“Now will you tell me why we rushed, as though the devil himself pursued us?”
“Look around you.” Margery gestured at the lane, the fading light, the people hurrying home. “What do you see?”
“The lane. People going about their business. What of it?”
“It is almost Compline. The same time you came home that night. Is it not?”
“Maybe a bit earlier now.”
Frustrated, Margery wanted to cry, or shout, she was not sure, she just held it in.
“Yes, yes… I know. But… The same light. The same bustle. I want you to feel it, not just remember it. Now – are you sure this is the entrance you used? The postern entrance?”
“Yes, it was but… I think.”
“What do you think, Emma? What is it?” Emma stood thinking. Frowning. Trying to figure something out.
“There is something, Margery. Something… No, ’tis no good. It won’t come.”
“What won’t come?”
Emma turned angrily at Margery “If I knew, then I’d know… … … forgive me my temper.”
“All right, relax now. You were here in front of the postern. You lifted the latch, you started to open it and…”
“Yes, Father was… I couldn’t open it!” Her elation was quickly replaced by a puzzled frown. “Something about that… there’s something I should remember.”
“You will remember. Anyway, you open the gate and… stop? Why?”
“Father was at the gate as well, I was pushing against him.”
“And, when he moved back?”
She opened the gate fully, “I came in.”
They both entered the yard. “Did you close it after you?”
“No. Father pretended to examine the bolt for some silly reason.”
“What reason?”
“I can’t remember, not important… something about recent thefts, but there weren’t any… I think he… I don’t know. Something strange there… maybe”
“Forget that then, what happened next?”
“Let me think, something about, what was it? … I can’t remember. Then I went in to Ned… Yes, that was it, I went straight in to Ned by the back door.”
“You didn’t see your father again till after Edmund… “
“Yes, no… Yes, I looked back and… yes… he was staring at the gate as if he was waiting for our Lord Himself to appear, but maybe … could he… could he have been waiting for Edmund?” She asked tentatively, unsure if that would be a good or bad thing for her father.
“Now, that is worth considering. That is a new thought. Let us assume that he was waiting for Edmund.”
“That makes little sense. Why would he…”
“Bear with me, Emma dear, I think we have something. Let us follow the path and see where it takes us.”
“Not if it makes father a killer” she moaned – her voice thin and sorrowful.
“Emma!” Margery shook her. “You know your father is innocent – yes? Answer me.”
“Of course, how could you… “
“Well then, believe it and trust it. We examine every path, no matter how small. That is how we move forward. We follow and let the truth out.”
“Sorry, you are right.” She let out a sigh, like her last breath. “It simply frightens me to my core.”
“Have faith instead. Back to our story. For now, let us believe that Edmund is outside in the lane and knocks on the postern. Your father opens it.”
Emma opened the gate, they both went out into the lane.
“Why did we come out into the lane?” Emma asks.
“Safer? He wished for privacy. To have you gone?”
“I don’t like that… it means he was hiding someth… “
“Emma, stop it! Stop your blabbering! I need you to think. Help me now.”
Emma composed herself. Took a breath.
Margery continued. “Richard and Edmund stand here talking.”
“Hmmm… ” Emma looked around, engaged in the investigation. “Yes. Here… So… this is where Alice would see them – if we believe Alice.”
“Let us believe her for now, she sees them.”
“Let me follow a course I don’t believe and see can it be possible.” Emma was beginning to have more confidence in this game. Was it time to ask difficult questions? Ones that had been buried since the start.
Taking a deep breath. “IF father stabs Edmund – what will happen next?”
Margery looked around for clues or divine inspiration. Emma’s eyes lit up – of course. “He didn’t stab him. That would make no sense at all!”
“Really? How?… “
“Don’t you see? If… If father stabbed Edmund, and went back inside to leave him here to die. What would Edmund do?”
“He staggered up the lane … “
“No, he wouldn’t.” Emma corrected, with a light in her eyes that Margery had not seen for quite some time. No, he wouldn’t!”
Margery looked around but saw no reason. “Why?”
