The Lammas Feast

Fifteen

The only words to penetrate my consciousness were ‘murder’ and ‘Cicely Ford’. Even so, I had difficulty in connecting them, and it was a few seconds before they made any kind of sense. I can vaguely remember brushing Richard Manifold’s hand from my shoulder as if it had been no more than a fly and retreating backwards inside the cottage. And all the while, a black tide of horror was slowly rising within me as the sergeant’s meaning began to sink in.

‘Are — are you telling me that Mistress F-Ford has been murdered?’ I stammered at last. ‘When? How? Who by? Who would want to harm such a good, sweet, gentle creature?’ The first stirrings of anger began to mingle with my disbelief. ‘Whoever killed her deserves stringing up from the nearest tree.’

Richard Manifold, who had followed me indoors, was staring at me as though I were a crazy man. Jack Gload and Peter Littleman were also looking at me with dropped jaws, and the former sniggered uncomfortably. Adela came to stand beside me, putting a hand on my arm, and it was then that I became aware that she was trembling. When I glanced round at her to discover the cause, I could see that her face was chalk white.

‘Roger,’ she whispered. ‘Didn’t you hear what Sergeant Manifold said? He’s accusing you of Cicely’s murder.’

I laughed, thinking it a bad joke, then memory stirred. ‘You are under arrest for the murder of Dame Cicely Ford.’ It was my turn to stare as though Richard had taken leave of his senses.

‘Why are you arresting me?’ I demanded furiously. ‘On what grounds?’

Richard cleared his throat portentously. ‘On the grounds,’ he announced, ‘that you were observed by a witness approaching Mistress Ford’s cottage at two o’clock this morning. You, or someone closely resembling you,’ he added with a little less certainty.

I heard Adela draw a sobbing breath of pure relief. At the same moment, a wrathful Philip Lamprey, his hangover for the present completely forgotten, rose from his chair, mouthing a string of obscenities which informed the three law officers, in no uncertain terms, what they could do with their accusation.

‘Arrest that man!’ Richard instructed his lieutenants.

But Jack Gload and Peter Littleman, in the face of a small, extremely angry man brandishing a stool at them, and daring them to do their worst, were reluctant to obey the order.

‘Behave yourself, Philip,’ I commanded him. ‘This matter, as you well know, can easily be resolved without you landing yourself in the Bridewell on a charge of assault.’ I turned back to Richard Manifold, trying hard to concentrate on one thing at a time and not to be distracted by the medley of grief-stricken thoughts churning around in my head. ‘Sergeant, either go yourself or send one of your men to Saint James’s Priory and question Brother Nicodemus concerning my whereabouts at two o’clock this morning. He will tell you that, at his request, I was rescuing my friend here from the consequences of a drunken fight. Master Lamprey’ — I indicated Philip — ‘had tied himself to a pillar of Lord Robert’s tomb and was refusing to budge unless I could be found and brought to him. Father Prior was also present, and he will corroborate Brother Nicodemus’s word if you deem it necessary. The monks were waiting to say Vigils and could not proceed until I arrived to cut my friend loose and bring him home with me.’

‘And what is more, Sergeant,’ Adela interrupted in a voice that chilled like ice, ‘Brother Nicodemus accompanied my husband back here and remained with us until the watch were calling four o’clock. I heard them as he left.’ I could tell that she would not soon forgive her former admirer for causing her such a fright.

The expression on Richard Manifold’s face was a joy to behold. Frustration, bewilderment and the fear of having made a fool of himself were mixed in equal proportions. He desperately wanted to dismiss our story as some sort of fabrication, but the mention of Father Prior and Brother Nicodemus was sufficient to convince him of its truth. Despatching Jack Gload to the priory was nothing more than the formal check his superiors would expect of him.

While we awaited Jack Gload’s return, I took pity on Richard and motioned him to a chair. It was on the tip of my tongue to offer him some ale, but I could tell from the look on Adela’s face that the suggestion would not be well received. She was still white with shock. Philip, too, was at his most aggressive.

I took a seat opposite the sergeant and folded my arms across my chest.

‘Perhaps if you are now convinced of my innocence, you’d be willing to answer some questions,’ I said. He grunted sullenly, but I took it for assent. ‘First, how and when was Mistress Ford murdered?’

‘During the night sometime. She was smothered.’ As the stranger had been.

