The Holy Innocents

Chapter Nine

‘Questions? What questions?’

Oliver Cozin’s manner was terse. He was not a man used to being interrogated, particularly by the likes of such as me.

Normally, he did the asking and others gave the answers. I was determined, however, not to be intimidated. I had promised Grizelda to try and uncover the truth, and that was what I intended to do.

‘I know why Master Colet can find no one willing to rent or buy that house,’ I said. ‘There is still a lingering fear that Andrew and Mary Skelton were somehow spirited away by witchcraft before they were murdered by the outlaws.’

There was silence, then the lawyer sniffed. ‘You seem to have been very busy, chapman,’ he said, echoing the gatekeeper’s words. ‘I didn’t take you for a gossip. I’m disappointed.’

I felt the anger rise in my chest and steadied myself to speak without choler.

‘You must admit,’ I reproved him, but calmly, ‘that the circumstances of my tenancy were unusual. Did you expect me to be lacking in curiosity? I’m as nosy as my neighbour, as nosy as you, too, would have been, I suspect, in similar circumstances.’

He looked affronted, but before he could reply to this direct attack, there came the patter of feet, and Mistress Joan, the eldest of Thomas Cozin’s three daughters, rounded the bend of the stairs and descended to the parlour. She sketched a curtsey and sent me an upward glance from green-flecked hazel eyes, beneath long, sweeping lashes.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Uncle, but Mother wishes a message delivered to Mag, in the kitchen.’

‘Very well.’ Oliver courteously held open the door until his niece had passed through, then shut it firmly and turned again to me.

‘I suppose,’ he conceded, ‘it was always possible that you might discover the reason behind my request. But, having done so, I should have hoped that there the matter would have ended. What further interest in the story can there be? My client, Master Colet, was fully exonerated of any complicity in the children’s disappearance, either natural or… supernatural. So why do you raise the subject?’

‘I have promised Mistress Harbourne to find out, if I can, the truth of her charges’ murder. If, that is, there is anything more to be discovered.’

The lawyer was now seriously displeased. The narrow face froze into immobility, and the chilly grey eyes grew even colder as he stared down his finely chiselled nose. But yet again, before be had time to speak, there was another diversion as Mistress Elizabeth, the second daughter, came tripping lightly down the stairs on small, scarlet-leather-shod feet, her green woollen gown hoisted in one hand to display a neatly turned ankle.

‘Well, Miss?’ her uncle barked. ‘And what do you want?’

‘I… I have a message for Mag, in the kitchen.’

‘Your mother has already sent one message by Joan, not two minutes since.’

‘Ah…!’ Mistress Elizabeth thought swiftly. ‘Mother forgot something she particularly wished to say concerning the eel pie for supper. I am charged with the additional message.’

‘Oh, very well!’ For the second time, Oliver Cozin held wide the door until his niece had departed, which she did with a provocative swing of the hips. Fortunately, I was the only one to notice it. Much put out, the lawyer resumed his seat beside the table, while I stood awkwardly, twisting my hat between my hands.

‘And how, may I ask, did you come to make the acquaintance of Grizelda Harbourne?’

I had barely had time to explain when the child, Ursula, followed her sisters downstairs, a strand of chestnut-brown hair escaping from beneath the white lawn hood. The bodice of her blue wool gown was partially undone, the result of careless lacing in the first place.

‘Joan and Bess, did they pass this way, Uncle?’ And sensing that, if she tarried, she would bear the whole brunt of Oliver’s annoyance at being so constantly interrupted, she gave me a wink, mouthed, ‘I told you they liked you’, and whipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

‘Really!’ The lawyer’s irritation boiled over. ‘I do not know what is going on in this household today! You seem to have a very unsettling effect on my brother’s family, chapman. Now, what were you saying? Yes, yes, I remember. You were telling me how you came to meet Grizelda Harbourne. So, you have promised to discover the truth for her, have you? But everyone knows the truth, and I cannot see what Mistress Harbourne hopes to gain by once more muddying the waters. There was a full inquiry, by the Sheriff at the time. The testimony of Bridget Praule and Agatha Tenter, and indeed of my own brother, was sufficient to clear Master Colet of any blame.’

