The Hanged Man

Chapter Twenty

Edward Herepath's arms went limp; the spread fingers relaxed and, with one heave, I dislodged him, scrambling to my feet. I saw his eyes widen with horror at the sight of Cicely Ford, standing in the doorway. Leaning against the coffer, I drew several deep breaths in order to clear my head.

The girl closed the parlour door behind her and advanced into the room. She was still clutching her missal, but had rid herself of the candle. She looked pale but composed.

'I was correct, then,' she said. 'I had this unaccountable feeling that something was wrong. I could not explain it, either to Dame Freda or to myself, and tried to shake it off. But at the very door of St Ewen's, I had to turn back and come home. Edward, what has happened? And Master Chapman, what are you doing here? When we met earlier, you did not say that you had business with my guardian.'

Edward Herepath had by now got up from the floor, and he sank once more into his chair. He was sweating, his skin grey with fear, but he was not yet ready to admit defeat. He gave an unpleasant laugh. 'You may well ask the pedlar what he is doing here! He has come with some pernicious story, accusing me of murdering my own brother.'

'Robert?' Cicely's breath caught in her throat as she uttered the name. 'How could you? He was… he was… hanged.' She repeated, 'Hanged,' as though facing up to the word and all its implications for the very first time.

Her guardian nodded. 'And so the chapman knows full well. You may judge for yourself why I lost my temper, and so far forgot myself as to attack him.'

Cicely Ford turned towards me, her delicate oval features rigid with anger. 'What have you to say for yourself, Master Chapman?' She added reproachfully, 'I thought you my friend.'

'And so I am,' I answered levelly. 'I am also a friend to the truth, and I repeat that Master Herepath here killed his brother as surely as if he had set the noose about his neck with his own two hands. He also tried to murder William Woodward.'

'That's a foolish lie!' Her scorn was palpable. 'Edward was in Gloucester when William was abducted.'

'But Master Woodward was not abducted,' I said. Now that I was no longer in danger of violence from Edward Herepath — for he would hardly dare attack me in front of his ward — I felt myself to be once more in command of the situation. When Cicely Ford started to protest at this statement, I interrupted. 'If you would be willing to sit down and listen to me, you may judge my story for yourself.'

Edward Herepath stood up. 'I have had enough of this nonsense!' he exclaimed furiously. 'Neither Mistress Ford nor I wish to hear your lies. Leave my house now, and I will say nothing of these monstrous accusations of yours to anyone, provided you leave the city tonight. You would do well to take that offer, otherwise you will find yourself in prison. I have powerful friends in Bristol.' I noticed the first flicker of doubt in Cicely's eyes as she glanced at her guardian, and pressed my advantage.

'I don't think you would hand me over to the sheriff or any of his officers, Master Herepath, because you know that I would be certain to repeat my accusations to them.

They might grow suspicious that I was telling the truth and make their own inquiries. Mistress Ford, will you have the goodness to give me a hearing?'

There was a moment's silence before she answered firmly, 'Yes. Yes, I will. Edward, please don't be cross. It is only by listening to what Master Chapman has to say that you will be able to refute it? She drew a stool close to the fire and sat down. Edward Herepath hesitated for a second, then resumed his own seat, defeated. Perhaps he hoped there was still a chance that I knew too little, or that he would be able to find specious answers to my allegations. Be that as it may, he made no further effort to prevent me speaking. Cicely gestured in my direction.

'Proceed, Master Chapman.'

For brevity's sake, I will set down my story as I told it to Cicely Ford, but without detailing either her interruptions or her gradually diminishing exclamations of disbelief. Edward Herepath said nothing, but as my recital continued, he huddled deeper into his chair, his face growing ever more ashen, his whole demeanour giving weight and substance to my indictment. If Cicely Ford had doubts when I began, I think she had few by the time I had finished.

The paths of Edward Herepath and William Woodward crossed because they were both followers of John Wycliffe and believers in the Lollard heresy. They probably first encountered one another at one of the meetings in the cave in the great gorge, outside the city. Lollards foregathered — and for all I know still do — in such places, for lack of their own conventicles. Edward must have learned of William's discontentment with his lot, living with his widowed daughter, and dissatisfaction with his treatment by the Weavers' Guild. Five years earlier, therefore, he had offered William the job as his rent collector, when it had suddenly fallen vacant, together with the cottage in Bell Lane. And I guessed it to be Edward Herepath who had given William his English Bible, for the older man could never have afforded such a thing himself.

