Slowly at first but soon with a kind of helpless despair, John began to laugh. “Jesus, Mary and all the angels, it’s so daft. It’s funny! Sir Knight, I’ve never touched Martha Coffyn. I don’t like Martha Coffyn, and Martha Coffyn wouldn’t so much as look at a fellow like me. She thinks herself as far above me as a beech tree above a daisy. Oh, Christ’s Teeth!” And he burst out laughing again, moaning with pain between gales of mirth as his ribs and head complained. Calming himself, he at last gave a soft sigh. “No, Sir Baldwin. I never had anything to do with the lady. But I suppose if you believe it at least that explains why Coffyn decided to beat me like this.”
“If you haven’t why were you in Godfrey’s yard the night he died?” demanded Simon.
His reply was a twisted grin. “I wouldn’t lie, Bailiff. I never touched the lady. No, I was off seeing another girl.”
“Who?” Baldwin pressed him.
“I can’t tell you that, sir. Like I said, I can’t betray her honor. Would you betray your own lady? Of course not. If I was to tell you, it could hurt her reputation, and I won’t do that, but believe me when I swear that I’ve never committed adultery with Martha.”
“Then who has?”
“It’s not my secret, but if you want to know, go and ask Putthe.”
Peter was waiting in his hall, surrounded by piles of paper. Since the arrival of the Bishop, who was now with the Dean’s master, the precentor of the collegiate church, Clifford had been forced to dig out all of the accounts of the different outlying chapels and churches to help the Treasurer with his report to Stapledon. It was a relief to him to have another interruption when Baldwin and Simon walked in. “Did you get anywhere?”
The knight gave a distracted shrug. “He has given us a hint, but once more we are told to go and see someone else. Each time something happens here, we appear to be driven back to Godfrey’s household. It’s possible John is telling the truth, but that depends on how much another man has himself been deceived.”
“I would find it hard to trust too much that John tells you,” Clifford observed judicially. “We all know his background.”
“I fear you might be doing him a disservice,” Baldwin commented.
“So I may, but I have heard some stories about him…”
The bailiff grinned. “So have we all, but John just denied them most convincingly, and won’t tell us who it is that he has been seeing.”
“Yet he was in Godfrey’s yard and saw the bodies, I understand?” Clifford was perplexed. He had also heard the rumors about John and Martha, but didn’t want to prejudice Baldwin’s investigation.
“That’s right,” Simon nodded. “And disappeared when Matthew Coffyn arrived.”
“Well, that would be no surprise, if he knew that Coffyn could be searching for him.” He sighed, passing a hand over his eyes. “It all seems so confused. And while we speculate, a murderer is loose. He might strike again.”
“I would hope not,” Baldwin said dryly. “It’s my job to see he doesn’t-and in any case, I have to believe that Godfrey was killed for some logical, comprehensible reason. In England people don’t kill for no purpose; there is always a motive if one can only see it. But I have to win over Cecily and get her cooperation. I am sure she somehow holds the key to this whole mess.”
“Why should someone attack John?” Peter wondered.
“I think we already know the answer to that question,” said the knight. “Many of your congregation think that John has been carrying on an affair with Martha.”
Peter blinked, then gave a sheepish grin. He should have realized that the knight would already have discovered something that was so readily discussed in the town. “So you had heard that? I must confess, I always thought it extremely unlikely. She thinks herself a great lady-that she might get involved with a tranter seems somehow incredible.”
“John is certain that it was Coffyn who beat him.”
Peter Clifford screwed up his face as he considered this. “Because Coffyn thought John had been committing adultery with his wife?”
Baldwin gave a shrug that showed his own confusion. “That is the logical conclusion. It’s possible, but why should Coffyn think John was toying with his wife if he wasn’t? He must surely have had some convincing evidence to make him take such drastic action.”
“I would certainly hope so!” said the Dean faintly. He poured himself a large goblet of wine and drank it straight off. “We cannot have our town disturbed in this way-men wandering the streets at night, breaking into private homes and beating the occupants.”
Baldwin shook his head. “There is nothing random in it, Peter. John was thoroughly thrashed for a reason, whether the reason was justified or not. In the same way Godfrey was not the victim of a wild and unthinking attack. He was murdered deliberately. This mystery has a simple explanation, if only we can find it.”
“Yes,” offered Simon gloomily. “And if we can get Cecily to tell us the truth.”
At that moment the object of their thoughts was walking quickly up and down her hall, her hands clasped firmly at her breast as if in prayer.
It was ludicrous! There was no reason for anyone to attack John! Nobody had wanted to steal from him, and there was little to take if they had wanted to. No, she was sure that whoever had committed this hideous crime was motivated by some kind of desire for revenge, but for what? Had he unknowingly insulted someone? Or was it simply that someone in the town hated the Irish?
That was mad, though. Nobody could hate John. All who met him were forced to laugh at him, or with him. He was too inoffensive to make enemies. Yet her mind kept coming back to the fact that John’s injuries were inflicted not to kill but to cause maximum pain, as if they were intended solely to punish him.
There was a scratching sound, and she spun around, startled.
In the garden, Thomas smiled dryly. She looked so like a fawn scared by the breaking twig under a hunter’s foot. “It’s all right, Cecily. I haven’t come to rob you.”
“Thomas! Oh, dear, dear Thomas! I wasn’t sure you’d still come. Oh, your poor face! How are you?”
He leaned uncomfortably on his old ash staff. “A little the worse for wear,” he admitted.
“I heard about what happened to you. The whole town seems to have gone mad.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
Quickly she told him about John, finishing, “And now the Keeper of the King’s Peace realizes I’ve been lying. I think he guesses I know what happened to Father.”
“But he can’t! No one else saw anything.”
“Sir Baldwin is very shrewd. He has eyes that are hard to fool. They seem to see right through any deceit.”
Rodde sneered contemptuously and tilted his hat back on his head. “Let him try to convict a leper. A leper doesn’t exist under the law.”
“A leper can still burn. That’s what they do to lepers found guilty in other parts, Thomas,” she pointed out helplessly. “And they say that this knight is very determined once he’s on the track of a felon.”
He shrugged. “He must be very determined indeed if he intends to catch Godfrey’s killer. He won’t find it easy.”
“Oh, why did we have to come here!” she burst out, and covered her face in her hands. “If we’d only stayed in London, you’d still be settled and resigned, and Father would be alive. Instead he’s dead, and it’s all my fault. If only I hadn’t seen you and-”
“Hush, Cecily,” he said more gently. Watching her through the window, he was tempted to pull off his rough, clumsy glove and give her the comfort she needed. But he couldn’t. “It’s not your fault. If anyone is to blame, I suppose it’s me for trying to see you again. If I hadn’t come here, if I hadn’t brought my friend, if I hadn’t spoken to you so often, then he might still be alive-but none of that is your responsibility.”
“You cannot know how much I have missed you, Thomas.”
“Nor you I, Cecily.”
“How many years is it?”
He considered, as if the memory was difficult to trace. “Is it seven years? Or eight?”
“It’s nine years since you left London. You always pretended not to remember dates!”
“What makes you think it’s a pretense?”