‘Yet there seems no doubt,’ I persisted doggedly, ‘that he, and he alone, benefited from the children’s deaths because of Sir Henry Skelton’s will, which you helped draw up at the instigation of Sir Jasper.’

The thin face suffused with blood. ‘Are you accusing me of some impropriety? This passes all bounds! I suppose you are indebted to Grizelda Harbourne for this knowledge, also. I cannot possibly discuss my client’s private affairs, and would not, even if I could. Please leave this house immediately.’

‘No, wait, brother.’ There was a fourth interruption, as Thomas Cozin himself descended to the parlour and drew a second chair close to the table. He motioned me to sit on the bench running along the facing wall. ‘I could not help overhearing the latter part of your conversation, and Grizelda Harbourne is right, Oliver, to be mistrustful of Eudo Colet. I realize that he is your client and that you are chary of saying anything against him, but you like him no more than the rest of us. The man’s an adventurer, that much was obvious from the moment Rosamund brought him home. His antecedents are shrouded in mystery, and we have never managed to find out who or what he really is, nor where he comes from. The girl made a foolish marriage, and we all thought it, even if we did not say so. What did you want to know, chapman?’

I spread my hands. ‘I am a babe when it comes to legal matters. I wished to confirm that Mistress Harbourne was correct when she told me that Eudo Colet was the rightful inheritor of the money left to Mary and Andrew Skelton by their father.’

Thomas glanced at his brother, but Oliver folded his lips together and made no reply. Thomas shrugged and turned back to me.

‘He was Rosamund’s husband,’ he answered simply. ‘Everything she had was his. She would have inherited the money, a considerable sum, mark you, had she outlived her children, so, by default, it was bound to be Eudo’s. No provision was made in the will – I know, for Jasper showed me his copy of the document – for the money to revert to the Skelton family. Indeed, quite the reverse. In the event of the children’s deaths, it went to Rosamund or her heir! It was all wrapped up in lawyer’s parlance, but its intention was abundantly plain.’ Thomas cleared his throat and glanced sideways at his brother. ‘I recall thinking at the time that, in certain circumstances, it could prove to be a most dangerous clause, but Jasper seemed mighty pleased with it.’

Oliver was goaded into speech. ‘As things stood when the will was drawn up,’ he said huffily, ‘there was nothing to fear, and our concern was to ensure that the money stayed in the Crouchback family in perpetuity. It was a skilful piece of negotiation on my part, even Sir Henry and his lawyers admitted it. And may I remind you, Tom, that no one anticipated Sir Henry’s death. The rebellions of Robin of Redesdale and Robin of Holderness seemed very unimportant affairs in the beginning. No one could possibly have foreseen what would happen.’

Thomas Cozin gave an ironic little smile. ‘What you don’t say, but I will, is that Jasper, dear friend though he was, was undoubtedly a greedy man. He enjoyed getting the better of other people, and in this case, he saw an opportunity to acquire part of his son-in-law’s fortune to add to that of his own family. It was never to be allowed to return to Skelton hands. And, as is so often the case with grasping people, he was too shortsighted to see beyond his immediate objective, to guess at any chain of events which might endanger the lives of his grandchildren.’

Oliver rose abruptly from the table.

‘I warn you, Tom, to guard your tongue. No crime has been proved against Eudo Colet, and in my estimation, never will be, because there is nothing to prove. Andrew Skelton and his sister wandered out of the house, lost their way and were murdered by the outlaws. Now, let us leave it at that. And so will you, chapman, if you have any sense, or you may find yourself under arrest for spreading malicious rumours about my client. You may stay in his house for as long as you wish, but confine yourself to caretaking and tell Mistress Harbourne that you have thought better of your promise to meddle. She’s a sensible woman and will understand, much as she abhors Master Colet – and that without good reason from what little I could see on my infrequent visits to the house, for he always treated her civilly enough when I was about. And now, God be with you. I shall be here until Saturday, should you need me, but I will not undergo any more inquisitions nor listen to unfounded rumours.’ And he mounted the stairs with a slow, self-conscious gait.

