Field of Blood

clean and well furnished. Pieces of black lawn now covered the gleaming white plaster on either side. A young woman, her hair gathered up in a mob cap, came out of a room to their right.
    'I beg your pardon, sirs?'
    'Sir John Cranston, coroner, and his secretarius Brother Athelstan.'
    'Oh, do come in,' a voice called.
    The maid stepped aside. Cranston and Athelstan entered a well-furnished parlour where Mistress Sholter and Eccleshall were seated on either side of the hearth. A sewing-basket in the window seat showed where the maid had been sitting. The widow and her companion rose. Athelstan made the introductions and the coroner quickly accepted Mistress Sholter's offer of refreshment.
    Sweet wine was served and a small tray of crusty, sweet marchpane. Athelstan refused this but Sir John took a number of pieces, murmured his condolences and slurped at the wine cup.
    'I'm sorry to intrude on your mourning.'
    Athelstan noted that most of the hangings on the walls were hidden by funeral cloths.
    'However, I need to ask further questions.'
    Bridget Sholter's face looked even paler, framed by her dark hair under a mourning veil which fell down beneath her shoulders.
    'What questions, Brother? I've been sitting here with Philip wondering what had happened.'
    'Tell me again?'
    'I've told you,' Eccleshall said. 'Miles and I left here about four o'clock.'
    'And you reached the Silken Thomas?'
    'Oh, about six.'
    'You travelled slowly?'
    'What was the hurry? We'd decided to stay at the Silken Thomas and leave before dawn. We would be refreshed and so would our horses.' He shrugged. 'Measure out the distance yourself. It takes an age to get across the bridge; we stopped to pray at the chapel of St Thomas a Becket. Then, of course, we had to wait for that officious little gatekeeper.'
    'True, true,' Sir John agreed. 'A leisurely ride from here to the Silken Thomas would take that long.'
    'And you, Mistress Bridget?' Athelstan asked.
    She made a face and gestured at her maid.
    'Hilda here will attest to this: shortly after Miles went, I closed the stall, after all it was Saturday afternoon. I left the house and went down to the markets in Petty Wales.'
    'Then you came back here?'
    'Well, of course, Brother.' She laughed softly. 'Where else could I go?'
    'It's true what my mistress says,' the maid said. 'The master left. As he did so, the apprentices were bringing the goods in. The mistress then dismissed me and she took her basket out.'
    'You don't sleep here?'
    'Oh no, Brother, I live with my own family in Shoe Lane.'
    'Our house is very small,' Bridget Sholter explained. 'We have a parlour, kitchen and scullery while the upper rooms are used as bedchamber, a small chancery office and storerooms.'
    'But I came back here later,' Hilda said.
    'At what time?'
    'Oh, it must have been just before curfew, between ten and eleven o'clock.' 'What is your name?'
    'Hilda Smallwode: when the Master's away, I always come and see that all is well.'
    'Why these questions?' Bridget Sholter asked, getting to her feet. 'What are you implying?'
    'I am implying nothing, madam.' Athelstan also rose. 'We are investigating the dreadful murder, not only of your husband, but of two other souls. My parish faces a heavy fine and the people I serve are poor. I need to know every detail if I am to lodge an appeal.'
    Eccleshall spread his legs out, stretching them until the muscles cracked.
    'Well, Brother, now you have it: Miles and I left shortly after four o'clock. We crossed London Bridge. We stopped to say a prayer at the chapel of St
    Thomas a Becket. The gatekeeper, after some delay, let us through. We must have arrived at the Silken Thomas just before six o'clock. At some time before eight Miles decided to return for his St Christopher medal.'
    'Yes, can I see that?' Athelstan asked. Bridget Sholter, looking narrow-eyed, made to refuse but Sir John coughed and shuffled his feet. 'I'll get it for you.'
    She left and came back. The medal was really a large locket, gold gilt on a silver chain. Athelstan prised the clasp open to reveal on one side a picture of Christ, on the other a St Christopher bearing the Infant Jesus. Athelstan snapped it shut and handed it back.
    'I thank you mistress, Master Eccleshall.' They made their farewells and went out into Eastchepe.
    'What was all that about?' Sir John asked. Athelstan led him through a porchway. 'Sir John, Miles Sholter was murdered. I am sure, as God made little apples, those two are