‘And who accuses me of this wanton crime?’

I thought I could guess, and was therefore unsurprised when Richard grudgingly admitted, ‘Sister Jerome. The nuns had finished Vigils and she had gone outside, as is her custom — or so she claims — for a breath of fresh air before returning to her cell. She saw someone — a man — walking up Saint Michael’s Hill, but although it was moonlight, she couldn’t see his face, because he wore his hood pulled forward over his head. She says she watched the man for a moment or two, then turned to re-enter the nunnery. Before doing so, however, she glanced back, and, to her surprise, the man had vanished. She did pause to wonder where he might have gone, but, being tired, dismissed the incident from her mind.’

‘And she insists that I was this man?’

The sergeant shifted on his stool and refused to meet my eyes.

‘Not exactly. She merely said it was someone of your height and build. She didn’t accuse you directly.’

‘And you were willing to arrest Roger on such flimsy evidence?’ Adela demanded scornfully.

Richard flushed a dull red, stung by her contemptuous tone.

‘No, of course not! You don’t understand. There were other circumstances that pointed to Master Chapman’s guilt.’

‘What? Tell me what!’

‘Wait a moment, sweetheart,’ I pleaded, holding out my hand to her. ‘You’re going too fast. Let’s take it a step at a time, shall we? Sergeant, who discovered that Mistress Ford had been murdered, and when?’

‘Sister Jerome went to visit her at first light this morning. Apparently, she often does, just to make sure that her friend has survived the night unharmed. Instead, she found Mistress Ford’s dead body. Sister Jerome ran to inform the Mother Superior, and to obtain leave of absence. Then she came for me.’

My wife had kept quiet for long enough. ‘And on the strength of Sister Jerome’s suspicion that it might be Roger — not that it was, mark you, but that it might be — you came, not to question him, but to take him into custody!’ she fumed.

‘That’s what I call jumping to conclusions,’ Philip Lamprey put in, adding his mite to the already seething cauldron of anger and mistrust. ‘Cause a riot in London, that would!’

‘No!’ Richard Manifold banged his fist on the table and jumped to his feet with such violence that his accusers hastily retreated a step or two. ‘What do you take me for? An incompetent idiot who doesn’t know his job?’

He knew very well what Adela took him for: a jealous man trying his best to make her a widow once again. I could see that the knowledge angered him, that he felt himself misjudged, and for the first time in quite a while, I began to warm towards him. I motioned to my wife and Philip to be quiet.

‘Why did you come to arrest me, Sergeant?’ I asked in a gentler tone. ‘You obviously had your reasons. What motive did you think I could possibly have for killing Mistress Ford?’

Just at that moment, the cottage door opened and Jack Gload reappeared, Brother Nicodemus twittering at his heels.

‘Oh dear! Oh dear!’ the latter exclaimed nervously after I had rescued him from Hercules’s eager attentions. ‘What’s all this about? What are you accusing Roger Chapman of, Sergeant? Is it true that Mistress Ford is dead? Murdered, this man tells me. Oh dearie, dearie me! I don’t know when I’ve been more shocked. How unlucky that family has been!’

Richard Manifold waited patiently until the monk had run out of breath, then sat Brother Nicodemus down on the stool he had himself just vacated and explained everything as quickly and as succinctly as he could.

Brother Nicodemus promptly confirmed my alibi with a wealth of superfluous detail that we could all have done without. ‘And what’s more, Father Prior will confirm my story,’ he concluded triumphantly. ‘Ask me any question you wish, Sergeant. You won’t catch me out!’

But Richard Manifold had no desire to catch him out. He had no doubt at all that both the monk and I were telling the truth. He just wanted to end an embarrassing situation as swiftly as possible. Besides, if I were not Cicely Ford’s murderer, who was? Instead of a case that was over almost before it had begun, he had a long, and maybe fruitless, enquiry ahead of him.

He turned and looked glumly at me, answering my question.

‘What motive, Chapman, would you have had for killing Mistress Ford? Why, the simplest and oldest in the world. Gain.’

‘Gain?’ Adela and I demanded, both together. ‘What gain?’ I added.

The sergeant eyed me askance. ‘Are you saying that you really don’t know? That Mistress Ford didn’t tell you, when she met you yesterday afternoon, as we know she did?’