Thomas rose from the table, and I with him. He leaned towards me, lowering his voice.

‘You mustn’t mind Oliver,’ he said. ‘He has a crusty way with him, but he has a good heart. We’re twins, as you can see, and I know him as well as I know myself. The death of those two children preys on his mind more than he’ll admit to, being as how he was the one who negotiated that clause in the will. At Jasper’s behest, it’s true, but it was a tricky business and wouldn’t have been accomplished without Oliver’s legal brilliance. He feels responsible, and that annoys him.’

‘Did he never suspect Master Colet of being implicated in their disappearance?’ I inquired.

Thomas shook his head. ‘Oliver was at home, in Exeter, when the children vanished, and by the time he had been sent for, and reached here four days later, it had been well established that Eudo Colet, short of sorcery, could have had nothing to do with Andrew and Mary leaving the house that morning. The man was here, in this very room, with me when it happened. Nevertheless, the rumours which persist about Eudo Colet, among the lower orders of townspeople, keep the gossip alive, and that, as I said, imbues Oliver with a false sense of guilt, which, in turn, makes him angry.’

‘Why did Master Colet come to see you?’ I asked. ‘If Mistress Harbourne is to be believed, you were no longer linked to him in business. You did not even like him.’

‘True, on both counts. But you cannot turn a man from your door simply because of personal prejudice. And I had no reason to believe that he had been a bad husband to Rosamund. On the contrary, she doted on him. It was those two poor, innocent children she neglected, but he could not be saddled with the blame for that. She left them to Grizelda’s care from the moment they were born, long before she met him. Much as it grieves me to speak ill of my old friend’s daughter, Rosamund was spiteful and selfish, never mindful of anyone’s comfort but her own.’

‘So,’ I prompted, ‘why did Master Colet come to see you?’

‘What? Oh! Yes. He came to ask me to reconsider that very decision of mine to sever business links with his late wife’s family. He wanted to become my partner, as Jasper had been. He would be willing, he said, to put a substantial part of the Crouchback fortune into the making of straights. The market in Brittany, he understood, was greater than it had ever been.’

‘You refused him?’

‘I’m afraid I did.’

‘May I ask why?’

Thomas stroked his chin, submitting, somewhat surprisingly, to this protracted catechism, but still keeping his voice low.

‘Well, for one thing, I should have found it difficult to work with a man I dislike so much. For another, I did not gain the impression that his heart was in the request. Don’t ask me why. It was simply a feeling.’

‘He had not approached you before that day? Not at any other time since Mistress Colet’s death?’

The grey eyes, inherited by his youngest daughter, were suddenly bright and shrewd.

‘You are suggesting that it might have been a trumped-up excuse to come and see me?’

I shrugged. ‘I find it… suspicious, shall I say, that it was that morning out of all the others that he was absent from home and in such reputable company.’ Thomas Cozin graciously inclined his head. I continued, ‘And that it was while he was here, talking to you, that the children vanished.’

My host thought about this, rubbing his nose with a bony forefinger. After due consideration, however, he pursed his lips doubtfully.

‘It alters nothing, chapman. Facts are facts. The children were there when he left the house, not there when he got back. If you doubt me, question Bridget Praule and Agatha Tenter, if you can shake their witness, you’ll do more than the Sheriff or any of his sergeants were able to do.’

I had every intention of speaking to both women, and would have asked him for their directions had not Oliver Cozin called peremptorily down the stairs, ‘Tom, what’s keeping you? Has the chapman gone yet?’