Although at the time it had been nothing more than a gesture of goodwill from one Lollard to another, the offer, and its acceptance, had later proved invaluable to Edward when the most pressing desire of his life became that of ridding himself of his brother. For barely a year after William Woodward was installed in his new job, John Ford died, leaving his daughter and only child in Edward Herepath's care; and Cicely went to live in the house in Small Street. Edward fell instantly in love with his ward, but he was then still a married man, and in any case, Cicely had eyes and heart for no one but Robert.

A year later, Mary Herepath, Edward's wife, died, leaving him a free man. And from that moment on, Edward must have started planning how to get rid of his brother.

It had to be in such a way that no blame could possibly attach to himself, but there was more to it than that. Mistress Walker had told me that nothing Robert did, however venal, seemed to lessen Cicely's affection for him. Therefore, to have him killed, as Edward Herepath had tried to have me killed, by hiring bravos from the Backs to do the deed, would only have made him a martyr in Cicely's eyes. No: it had to appear that Robert had committed a crime so heinous that even she would be unable to forgive him. And what could be more horrible than the murder of an old, defenceless man for gain?

But Robert Herepath could not be made to kill to order.

He was a thief, a drunkard, a gambler, but not a murderer; so Edward had to make him seem one. He laid his plans carefully. The Lollard heresy was spreading, and about that time was reaching across the Severn. William, again according to his daughter, was a devoutly religious man, but with his own beliefs. I had no proof, but I was as certain as if I had overheard their conversation, that Edward Herepath had persuaded him it was his duty to go as an itinerant preacher into Wales, in spite of the attendant dangers. 'But when I eventually return,' William would have argued, 'how shall I explain my absence?' And so Edward had persuaded this simple man to lay a false trail, secure in the knowledge that he would never come back. 'Say you were captured by Irish slavers, but managed to escape. Do as I tell you and you will be believed.'

I remembered Margaret Walker telling me that William had been seen, late on the day of his disappearance, coming from the butcher's shop near All Hallows Church; and when I had watched her making black pudding on that morning some weeks since, I had suddenly realized that his purchase must have been sheep or ox blood, which, on Edward's instructions, he had daubed about his room. He had smeared some on his hat as well, which, under cover of darkness, he had dropped into the Frome.

Also, when it was dark, he had left his cottage in Bell Lane and walked the little distance to the Small Street garden, where, in the outbuilding, he had changed into clothes which Edward had left for him before he himself set off for Gloucester earlier in the day. For it was essential that William should not be recognized when he left the city the following morning.

It was also necessary to Edward's plan that William should reach the vicinity of Gloucester by nightfall on the Friday, and therefore he could not travel on foot. He was given a key to the stable and instructed to take the bay, for had not the farrier told me that he and his master were the only two people who had the means to unlock the wicket gate? And so, dressed in Edward Herepath's clothes which, although the two men were much of a size, were just a little too small for him, and riding the bay, it was hardly surprising that Henry Dando had mistaken William Woodward for Edward Herepath in the dim light of that early Friday morning, as he turned from Magdalen Lane into Stow Hill and rode towards the windmill.

'Indeed,' I said, sparing a glance for the huddled figure in the armchair, 'it is less surprising than the fact that William was not "recognized" as you by the porter at the Frome Gate. But he was probably still half asleep, for I imagine that William began his journey as soon as it was light.'

'You imagine a great deal too much,' Edward Herepath sneered, but the sting had gone out of his words. I could see that Cicely's stillness frightened him: she was beginning to be convinced by my story. Nevertheless, he continued, 'And when William reached Gloucester, what then? If you have made inquiries at the New Inn, as I am sure you have, you will know that the only person to visit me there was Richard Shottery, from whom I bought the gelding.'

I nodded. 'But Master Woodward did not enter the city.