“Smale Strete…” Emma pointed toward it. “It is closer, compared to Corne Strete. Why walk all that way for help when Smale is nearer? He was bleeding!”
“Emma, what you say could make sense… but there are more people on Corne Strete. More hands to help.”
“I know, yes… good point, but…”
“Sorry, Emma. It still doesn’t prove Richard didn’t stab him.”
“It does! Think. Why knock on our door if Father had just stabbed him? That would be more than careless. It would be utter folly.”
“You’re right. That makes no sense at all.”
They stared at one another – Emma elated, Margery wishing for quill and tablet before the thought slipped away.
“Wait,” Margery said slowly. “If Richard didn’t knife Edmund, then…”
“Someone else was here and knifed him,” they said together, almost a prayer. They glanced around, as though the unknown killer might still be near.
“I’m feeling much refreshed now,” Emma announced. “What else can we discover?”
“The token,” Margery, said eager to be part of the solution. “Your father gave Edmund the token here in the alley. But why?”
“Why indeed. What do we know about tokens? I have the Guild-Master’s token and Friar Jacob’s token.”
“To act as an introduction.”
“Yes but why? Why give it to Edmund?”
“To introduce Edmund to the goldsmith surely.”
“Oh, I have been so stupid. That is it. Edmund was going to the Goldsmith and needed a token for introduction.”
They decided to walk up the lane, just as the Compline bell sounded.
Walking up the lane they very soon realised that Edmund would not have gone this way looking for assistance – it was too long, too far.
“Emma, I still don’t understand. Why even go looking for help, why did he not just bang on the side entrance?”
“Maybe he did, but father had since gone indoors. No one heard him.”
“Hmmm, sounds possible.”
“Forget about why for now, concentrate on what we think happened.”
When they came to the top of the lane, there were some people walking past, hurrying home. Not many.
“Margery, you are Edmund.”
“Like this?” She made a theatrical effort of clutching her stomach, bending over, slouching against the side panelling and lifted a feeble hand…
“That’s it! That’s… it.”
“What? What have you remembered? Stop smiling – TELL ME!”
“He BANGED on the door, not once but a couple of times.”
“What of it – he wanted sanctuary, we know that now.”
“You didn’t bang – he couldn’t bang.”
“I hear people dying sometimes have great strength… But, I was only pretending.”
“Or… “
“One moment, Emma. You think too much. I was acting, not really dying.”
But Emma’s mind was elsewhere. Looking around. The strete was not empty, many people hurrying by.
“If you were truly dying – knifed, too feeble to stand… what would any of these people around us do? Would they walk past?”
“No, someone would come and help.”
“Exactly – you said it ‘come and help’”
“And… knock on the door. Edmund didn’t bang, Someone else did!”
“Hmmm…” Emma was thoughtful. “It is still missing.”
“Nothing missing for me. It makes sense. Why do…”
“The problem is no one was there, only Edmund. Unless…”
“You have that look again. Speak, woman.”
“The good Samaritan didn’t want to be identified, wanted to remain secret – Alice. Yes, that makes sense. Alice!”
“You think?”
“Yes, she must have been helping Edmund, banged on the door for him, left him propped there and tried to run but Ned caught a glance of her.”
“That is beginning to make sense. But… but, if that is true, then she is innocent.”
“What? Oh, I see what you mean. You are right. It can’t be Alice…if I am right?”
“And the Guild-Master, he was with her, so he is innocent as well.”
“Margery, my mind is a whirl. I feel elated and also despondent at the same time. How can it be so difficult?”
They stood in the strete, looking at the shop front, passers-by bidding them a good evening which they scarcely noted. Rooted to the spot, thinking, just as Richard had been looking at the postern on that fateful night.
“Can I make it more difficult?”
“Go on,” already dreading Margery’s insight.
“The cockfight. That was Thomas’ proof of being elsewhere at the time of the attack.”
“Yes, what of it?”
“Do we actually know when it took place? Or where?”
Emma thought. “No. Only that it happened.”
