Emma had not slept, the warnings after mass yesterday weighed heavily on her through the dark hours. Now, in the pale morning light, she stood in the castle yard watching them gather – jurors, witnesses, neighbours who had been summoned… and wives. Mostly the same who had accosted her yesterday. The Greyfriars bell had not long finished ringing Prime, yet already the chill had found its way through her pattens and shoes. Are we being kept waiting as punishment? she thought wryly.
Emma watched her father standing with Ned near the wall, apart from the others. Richard’s face was composed, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands kept finding each other and clasping tight.
A clerk in castle livery stepped into the yard.
“Those summoned by Coroner Bale, over here.”
The group converged. When he was satisfied all were present, “Mistress Chester, you were not summoned. You must stay outside. The rest, follow me.”
They filed through a small door – the bravado of the yard dying with each step. Down a corridor, past guards who did not look at them, into a chamber Emma had never before seen.
It was austere. Stone walls, no tapestries. A single window, high and narrow, letting in a blade of grey light. Benches had been set along the walls. Enough for those summoned, no more. At the far end, a heavy desk, a chair behind it. Empty. A chair beside with Coroner Bale’s scribe sitting quietly composed.
Emma sat beside her father. She leaned close.
“Is this how an inquest is conducted? Very different to the last, yes?”
Richard shook his head slowly. “This is no inquest – it is a precept.”
“A what?”
“Precept. He wants blood and not on the record. This smells foul.”
While she was trying to understand this, Coroner Bale entered followed by a castle serjeant who closed the door behind him with a solid bang. She noticed that everyone, including herself gave an unbidden jerk at that sound. Nervous, taut tension.
He did not sit immediately. He stood behind the desk, hands flat on its surface, and let his gaze move slowly across each face. The silence stretched. Someone coughed and quickly stifled it.
When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. That made it worse.
“You made a mockery of my inquest.”
No one answered.
“A man was murdered in this ward. I held an inquest. Witnesses testified. A jury returned a verdict.” He paused. “Jacques of Gascony. Killed by a fellow mariner who fled on the evening tide.”
He let the words hang.
“And now I learn – not from any of you, but from whispers in the strete, from my spies – that the dead man was no sailor. He was Edmund, a clerk of Greyfriars. A man with a name. A woman. Friends who mourn him. A local! … Killed by a local, I wager.”
His eyes found the chandler.
“You told me his name was Jacques. You swore it.”
The chandler rose slowly. “Sir, with… with respect sir. I… I humbly say that… you are mistaken. It,” he licked his lips, “it was said from the crowd, sir. Not by me.”
“Clerk, what of the record, was it chandler here?”
The clerk pored over some documents while the Coroner drummed his fingers, impatient – the chandler trying to become invisible. “Sorry sir, there is no name. It was said… generally.”
“I see, it was said… generally. You mean, the ward collectively said ‘Jacques of Gascony’?”
“Yes sir, you are absolutely right. Shall I amend… “
“Yes amend the record and you… sit.”
The chandler sat.
Bale’s gaze moved over the jurors’ bench. “You twelve good men swore an oath before God. Twelve good men returned a verdict you knew to be false. You broke your sworn oath before God – Perjury!”
Again, an unbidden shocked reaction to the roar. Silence, no one dare speak.
“This sin is not only on you jury, it is on the ward. I have a mind to destroy your trades with levies but…” composing himself, leaning back in his chair. “But I am not an unreasonable man.” He said, quietly, almost conversationally. Emma couldn’t decide which face of Bale was more frightening – certainly both were.
He arranged his robe with deliberate care.
“The King’s assizes sit… When do they sit?” He leaned over asking his clerk.
“In… It will be one week from this coming Friday. Ten nights, sir.”
“Yes, of course. I am expected to report on all murders within my jurisdiction. To present the guilty. To show that justice has been done.” He spread his hands. “What am I to report? That a man was killed and his murderer walked free because a ward full of merchants and craftsmen lied to protect their purses? Hmm?”
He waited, as if waiting for an answer, but none dared. No one dare question his assumptions. As the silence remained, most found interest in their clothing or the floor.
“I thought not.” Bale turned his attention to Richard. “Master Fenwick.”
Richard stood. “Sir?”
“Master Fenwick, the body was found in your shop. Am I right? Or was that a lie, arranged?”
