Song of a Dark Angel

emphasized.
    'Love hesitates,' Corbett translated softly. 'Love hastens.'
    'Do you know what it means, Sir Hugh?'
    Corbett smiled compassionately at the miller.
    'It's one of those keepsakes, Master Culpeper, loved by the young and those still in love. But it is also a puzzle.'
    'You can keep it,' Culpeper murmured. He grasped Corbett's hand. 'Keep it!' he urged. He paused as two officials entered, chattering noisily as they went up the wooden, spiral staircase.
    'Find her killer!' Culpeper pleaded. 'Bring him to justice. Let him hang like my poor Amelia!'
    Culpeper put his face in his hands. Corbett patted him gently on the shoulder and sat till he regained his composure.
    'Master Culpeper, does the name Alan of the Marsh mean anything to you?'
    The miller shook his head.
    'Or Holcombe?'
    'No, Sir Hugh, why?'
    'Nothing. You have heard of the Pastoureaux at Hunstanton?'
    'Oh, yes, they come here.' 'Who do?'
    'The Pastoureaux or, at least, their leader, Master Joseph. He comes to buy supplies, and sometimes negotiates with captains about his young men and women who wish to travel to the Holy Land. I often see him near the custom house.'
    'Who else from Hunstanton comes here?'
    'Sometimes Sir Simon Gurney and that surly man-at-arms of his, Catch-'
    'Catchpole,' Corbett finished.
    'And the people from the convent come to sell their wool. Oh, yes, and Sir Simon's physician, a fat man called Selditch. Why do you ask?'
    Corbett got to his feet. 'I just wondered. You are a native of these parts?'
    'Yes.'
    'Does the name Orifab mean anything to you?'
    The miller shook his head.
    'Does much smuggling go on?' Corbett asked.
    Culpeper's face widened into a grin. 'Sir Hugh, I shouldn't be telling you this, but that is the most lucrative trade around here. Everybody smuggles, but catching them and proving it is another matter!'

Chapter 10
    Corbett left Culpeper and went back to the Guildhall, where Ranulf was sitting on the steps waiting for him. 'Any luck, Ranulf?'
    'None whatsoever, Master. The last Holcombe died some forty years ago. However, I have found our goldsmith, Edward Orifab. He owns a large shop only a few alleyways from here. Our alderman gave me directions. But, Master, I'm starving!'
    Corbett and he went to a nearby tavern and sat at the long table which ran from one wall to the wine tuns. Corbett looked at the cat stalking the counter where the meat would be cut and, seeing the greasy blobs of fat lying on the table, confined himself to bread and ale. Ranulf, however, who had a stomach as hard as flint, ate with relish a dish of meat.
    Ranulf then led Corbett to a large goldsmith's shop in Conduit Street, its black beams and pink plaster freshly painted. There was a large stall in front manned by a journeyman and two apprentices, who informed Corbett that their master was not in. Corbett and Ranulf ignored their shouts and entered the shop. They found the goldsmith, a dour, vinegary-faced fellow, sitting at his counting table surrounded by chests and coffers. Corbett was reminded of a picture of a miser in a stained-glass window. He almost expected to see a devil appear to drag the man off to hell. Orifab hitched his fur-lined robe around him and sniffed, his gimlet eyes dismissing Ranulf and Corbett as not really worth attention.
    'What do you want?' he demanded.
    'Some manners for a start,' Ranulf replied cheerily. 'Didn't your mother ever tell you, manners maketh the man?'
    'I'm busy,' the fellow retorted. He moved stacks of coins around the table.
    Ranulf grabbed the table and shook it. The coins were sent spilling. Orifab leapt to his feet, lips curling like a dog.
    'Master Orifab,' Corbett intervened. 'My name is Sir Hugh Corbett and I am here as the representative of the king. I need to ask you some questions.'
    The goldsmith stepped back, knocking his stool over. He smiled, his head bobbing like a fawning dog.
    'I didn't know,' he muttered.
    'Well, you do now!' Ranulf told him – he enjoyed baiting the pompous and the wealthy in the presence of old Master Long Face.
    'What is it you want? How can I help?' Orifab stuttered. The goldsmith sat down and waved them to a bench in front of the table.
    Corbett remained standing.
    'Do you know Robert the reeve from Hunstanton village?' Orifab pressed his lips together and shook his head. 'He came here,' Corbett continued quietly, 'a few weeks ago to collect a bequest.'
    The goldsmith blinked and looked down at his coins. 'Yes, yes, I remember.'
    'Who left that