The Holywell Dead by Chris Nickson

Author:Chris Nickson [Nickson, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780750986038
Publisher: The History Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The day dawned dry and clear, with a bright sun to burn the dampness from the ground. Walking across the market square to collect Alan, he felt lighter, happier, a weight gone from his life. And it had. Thanks to his wife, he’d made a true break from the coroner’s service.

He carved with pleasure and for once, with some faint skill. Once he’d completed the rough design, he stopped to show the boy how to apply polish to the wood, let it dry and then sand it down smooth again. Why? Alan asked.

‘Because we want to give it a beautiful surface,’ he answered. ‘A hard surface that will last. That’s what they’re paying for. Besides,’ John added with a wink, ‘if the table looks good, they might not notice how badly I carve.’

At day’s end he felt happy and fulfilled. They’d done a fine day’s work. And tomorrow more of the same.

Walking home he noticed Gilbert the shoemaker hurrying along.

‘Good morrow, God’s blessing.’

‘Nothing good about it.’ The man paused, looking around as if people might be searching for him. ‘My neighbour has the plague now.’ He scurried away.

All his exhilaration vanished. It was almost full summer now, and still the plague would neither bloom nor vanish. It nipped at the edges of them, taking people here and there. Katherine’s mouth fell as he told her, and Dame Martha crossed herself.

‘Edric lives next door to him,’ the old woman said. ‘With his wife and five children.’

‘But his youngest is only a baby,’ Katherine said as she shook her head.

Only June and already the large graves overflowed with the dead. The first, in the empty corner of the churchyard, had been filled in and another, even bigger, dug close by. However much they prayed, whatever they did, everyone in town knew what might happen and made their preparations. The gravediggers would stay busy this year.

• • •

The days continued. John worked, and on Saturday he went to the weekly market. Now it was almost as busy as it had been before the pestilence came. Folk wanted this and that and the merchants needed to make their money to survive. The plague was here, the guest that refused to depart; by now, people were willing to take their chances.

John bought his good iron nails from the smith from Apperknowle. Katherine walked with Martha, stopping to admire fabrics as John waited, neck craning around for familiar faces. He saw the coroner in the crowd with his wife, his son walking behind, holding on to the nurse’s hand.

The man didn’t look towards him and John decided to keep his distance. De Harville was still alive. If he’d caught the other killer, then the gossip would have passed around like a wild fire.

Leave it be, he told himself. It’s not your business any more. Another smith was offering tools for sale and a chisel caught his eye. It had a beautiful edge to the blade, the handle smooth and easy to grasp. He talked the man down from the price he was asking and counted out his money.

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