While Margery had been sitting, huddled into her cloak, Emma had been pacing the yard, worry creasing her brow. She tried to gain access to Coroner Bale’s inner sanctum but had been prevented on each occasion by his clerk. ‘Mistress, the Coroner will be available when he is available’, ‘No, I cannot tell you how long it will be’… and so it continued for over an hour.
They had watched Richard and Ned, escorted by Father’s serjeant, march across the yard over an hour ago.
Margery huffed. “Why does it take so long? I have lost feeling in my feet. Half afraid if I try to walk, my feet will stay rooted to the spot, frozen solid.”
Emma smiled faintly, standing above her. “Come, a walk will do you good.” She pulled her upright.
Arm in arm, they now walked the square yard, trying to stay in the weak sunlight.
“I feel like a nun in a nunnery, saying her morning service,” Margery complained.
“Penance is good for the soul.”
“It may be, but not good for my belly – it has long since passed complaining.”
“Unlike yourself.”
“Hmph.”
They continued their walk, in silence, pacing each side, slowly, avoiding the same patches of mud on each circuit, the same doors, same discarded rusting tools. They paused for a moment, watching a groom wrestle a mule past them. The animal brayed its indignation and sent a spray of muck over their cloaks.
“Do you think we brought enough to free your father?”
“He seemed to think so, have cheer. It will sort out.”
“His eyes certainly lit when Ned described the fight aftermath.”
“Or was it a drowning man, clinging to some weeds with… hope?”
“Hmmm… maybe.”
They continued on their never-ending circuit, yet again.
“You never mentioned the Guild-Master to your father.”
“Hmmm… “
“Why?”
Margery sensed a tension at the mention of the Guild-Master. She pressed never the less. “That would have been a certainty to free the Master.”
“I… I don’t know. My belly told me to stay silent, my mind screamed tell him. In the end, I was afraid of the unknown. There is something… sinister… something amiss there. I thought it safer to avoid it completely.”
It was Margery’s turn to be silent and consider. They continued their monotonous, silent penitential walk around the yard.
They were half the way along the north side when a noise broke the quiet. Not loud, simply some everyday activity. Men’s voices, the creak of a cart, the slow clop of hooves. Emma and Margery both turned – curious.
A cart came through the archway, drawn by two oxen, their breath misting in the cold. Two guards walked beside it, talking low as they guided the team across the cobbles. To them, the mundane, the ordinary.
On the cart sat a man, hands bound, shoulders hunched against the cold. Even sitting, he looked big – thick arms, a neck like a bull, hair hanging in a rough tangle around his face. A guard sat beside him, a firm grip on his arm.
Emma felt Margery stiffen beside her.
“God’s mercy,” Margery murmured. “Look at the size of him!”
Emma swallowed. Is that… him? Could it be? He looks brutish enough. Evil. She gripped Margery’s arm. “Could that be… you know… Thom the…?”
The cart rolled past them towards the far side of the yard, the guards’ boots ringing on the stone. Emma watched until it disappeared behind the corner, her stomach tight – then resumed their circuit. Neither spoke. Emma’s mind kept returning to the man on the cart – his size, his sullen face, hands bound like an animal for slaughter.
Is that the face of a murderer? He looks capable of it. But looking capable and being guilty are not the same thing.
She pushed the thought away. The dyers had named him. Ned had heard his threat. What more proof did she need?
The sun climbed higher. Shadows shortened across the yard. Still they walked, still they waited.
At last…
The sound of boot-steps on stone broke the silence. Richard and Ned emerged from the inner gate, their faces flushed with triumph.
“All settled,” Richard called. “Bale agrees Thom the Tanner’s our man. He’s been arrested. And he will stand trial at the next sitting of the assize court. It’s good to be out and free again.” Richard rubbed his hands in satisfaction.
Emma straightened, hope stirring. “Truly? It is over?”
“Truly. He even commended us – said the Fenwicks searched every corner.” Richard beamed. “Our name will stand clean again… We are all cleared.”
Emma smiled politely. “I’m glad.”
“Yes, yes…” Richard clapped his gloved hands together. “Bitter for this time of the year. You should hurry off, Emma, no need standing about in the cold.”
“Yes, Father,” Emma replied as she felt heat rise to her cheeks with embarrassment. “I will relay your good news to… to Susan.”
“Ned says that Lord de Morville is due at noon for a taste of the new Gascony Red, you should tend to him… He is a fine customer and pays handsomely for our product. Entertain him well. I am sure he will not cancel like others did.”
“Yes, Father, shall I tell him you will be along presently?”
“Hmm… maybe. No, best not. Ned and I have some… business to attend to.”
As Emma and Margery went towards the castle gate she heard loud laughter behind, and glancing around saw Coroner Bale clapping her father on the back and the two going off together, the best of friends, with Ned dutifully in attendance.
Emma watched them go, her smile fading. She squared her shoulders, not allowing the sight to dishearten her and walked, head held high, through the gate.
At Newgate, Margery took her leave, “It was an adventure, Emma, but I need to return to my Goodman lest my darling sister catch his eye!”
“What? Your Goodman forsake you for her. Never!”
They embraced quickly, Margery hurrying off towards the bridge along the town-wall lane, her bright cloak soon lost around the bend.
Emma stood a moment, watching the flow of people – merchants, porters, a priest hurrying past with his robes held clear of the mud. Ordinary life. Ordinary Bristol. She joined them on their way to the High Cross.
It is over.
She turned down Corne Strete, her step lighter than it had been in days. Susan would be watching from the window – waiting for news, probably wearing a groove in the floorboards, pacing.
Father is free. Thom is arrested. The business will recover. Life continues. Lord de Morville arrives at noon.
The weak winter sun found the strete between the overhanging jettied houses. She lifted her face to it, feeling its faint warmth.
John would approve, I did what needed doing. Even if no one thanks me for it.
She pushed open the side door of Fenwick Hall and called out.
“Susan! Good news!”
Ciaran Leamy - Author 