“He collapsed at my door. We brought him inside to give comfort. As I testified, Sir.”
“So you say. So you say.” He leaned back, stroking his chin. Contemplating the reply, appearing to weigh it? “Here is my problem, Master Fenwick…I have only your word that the murder happened outside your walls. The wound could as easily have been inflicted… within.” He threw his hands up in mock horror. “Could have.”
Emma felt the blood drain from her face. Beside her, Ned went rigid.
“Sir, I… “
“You are a wine merchant, are you not? You deal in knives. You had opportunity.”
“I had no quarrel with the man. I did not know him.”
“So you say.” Bale’s eyes moved to Emma. “And this is your daughter?”
“She is.”
“The one who identified the body. Who arranged the burial. Who made certain the whole of Bristol knew the inquest verdict was false!” He composed himself before his burning rage became uncontrolled.
Richard said nothing.
“She is your obligation, Master Fenwick. Your women are your concern.” He let that settle. “I wonder what else happens in your household that you claim not to know.”
Emma wanted to speak, to defend herself, to defend her father. But Richard’s hand found her arm and gripped – a warning.
Bale addressed the room again.
“As I explained earlier, I am a reasonable man. I require a murderer. I do not much care how you find one, but find one you shall. The assizes will not wait. If no guilty man is presented…” He shrugged. “Then I must work with what I have. And what I have is a body in a wine merchant’s shop and a ward full of liars. Make of that what you will.”
He waved a hand in dismissal.
Relief flooded the room. Benches scraped. Bodies rose. The door seemed very far away.
“Stop! You are not dismissed… “
Everyone froze.
Bale reached into his robe and withdrew a document. A ribbon hung from it, a heavy seal at its end.
“Sit.”
As one, they descended with great alacrity onto the benches, hearts thumping if, Emma thought, theirs were anything like hers.
“Before you leave. An attachment.” He waved a document. He unfolded the parchment and read aloud, his voice carrying to every corner of that cold stone room – crisp and clear, devoid of any emotion.
“By order of the King’s Coroner, Master Bale:
To the good men of the ward, and to all who were summoned to this hearing:
You, Master Richard Fenwick, are hereby summoned to attend upon me at the castle, there to give further testimony touching the death of one Edmund, clerk of Greyfriars, lately found slain within this ward, namely in the shop of Master Richard Fenwick.
Forasmuch as the truth of the matter is not yet made plain, and no man hath been presented as guilty, it is ordained that you, Master Fenwick, shall remain in custody at the king’s pleasure, unless the ward do offer up another in your stead.
Fail not in this, upon pain of the king’s displeasure.
Given under my seal, this day, in the year of grace thirteen hundred and ninety-five.“
The silence that followed was absolute.
Emma could not move. Could not breathe. She looked at her father – at his grey face, his trembling hands, his eyes that would not meet hers.
“Now… now, you may all leave. Master Fenwick stays… at the pleasure of… The King.”
The courtyard lay in hard winter sunshine, sharp and bright reflecting on the cobbles. It jarred against her, that brightness, as if the world had chosen to ignore what had just been done to her father. Was this an omen? Were the heavens mocking her?
“Emma… I just saw Master Richard… Emma, speak to me.” Margery tried getting her friend’s attention, but she seemed struck senseless. She took her by the arm.
“Come… over here… sit down now… sit.”
“What happened?” Emma was confused, her mind refusing to accept what had happened.
Ned came over standing in front of them. “Will she be all right, Mistress Chester?”
Margery stood up, and took Ned to one side. “I saw Master Richard going off with a castle serjeant. What happened?”
Ned looked shattered. “Master has been detained for… for… No Mistress, I dare not say it.” He glanced to the main building, nervous, unsure. “Do you think I… we… ” nodding towards the building.
Margery was confused and very afraid for the Fenwicks and her friend. She sat again with Emma, holding her hand, massaging it.
“Enough, Emma Fenwick.” But Emma was stubbornly quiet. She waited looking at Emma, Ned, back and forth, but neither spoke.
“Tell me then, when will Master Richard hang?”
“What? Hang?” Nay, Mistress Chester, “he will not hang, how can you say such a thing?”
“If he is not to hang, then what? Why the silence?”
Ned finally outlined what had transpired. Margery realised that she must take control for now.