“Strange, isn’t it? Men love to boast of cockfights. Which bird won, how much was wagered, who lost his shirt. Yet this one – silence. Complete silence.”
“Because of the gambling. The church frowns on—”
“The church frowns on many things men boast of anyway. No, Emma. Think. Why would every merchant, every guild-master, every man of standing stay utterly silent about a cockfight?”
Emma felt the cold creeping through her. “Because it was illegal.”
“After curfew. It must have been. That’s the only thing that would bind them all to silence – they’d be confessing to curfew-breaking.”
“And if it started after curfew… and Edmund was stabbed before…”
“Then no one at that cockfight has an alibi. Not the Guild-Master. Not the merchants.” Margery’s voice dropped. “Not Thomas.”
“That’s why no one will come forward. It’s not just embarrassment. They’d be admitting they weren’t there when Edmund was killed.”
The words hung in the cold air.
“What are we doing? This is horrible. We continue to condemn the very people that we try to save.”
“It is nonsense, and no mistake. Let us not dwell on it a moment longer.” With the day drawing to a close, the cold was beginning to chill them to the bone.
“I am in agreement. Let us get inside out of the cold…. This very evening, I will confront father and…”
“Confront the Master of the house? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am. I want him to be truthful with me, so I can sleep again. Then, maybe, we can think more clearly on Edmund.”
“And Thomas.”
“Yes, on Thomas too.”
The shop was locked so they made their way back along the Lane to the postern entrance.
The elation at proving her father innocent was tempered by crushing Thomas’ alibi. What if he is guilty all along? Is this quest all for nought?
“Hurry, hurry Emma darling, I want to thaw my toes before your Father breaks bread.”
“Just you remember, keep that tongue of yours still when I speak.”
“Of course I will, do I ever speak out of turn – especially when eating.” She stifled a laugh.
“Quiet now,” Emma commanded as they paused before entering by the back entry.
Inside was a hive of activity, Susan was tending the fires and Ned was preparing the great trestle table. Margery headed straight to the fire pulling the bench closer and sticking her shod feet almost into the crackling timbers.
Nearby, Susan tutted “You’ll scorch those fine leather shoes if you are not careful, Mistress Margery,” while the unmistakable smell of leather starting to singe…
“Agh… agh…” Margery pulled back her feet desperately trying to pull off the, now tightening and scorching leather from her feet. With little sympathy, Susan poured a pitcher of water over them, bringing immediate relief, but also drowning the hem of her finery.
“Emma, in the name of heaven save me,”
“Shh there woman, sit back and let me get a hold.”
Susan took control.
“Ned, avert your gaze man… Emma grab her knee while I pull.” In a most unladylike manner, Margery was stripped of her footwear and her feet were then plunged into basins of cold water. Disaster averted, Margery started to examine her finest pointed toe leather footwear, thinking to throw them into the roaring flames. Susan, sensing what she was about to do, briskly snatched them out of her grasp muttering under her breath ‘spoiled young wasteful women’ but not so quietly that Margery failed to hear.
Wearing Emma’s more practical stockings and footwear, Margery was standing in front of the brazier with steam rising from her still wet clothing, when Richard entered.
“Visitors again,” he commented to no one in particular.
“Yes, Father, I’ve invited Mistress Margery to stay the night with us. We still have things to discuss.”
“Really… As you please, you know my mind on this foolery, so speak no more of it this evening.”
Relenting slightly, he addressed Margery.
“Mistress Margery, you are welcome, come sit here on my left.”
What a meal this will be, Emma groaned to herself. My back frozen against the cold window, and Richard blocking the heat from the brazier.
As she took her seat, the Benedictine’s Compline bell rang out in sympathy with her plight.
Another meal, no different to all others, Emma thought, looking around. It was her mother who started the family tradition of having final meal with the Benedictine Compline, she said it soothed her before retiring. Everything looks the same as normal, same table, Susan and Ned waiting on us. Ned at the end where he will eat standing, Susan in the kitchen, eagle eyed as always to see we want for nothing. Normal, soothing… I feel my stomach protesting, I cannot eat, I must know.
