The Plymouth Cloak

CHAPTER 17

The rutted track was barred with long October shadows and the pale sunshine struggled to make itself felt between the dying leaves of the overhanging trees. A late-flowering patch of musk mallow, its pale rose blooms nodding at the end of fragile stalks, gleamed corpse-like among the ragged grasses.

A bird sang high in the branches above me, and the river rippled on its gentle way somewhere below. So much beauty, but I had eyes and ears for none of it: my thoughts were fixed entirely on Jeremiah Fletcher.

The man had to be desperate to try such a ruse in broad daylight, ready even to brave the possibility of finding me or someone else in my room. He must have felt his luck to be in when he saw me leave the courtyard, and I felt that my luck was in that he had seen me. For now he would be lulled into a sense of false security, believing himself to have time to search the bedchamber again with less chance of being interrupted. He would look more thoroughly than he had done this morning, when he had climbed in through the window and had, perforce, to make his exit the same way. It was a means of ingress and egress he had not dared use in mid-afternoon. I wondered what excuse he had made to gain access to the great chamber and the stairs.

My footsteps sounded hollowly as I raced beneath the archway. At first, I thought the courtyard was deserted because the sun was in my eyes. But as my vision cleared, I saw James and Luke and John Groom beside the cart, humping bales of hay on to their shoulders, ready to carry them across to the stables.

’Where is he?' I shouted. 'Where's the carter?'

They all gaped at me for a moment, bewildered by my urgency of tone. Then the man who I later learned was James pointed in the direction of the house. "E wanted to use the privy. I told 'im there was three, an' 'e chose to go indoors.

Said 'e'd never seen the inside of a gentleman's house and t'would be a rare opportunity fer 'im to do so.'

I was running towards the great chamber door before he ~ had finished speaking, calling over my shoulder: 'Come with me quickly! He's no carter! He's a thief!' Out of the comer of my eye, I saw them exchange dubious glances, wondering if I'd taken leave of my senses and debating whether or not they should ignore my commands. 'Hurry!' I shouted. 'It's true, I swear it!' I paused with my hand on the latch of the great chamber door. 'One of you fetch Alwyn and rouse the servants! The other two follow me!'

I could not wait to see if they obeyed, if my voice had contained sufficient authority to impress them, but turned and went inside. I ran across the room and mounted the stairs two at a time, not even bothering to look in the garderobe, so convinced was I that it would be empty. And I was right. As I glanced along the corridor, I could see that the door to my bedchamber was ajar, and the sound of stealthy movements could be heard from inside.

Checking my headlong rush, I drew in several deep breaths to steady myself before creeping forward to peer through the crack. Then I pushed wide the door.

'You won't find what you're looking for,' I said. 'It's not there.'

The startled face which turned towards me, the wide-brimmed hat now discarded, was unmistakably that of the man from Buckfast Abbey, and undoubtedly that of Jeremiah Fletcher who had stayed last night at the Trenowth inn. He had not, this time, created the havoc of his earlier visit. What was the point? If the letter had not been hidden in the pillows or mattresses before, it was unlikely to be concealed now in their replacements. But everything else, which belonged either to Philip or myself, had been gathered into a pile on one of the beds and was being thoroughly searched item by item.

The man had been crouching on the floor, but now he sprang to his feet, his hand groping at his waist for the dagger in his belt, only to realize with dismay that he had put it off, together with his tunic, when he had assumed his disguise of the carter. The recollection brought with it a wave of panic, and for the second time in little more than an hour, I found myself the object of a murderous attack. But now I was truly afraid, for this man was used to killing, and he would not scruple to murder me if he got the chance. His hands were already clawing at my throat in an effort to silence me; slender hands to suit his delicate frame, but with all the power and strength of fear behind them. If he fell into the clutches of the law, it would undoubtedly be a hanging matter; for whether he were responsible for Philip's death or no — and I had by no means made up my mind on that score — there were others who would certainly believe him guilty, and previous crimes which could probably be laid at his door. I thought it unlikely that Philip was the first of King Edward's messengers to have met a violent death through the machinations of Lancastrian agents.

With shaking fingers, I tore at his wrists and kneed him in the groin, but although Jeremiah Fletcher yelped, he refused to let go. When you are faced with the prospect of a rope around your neck, I imagine nothing else is of any importance and that terror deadens pain. Yet again that afternoon, the blood was drumming in my ears and there was a yellow mist before my eyes when help once more arrived, this time in the tardy shapes of Luke and John Groom. They had obviously been loath to believe me, but prudence had eventually won.

With a shout compounded of anger and astonishment, they threw themselves upon my attacker and hauled him clear, beating him roughly to the floor, where they both sat on his chest to pinion him down.

'B'lady, you'm right, maister,' the groom said admiringly.

"E were a thief, then! 'Ow did you know?'

