Hugh Corbett 16 - Nightshade by P. C. Doherty

Author:P. C. Doherty [Doherty, P. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2011-03-17T00:00:00+00:00

9

I have been an enemy to his enemy.

Annals of London, 1304

‘About this morning?’ Corbett stretched a hand out to the flames and glanced across at Ranulf, who was listening intently.

‘You know what happened, Sir Hugh.’ Father Thomas spoke wearily. ‘I finished the Jesus Mass. I intended to go back into town to celebrate the funeral rites for those who’d been murdered. However, Dame Marguerite and I had agreed with Lord Scrope to visit him here after mass.’

‘And when was this arranged?’

‘Oh, about two days ago. As you know, Lord Scrope intended to refurbish and renew the convent buildings as well as St Alphege’s. Of course the events of the last few days had rather dimmed the prospect.’

‘Father, tell the full truth,’ Dame Marguerite intervened. ‘I am sorry, there was something else. Sir Hugh, we were not only going to ask about our churches and buildings. My brother was a very wealthy man and, only God knows, he had reparation to make. We were also going to make a plea that he’d be a little gentler with everybody.’

‘Including me,’ Ormesby spoke up cynically. The physician leaned forward, playing with the rings on the fingers of his left hand. ‘Sir Hugh, I’ve heard of your reputation in Oxford. I know you work in the Secret Chancery. You’ll find the truth here. I must be honest. Very few liked Lord Scrope. You’ll probably discover that I certainly did not.’

‘Who told you about the murder?’

‘The news spread like God’s breeze,’ the physician replied. ‘Scrope is dead. The word went out, servants tell servants, people hurried into town. I was in the marketplace and came immediately.’

‘Lady Hawisa, have you tended to her?’ Ranulf asked. ‘I mean in the past?’

‘Oh yes, but as to what happened and why, Hawisa should tell you that.’ Ormesby nodded. ‘Just like the priest here, I have my confessional, covered by its own seal.’

‘This morning,’ Corbett insisted, pointing at Pennywort, ‘Father Thomas and Dame Marguerite came down to the jetty.’

‘I saw them come,’ the boatman replied, ‘and hastened to meet them. I remember telling you, Father, to wrap your cloak firmly about you because the water was icy cold and the oars would splash.’

The priest nodded, half smiling.

‘I rowed them across,’ Pennywort declared. ‘I brought my oars in. I tied the rope to one of the posts and helped Father Thomas out, and then we both assisted Dame Marguerite. They went up the steps. I decided to wait just in case Lord Scrope had a task for me. Some of my companions came drifting down …’

‘We knocked on the door, but there was no reply.’ Dame Marguerite took up the story. ‘We knocked and hammered to no avail. Outside, Sir Hugh, you’ll find an axe. I picked this up and handed it to Pennywort. I told him to break the shutters.’

‘So I did,’ the boatman replied. ‘I hacked the shutters; the bar across is metal but the shutters themselves are wood.’

‘I’ve noticed that,’ Ranulf said drily.

‘I lifted the bar and scrambled in.

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