The Plymouth Cloak

CHAPTER 13

By the time Janet Overy and Isobel came back to the kitchen from the great hall, having completed their task of laying out the body, the bailiff and his two helpers had finished their wine and returned to their work on Trenowth Manor's eastern fence. Alwyn had also fussily removed himself to make sure that Thomas Sawyer had indeed already left for Launceston Castle and was not indulging in a lengthy gossip with the groom. Silas was still huddled close to the fire, his leathery features deeply grooved with an expression of injured innocence every time I glanced in his direction.

I rose to my feet as the women entered and asked: 'Is all well? Can I see him?'

Mistress Overy restored the now empty bowl to its place on a shelf and indicated to Isobel Warden that, for the moment, she had no further use for her services. The girl was not a servant, and although she doubtless helped around the manor when requested, she was primarily the wife of Trenowth's chief retainer after Alwyn and Janet herself.

'Of course all's well,' the housekeeper answered, offended. 'I've laid out enough bodies before now to know what I'm about.' I thought guiltily of her husband and son and cursed my careless tongue. My contrition must have been visible, because she added on a softer note: 'But no, you can't see him. The door to the great hall has been locked on Alwyn's orders until the Sheriffs officer arrives tonight, and Alwyn has the key.' She eyed me closely. 'You look pale and drawn, lad. You'd best sit down again and I'll fetch you more wine. You're taking this hard, even though you didn't like the man. '

I saw Silas turn his head curiously at this, and hurriedly assured her that I needed nothing else to drink. 'But I'd like to speak to Master Steward if I may.'

Janet shook her head doubtfully. 'He's busy, and won't take kindly to being disturbed at present. Apart from his ordinary duties, he must despatch someone to London to take news of this unfortunate happening to Sir Peveril and his lady. And preparations must be made to receive the Sheriff’s officer when he comes. Which reminds me, a room must be got ready for him. The allocating of guests to rooms is my job, not Alwyn's.' She lifted the bunch of keys which hung from her belt and started to sift through them, her mind already intent on domestic duties to the exclusion of almost everything else. Her previous advice to the other servants, to continue with their normal round of chores, seemed to be working wonders in her own case. From her unruffled and practical behaviour it would have been difficult to detect that anything untowards had occurred that morning.

She made briskly for the kitchen door and I followed her outside, into the courtyard. The day had lost its early promise.

The sky had grown overcast again as more rain clouds swept in from the sea, piling up dark and menacing on the horizon.

The night's faint breeze had returned to disturb the tops of trees visible above the quadrangle of buildings. Autumn was settling over the land in all its variable moods, and October' s thin sunshine was no match for its sudden squalls and storms. With each passing day, sea-crossings would become more perilous and the movement of ships more unpredictable.

I must be ready and waiting in Plymouth when the Falcon eventually appeared, as I had no doubt it would, released on the King's orders from its watch on St Michael's Mount. I could afford no delay while the Sheriffs officer made his inquiries into Philip's death.

I caught Janet Overy by the arm as she was about to hurry away. She turned an irritated face towards me.

'Would you or Master Steward have any objections to my asking some questions of the servants on the Manor? And there are inquiries I wish to make at the village inn. Would either of you put a rub in my way?'

The housekeeper looked blank, then shrugged. 'It's all the same to me, and I can't think that Alwyn would try to prevent you. The sooner this business is cleared up, the better for us all. I think you'd be wiser to wait for the Sheriffs officer, but that's for you to decide. No doubt, after what you told me yesterday, you have suspicions of your own. Nevertheless, don't make any attempt to leave the manor lands. Anyone foolish enough to do that would fall foul of the law and be immediately suspected. The hue and cry would be set after him in no time.' She nodded her head in the direction of the kitchen door. 'You'd better tell that to your friend, Silas Bywater. He's twitchy since you warned him that he, too, might be thought to be the murderer. Now, I have work to do. I can't stand here talking all day.' She moved purposefully away from me towards the entrance to the great chamber with its staircase to the upper floor, but once again I ran after, and detained, her.

'There's something I've just remembered!' Her annoyance showed itself plainly this time and she rounded on me with a set and angry face. 'In Jesu's name, what now?'

I realized that for all her placid exterior, she was as upset and disturbed by the murder as the rest of us, and that it was only her sense of responsibility to the younger members of the household which made her appear indifferent to it. In her lady's absence, it was up to her to preserve calm and dignity in the face of unforeseen adversity.

'Forgive me,' I said, 'but there's something I must ask you.' I went on quickly, before she could throw off my restraining hand and leave me standing: 'Last night, when Master Underdown and I went to bed, I found that someone had placed a bunch of daisies on the chest beside our candlestick, and in the middle of the daisies was the stem of knotgrass which I threw away yesterday morning. It had been retrieved from the courtyard and brought to our room. Can you think who might have put them there?'

The anger drained from Janet's face and she frowned.

