed the moon himself, or had had the fact of its being full again last night pointed out to him.

Probably, she concluded, the latter.

‘You see,’ Harry Pelham went on, ‘they do things, when it’s full moon.’

‘They do things,’ Josse repeated tonelessly. ‘What sort of things, Sheriff?’

‘Oh, you know. Ceremonies, and that.’

‘Ah, I see. You make it so clear, Sheriff.’

Surely, Helewise thought, Harry Pelham must hear the sarcasm?

Apparently not. The sheriff went on, ‘They’re an old — um — tribe, if you like, see, Sir Josse. Live according to their own laws, live that sort of odd outdoor life when things like the moon are important. And, like I said to the good Sister here this time last month, when what’s-his-name was murdered-’

‘Hamm Robinson,’ Helewise supplied.

‘Thank you, Sister.’

‘Abbess,’ Josse corrected expressionlessly.

Harry Pelham shot him a glance. ‘Huh?’

‘The Abbess Helewise is in command here,’ Josse explained, with what Helewise thought was an admirable lack of anything in his tone that could have been construed as patronising. ‘We should do her the courtesy, Sheriff, of addressing her by her proper title.’

‘Oh. Ah.’ Harry Pelham looked from Helewise to Josse and back again, and, fleetingly, both anger and resentment crossed his face. ‘Where was I?’ he snapped. ‘You’ve gone and made me lose my thread, Sir Josse.’

‘Oh, dear,’ Josse said.

‘You were speaking of the Forest People,’ Helewise said gently, taking pity on the wretched man. ‘Explaining to us that they live an outdoor life, which includes elements of nature worship such as an awareness of the moon and its cycles.’

Harry Pelham looked as if he could hardly credit he’d said all that. ‘Was I?’ Recovering quickly, he went on, ‘Aye, well, like I said, they — the forest folk — don’t like what they’d probably see as trespassers on their territory. Specially not at full moon. It’d make them angry, would that. Make them take savage action against intruders, likely as not.’ He folded his arms, smiling grimly as if to say, there! Case solved!

‘I see,’ Josse said thoughtfully. ‘You maintain, Sheriff, that there are well-documented rites associated with these people’s worship of the full moon, which, when observed by outsiders, are so secret that those outsiders must be put to death?’

‘Er-’ Harry Pelham scratched his head. ‘Aye,’ he said firmly. ‘Aye, I do.’

‘What are these rites?’ Josse moved closer to the sheriff, bending down and putting his face close to the other man’s. ‘Can you describe them?’

‘I — well, not exactly, I-’ The sheriff took some well-needed quiet time in which to think. ‘Course, I can’t describe them in detail,’ he said, giving Josse a triumphant grin. ‘They’re secret.’

‘Ah, how perceptive, Sheriff,’ Josse said softly.

Harry Pelham was in the act of puffing out his chest with pride when, at long last, Josse’s mild sarcasm breached his defences. ‘Well, perceptive or not, I’ve solved your murder for you,’ he snapped.

‘My murder?’ Josse echoed faintly.

‘It has to be them, those dirty wretches up there.’ He jerked his head towards the forest. ‘Two dead now, and I reckon I might just go up there and round up the lot of them, hang a few and teach the rest a lesson.’

‘I shouldn’t do that, if I were you,’ Josse said.

‘And exactly why not?’

He seemed so confident, Helewise thought, watching him. It was almost a pity, when he was about to be rather firmly demolished.

‘Because,’ Josse shot her a look, then returned his eyes to the sheriff. ‘Because, although it’s possible the Forest People killed Hamm Robinson — although I’ve yet to see or hear anything that remotely resembles proof, without which you can hardly hang one man, let alone a whole tribe — I can tell you for certain that the Forest People didn’t kill Ewen Asher.’

The sheriff emitted an expletive which Helewise hadn’t heard for years. People did not normally employ that sort of language within the walls of a convent. ‘You’re talking rot!’ he went on, getting to his feet and lurching towards Josse. ‘How can you be certain?’ His repetition of the word mocked Josse. ‘Just tell me that!’

‘Because Ewen was killed with a dagger, and because his killer was both a very different man, and in a very different frame of mind, from whoever slayed Hamm Robinson,’ Josse said coolly. ‘Hamm’s murder was clean and quick, performed with considerable expertise, by someone who was an excellent shot and used to his chosen weapon. The spear tip, I understand, pierced the heart.’

‘All right,’ the sheriff acknowledged. ‘So what?’

‘The man who killed Ewen — and I am quite sure it was a man, because of the force behind some of the wounds — was in a panic. Possibly he had tried to make it a quick, clean kill, too, but whichever of the cuts he made first wasn’t deep enough, and failed to penetrate a vital organ. With Ewen screaming and writhing at his feet, the murderer, perhaps beginning to be overcome with the horror of it all, slashed out again and again, throat, chest, face, until at last, realising the man was quite dead, he stopped.’