‘You know a deal too much,’ I countered in growing irritation. ‘You’re talking in riddles, Richard! Tell me what?’

‘She was here, in this cottage, for over an hour yesterday afternoon,’ Adela confirmed. ‘But there was no conversation out of the ordinary that I remember. No mention of any. . any gain. What could we possibly gain from Cicely Ford?’

‘Her house,’ was the blunt reply. ‘Mistress Ford made a new will only yesterday, leaving her house in Small Street to you, Roger, when she died. And she died the same night. What was I to think? What was anyone to think? You’re extremely lucky to have such a watertight alibi.’

Adela and I stared at one another in disbelief; and I like to think that our obvious stupefaction at this news alone would have convinced any onlooker of my innocence, without any other corroborating evidence. Adela collapsed, rather than sat, on to the nearest stool, while Philip, generous soul, beamed in delight at this upturn in our fortunes. Jack Gload and Peter Littleman scowled with envy, intimating that, if they had their way, I would be indicted immediately on a charge of having good luck beyond my deserts. And I think Richard Manifold must have felt much the same way, but was too proud to show it. As for me, I couldn’t tell if grief or happiness was uppermost in the welter of emotions that fought for possession of my mind. Then I found myself appalled that I was able to experience anything like joy as a consequence of Cicely’s murder.

I asked harshly, ‘Is this true?’

Richard nodded. ‘I have this morning confirmed it with Lawyer Hulin of Back Street.’

‘But how did you first come to know of it? Who told you what Mistress Ford had done?’

Once again, the sergeant seemed uncomfortable, but he answered straightforwardly enough, ‘It was Sister Jerome who advised me to speak to her brother-in-law on the subject.’ And when I raised my eyebrows in enquiry, he continued, ‘It would appear that Master Hulin is also Master Overbecks’s legal man of affairs. When Master Overbecks visited him yesterday afternoon, he met Mistress Ford, who was just leaving.’ It was my turn to nod, knowing this to be true, Cicely having told me as much herself. Richard shrugged. ‘Master Overbecks was curious about her visit, and the two men being old friends, the lawyer, whether he should have done so or not, confided in Master Overbecks the reason why she had gone to see him. Later, it seems that Mistress Overbecks went missing, and her husband went up to the Magdalen Nunnery to find out if she was with her sister. During the course of his conversation with Sister Jerome, he mentioned the fact of your future inheritance as being a piece of gossip that would interest her. So, knowing this, Sister Jerome, on discovering her friend’s body, leaped very naturally to the conclusion that you must be the murderer. Particularly as she had seen someone whom she thought to be you climbing Saint Michael’s Hill at two o’clock in the morning.’

‘A very reasonable assumption to make,’ I agreed caustically. ‘And one with which everyone else seems more than happy to have concurred. My good name, my reputation, my known friendship with Mistress Ford all seem to have counted for absolutely nothing.’

The sergeant looked down at his feet and shuffled them in yesterday’s stale straw, as yet unchanged by Adela.

‘I’m sorry you’re so bitter, Roger,’ he said, no doubt seeing future cosy evenings spent in our company, and in our new and comfortable home, vanishing like smoke. ‘But you must admit that had you been unable to account for your movements last night — had it been merely you and your wife and children asleep here, in the cottage, your word against Sister Jerome’s — things would have looked very black for you. The sheriff himself ordered your arrest on the strength of the evidence against you.’ He sighed. ‘And now I have the job of telling him that we must start all over again.’

‘My heart bleeds for you both,’ Philip Lamprey snorted. ‘You’re just the same as all other lawmen of my experience: you simply want to get matters over quickly, with as little inconvenience to yourselves as possible.’

‘Philip!’ I said warningly, guessing how frustrated Richard Manifold must be, and not wanting him to feel that any arrest was better than no arrest at all, even if it was for a lesser charge. ‘My friend is nursing a very sore head,’ I excused him.

The sergeant, his two henchmen and Brother Nicodemus took themselves off eventually, and even Philip, poorly as he still felt, decided that it was time he reopened his second-hand clothes stall at the fair; although he warned us that he would be back later to see how we did. When he had finally left, apart from Adam and Hercules, who were both, by now, asleep, Adela and I were at last alone to come to terms with our shock, our grief and our unbelievable good fortune as best we could.