On the Friday afternoon, having completed your purchase of the horse before dinner, you disappeared and only returned after dark. You told the landlord that you were the last man in at the West Gate before it closed.'

'So?'

'I think you met William Woodward, as you had already arranged, to escort him over the Severn and set him on his way through the forest into Wales. It would have been late in the day by that time, nearly dusk, and William would have been extremely weary, having ridden hard all day. His wits would be wool-gathering, thinking only of a meal and a bed. No doubt you pretended to be escorting him to some Lollard's cottage, where he would be provided with rest and refreshment for the night. Instead-' I paused for a moment to give weight to my words 'instead you persuaded him to dismount on some pretext or other, and while he sat on the ground to ease his aching limbs, you attacked him, belabouring him about the head with a bludgeon, or whatever else you had brought with you for the purpose, eventually leaving him for dead. You then rode back to Gloucester, wrapping yourself in your cloak to conceal any bloodstains there might have been on your clothing.'

'This is wicked talk, and I'll stand no more of it.' Edward Herepath made to rise, but Cicely forestalled him, getting up and placing herself between us, evidently afraid that he might once again assault me.

'Pray go on, Master Chapman,' she said quietly. 'What happened when my guardian returned to Bristol?' Her eyes were bright and huge, as though she were staring into an abyss at some unnamed horror.

'I think the rest you know. Master Herepath went first to the cottage in Bell Lane to see if William's apparent murder had been discovered and, more importantly, if the money were missing. Having reassured himself on both points, he hastened back to Small Street to search his brother's room and find the leather pouches where they had been hidden. The bloodstains on the bags and the breast of Robert's jerkin — where he had held them cradled in his left arm during his short journey home — were fortuitous, but added greatly to the weight of evidence against him. Even you, Mistress Ford, were convinced of Robert's guilt, and your reaction to so callous a crime was everything that Master Herepath had guessed it would be.

'All he had to do then was play the grieving brother who had at least reached the end of his tether; who could no longer stand between the youth he had raised from infancy and his manifold sins. Margaret Walker spoke of a kind of madness that seemed to grip the town. Alderman Weaver said dislike of Robert clouded his and everyone else's judgement. But I suggest it was partly because Edward Herepath let it be known, in as many quarters as possible, that he believed his brother guilty.'

'It is you who are mad!' Edward snarled. 'I was the only person who protested Robert's innocence.'

Cicely turned her head slowly to look at him. 'But you made it plain you didn't really believe what you said. Particularly when you gave your testimony at Robert's trial. That was what made your conviction of his guilt so obvious.' She lifted a hand to her forehead. 'You comforted me. We comforted one another for the loss of something we had both believed in; our faith that Robert, whatever his faults, was not truly wicked. We shared a great grief and it drew us close together.' She shuddered. 'It even crossed my mind that one day, perhaps, I might grow to love you as I had loved your brother.'

'Which was exactly what your guardian had hoped for,' I was quick to point out. 'And then, his plans all went awry when William Woodward made his sudden reappearance. You must have been terrified,' I went on, addressing Edward, 'when you heard of his return, when you realized that you had bungled your attempt at murder. But luck was with you. The injuries William had sustained had destroyed coherent memory. He could not even recall the cottage in Bell Lane, but went home to his daughter. All he could remember was that he must say he had been abducted by slavers and taken to Ireland; that for some good reason, he must not mention his time with the miners in the forest. And so you were safe, but not so safe that you could sleep soundly at nights.' My voice grew sterner. 'You dreaded that William would regain his senses and reveal the truth. You refused to visit him with Mistress Ford, because you were frightened that the sight of you would bring back memories. Then your housekeeper told you that Mistress Ford was taking William broth, and you made another attempt to kill him. He complained of the broth tasting bitter, so his daughter and granddaughter threw it away. Margaret Walker attributes it to bad meat used by Mistress Hardacre in her cooking. But I suspect the soup contained juice of hemlock, which grows in your garden." I took a deep breath and drew a bow at a venture. 'And for all I know, that's how your wife met her end, after you fell in love with Mistress Cicely.'

'You lie!' Edward Herepath croaked. 'You can prove none of it!'