“Ned, go into yonder building. Find if Master Fenwick is in a chamber. God-willing, he will not be in a dungeon cell. You will need to bring him clothing, bedding and sustenance.”
“Me, Mistress?”
“Yes, you. I will care for Emma. Now be off with you.”
“Yes, Mistress.” He hurried away.
“Emma, now stop this childishness. You are a grown woman. Your father needs assistance from his family, and if you are unwilling, then who will? Eh?” She got up standing over Emma, blocking the sun.
“Oh Margery it was… ” and she started sobbing.
“Enough woman,” she almost shouted. “I am not here to wipe your nose. Now get up and be the head of Fenwick household till the master returns. I am serious woman. Come on!”
She leaned down and took Emma by the arm, helping her stand. “Come, take my arm.”
Arm in arm, unsteadily, at first, they started the walk across the yard.
“Head up now, and look the world in the eye. Don’t show weakness.”
They walked along Vicus Castelli towards Old Gate. As they approached, they noticed some merchants congregating and arguing, it looked like blows might be thrown soon.
“Margery, I can’t. Let us turn back to New Gate and… “
“Why ever should we do that?”
“Those men, they are angry, I fear a fight. I am the cause.”
“Head high dear, and on we go,” taking a firmer grip of her arm. “Courage.”
They are neighbours, friends. Whatever is happening? Don’t look at us, wait till we are through. She prayed silently.
“Make way there.” Margery was not one to shrink away and hide. “A moment sirs, you can fight after we pass… thank you, sir… just a moment…”
“Hoi! That is them, bold and brazen.”
“You’re right. Mistress Chester, Mistress Margery Chester. Go back to Redcliff and stop causing trouble in the town.”
“Yes, go on now, get out of our town.”
“Mistress Fenwick, Do not expect assistance from us for your father. You brought this on yourselves!”
A chorus of “Yeah” followed as they rushed past onto Wynchestre Strete. They hurried without realising how fast they were going till they collided with a porter going in the opposite direction. Emma was pushed back into Margery and they barely remain standing, confusion, anger and fright mixed into one.
“Mistresses, my apology. Can I assist?”
“Yes, I’m fine. About your business, we were distracted.”
The porter picked up his load and went on about his business thankful not to being considered at fault.
“I never… ” but Margery was lost for words, and also quite shook. ” Never…”
“Neither have I. They were angry. Angry.”
“Yes, Emma. I never…”
“You are shaking. My God, Margery, you are shaking. Well now I never! Margery Chester shaking! Well I never.” And a smile burst onto her face.
“I admit it,” laughing. “And if that is what it takes to shake you up, then a fright I can take.”
But the release of tension with laughter was only momentary, the reality sank in again. Life had changed, the world had moved, there was no going back.
“What will happen to us now? Father committed to the castle chamber in the serjeant’s keeping.” The shudder almost started her teeth chattering again with fear.
“Enough of this brooding. Shift your feet and make haste to Fenwick Hall… and make plans.”
Plans? What plans? Emma would ask but Margery was already elbowing her way through the late morning traders at High Cross.
The fire had been built high. Susan had seen to that before Emma and Margery arrived, as if she had known they would need its warmth. Now the two women sat on the bench before the hearth, hands wrapped around bowls of broth that had long since gone cold. Margery was frustrated but had given up trying to cajole Emma into looking for the murderer. Emma was adamant that nothing would be decided till she heard word from Ned on her Father’s condition. Now they spent their time gazing into the flames, letting the heat warm their bodies again.
Behind them Susan was busily setting the table for the noon-meat. There was the distinct aroma of roasted pheasant coming from the kitchen as she went to and fro carrying trenchers and breads. Emma understood that Susan needed work to keep her mind off the Masters custody. She was near tears when they first broke the news to her earlier.
From the kitchen came the sound of the back door closing, then Ned’s voice.
“Susan, is Mistress Emma returned? The shop is shuttered. Master will be displeased.”
A pause. Susan’s murmured reply and a short conversation, too low to hear. Then footsteps, and Ned appeared in the doorway, his face drawn with worry.
“Mistress Emma. Mistress Margery.” He stood awkwardly, uncertain whether to advance.
Emma motioned to a stool near the fire. “Sit, Ned. Tell me news of my father.”
He pulled the stool forward and perched on its edge, hands on his knees. “He is well enough, Mistress. A chamber, not a cell as you expected. The serjeant was… civil. Master Richard bid me tell you not to worry.”