I was still leaning against the bedchamber wall, gasping for breath, and all I could manage by way of answer was a frog-like croak. Fortunately, I was for the moment spared any further efforts at conversation by the appearance not only of Alwyn Steward and James, but also of Janet Overy wielding a rolling-pin, the laundress brandishing the wooden stick used for removing linen from the tubs of boiling water, and the baker carrying the long-handled spatula with which he put in and took out the loaves from the ovens. Their various assistants, goggle-eyed at so much excitement in one day, brought up the rear.

'So,' said Alwyn, 'we have our thief and no doubt our murderer, too.' He turned to me. 'Do you know this man, Roger Chapman?' When I nodded, he gave a grunt of satisfaction. 'And caught, seemingly, in the very act of trying to commit a second murder. You two men, and you, James, bring him along and we'll see him safely bestowed under lock and key until the Sheriff's officer arrives this evening.' Relief at such a successful outcome, with no shred of blame attaching to any member of Sir Peveril's household, made the steward genial, and he led the way from the room with a jaunty step and head held high. He could give a good account of events to his master on that gentleman's return; or as good an account as possible in the circumstances.

Janet put a hand beneath my elbow. 'Come with me, lad. That throat of yours has taken more than its fair share of abuse this afternoon. But the same treatment as before will work miracles. You'll see.'

I believed her, for she certainly seemed to know her herbs and remedies; and by the time she had once again completed her ministrations, I felt less pain and was able to make myself understood, although my voice was still ragged.

Emerging into the courtyard, I learned that Jeremiah Fletcher, bound hand and foot, was securely locked in a small room in the chapel, with James, Luke and John Groom taking it in turns to guard him. Alwyn, who imparted this information, asked me to tell him all I knew about the prisoner; so, deciding that nothing would do now but the truth, I gave him the history of our ill-fated journey from my meeting with the Duke of Gloucester in Exeter to the present moment. Two things only I omitted; Silas Bywater's part in the story and any mention of the knotgrass.

I could see that Alwyn was impressed by the added stature which my version of events had given me. So, taking advantage of the fact, I asked if I might be allowed to see Jeremiah Fletcher alone for a few minutes.

'There are a few things which I have to ask him,' I said, managing to convey by my manner that these questions were of vital importance to the safety of the realm.

'We-ell…' The Steward considered my request, then nodded briskly. 'You have my permission, but make sure that Luke, who is standing watch at the moment, remains outside the door.'

'If Fletcher is bound by wrist and ankle, as you tell me, he can hardly be any danger to anyone.'

'Nevertheless, I am not prepared to take chances. Please ~ do as I ask.' And the steward flung up an admonishing hand.

I gave my promise and was conducted into the gloom of the chapel which stood in one comer of the courtyard. The room where the prisoner was held was to the left of the altar, and was used by the chaplain to put on his vestments and say his prayers before Mass. A heavy oak door ensured his privacy at such times, and was equipped, for no good reason that I could see, with a stout lock and key. They were, however, proving useful at the moment, the key turned and removed from its resting-place, safely held in one of Luke's large brown hands. The other held a stout cudgel of only slightly smaller proportions than my own 'Plymouth Cloak',! which I recalled leaving propped up against one wall of the kitchen this morning, before sitting down to breakfast. The arrival of the sawyer's cart and the rest of the day's happenings had made me forget it was there. I must remember to move it out of Janet Overy's way.

The steward instructed Luke to let me into the robing-room and added sharply: 'Leave the door unlocked while Master Chapman is inside and be alert to go to his assistance should he need you. After his departure, mind you lock the door again.' Then he hurried fussily away.

Luke surveyed me curiously but asked no questions, merely doing as he was bidden. The key grated rustily in the lock as it was turned: obviously Sir Peveril's chaplain felt no need to secure himself against prying eyes. The door creaked a little on its hinges as Luke held it half open. I stepped inside.

The room was sparsely furnished, with a stone bench running the length of one wall and a chest in one comer. daylight struggled to enter through a small window with leaded panes made of horn, and there was the customary bag, hanging from a nail, containing flint and tinder. A candle and candlestick, the former not yet lit, stood atop the chest.

Jeremiah Fletcher, hands and feet tied together and a large bruise forming on his left cheek, was huddled at one end of the bench. I sat down at the other end and twisted round to face him. He eyed me balefully in return.

'And what do you want?'

'The truth, if that's not too much to ask.' My voice was still hoarse and he grinned malevolently, plainly wishing that he could have finished his handiwork.

After a moment or two's consideration, he shrugged.

'Why not? I'm a condemned man anyway, and have nothing more to lose. I've killed many men in my time, but ironically I shall be hanged for the murder I did not commit. Oh, I don't deny that I intended to take Philip Underdown's life — it's what I was being paid for — nor that I made two attempts to do so which went awry, once at the Abbey and again at the inn in Plymouth. But his death, when it came, was not by my hand. You can believe me or not as you please.'