“Father, we need to talk.”
“It is late, we must eat with the light, and not in darkness surely.”
“We must talk… now. My body refuses to eat… I need to talk.”
“Mistress Margery, Ned, Susan, please excuse us.” He placed his knife on the wood with a finality that echoed, causing Emma to start, nervously.
“Margery, please sit. I may need your knowledge.”
“What knowledge? What is this? Are you accusing me of something… here in my own house, in front of a… stranger?”
“No, father, quite the opposite. I know, I really do know that you didn’t kill Edmund… it was while…”
“What? You know I didn’t kill Edmund, You know. Do you? You sit and tell me I am not a murderer!”
Margery, dared not move, she sat like a statue, eyes locked on Emma, scarcely breathing
“But… but… but…” Emma attempted to stop her Father’s tirade, but it continued. Eventually, he ceased, lost for words and breath.
“But, you lied to me, to the coroner. That lie will come out if…” sensing she might say something that she could regret, she paused, trying to frame an argument that was clear only a precious few heartbeats ago, but now evaded her.
Shocked, Richard looked closely at her. “What do you know?”
“It is no secret. You met Edmund, in our lane before he was killed. You told me he was a stranger. You told the coroner… the coroner! You were seen, I was told.”
“Who told you this?” His shout reverberated.
“Does it matter who? It matters that it is true. If you repeat the same lie tomorrow at the inquest, I fear people might contradict you. People with more power than you.”
She found it difficult to read his face, impassive – calculating?
“Father, please be honest with me. That is the only way to save ourselves… please.”
His chair creaked as he re-positioned himself. It was the only sound. Even the fire observed the importance of the decision by its silence.
“Yes, I knew Edmund. I met him outside.”
“You gave him the Smale Strete Goldsmith’s token.”
“You… you can’t know that… nobody knows… how?”
Seeing her father visibly shrink within himself, Emma lowered her voice, to show compassion.
“Why, Father?”
It was obvious that Richard was battling within himself and losing. He was defeated.
“The pouch, the pouch of coin shavings. The token identified Edmund as coming from me, one to be trusted. It was needed.”
What is this? Emma thought, confused. The pouch of shavings? Dear Lord, not… coin shavings? Debasing the royal minted coin… but… but that is treason… Dear God we are ruined. While these thoughts were roiling in her mind, her father was looking at her, confused.
“Shavings!” She almost roared. “You mean, silver and gold shavings? Coin shavings!”
“Yes… I thought you knew?”
Now Emma was ashen and shaking. “Father, you debased coins for what? To purchase extra tuns of wine ‘off the ledger’. To create some ghost hogsheads of wine! Are we that poor?”
“Emma… what… I don’t understand…” He looked bewildered – but she was already past hearing.
“No you don’t. You don’t understand. To debase the king’s image is treason, and you don’t understand. Is that what you will say before you hang? How could you?… Don’t you realise that they hang the family as well! No, father. You don’t understand.”
Unable to speak, tears flowing freely, she rose.
“But I didn’t.” He reached for her, desperate to stop her, to explain, but she brushed his hand aside, avoiding his gaze as she ran from the hall.
Margery slowly and carefully eased herself from the bench and silently followed Emma upstairs, leaving a shattered Richard staring after their ghosts.
Emma stood rigid by the window of her bed chamber, hands clenched, the candlelight catching the wet tracks on her cheeks. She heard the door creak open behind her and, thinking it was her father, she spun around, ready to unleash the fury still boiling from downstairs.
“Get out!”
She froze. It was Margery, hovering uncertainly in the doorway. She looked embarrassed, uncertain. Her usually vibrant face pale.
“Oh, Margery. I… I didn’t… “
Margery quickly closed the door and moved towards her, silent for a moment. “Come here, you goose.” She gave her a solid, suffocating hug that seemed to go on forever… till they started teetering. “Come lass. The brazier will banish those sad thoughts.”