Susan appeared with a tray – fresh broth, coarse bread, butter. She set it down and looked to Emma.
“Might I stay, Mistress? I am that worried for the Master.”
“Of course, Susan. Sit.”
Susan settled on the end of the bench, waiting to hear the news.
“What does he need?” Emma asked. “We must send provisions.”
Ned nodded. “His heavy cloak – the fur-lined one. Blankets. The small brazier if we can manage it, and coal. Candles. Food – your cooking, Susan, not castle slop. Writing materials. The pewter cup he favours. His small eating knife – they took his belt knife.” He paused, counting off in his mind. “Clean linen. His prayer book, rosary…”
“That is enough Ned, to start with.” Susan said. “You should take it right away and return with more today if the Master requires more… yes, that is what we do. We pray to our Lord to deliver Master from the castle. Emma, will you arrange prayers for him as soon as you are finished the food?”
“Of course, Susan. I will take care of that. I will ask Father Jerome and also Friar Jacob to remember father in their prayers. How much alms should I give?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It is such an ask of our Lord. Perhaps, you need ask guidance from the father and the friar… yes, I think that best. They will know how much is needed for such a great request of our Lord.” She blessed herself and said her own private prayer.
“There is more.” Ned shifted on his stool, uncomfortable. “Master Richard gave me… instructions.”
Emma waited. “Yes, go on Ned.”
“He said… he said most firmly… that trade must continue as usual. The shop must open. We must show that Fenwicks carry on.”
Margery spoke without thought. “No. Close it. For a day or two at least.”
Ned looked startled. Susan was shocked, mute.
Emma stepped in, “What Margery means is that we discussed this earlier and we think the shop should remain closed.”
“The Master says… “
” I know, Ned, you just said. But the Master does not know what we know. Custom is already lost. The ward has turned against this house. Better to close the shutters than sit behind the counter watching no one come. The loyal customers will understand. The others…” She shrugged. “They are already gone.”
“Mistress, I cannot go against the Master’s wishes.”
Emma nodded slowly. “When Margery and I went through the gate from the castle… let me say… there will not be any customers. Word is already out. I think that is why Thornbury’s steward never came. They were warned in advance by the Castle.”
“No mistress. That cannot be. How?”
“It is the only sensible explanation. Word has already spread ‘Fenwicks are… murderers’”
“Hush mistress,” Susan was distraught, almost in tears. “Don’t say such things, not in this house, not in Master’s house… please.”
“I am sorry Susan, I am sure that is the word that Coroner Bale is spreading, so we must stand tall and firm.”
“That is what Master says Mistress Emma,” Ned insisted. “Maintain trade, don’t bow to them.”
“Ned, Susan.” Margery spoke at last, feeling that someone needed to break this repeating story. “Your trade is dead, right now. People will laugh at you keeping a shop open from dawn to dusk. Better busy yourself at the warehouse, take visitors there and only open the shop for special appointments.”
Emma chewed her bottom lip, thinking.
“She is right. It is a good compromise. Tell father what we have decided… I mean tell him trade will continue as he instructed. No need to burden him with all details.”
Ned did not look convinced, but he bowed his head in agreement. “As you wish, Mistress.” And stayed seated, even though Susan was making to move.
“Was there more”
Ned would not meet her eye. “He said Mistress Emma, you are not to… not to… meddle.”
“What!” Margery was almost off her seat. “He said what?”
Ned was unused to such an outburst and he continued with a quaver in his voice “He said, Mistress Emma, you must trust the ward and the guild. They will find a murderer to secure his release.”
The words hung in the air.
“A murderer,” Emma said quietly.
Margery still incensed. “THE murd-“
Emma raised a hand, silencing her. Margery’s face flushed with anger, but she held her tongue… with great restraint.
“So,” Emma said, her voice steady. “Father wishes the ward to produce a murderer. And we are to trust them.”
“Yes, Mistress. Those were his words.”
Emma glanced at Margery. Something flickered in her expression – too quick for Ned to read.
“Tell my father this. Tell him that Margery and I will assist the ward in their search. We will seek out a possible murderer for him. He can then decide what to do with whatever we uncover.”