'I think I believe you,' I answered. 'But if you did not kill him, you might have seen who did.'

He looked at me in astonishment, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his hair. 'Why in heaven's name should you think that? When Master Underdown was murdered late last night — and that information I had from the landlord — I was asleep in my flea-infested bed in that equally flea-infested inn. Why should I be wandering the woods in the middle of the night?'

'For the same reason that you wandered Buckfast Abbey and the Plymouth streets. To do the bidding of your masters and prevent the King's messenger from reaching Brittany. You see, I am being perfectly frank. You followed Philip and me from Plymouth, arriving in Trenowth, according to Father Anselm, not long after us yesterday morning. And again according to the good father, you kept to your room at the inn all day, not even going downstairs for meals. You therefore had to spy out the land at night. I think you were abroad after dark and could have seen murder done.'

Jeremiah Fletcher smiled thinly. 'Very well, as you have guessed so much, I'll tell you that you are right, but only partly so. I was abroad last night with the intent, as you surmised, of spying out the land. But not until long after the murder had been committed. As I mounted the path towards the house, something, what exactly I cannot now say, but something attracted my attention to the river bank, where I found Philip Underdown's body, already stiffening and cold.

It was a shock to discover that someone else had done my work for me, and so thoroughly. But to stab him, and then be forced to beat in the back of his head in order to kill him suggested that this obliging person was a novice at the task of murder.'

Did you search the body for the letter?' I asked.

His face clouded. 'Ah, that letter! That has been the undoing of me.' He shifted, trying to ease the constraint of his bonds. 'Or perhaps I should rather say that you have been my nemesis. My masters certainly enjoined me to find and destroy the letter to Duke Francis if I could, but they did not know that Philip Underdown would be protected by a second man travelling with him. And indeed, until his arrival at Exeter, he was on his own, as is customary with royal messengers, who prefer to travel fast and unencumbered. But to have attacked him before his meeting with Duke Richard would have been useless. He did not then have the letter.'

I frowned. 'But how did your masters, as you call them, know that?'

He laughed. 'Who are you? What are you that you can ask such a question? Don't you know that the court of any country or state is riddled with spies? Even friends and allies spy upon each other. No noble lord worth his salt can afford but to have his paid informer in every other nobleman's household. Brother spies upon brother, father upon son. It's the way of the world. Wherever you go, France, Italy, Spain, you will find that to be the truth. The man whom Master Chaucer called the smiler with the knife under the cloak is everywhere.'

He was right. I was still very innocent in those days, unversed in man's cupidity, but I was learning fast. I repeated my question. 'Did you search the body?'

'Yes, of course I searched the body!' He was growing tired of my interrogation and was in great discomfort. 'Later, as you know, I searched the bedchamber, but, as you also know, I was out of luck.'

'And how did you know which room to search?'

Jeremiah Fletcher groaned and leaned back heavily against the wall behind him. 'You have persistence, I'll grant you that! I didn't know. I saw a shutter and a window both open and a vine asking to be climbed. It was not until I was safely inside that I realized, by the articles of baggage strewn about, that it was yours and Master Underdown's. And now,' he added wearily, 'if you have finished with me, leave me to my misery. I don't ask how you knew of my ruse to make a further search. The carter is a garrulous as well as a gullible fool, and you fell in with him. Let us leave it at that.' And he closed his eyes, his thin mouth set firmly, obviously determined to answer no more questions.

I was equally determined, however, to ask one more.

'What does knotgrass mean to you?' I demanded.

He was sufficiently astonished to be betrayed into a reply.

'Knotgrass?' he said, opening his eyes. 'It's a plant. A weed. Why should it mean anything to me?'

'No reason,' I answered, rising. 'But you're sure it has no 'special significance for you?’

’None whatsoever!' was the emphatic response.

I nodded and rapped on the door to let the guard know that I was about to come out, in case he thought Jeremiah Fletcher was trying to escape.

'All right, maister?' Luke asked me.

'I think your prisoner could do with food and water. I'll request Mistress Overy to see that he's fed.'

I made my obeisance in front of the altar, then went outside. The hay had been unloaded, but the empty cart still stood in the middle of the courtyard. The carter had arrived to claim his property some time ago, or so I deduced from the fact that he and John Groom were seated on the bench outside the servants' quarters and were sipping ale together like lifelong friends. They were so deep in wide-eyed conversation that they did not even notice me as I crossed to the kitchen and made my plea on the prisoner's behalf to Mistress Overy. She, good soul, proved as sympathetic to his needs as I had expected her to be.

'Supper won't be long,' she said, despatching one of the kitchen-maids to assemble a tray of food for Jeremiah Fletcher.

'How's your throat? Can you eat?'

I sniffed the air. 'If supper tastes as good as it smells, I'll force myself, however great the effort.' She laughed and I went on: 'Where's Silas Bywater? Have you seen him lately?'

She looked surprised. 'Didn't you know? He's gone.'