The sheriff was staring at Josse, mouth open. ‘How can you tell all this?’ he said, a sneering tone entering his voice.

‘For one thing, by the wounds,’ Josse replied. ‘And for another-’

‘Well?’

Josse glanced across at the Abbess. ‘Never mind.’

The sheriff looked as if he was about to press him, but apparently decided against it. ‘Well, if it wasn’t the Forest People, then it was that poacher. That other fellow who used to go about with Hamm Robinson. His cousin.’

‘Seth?’ supplied Josse.

‘Aye. Seth Miller.’

‘I don’t believe Seth killed him either,’ Josse said. ‘Although I admit he had a motive.’

‘Well, won’t you enlighten us as to why it wasn’t Seth?’ It was the sheriff’s turn to sound sarcastic. ‘Not the type of man to panic, perhaps? Arms too weak to make such cuts?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ Josse said mildly, not, Helewise noticed, rising to the bait. ‘The reason that I doubt Seth was responsible was because he carries a knife, with a fairly short blade. The wounds on the dead man were made by a dagger.’

‘Knife or dagger, what’s the difference?’

Josse shook his head gently. ‘Oh, dear,’ he murmured. Then, before the sheriff’s anger could come to the boil and erupt, said, ‘A knife has one sharp surface and a dagger has two. Seth carries a common-or-garden knife, which he probably uses for everything from gutting rabbits to picking his teeth. The wounds on Ewen Asher show very clearly that they were made by a weapon with two sharp edges. Therefore, the killer is unlikely to be Seth. Unless, of course, you think that Seth was carrying a special dagger last night, purely to kill Ewen with, which is perfectly possible, I grant you. Except that Ewen was killed in a sudden fit of panic, or temper, and for Seth to have armed himself beforehand with this hypothetical dagger would have meant the murder was premeditated.’

Helewise, not at all sure that the sheriff had grasped all of that, suppressed a smile as, sinking down again on to his seat, Harry Pelham muttered, ‘Hypothetical dagger. Premeditated. Panic.’ After a few moments’ thought, however, he rallied.

‘I’m going to arrest Seth Miller,’ he announced. ‘Right now. Whether he planned to murder Ewen or not, I reckon he did it. He can sweat it out in my jail for a while and think about his sins. Then I’m going to ask him a few questions.’

Harry Pelham stood up, took a couple of paces towards Josse and, snarling at him as if he wished it were to be Josse rather than Seth he would be interrogating, finished, ‘And, God help him, he’d better have some good answers!’

* * *

Helewise and Josse listened to the repeated echoes of the slammed door. As the sheriff’s furious footsteps faded away, Josse said, ‘Pleasant fellow.’

Helewise smiled. ‘Indeed. I wouldn’t be in the shoes of any of his minions, at least not for the next few hours.’

‘Has he a wife?’

‘I’ve no idea. I hope not.’

‘The man’s a dullard,’ Josse pronounced. ‘The kind who jumps at the first obvious solution in order to save himself the trouble of seeking out the truth.’

‘I fear you are right,’ she agreed. ‘Or, in this case, the second obvious solution. Which means that he’ll probably hang Seth for the murder of Ewen.’

‘And, although Seth is a poacher and a thief, and perhaps deserves to hang for those and other crimes, I don’t think he killed Ewen,’ Josse said slowly.

‘You’re certain? That talk about the knife and the dagger was true?’

Josse grinned at her. ‘You thought I might have produced all those arguments merely to annoy Sheriff Pelham?’

She smiled. ‘No, I didn’t think that. Although I could have understood it if you had done.’

‘No,’ Josse said. ‘It was true. Those cuts on poor Ewen were without doubt made by a dagger, moreover, a very sharp one. The edges of the slashes were so clean, and I doubt they could have been so had they been made with Seth’s knife. Anyone’s knife, come to that — it’s not practical, is it, Abbess, to carry stuck in your belt something with two such keen edges?’

‘No.’ She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘How do you come to know so much, Sir Josse?’ she asked. It was something she had wondered about before. ‘Has your life been so wild, that you are well acquainted with death by violence?’

He returned her gaze for some moments without speaking, as if he were thinking back. Then he said, ‘I was long a fighting man, Abbess. For better or worse, I did as I was ordered. In that time, I saw many dead men. Although I didn’t realise it, I must have been taking in more than I thought.’

‘I-’ she began.

But he had rested his hands on her table, and, leaning towards her, went on, ‘I should not wish you to imagine that I spent my fighting years hanging around the wounded and the dead, poking and prodding at their wounds like some ghoul.’

‘I didn’t imagine that for one moment!’ she protested. ‘I comment on it merely because, as in other things, it is proof that you are a man who keeps his eyes open. Who observes, who uses his wits. As, indeed, God intended that all men should.’ She sighed. ‘Clearly an intention that did not penetrate into Sheriff Harry Pelham’s head.’