Ned frowned. “Mistress, that is not what the Master… “
“The Master wants the ward to produce a murderer. But Margery and I were told this very day that the ward has no intention of helping father. They do not care, Ned. They said so to our faces.” She leaned forward. “Should we sit here and wait until Father stands before the assizes? Or should we at least try?”
“Tell him,” Emma repeated. “We will not hinder any examination that the ward may undertake. We will assist in finding a murderer. Those exact words.”
“Yes, Mistress.” Ned rose, clearly relieved to have a task. “I will tell him.”
Susan rose, gathering herself. “Come, Ned. We have much to prepare for the Master. You will need a hand cart for the brazier… No, better you fetch a carted porter, it will be faster in the end”
They withdrew to the kitchen, their voices low as they began compiling the list of necessities. The door closed behind them.
Silence.
Margery turned to Emma, fury in her eyes.
“A murderer? ANY murderer? Is that what you… “
“THE murderer, Margery.” Emma’s voice was quiet. “Obviously.”
Margery stopped. Stared.
“Did you truly think I meant otherwise?”
A long breath escaped Margery. She slumped back against the bench.
“You had me fooled, Emma Fenwick. Completely fooled.”
“Good. Then Ned is fooled too. And he will fool Father.” Emma set down her cold broth. “Father thinks the ward will save him. He is wrong. The ward will let him rot, offer him up as the convenient villain Bale needs, the ward safe. No, we will save him and I will not lose my conscience and soul in the doing. Father must not know that is what we intend, or he will forbid it.”
Margery shook her head slowly. “You are more cunning than I gave you credit for.”
“I am a merchant’s daughter.” A ghost of a smile crossed Emma’s face. “I learned from the best.”
The fire crackled. Outside, Bristol went about its business, indifferent to the ruin that had befallen one household on Corne Strete.
Although Emma felt drained in body and spirit, the day was not yet done, and only ten nights till the assizes. No time to waste.
“Rouse yourself Margery, we must take care of a duty that I know you have no time for.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Prayer. And I intend to employ the best there is to pray on our behalf!”
The walk to Greyfriars was brisk, the cold nipping at their faces. Emma set the pace, Margery hurrying to keep up. The visit to All Saints had been quicker than either anticipated.
“A Farthing,” Margery said, slightly breathless. “Father Jerome sold our Lord’s ear cheaply.”
“It is normal for a parish mass. They don’t fast and offer penance like the friary. That is why.”
“I wonder what the Franciscans will require. Are friars more expensive than priests, or less? Do they have a guild rate?”
“Margery!”
“I am merely asking. Don’t they preach poverty? Perhaps there will not be any charge?”
Emma did not dignify this with a reply. They crossed Frome Bridge, their breath misting in the cold air.
Margery pressed. “If we are to purchase salvation, we should know the market price. That is all… “
Emma rounded on her. “You listen, I speak.”
At the gatehouse, before the porter could ask their business, Emma showed the Franciscan token that Father Jerome had given her.
“You are known here, Mistress Fenwick. You seek Friar Jacob?”
“We do.”
“I will have Brother Dominic escort you.” He gestured to a young friar waiting nearby. “These women are guests of Friar Jacob. Take them to him directly.”
Brother Dominic bowed and led them into the cloister. Margery leaned close to Emma.
“A penny here, do you think?”
Emma shot her a look. Margery smiled innocently.
They found Friar Jacob in the Bursar’s chamber, bent over a ledger. He looked up as they entered, his face creasing with concern.
“Mistress Fenwick. Mistress Chester. I heard of your Father’s… difficulties. A terrible business. Terrible.”
“Thank you, Friar. I will not take up much of your time. We have come to give alms for prayers.”
“Of course, of course. The community will remember Master Fenwick in our offices. You need not ask.”
“I wish to offer three pence for masses to be said for his deliverance, if that is appropriate.”
Friar Jacob waved his hand. “Your coin is not necessary. We pray for all who suffer.”
“I insist. It would ease my mind.”
He studied her for a moment, then nodded slowly. “As you wish. I will inform the almoner and your father will be in the prayers of all our house today. I will see to it personally.”
Emma placed the coins on his desk. He did not touch them.
“There is… another matter,” Emma said carefully. “My Father’s situation depends upon finding the man who killed Edmund. The real killer. Not a convenient innocent.”
Jacob’s expression grew guarded. “That is a matter for the coroner, surely.”
“The coroner has decided my father is convenient. The ward have also decided that father as a scapegoat is preferable. If I do not find the truth, no one will.”