I put a finger to my lips, mouthed my thanks, tiptoed to the door and let myself out into the passage. As I quietly lowered the latch, I heard Thomas reply, ‘Oh yes, he’s gone. Now! What is it you wanted?’

I opened the street door, but was not allowed to escape so easily. There was a sudden scurry of feet on the flagstones behind me, and Ursula Cozin seized my arm.

‘It’s men’s turn to hock today, chapman. Aren’t you going to ask me for a forfeit?’

I tried to look severe. ‘Go back to your school books,’ I said. ‘You’re too young for such matters.’

‘I have nine summers,’ was the indignant answer. She smiled pertly. ‘Well, if I’m not old enough for your taste, would you like me to summon one or both of my sisters? I should choose Elizabeth, if I were you. She is younger and less of a tease. Joan’s very high and mighty at present, ever since she had her first proposal of marriage. Of course, Father refused the offer. The young man had no money and his way to make in the world, being nought but the Benjamin out of six brothers.’

I suppressed a smile at this ingenuous confidence. ‘If you wish to do something for me,’ I said, ‘tell me where I may find Bridget Praule and Agatha Tenter.’

Ursula pouted. ‘Oh, very well, but you won’t find either of them as pretty as me. Or as Elizabeth or Joan, if it comes to that. Yet am I, in my sisters’ case, being over-generous?’ She doubled up with mirth at her own wit, revealing herself as the child she truly was. Recovering her poise a little, and conscious of self-betrayal, she told me, with as much dignity as she could muster, that Bridget lodged at her grandmother’s cottage, between St Peter’s Quay and the Magdalen Lazar House. Agatha Tenter, now living once again with her mother, Dame Winifred, was to be discovered on the other side of the bridge, within the Pomeroy parish bounds.

‘And for that, I think I deserve a kiss.’ Ursula leaned forward, brushing my cheek with soft, petal-like lips. ‘God be with you, chapman. Oh, here are my sisters returning from the kitchen. You should escape while you can.’ She gave me a friendly push towards the open door.

I needed no second bidding and was out in the street almost before I knew it.

I left the town this time by the East Gate, pausing for a brief while to put the same questions to the gatekeeper as I had posed to his fellow on the West Gate. But I got no more joy than before. Yes, he remembered the day in January when the Skelton children had disappeared – who could forget it? – but he had seen nothing of them. All the gatekeepers had been interrogated by the Sheriff and all had told the same story. And yes, he supposed it possible that Andrew Skelton and his sister might have concealed themselves among the contents of a wagon, although he himself obviously inclined towards the idea of witchcraft. However, as he made it plain that he had no liking for Eudo Colet, I took this with a grain of salt and considered it more wishful thinking, rather than outright conviction on his part. I thanked him and passed through into the Foregate.

The street ran downhill to the town mill and the bridge across the Dart at the bottom. To the left spread the Priory fields and orchards, while to the right, another stockade enclosed an area known as the Pickle Moor and a straggle of shops and houses. It had been my intention to visit first Dame Winifred’s cottage, on the other side of the river, but a sudden thirst and gnawing hunger reminded me that it was several hours since I had eaten dinner with Grizelda. I could pay a visit to Jacinta at the castle tavern, but did not wish to retrace my steps. There must be ale-houses outside the walls, I had only to ask directions.

A cart, empty of any burden, lumbered through the gate behind me, a thin whippet of a man perched up behind the horse, the reins slack in his hand. A pair of brilliant blue eyes considered me dispassionately from a weather-beaten face beneath a thatch of dark hair, salted with grey. I hailed him with a friendly ‘Good-day!’ and he drew to a halt alongside me.

‘Can I help you, friend? You have a lost air about you.’

‘I’m looking for an ale-house,’ I confessed, ‘where I can quench my thirst. I thought you seemed like a fellow who might know of one.’

He roared with laughter at that, revealing a flash of surprisingly sound white teeth in the wrinkled, sunburned features.

