Angel of Death

Robert de Luce.' Corbett noticed the change in the man's voice.
    'He is the treasurer and I referred all matters to him.' 'Did you know anything about de Montfort?' 'Nothing. I very rarely talked to the man.' 'Why not?'
    'I have no cause or grievance against him, I simply did not like him. I found him forbidding.' 'But you heard rumours?'
    The Scotsman shrugged. 'In any community, the leader is disliked. Rumours, charges are levelled.'
    'And what was said about de Montfort?' Corbett persisted with his questions.
    The Scotsman gave a deep sigh. 'Nothing much. Nothing substantial. They just disliked the man, resented his leadership, his arrogance, his pride.'
    'Did you find your new prebend suitable?'
    'What do you mean?'
    Corbett grimaced. 'For a Scotsman. England and Scotland are now at war.'
    Ettrick bit back the reply. 'I have already told you,' he said patiently, 'many Scotsmen's allegiance is to King Edward, not to some faction lord or robber baron, or that peasant Wallace.'
    Corbett studied the man carefully. Now he saw real hatred in his eyes. This man was different; he did not hate de Montfort. This man detested his native country. There was a secret here somewhere. Corbett thought the matter would wait.
    'Thank you, Master Ettrick.' As the man was about to leave, Corbett, using the same trick as with Plumpton, called him back.
    'Master Ettrick, one matter. Did you know anything about the gift of wine to Sir Walter?'
    'No, I did not.'
    'Thank you. I may ask you to return.'
    The priest turned his back and shrugged. 'Then you had better hurry up, Clerk, for the Earl of Surrey intends that I join his retinue and go back north to Scotland.'
    'Do not worry,' Corbett jibed in return, 'I am sure this matter will soon be resolved.'
    De Luce was next, different from the rest: cold, ascetic, a man fully in control of himself. He had a quick brain and was a born administrator, a shrewd assessor of character. Corbett reckoned de Luce to be about his own age, in his mid-thirties while the rest of the canons he had questioned, with the exception of Blaskett, were well past their fiftieth summer. Corbett asked the usual questions about the wine pannikin and the mass, but learned nothing new. De Luce could remember nothing unusual so Corbett turned to de Montfort's elusive private life.
    'You are the cathedral treasurer?'
    De Luce nodded.
    'There were rumours about de Montfort's private life?' 'That is correct.'
    'Was he associated with any squandering of money or funds?'
    'No. The accounts were kept in good order. In fact,' de
    Luce scratched his chin as if irritated by the question, 'de Montfort prided himself on not interfering with one penny of the cathedral's revenue. All money matters were left to me. He trusted me implicitly.'
    'Was de Montfort a rich man?'
    'Yes, very rich.'
    'The source of his wealth?'
    De Luce shrugged. 'He had a manor in Cathall, near the village of Leighton in Essex, but I never saw his accounts. He kept those himself.'
    'A house?'
    'Yes, he had a large house near Holborn but, as I have said, he kept his accounts to himself. They were distinct from those of the cathedral.'
    'Did you know any of de Montfort's friends? A woman?'
    De Luce's eyes narrowed. 'There were rumours, stories of scandal. I know what the others may have told you. I saw the same. A blowsy, rather overdressed woman who used to often meet him in the cathedral, but there is nothing scandalous in that. Is there, Clerk?'
    'No, there isn't,' Corbett tardy replied. 'Fine, Sir Priest. I believe there is only Master Blaskett left.'
    The young secretarius, when he entered, was nervous, his smooth, plump, olive-skinned face creased with concern, and he had his hands hidden in the sleeves of his robe. Corbett suspected this was to prevent him from seeing them tremble. He waved Blaskett to a seat.
    'You were the dean's secretarius?'
    The man nodded.
    'Responsible for all letters sent out?'
    'Yes, that is correct. I despatched and looked after all documents, memoranda, bills and indentures connected with the cathedral.'
    'And how long have you held the post?'
    'A year.'
    'What was your relationship with your dean?'
    The young man bowed his head and studied the table.
    Corbett watched him.
    'I asked you, sir, what was your relationship with your dean? Sir Philip Plumpton insinuated that the dean did not act as he should have done, either as a man or as a priest.'
    Blaskett's eyes flickered up. Corbett noticed how long the lashes were, how