Silence. The friar’s fingers drummed lightly on the ledger.
“What do you need from me?”
“Information. Anything you know of Edmund’s last days. His habits. His… associations.”
“I told you what I knew when you came before. Edmund was a clerk. Diligent. Quiet. He kept to himself.”
“And Catherine?”
Catherine? What of her? Her duties are in the washroom, not in my office.”
“She was his… intended, I was told. Yet when I brought her his dying message, she seemed more interested in his effects than in his memory.”
“Grief takes many forms, Mistress. You should not judge on those occasions.”
“Does it take the form of asking about pouches that should not exist?”
“Mistress Fenwick, you are distraught, I understand that. I will ignore the implications that you are bringing on Catherine.”
“My apology, Friar, I do not accuse her, but I must speak with those who knew Edmund. I hope you understand. Where else can I start to find a scent to follow?”
“Your apology is accepted. Where else indeed… yes, where else… I can’t help you there, if it was me seeking the truth, I feel that I, also, would wish to speak to the close friends.” It appeared that the friar was conversing with himself, before suddenly standing which brought a small yelp out of Margery.
“Please wait here, brother Dominic is outside should you need of anything. I will seek Catherine and bring her to you here.” As he opened the door, he looked back. “I think you should speak with Walter, my scribe as well. Shall I bring him or would you rather speak to them privately?”
It was a simple question, but Emma was taken completely by surprise and silenced.
“Bring both, that would be best.” Margery offered
They were alone again, the silence of the friary descended on them.
“Emma, we had better decide quickly, which one killed Edmund?”
“What? In heaven’s name, what do you mean?”
“Let us not seem like court jesters when the good friar returns. Do you actually suspect one or other… or both? Or are you genuinely searching for scents?”
“Honestly? I have no idea. I asked on impulse.”
“It would be better if we asked them by surprise. Now they will be forewarned by the good friar. That is a pity… but… maybe it can…”
The door opened and Friar Jacob ushered in Catherine, looking defiant and behind her came Walter, with a superior smirk on his face.
“Mistress Fenwick wishes to speak with you,” Jacob said. “Both of you. I will be nearby if needed.” He withdrew, leaving the door open.
Catherine found her voice first. “Mistress Fenwick. We did not expect…”
“No,” Emma said. “I imagine you did not. Yet here we are.”
She looked directly at Walter.
“I had a quest. A Christian quest – to identify Edmund and deliver his dying message to Catherine. That quest is complete. But now I have another. My father sits in the castle because no one has named Edmund’s killer. I intend to find him.”
“In the castle?” Catherine covered her mouth with her hand. “What? What? I don’t understand, what do you want from me?”
“Mistress Emma’s father is in a chamber in the castle, accused of murdering Edmund. It is a lever being used by Coroner Bale for the ward to find the true killer. That is now our quest.”
“You think me a killer!” Red blotches rising on her cheeks, her hands going rigid by her side.
“No Catherine, that is not what we say. We need to find who did and the only ones we know to ask are yourself and Walter… Maybe you Walter, you worked with him day by day, side by side. You knew him best?”
“Yes, Mistress Chester, I did know him very well. Like Catherine, I fear that I don’t have information to help… “
“To be fair to everyone that we approach, we want to ask who can vouch for the time of the murder, are you agr..”
“Excuse me mistress,” Walter interrupted. “Edmund was in a fight these two weeks past. He received a bad cut over his right eye.”
“That is very good information. Where, did he say, or who inflicted the cut?”
“Alas, he could not be drawn. Perhaps he was embarrassed… “
“Catherine, did he mention anything to you?”
“If it is the cut above his right eye. Yes, it happened along the Quay, in a tavern, I think… or maybe not in a tavern. I cannot truly remember that part.”
“Did he say who did the deed?”
“He was quite proud of himself, he was.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes. I don’t remember the name – but it was a big one who thought he could hurt Edmund easy. But my Edmund was fast. He says that he won the fight easy, then the other drew a knife and cut him – a cheat and no mistake.”
Margery nodded to Emma, so she continued, addressing Walter, who still carried himself with that condescending air that irritated her beyond measure.
“Walter, I must ask. Where were you when Edmund was killed? At about Compline?”
He almost laughed.
“Where was I? Mistress Emma, where were you?”