‘Your instinct was right, chapman. I know every ale-house and tavern within a ten-mile distance of this town. But you need search no further than the one I’m off to, now, close by St Peter’s Quay. I note you were heading for the bridge, but it’s not so very much out of your way, and you can ride with me, if you’ve a mind to. I’ve just delivered a load of flour from the mill to the baker’s, and I’ve an hour to spare before my next journey. I’d be glad of your company.’ I thanked him and heaved myself up into the empty cart, where a fine dusting of flour still whitened the boards.

‘St Peter’s Quay will suit me very well. I have a visit to pay near there, in any case.’ My newfound friend twitched the reins and the horse plodded along a path to our right, between some cottages, and so to a gate in the stockade. ‘I think you must be Jack Carter,’ I hazarded.

‘The same.’ He grinned, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Who’s been speaking of me?’

‘I’ll tell you when we’re settled with our ale,’ I promised. ‘It might prove a longish story.’

We made our steady way around a tidal marsh whose land had been drained by a broad, stone-built dam, which kept back the encroaching river.

‘Is that the Weirland Dam?’ I asked my companion.

‘Aye, that’s it. Built more’n two hundred years ago, if accounts can be believed. ’Tis sure it’s been there all my lifetime and the lifetime of my father and his father afore him.’

A heron swooped low over the marshy reaches, where clusters of kingcups raised great, golden heads to the sky. Clumps of reeds stood sentinel between tall, spiked grasses and purple loosestrife, not yet in flower, but with leaves showing a tender young green. Some of the land had been reclaimed and built over.

Matt’s tavern was a low, thatched building flanked on one side by a scattering of cottages rising uphill towards the Leper Hospital, one of which, from Ursula Cozin’s direction, must belong to Granny Praule. Inside, the ale-house was full of men who all knew one another and were on terms of friendly familiarity. Their elliptical speech argued the case for most of them following either the same trade, or for their being employed in similar callings.

‘Dockers and sailors, mostly,’ Jack Carter confirmed, when I asked him. ‘Put your money away, chapman, I’ll stand the first shout. You can pay later. Matt! Two stoups of ale and be quick about it, or you’ll have a couple of corpses, dead of thirst, on your hands.’

The leather-aproned landlord grinned good-naturedly, and there was a deal of chaff from the rest of the drinkers.

‘Who’s your companion, Jack?’ demanded one wag with a ginger beard. ‘Looks big enough to drain the whole of Devon.’

I answered in kind, and it was some time after Matt had brought the ale to our bench near the door that Jack and I were able to resume any private conversation. But, gradually, the rest of the company lost interest in us, and I nudged the talk in my chosen direction by inquiring of Jack Carter if he knew which was Granny Praule’s cottage.

‘Last before the Lazar House at the top of the rise,’ was the prompt reply. He took a gulp of ale and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘What’s your business with that old crone?’

I told him, and saw him furtively make a sign to ward off evil.

‘You were sent for, I believe, that morning the Skelton children disappeared, to fetch away Mistress Grizelda Harbourne?’

He nodded solemnly. ‘Near hysterical, she was. White as a shroud and shaking so much she had difficulty in speaking. Agatha Tenter had warned me, before I went upstairs, that there’d been a terrible falling out between them. Mistress Harbourne and Eudo Colet I’m talking of. And some falling out it must have been to make her look like that, I’m telling you! I didn’t see him. He was keeping out of the way, I reckon. Putting no rub in the path of her leaving. They’d never got on, it was common knowledge. I didn’t say nothing. Just dragged her box downstairs and called for their stableman to help carry it out to the cart and heave it aboard. By that time she’d joined me, still looking like she’d died and gone to Hell, and told me to take her home, to her father’s holding.’

‘Did you hear the children at all, while you were in the house?’ I asked him.

Jack swallowed more ale. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, ‘I heard ’em all right. Or, leastwise, the girl. She was singing.’