'I can prove William Woodward was with the miners in the forest, and in what condition they found him. The landlord of the New Inn will testify to your movements on the Friday. I agree it might not be enough to condemn you in the eyes of the law, but it would suffice to breed suspicion amongst your fellow burgesses of this city.' I decided the moment had come to tell Master Herepath the one thing he did not already know. 'And all of it for nothing. For your hope of one day marrying Mistress Ford, in spite of everything, is a doomed one. She has set her heart on entering a religious order.'

Edward Herepath uttered a strange, tortured cry and turned his eyes on Cicely. He sprang to his feet and caught her in his arms. 'You cannot! You shall not! You are mine! We belong together. I have known it since the moment you came to live here. Until then, I foolishly thought of you as a child, but you had grown. I realized then that you were the one person in the world I really wanted.' His eyes glowed suddenly with a kind of madness, and I moved closer, ready to intervene. Cicely was staring at him in fascinated horror, as though at a stranger.

Edward went on: 'I rid myself of Mary, but you fell in love with Robert. That wastrel! I thought if I bided my time, you were bound to sicken of his wild and shiftless ways and turn to me for comfort. But nothing he could do changed your mind about him. In the end, I realized I should have to change it for you. He must be vilified in your eyes so that you would turn from him in horror. It was only what he deserved. It was done for your protection. And I so nearly succeeded. If William had died, as he should have done, there in the forest, no one would ever have known that Robert didn't murder him.' His arms tightened about her. 'You shan't deprive me of what I've killed for!'

Cicely said in a quiet voice, 'Let me go, Edward. I pity you with all my heart, for I think you must have sold your soul to the Devil. It was not Robert who was evil. He was just wild and selfish, but the real wickedness is in you. I have arranged to enter the House of the Magdalen Nuns as a postulant, and I shall do so now as soon as possible. I shall go there tonight, for my life in this accursed house is finished as from this hour. I shall not raise a hand against you, even though you have destroyed my life, but what Master Chapman does is up to him.'

I waited to see what would happen, ready if necessary to force him to release her, but the sight of her face, so filled with sorrow and loathing, acted on Edward Herepath as nothing else could. His love for her had grown into an obsession, until it drove out all other feelings, all notion of right and wrong; until he had been willing to kill, by whatever means, to win her for himself. The one person he could not harm was Cicely. His arms dropped to his sides. He sat down again and buried his face in his hands, his whole body racked with harsh, dry sobs. Without a backward glance, Cicely Ford turned and walked from the room.

After some seconds of indecision, I followed her. She had vanished into the upper regions of the house, and I waited until she came down again, still wearing her cloak and holding a large linen scrip which I imagined contained her night shirt, brushes and combs. Then I escorted her to the House of the Magdalen Nuns before going in search of the sheriff and his officers. By the time they had returned from church, and I had told my story and convinced them sufficiently of its truth, it was dark and well past supper. I went back, accompanied by two sergeants, to Small Street. There we found a house in uproar: Mistress Hardacre and Dame Freda in hysterics, the men servants standing around, awe-struck, and Edward Herepath dead by his own hand. He had emptied the remains of his store of hemlock juice into the mazer of wine, sent in to him by the housekeeper with his supper.

There is little more to tell. He had written a full confession before he killed himself, a great shock to his fellow burgesses and townsmen, who had held him in such high esteem. But, like all these things, it was a nine days' wonder, and it was not long before some people began to claim they had always had their doubts about Edward Herepath, and could recall incidents which reflected badly on his character. As for myself, Lillis and I were married at the end of February in the weavers' church of St Catherine, in Temple Street; and my old acquaintance, Alderman Weaver, dignified the ceremony with his presence, standing with us in the porch and even deigning to enter the nave with us afterwards. My new mother-in-law was deeply impressed.

I should like to say that my marriage to Lillis was very happy for the sake of you, my dear daughter, my dear Elizabeth, should you ever read this. But you know me too well to expect anything but the truth. It was no happier, no more miserable a union than anyone else's, and we had so little time together, who can tell how it might have turned out? Suffice it to say that, when your mother died, giving birth to you on that bitterly cold November day, I felt bereft. Lillis was a part of my life, and the Lord, in His wisdom, had taken her away.