“Have no fear, Walter. My whereabouts can be vouched for and have been examined by the coroner. Shall I ask him to test where you were?”
But Walter showed no sign of nervousness. Quite the opposite. He was enjoying this sparring game.
“I could say that I was with Catherine here – she would vouch for me. But that would be a lie. I would not sully a woman’s name with my affairs.” He straightened. “No, I would never do such a thing.”
He stood there waiting, as if he had already answered the question, forcing Emma to ask a second time.
“Walter, I am tired, there is much we wish to accomplish this day. I will ask you again, please. Where…”
“My apologies Mistress Fenwick. When again did you say… around Compline was it?”
Now through gritted teeth Margery hissed.
“Yesss Walter. Around Compline. Where were you? … And pray don’t dare say I can’t remember.“
“Of course I remember, Mistress Chester. I was in my lodgings shortly before Compline rang. You can ask my landlord. We were deep in a game of tables. I remember him mentioning the tolling of the bell, as he does every time.”
Emma studied his face, searching for the telltale signs of deception. But she found nothing. In truth, she had never been a good judge of when people lied. She had to admit that to herself.
Walter seemed to sense their doubt.
“I see you are having difficulty believing me.” He spread his hands. “Then let us settle it. Come with me now and ask my landlord yourself. I lodge in Seynt Jony’s Lane…”
Through the silence, Friar Jacob’s sandals could be heard creaking as he walked to and fro outside.
Emma finally sighed, then called out – “Friar Jacob, we are completed.”
He appeared in the doorway. “You have what you need?”
“For now, Friar. Thank you for your patience.” Emma nodded to Catherine and Walter. “And thank you both. If you remember anything more about the fight – a name, a place, anything at all – send word to Fenwick Hall.”
Catherine nodded stiffly. Walter gave a small bow, the smirk still playing at his lips.
They followed Brother Dominic back through the cloister and out into the cold. Neither spoke until they were clear of the gate.
“Well?” Margery asked. “That was … unexpected.”
“You mean Walter, and his alibi?”
“Yes, you might think he was hoping to be asked. He really enjoyed besting us.”
“Do we search for his lodgings, I fear it will be a waste of time.”
“Agreed. He was too confident. He knows that the alibi is sound. Nasty person.”
“Catherine…?” Emma shook her head. “I do not trust her, but I cannot say why.”
“The murderer is a man. Up close, knife, stuck deep… no, not Catherine.”
“That leaves the fight. A big man. Near the quay. One or two weeks past.” Emma pulled her cloak tighter. “It is not much.”
“More than we had when we visited. It is a scent to follow.” Margery steered them towards Frome Bridge. “And I know just where to catch the freshest gossip. The dyers’ wives hear everything. If there was a brawl worth remembering, they will know of it.”
“Do you know any of them well? Enough for them to confide in us?”
“The yard near Howdene Lane, my Goodman deals with them, and I’ve visited many times, often with the children.”
“I… No, I don’t know it. Are we within or without the town walls there?”
“It is within. Along Redcliff Strete, before the Redcliff Gate. I live less than five minutes walk from the gate.”
“You know them best. Will we meet at the gate on the morrow then?”
“Let me think. My dear Goodman complains of my recent absences,” eyes rolling to the skies. “And sister is unavailable till mid-morning… I know it is a bit late. Could we meet at Redcliff Gate mid-morning? There will still be time to talk to some of the women.”
Disappointed that many hours would be wasted, Emma was in two minds. Go herself or wait… but she soon realised how unsuited she was to questioning dyers, Margery was her only way to those of lesser station, she would be lost without her.
“You are the leader with the dyers, Mid-morning will work well. It will give me time to talk with Ned and Susan, make sure that father is properly attended to.”
The Benedictine bell began to toll in the distance.
“Saints! I must fly or they’ll bar the gate against me… Again!” Margery embraced Emma quickly, fierce and brief. “Tomorrow then. Don’t lose heart – we have a scent to follow.”
And she was gone, her bright mantle disappearing into the gathering dusk.
Emma watched her go, then turned towards Fenwick Lane. The walk through God’s acre was short – five minutes, no more. The gravestones stood silent in the fading light. Yet for the first time since the precept, she felt something stir beneath the dread.
Hope, perhaps. Fragile as a thread. But a thread nonetheless.
Ciaran Leamy - Author 