Emma sat heavily, covering her face with her hands. “It’s true, isn’t it? All of it. He’s a traitor. A felon. If this is known in the town… we’ll have to flee to the ends of the earth.” She pulled her hands away, tears brimming. “I am so ashamed that… “
Margery reached out, smoothing the hair back from Emma’s temple. “Hush now. We stand together, as we always have. The only ones who know are those in this house, and we will hold our tongues tighter than a bung in a barrel in winter.”
The door creaked open again. This time it was her Father. He stood on the threshold, head bowed, silent, the confident merchant replaced by a hesitant man.
Emma gave him a withering, unforgiving look.
Margery caught his eye and gave a small, encouraging nod. “Master Fenwick, come in. The air is better in here… warming… slowly.”
Richard collected a small stool from the corner and sat down opposite the two women. The stool was low, placing him distinctly below them. He breathed deeply, hands gripping his knees.
“Emma, please listen to me. You are wrong about what I have done. Terribly wrong, I assure… “
“Wrong?” Emma spat the word out. “Clipping coins. Traitor!”
Margery put a restraining hand on Emma’s arm. “Let the Master speak, Emma. You have accused him of the worst kind of felony. Hear him speak.”
Emma shrugged off the hand. She marched across the room to the writing desk nestled in the corner, fetching a sheaf of parchments bound with a chord. She slapped them down hard on the bench between them.
“Then explain this! Explain these.” Her voice shook with exhausted anger. She tore the binding, revealing rows of figures. “Look here! Month after month: ghost hogsheads of wine appearing in the ledger. They didn’t come from Gascony. How do you explain all these extra tuns? Tell me! Tell me about your lies!”
Richard stared at the meticulously detailed notes. His eyes widened in genuine shock, reading the careful dates, the totals, the accurate tracking of the phantom goods.
“You… you know?”
“Yes! I know what you were doing! You were using the treason money to buy wine and hide it in the books, to hide your crime! You made me part of your… Disgusting.” Emma’s voice ended in a low despising tone.
Richard took another ragged breath. Head bowed, wringing his hands.
“No, Emma. It wasn’t clipped silver… It…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words.
“Master Fenwick – have courage, trust your daughter.”
“I… I bribed the customs clerk.”
He waited, as did Emma and Margery, who looked confused. If Richard hoped that this sliver of information would suffice – he was mistaken.
Margery leaned forward, “and… ?” wondering where this strange night would end.
“I paid him a fee to declare one tun, sometimes two, of our own wine as having been destroyed by seawater.” His voice was a pathetic whisper. “I didn’t have to pay the King’s customs duty on those tuns… and could still sell the wine.”
Emma stared blankly. “What?”
“I saved the duty,” he mumbled, head bowed low.
“You are a…” Emma paused, searching for the appropriate vile word. “You are a… deceiver, a cheat of the King’s customs”
Richard nodded miserably. “Yes, Emma. If you put it like that.”
Margery clapped a hand over her mouth, but a small, snort of laughter escaped her anyway. Her whole body began to shake. Emma felt a treacherous urge to laugh too, but the exhaustion and the sudden, vast relief prevented it.
“See?” Margery gasped, wiping a tear of mirth from her eye. “I told you it would be all right! Your father is not a traitor to the crown. He is a common deceiver… a simple common thief.”
Emma ignored her father, speaking only to Margery, her voice flat with lingering shock. “The disgrace.” She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “Will he go to prison for this?”
“I… I don’t know. He has to be caught first,” Margery offered, recovering her composure.
“Yes, I hadn’t thought of that… A common thief.”
Richard lifted his head sharply. “Emma, please don’t say that.”
She finally looked at him, her eyes dark and heavy. “But you are. A common thief. I am only relieved Mother is not alive to see the family fall into disgrace over… over unpaid duty fees.”
Emma was stiff, erect, unyielding. Margery prodded her playfully. She shrugged her off. Margery prodded her again, and again.
“Stop it!”
Margery simply smiled, nodded over to Richard “He’s no traitor.”
“No, he’s a common thief.”
“Exactly!” Margery insisted – “Just a common thief.”