‘Too much thick bone in the way,’ Josse said dourly. ‘Abbess, how come such a man is Sheriff? Who appointed him? And do they not realise that he is a fool?’

‘The office of Sheriff of Tonbridge is, I believe, a matter for the Clares,’ she replied. ‘And — but this is only hearsay, Sir Josse, so please accept it as such — I do hear it muttered that the Clares prefer a malleable man, and, possibly, one without too much mother-wit, in order that the true authority shall remain with them.’

Josse was nodding. ‘I see.’

And, although he asked no more questions and made no further comment on the matter, she was quite sure that he did.

She rose to her feet. ‘Sir Josse, if you will excuse me, I wish to speak to both Sister Caliste and to Esyllt.’ She hesitated, watching him. ‘I know that you do, too, but will you allow me to interview them alone, to begin with?’

‘Of course!’ He looked surprised. ‘I hadn’t expected anything else, Abbess. Apart from any other considerations,’ he added with a grin, ‘you’re likely to get far more out of them than if I’m there looming behind you.’

* * *

Helewise walked off in the direction of the retirement home, leaving Josse to fetch his horse and set out to find out anything more that there was to find about Ewen. He said he would return via the forest, and have a good look in daylight at the scene of the killing.

Helewise composed her thoughts and put herself in the right frame of mind for questioning Esyllt.

Entering the retirement home, she was impressed, as always, by both the calm, contented atmosphere and by the scent of flowers. It was, in her experience, rare for the elderly to be housed in a place where either of those conditions prevailed, never mind both of them.

But, then, other old people were not lucky enough to be cared for by Sister Emanuel. Who now, observing her superior’s quiet entry, came gliding to greet her, making the usual reverence with a simple grace.

‘Good morning, Sister Emanuel,’ Helewise said softly.

‘Good morning, Abbess.’ Sister Emanuel’s voice was low and mellow, and, even when she was issuing commands or speaking up so that some deaf old soul could hear, she never became strident. It was not so much that she insisted others spoke gently when they entered her domain, more that they automatically adopted Sister Emanuel’s own custom because it was considerate and kind. And it made sense.

‘Is it a convenient moment for me to speak to Esyllt?’ the Abbess asked as, side by side, she and the sister walked slowly down the long room. On either side were narrow cots, bearing ample bedding for cold old bodies, and each with its own little table for the placing of treasured mementos. The cots were divided by hangings, so as to give a measure of privacy, but, around most of the beds, the hangings were now neatly tied back. With a few exceptions, the old people were up, dressed and either sitting at the large table at the far end of the room, or else taking a turn in the warm sunshine outside.

‘Esyllt,’ Sister Emanuel said after a pause, ‘is perfectly ready to speak to you, Abbess. When Sister Euphemia brought her back here last night — well, it was very early this morning, in fact, a couple of hours before Prime — the girl had been largely restored by her ministrations. Certainly, she had been cleaned up and dressed in fresh clothes.’ She gave a sudden sound of distress. ‘I understand Esyllt had knelt down by the body, and was covered in blood. Terrible.’

‘Terrible indeed,’ Helewise agreed. ‘Did she manage to sleep?’

‘Yes, I believe so. I looked in on her on my way out to go to Prime, and she seemed to be asleep then.’

‘You had a disturbed night,’ Helewise remarked.

‘I am quite used to that, thank you, Abbess.’

‘What is Esyllt doing now?’

‘She is laundering bedding. Although she is very good with the old people, always patient and kind, with a smile and a pleasantry for those who respond to such things, I did feel that, today, with all that she must have on her mind, it would be better to keep her segregated.’

‘Quite.’ And that consideration, Helewise was sure, was for the old people’s benefit more than for Esyllt’s. ‘She is out in the wash room?’

‘She is.’ Silently, with a small bow, Sister Emanuel stepped in front of the Abbess and opened the door of a small lean-to where there were large stone vessels for the washing of garments and bedding, and smaller jars of fresh water. There was a hearth in which a well-stoked fire was burning, over which was suspended a pot of hot water.

Sister Emanuel pointed to the figure of the girl, bent over the wash tub, sleeves rolled up to reveal strongly muscled arms, scrubbing hard. Helewise nodded her thanks, and Sister Emanuel departed, closing the door behind her.

The little room was very hot. It was a warm morning, and the fire plus the steam from the boiling water had raised the temperature by many degrees. Esyllt, as might be expected, was sweating freely as she went about her work. And, unusual for her, she wasn’t singing.

‘Hello, Esyllt,’ Helewise said.

The girl jumped, dropped her washing in the tub and spun round. Her expression was difficult to read, but, before she had wiped it away and replaced it with a smile of welcome, Helewise had thought she looked guilty.