'Who would want to do a thing like that? The daisies on their own, I suppose, could have been placed there by one of the girls to brighten the room, but in that case, surely, they should have been put in water. And why the knotgrass? It makes no sense. What did Master Underdown have to say about it?'

'He didn't see them, and I decided to say nothing of them until the morning. I brushed them down between the side of the chest and the wall and then forgot them.'

There was nothing else I could tell her without giving away the events of the night and my prior knowledge of the murder. I disliked deceiving her, but felt that even her partiality for me could be severely tested if she knew the truth.

She said: 'Perhaps you'd better show me. I shall have to visit your chamber sometime this morning to see that all is tidy, so we may as well go now. Wait. I'll tell one of the girls to follow us in a few minutes to sweep the floor and make the beds.' She retraced her steps to the kitchen and disappeared briefly inside. When she returned, we made our way together through the great chamber and up the stairs to the room which I had shared with Philip.

Mistress Overy moved ahead of me to open the door, then let out a cry of distress. I peered over her shoulder. The room was in total disarray. Both mattresses and pillows had been ripped open with a knife, and straw and feathers were mixed with yesterday's rushes on the floor. The lid of the cedarwood chest had been left open, propped against the wall, when it had been discovered that there was nothing inside. The contents of my bundle and Philip's saddlebags were strewn across the room, and the window and its shutter swung wide on their hinges. With dismay, I remembered opening both earlier that morning in order to examine the cudgel more closely for any remaining traces of blood, and I had failed to close either before leaving the room. Yet again, I cursed myself silently for my foolishness, my only excuse being my inexperience in such devious matters.

'But how could anyone have got in?' Mistress Overy demanded.

'Whoever it was climbed up the vine and escaped the same way, exactly as Master Underdown did last night.' She turned to look at me with a sudden, sharp intake of breath. 'Of course,' she said. 'In all the flurry, no one's thought… He couldn't have got out through the courtyard.

The main gate and the postern were locked. None of us has seen fit to inquire… I truly believe our wits have gone woolgathering.'

I shook my head. 'You've all had other things to think about since the body was discovered, and those sort of questions are for the Sergeant to ask when he gets here.' I glanced around me. 'Anyway, there's no harm done. Our would-be thief has not found what he came for.' Janet gave me a curious glance, but forbore to comment.

She respected the confidence I had reposed in her, and her silence intimated more plainly than words could have done that she considered my affairs none of her business. But after a moment, she remarked: 'All the same. Master Steward will have to be informed that there has been an intruder in the house. It may have some relevance to the murder.' She hesitated, then asked. 'How much does Silas Bywater know of you and Master Underdown?'

'He has, as yet, no idea of the truth. He assumes Philip and I were partners, that I have replaced his dead brother, and that we are here as traders, scouring this part of Cornwall for things to buy cheaply and sell overseas at a profit. Including deformed and stunted children.'

A spasm crossed the housekeeper's face, as well it might, at the thought of such revolting traffic, before she returned to the matter in hand. 'I'll go and look for Alwyn,' she said, 'and tell him what has happened. You proceed as you intended, lad, with your inquiries.'

'Before I go, let me show you what we came to find.' I closed the lid of the chest, shifted it an inch or two away from the wall, stooped and stood upright again, the bunch of withered flowers in my hand. 'Here! The stem of knotgrass is among the daisies. You see how dry and broken it is. It's the same one, I'm sure, that Silas Bywater gave me at Buckfast on Friday.'

Janet Overy took the tattered nosegay from me and stared at it in bewilderment. Then she shook her head slowly: 'It could not have been Silas,' she said at last. 'He didn't arrive until this morning — unless he entered the chamber the same way Master Underdown left it, and that, I think, is unlikely.' She raised her eyes and added shrewdly: 'You must have been sleeping soundly not to hear the opening of a window and shutter and the noise of a man heaving himself through to find a foothold on that vine. And if that failed to wake you, I should have thought the cold night air blowing on your face must have roused you long before morning's light. And what did you think when you finally woke to discover Master Underdown's bed empty and the window and shutter set wide?'

Her kindly, still handsome face expressed concern, and I had the feeling that my story of the night's events suddenly appeared to her to be full of holes, now that the first shock of the murder had worn off and she was able to bring her reason to bear on the matter. I also gained the impression that she was trying to put me on my guard; to warn me that these were the sort of questions the Sheriff's officer might ask. For a moment I was tempted to unburden myself to her yet again, to tell her exactly what had happened. But I decided against it. It would be unfair to enmesh her in my lies and so, perhaps, provoke her into untruths of her own in order to protect me. No, far better for me to pursue my course of trying to unmask the real murderer.

I had three main suspects; Silas Bywater, Edgar Warden and the stranger who had stayed the night at the Trenowth inn, and it was the latter who, until now, I had thought the one most likely to elude me. Indeed, I had secretly been afraid that the unknown traveller might have already quit the district, but the ransacking of Philip's and my bedchamber gave me renewed heart that he was still in the neighbourhood.