Richard was absolutely forlorn – like a child chastised. Margery couldn’t help herself. She stood up. “Aw, come here Master Fenwick, you stupid, stupid man.” She embraced him in one of her never-ending hugs.
As she embraced Richard, she looked sternly at Emma – but Emma studiously ignored them.
“Lord almighty, get up, woman.” She took one step over, pulled a struggling Emma up straight, and pulled her hand over onto Richard’s shoulder.
“Embrace you two! There is work to be done, we have wasted enough time already on…”
“A common thief?” Richard asked ruefully.
Emma finally relented, letting her hand rest on his shoulder. “A common thief,” she repeated, but softer now. “When this is all over…”
Richard nodded. He knew Emma would exact a hefty price from him. But he smiled nevertheless.
“I can live with that – for now.” Emma let go of his shoulder, feeling a shade embarrassed. They stood awkwardly, none quite sure how to move on.
Then Margery broke the quiet.
“Enough, you two. Master Fenwick. Thomas the Claw still needs saving, and the court starts tomorrow at Terce Bell. Your daughter is the only one who has any hope of succeeding.” She tapped the sheaf of papers. “She tracked your ‘ghosts’ from a few scraps of information. She is remarkable.”
Richard smiled, shaking his head. “I admit, I am impressed. I thought I had hidden those secrets perfectly.”
“Nice words, master, but we need your full blessing – or rather, your daughter does.”
He met Emma’s gaze, his eyes shining with pride. “You have my blessing. And more. Go on, both of you… Is there anything I can do to help you on your task?”
“Pray,” suggested Margery cheerfully. “A miracle would surely help some – our Lord above never listens to me.
Richard rose, his step much lighter than when he had come in.
“Father, stop.”
The command cracked like a whip. Richard stopped mid-step, turned slowly.
“Yes?” Hesitant, almost fearful. “What is it?”
“I don’t understand something. You knew.. You knew Edmund was ‘the stranger’ all along. You lied to me. You let Margery and me search town trying to find the name of a person that you… you… that you… Dear Lord. You lied!”
Emma was incensed, Margery looked unsure of anything.
“Father, why did you lie, why did you not say his name when you saw him dead? Why?”
He stood there mute. Colour drained from his face. He reached for the door frame, steadying himself.
“No, Father. Stay. We have need of answers. You had a reason, you never do anything without a reason. Why did you not tell us that Edmund was known to you?” Then gently, “Why, Father? Tell us.”
He brought up his hands, shrugging, helpless. “I had no choice. Edmund came to Ned first – some tavern acquaintance put them together. Ned brought him to me, thinking it was just irregular silver. By the time I learned the truth, that he was debasing royal mint coins… I was already tangled in it. I was… ” He looked helplessly at her.
“No. Father. That does not explain… why hide his name… I still don’t understand.” She looked at Margery who just shrugged her shoulders, also not understanding.
“Because I became his accomplice by not informing. I couldn’t inform without exposing my own… my own…”
“Thievery.” Emma finished for him, with contempt dripping from her voice.
Margery admonished Emma immediately. “Hush Emma, no need for that. Let the Master explain.”
“Continue, Father.”
“My hope was that he would remain a stranger, or else a foreigner.”
“Wait… It was you.” Emma sighed, more a sigh of pity, as it dawned on her what Richard had done.
“It was you. You arranged ‘Jacques of Gascony’. You… Dear Lord, Father. Go!”
He left the room, shame-faced, closing the door gently behind.
Alone once more, Emma let out a long, quiet breath. “It explains so much.”
“Yes, it does. But it doesn’t solve the riddle. We still have work to do.” Margery’s voice was heavy. “And Emma… I fear for Thomas.”
“As do I.”
“He is of the common folk. No guild to speak for him. No merchant to vouch for his character. If we cannot find the true killer…”
“Then he hangs. And no one of consequence will care.”
The candle guttered. Outside, the streets were silent under curfew. Somewhere in the castle dungeon, Thomas the Claw was restless.
Ciaran Leamy - Author 