It was long past dinnertime, almost noon, before either of us had anything to eat. Adam had been changed, and he and Hercules fed, but neither Adela nor myself felt hungry. We ate some bread and cheese, sitting at the table, but still subdued and saying little. Grief for Cicely and a deep, steadily growing anger against whoever had ended her short, unhappy life had eclipsed, for the time being, all other emotions. Not even the realization that I was at last the owner of a home of my own could lighten my mood or lift the black cloud of depression that hung over me.

‘What will you do?’ Adela asked, moving round the table to sit beside me, and threading one of her arms through mine.

I hesitated before answering, but decided that, as always with Adela, honesty was the best policy.

‘I shall walk up to Cicely’s cottage,’ I said. ‘I–I’d like to see her and say my farewells before she’s buried.’

There was silence for a second or two. Then, ‘You were very fond of her,’ my wife stated with a finality that brooked no contradiction.

There was no point denying it, so I nodded. Any other woman would probably have demanded, ‘Fonder than you are of me?’ but Adela had never been like that. She had always accepted that it was beyond human nature — a man’s nature, at any rate — to be totally faithful every moment of one’s waking life. She took me as I was, shortcomings and all, for which I was — and still am — eternally grateful.

‘I kissed her once,’ I admitted, belatedly making the confession I had promised Cicely to make some days earlier. ‘Not long ago,’ I added guiltily.

Adela squeezed my arm, but made no comment. All the same, when I turned to glance at her, her face looked pale and strained. I stood up, pulling her up with me, and took her in my arms, kissing her passionately.

‘You know I love you,’ I whispered.

She forced herself back from me a little, her hands against my chest.

‘You’re a man,’ she muttered enigmatically, before permitting me to kiss her again.

I left it there. Where women are concerned, I never go looking for trouble.

‘And when you’ve seen Cicely?’ my wife asked as soon as she was able.

‘Then I must visit Goody Godsmark. There are questions I want to ask her, and now that Walter’s safely buried, I feel I can do so without intruding too much on the poor woman’s grief. What will you do?’

‘I? Oh, I must go and visit Margaret to inform her of Mistress Ford’s death and our good fortune.’ Adela smiled faintly. ‘She would never forgive either of us if she had to learn such a prize piece of gossip — and gossip, moreover, that concerns her own family — second-hand.’

I gave her another suggestively lingering kiss, pressing her so close that she could feel how eager I was for her company any time she again felt well enough to bestow her favours on me. But all I said was, ‘Give the children my love and tell them I shall fetch them home on Friday, ready for the Lammas Day Feast. Which reminds me! One of the hucksters will be delivering the Lammas loaves to you one day soon from Master Overbecks. Do you have sufficient money to pay?’

Adela finally freed herself from my embrace and, for answer, shook the purse fastened to her belt. There was a satisfying jingle of coins.

‘Off you go,’ she smiled, patting my backside, much as though I had been Nicholas. Then she cupped my face between her hands, pulled my head towards her and tenderly kissed me between the eyes. ‘Go and lay your ghosts.’

Once more, I refrained from probing this cryptic utterance. I picked up my cudgel, but left my pack where it lay in a corner of the room. Today was not a day for working. As I reached the door, however, someone knocked. When I opened it, Master Hulin, the lawyer, stood outside, ready to cross the threshold whether invited to enter or not.

He wrung my hand effusively, while his pale eyes darted hither and thither about the cottage, assessing our present financial state to the nearest groat.

‘Congratulations, Master Chapman! Sergeant Manifold came to see me not quarter of an hour since, and told me of your great good fortune in having an unassailable alibi for the time of Mistress Ford’s murder.’ He sighed heavily. ‘A terrible thing! A truly terrible thing! Lawlessness stalks the streets of our fair city, my dear sir, and the sheriff and the watch seem powerless to do anything about it. But there you are! There you are! Master Chapman,’ he continued, giving me a thin smile that somehow managed to convey how undeserving I was of the inheritance that was coming to me, ‘as you are no doubt already aware, the old Herepath house in Small Street has been bequeathed to you under the terms of Mistress Ford’s new will, drawn up only yesterday. She named the Mother Superior of the Magdalen nuns and my good self as executors. If, therefore, all goes well and probate is granted by the next church court to be held at Saint Augustine’s, then you may be able to take possession in a few months’ time. Or maybe longer, if any disputation arises concerning the validity of the will.’ He sucked in his cheeks, then expelled a blast of stinking breath. ‘I must say that, at present, I can see no such likelihood. But you never know.’