‘Good morning, Abbess.’ Esyllt put up a wet hand and pushed her hair out of her eyes.

‘Shall we step outside?’ Helewise suggested.

Esyllt smiled briefly. ‘Yes. It’s a bit close in here, isn’t it?’

‘You have been working hard,’ Helewise observed as, outside the lean-to, she noticed several freshly washed items hanging out to dry.

‘Yes.’ Esyllt led the way to one of the benches used by the old people, and, waiting while Helewise seated herself, then sat down beside her. ‘Sister Emanuel is very wise, she believes hard labour is a good medicine for — well, for what I’m suffering from.’

It was said without self-pity. But, nevertheless, it was with concern that Helewise asked gently, ‘And what is that, Esyllt?’

Esyllt’s dark eyes met hers. ‘I can’t exactly tell you, Abbess.’

‘But, Esyllt, you-’

Esyllt put out a hand. ‘Abbess, you’re going to ask me what I was doing out in the forest last night, since, if I’d been tucked up here like I should have been, then that poor man wouldn’t have … I mean, I wouldn’t have seen … what I saw.’ She turned to face the Abbess, expression intense. ‘I was preparing a story to tell you — I was going to pretend I’d gone to pick wild flowers to make posies for the old ladies, I was even going to sneak out and fetch some, to make my story convincing.’ She looked down at her hands, now reddened and sore from the hot water. ‘But I find I can’t. I can’t lie to you, when you’ve been so good to me.’

Helewise was stunned. She tried to assimilate all that Esyllt had just said, and, equally, implied; she had, it seemed, been out in the forest last night for some reason that she wasn’t prepared to divulge.

What on earth could it be?

‘Esyllt,’ Helewise said eventually, ‘you are not a professed nun, nor even a postulant. It is true that we have found you work here, when otherwise you might have had to leave and face the perils of the world outside, but you do that work conscientiously and well. Sister Emanuel says you have the gift of knowing just how to treat your elderly patients, and she is satisfied with you. More than satisfied!’ Sister Emanuel was a little grudging with her praise, but Helewise, who had seen for herself how Esyllt carried out her duties, was not. ‘What I am saying is that, as a member of the Abbey who is not in holy orders, your position is a little different. Of course, you owe Sister Emanuel obedience, and, naturally, we should not condone any wrongdoing that you committed. But, if you choose to go walking in the forest at night, then, apart from reasons concerning your own wellbeing, we can hardly stop you.’

Esyllt’s head and shoulders were bowed, and she appeared intent on the fingernail she was picking at. Helewise waited, but she didn’t answer.

‘Esyllt?’ Helewise prompted.

At last Esyllt raised her eyes and met Helewise’s. ‘I keep seeing him, Abbess,’ she whispered. ‘All that blood! Oh, God!’ She covered her face with her hands.

‘It was a frightful thing to have seen,’ Helewise said, putting her arm round Esyllt’s shaking shoulders. ‘It’s better not to fight the reaction, Esyllt — the dreadful images will haunt you for a while, but, believe me, if you try to suppress them, then you will take longer to get over this.’ She gave Esyllt a quick hug. ‘You’re strong. I know that. You will get over it.’

For a brief moment, Esyllt leaned against the Abbess, allowing herself to be comforted. But then she pulled away.

Staring into Helewise’s eyes, she said, ‘Don’t be kind to me, Abbess!’

‘But-’

Esyllt began to cry. Brushing away the tears, she stood up. She was half-way back to her wash house when she turned, gave Helewise a brave attempt at a smile and said, ‘Save your kindness for others. Much as I wish I could accept it, I can’t.’

The smile faded as, in a whisper, she added, ‘I’m not worthy.’

Then she went back inside and closed the door.

Helewise sat on for a while in the sunshine, thinking hard. She was tempted to call Esyllt back there and then, and face the girl with one or two very pertinent questions.

But would it do any good?

Would it not be better to give Esyllt a chance to calm down, come to her senses? Goodness, the child was probably still suffering from shock!

Helewise was becoming more and more convinced that she knew why Esyllt had been in the forest, and why she couldn’t — wouldn’t — explain herself. She was, the Abbess reflected, an honourable girl, in her own way.

With a sigh, Helewise got up and went in search of Sister Caliste.

* * *

A short while later, going into the Abbey church a good half hour before Sext to give herself time for some private prayer, Helewise tried to quell her irritation with Sister Caliste.

Because, despite Helewise’s probings, despite having the paucity of her version of events thrown in her face, Caliste was sticking stubbornly to her story.

She went into the forest the previous day for a little walk. And, entranced by the flowers and the trees, she forgot the time.

Falling to her knees, Helewise began quietly, ‘Dear Lord, please help me to find the truth.’

The one thing about which she was absolutely sure was that she had got nowhere near it yet.