Moreover, a moment's reflection persuaded me that the man, whoever he might be, was not a Woodville agent, but a Lancastrian working for the Tudors. According to my lord of Gloucester, the Queen's kinfolk only wished Philip dead in case the Duke of Clarence had made him privy to some secret which could be made known to their discredit; in which case, Philip's murder was an end in itself. But for adherents of the House of Lancaster, the finding and destruction of the letter was of nearly equal importance. While they might hope that the death of the royal messenger would prevent its delivery to Duke Francis, they could not be certain of that fact, particularly when it had been discovered that Philip was provided with a companion. For the first time, it occurred to me that I myself could be in some danger.

'You look worried, lad.' The housekeeper's voice made me jump: I had for a moment forgotten her presence. She drew close to me, and, echoing my thoughts, said: 'And so you might well be if you are determined to go ahead with this scheme of yours. A person who has killed once may have no qualms about doing it a second time if you get in the way. Take my advice and leave questions to the Sergeant from Launceston Castle.'

'I can't,' I replied reluctantly. 'And in answer to your earlier query, I am a very heavy sleeper.' It was not true. I still, after almost three years, woke more often than not in the middle of the night and in the early morning for the offices of Matins and Prime. The old disciplines of my novitiate continued to exert their power.

Janet Overy sighed. 'Ah well, if that's the case there's no more to be said. But look after yourself. Try not to get into trouble. Now, it's time we were both about our business, I to find Master Steward and you to the village to begin your inquiries. All the same, I wish you'd let well alone.'

As I have said before, in those days Trenowth village was little more than a cluster of cottages huddled around the parish church and the inn. It may have grown in the half century between then and now — I have never been back to see — but I doubt it, unless later generations have increased in size. Like most small communities, it was sufficient unto itself and did not welcome strangers.

The inn, which was dignified with no particular name, comprised one large room on the lower floor, with accommodation for the landlord and his wife above, and one spare room for any passing traveller. The outhouses included a privy, a hen-coop and a byte for the cow. The ale was brewed in the brewhouse set back among the trees, which also supplied Sir Peveril, his lady and servants up at the manor. The two wenches who waited on the evening revellers slept at home. For all of which information I was indebted to Janet Overy, before I left the house. It would have taken much longer to discover it for myself.

My reception by the landlord was cool, as befitted an unfamiliar face. When I entered, he was just broaching a new keg of ale and he glanced round in annoyance at being disturbed.

'Who are you?' he demanded sourly.

'I'm staying at the manor house. My master was murdered last night. His body was found earlier this morning by the sawyer.'

The inn-keeper straightened his back and stared at me. He was an undersized man, but compactly made, giving an impression of strength, something he would need in the business of humping casks and barrels. His colouring was flint of the Celt, black hair and blue eyes, and I guessed him Io be younger than he looked. A life of small rewards and little comfort had taken its toll and seamed his face with worry.

'So that's who you are. I heard there were two of you. So what do you want with me? You don't have the air of a man who's come to sup ale.'

'I'll have a cup, nevertheless,' I said, seating myself on one of the benches ranged along each wall and reaching into my purse for the necessary coins. 'After that, perhaps you'd answer me some questions."

'Depends what they are.' He plucked a wooden beaker down from a shelf and proceeded to fill it from the newly opened barrel. He added shrewdly: 'Not my place to answer anything you might ask. If I did know something of the killing — which I don't! — only the Sheriff's man has a right to hear it.'

'True,' I acknowledged as I pledged his health. 'Nor,' I went on handsomely, 'would I ask for information about your friends here, in the village. No, my inquiries concern a man who, according to Father Anselm, slept at this inn last night and arrived in Trenowth sometime yesterday morning. He was served all his meals in his room and did not go to Vespers, a fact which seems to have upset the good father.'

'Oh, him!" The landlord's manner thawed a little, although even now it could hardly be deemed friendly. 'He's gone.

Went at first light. Paid his shot and had his horse saddled just on sun-up. Said he had a long day's journey ahead of him.'

'Did he say where he was going?' I asked. 'This is an excellent ale. Some of the best I've tasted.'

A faint glimmer of gratification appeared in the landlord's eyes, but there was no accompanying smile. 'He said he had business in Launceston, but whether that's true or not, I'm in no position to hazard. As far as I'm concerned, that's where he went when he left here. Why? What's your interest in him?'

I countered with yet another question. 'What was his name? Did he tell you?'

'He said it was Jeremiah Fletcher. And so it may have been, for all that I know.'

'What did he look like?' I persisted, but I could see that I was stretching my informant's patience to its limit.

'Polite and quiet and minded his own business, unlike some people I could mention.' The landlord relented a trifle and added: 'A long, thin face. Sad-looking. A gentleman, wall-dressed. Shy, my woman thought him.'

I sat staring thoughtfully ahead of me, my ale momentarily forgotten. For, unless I was very much mistaken, I had just been given a description of the gentleman of Buckfast Abbey.