He eyed the jug of ale which Adela had just picked up, but she made no offer of refreshment. The strain of the morning was continuing to show in her face, and I could see that she was suddenly feeling too tired even to be excited at the prospect of her own home. The fatigue would pass, and we should rejoice together quietly at Cicely’s generosity and all that it meant for the future. But for now, our grief and shock were too raw and too new for either of us to be hospitable.

The disgruntled lawyer duly departed and I considered the prospect of becoming a householder, but was too exhausted to take it in. Adam woke up and started to grizzle, which woke Hercules, who, with that sixth sense dogs have when their owners are about to make a run for it, brought me the length of rope that I used to walk him, and dropped it at my feet. He looked up into my face, wagging his tail hopefully.

‘Oh, very well,’ I said resignedly, and tied the rope around his neck. ‘You’ll have to stay outside,’ I warned him, ‘while I’m in Mistress Ford’s cottage, so don’t pretend when we get there that you weren’t told.’ The intelligent hound barked and thumped his tail again.

I kissed Adela once more, but soberly this time, and set off for Saint Michael’s Hill.

Cicely was lying on her narrow cot, hands clasped together on her breast, eyes closed, almost as though she were asleep. Indeed, had I not known to the contrary, I should have assumed that she was merely resting, she looked so peaceful. But as I approached the bed, where Sister Jerome was keeping watch, I could make out the extreme pallor of her face and the unnatural stillness of her body. Outside, Hercules whimpered and the hanged man creaked mournfully in his chains.

I stood looking down at her, this gentle, kind young woman, who had known so much tragedy and unhappiness in her life, and was consumed by a fury greater than any I had ever experienced before. I had always hated murder, the casual waste of God’s precious gift, so callously and arrogantly torn from one human being by another. I accepted that I myself would be capable of killing in my own defence, or in defence of those I loved, but not in cold blood for my own selfish ends. I recognized at once the bluish marks around nose and mouth and the mottled skin indicative of smothering. The stranger’s face, too, had looked like this. He also had been smothered with his pillow. I felt the hot tears well up in my eyes and spill out down my cheeks, splashing the backs of my hands. I bent and kissed the cold lips that, a few days ago, had been warm with life, before straightening up and looking across at Sister Jerome on the other side of the bed.

She met my gaze for a brief moment, then glanced away, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. I said nothing, waiting for her to speak first. At last, she said awkwardly, ‘I apologize, Master Chapman, if I got you in trouble. The man looked like you, and after what John had told me. .’

Her voice tailed away, and I finished the sentence for her.

‘You jumped to the immediate and convenient conclusion that I had murdered Mistress Ford for the house she was leaving me. You needn’t be embarrassed to admit it, you know. Everyone else seems to have agreed with you.’

‘You’re angry! I’m sorry. It was such a shock to find Cicely dead. I, too, was angry. I didn’t stop to think.’

I regarded her curiously. ‘You’ve obviously heard that I’ve been able to prove my innocence. Who told you?’

‘My brother-in-law was here half an hour ago. He came to see me as soon as Sergeant Manifold had informed him of the facts. He felt it no less than your due that I should know the truth at once, so that the story would spread no further. Not,’ she added indignantly, ‘that he need have worried on that score. I’m not a gossip.’

‘But you had told the other nuns of your suspicions?’

‘We-ell. . yes,’ she admitted. ‘But they are aware now that you had nothing to do with the crime.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it. This man you saw, you didn’t actually observe him come into the cottage?’

‘No. But when I glanced round a few seconds after noticing him, opposite, he’d vanished. Or it seemed to me he had. Perhaps, after all, he’d just crossed the road and disappeared into the shadows. There were a lot last night because of the moonlight.’ She paused, then said, ‘It was only when I found Cicely’s body this morning that I assumed he must have come in here.’

‘Because you thought I was the man and that I had a motive for murdering Mistress Ford?’

She nodded mutely. I tried to feel angry with her, but failed. Marion Baldock had not known me well. I would reserve my bile for John Overbecks and Richard Manifold. Nevertheless, I had no wish to linger in her presence.

‘Let me know when the funeral is to be,’ I requested, then swung on my heel and abruptly left the cottage.