The Gallows Murders

alleyway, staring around to make sure we were not being followed. 'If we can make no progress in this,' he whispered, 'then, Roger, I will follow your advice. I have money with a goldsmith in London. If we have to flee beyond the seas, then we shall do it, but it shall be in my way and at a time of my own choosing.' 'And what now?' I asked desperately. "We go and see Pelleter.' We found the under-sheriff's house just near the Guildhall. Benjamin, hoping the law officer was at home, pounded on the door of the thin, narrow house which looked as if it had been pushed in between the mansions on either side. It was not well kept: the hall windows were dusty and holed, the beams cracked, whilst the front door hung askew on its hinges. Benjamin knocked again. We heard a soft footfall and the door was opened by a young woman.
    Oh, the precious sight! Even now, down the long, dusty corridors of the years, I can picture her. How can you describe a song in flesh? She was about seventeen or eighteen years old, tall and slender. Large, beautiful brown eyes in an angel's face: the hair was a dull gold, her skin glowed. Benjamin and I just stood there like two schoolboys drinking in the sheer beauty of her: high cheekbones, perfectly formed nose and the sweetest of mouths. She stared coolly back, though you could see the laughter in her eyes.
    'Good morning, sirs!'. Her voice was soft and rich. 'Good day, sirs!' she repeated. I saw a flicker of alarm in her eyes as she went to close the door.
    'I am sorry,' Benjamin stammered. ‘We need to see Under-sheriff Pelleter.'
    The laughter returned to those beautiful eyes. 'I'm his daughter. Miranda.' We are from the Tower,' Benjamin explained.
    Miranda smiled. She was dressed simply enough in a blue gown, not too tightly fitting; really it hung on her like a sack, whilst the ruff round her neck had seen better days. But that smile! Like the sun coming out from behind the clouds! She laughed softly and beckoned us in; her eyes never left Benjamin and a stab of jealousy made me catch my breath. (No, Benjamin was not the most handsome of men. He was tall and strong and his black hair tended to straggle but his eyes were good and clear. Women were always attracted to him. And me? Oh, poor Shallot! I look what I am, a rogue born and bred! Attracted to the doxies, the molls, the besoms, the saucy tavern wenches, but women like Miranda? Miranda! Miranda! She still lives, you know? Well, not in the flesh: read Shakespeare's play The Tempest, you'll find her there with old Prospero.)
    Ah well, on that summer's day so many years ago, she took us along a dusty passageway and into a small writing office at the back of the house. The man seated at a desk beneath the window, rose as we came in. He was dressed in the city livery, a chain of office round his neck. His square, honest face and clear eyes were a testament to his strength and integrity. He shook our hands, asked Miranda to pull up stools and bring refreshments for his guests. He turned his chair round to face us and sat down grimacing, favouring his back. ‘You are in pain, sir?' Benjamin asked.
    'I was attacked.' Pelleter replied. 'About two weeks ago, an assassin outside Whitefriars. A flesh wound, but the pain is still there. Well?' he asked, pausing as Miranda returned with a tray bearing jugs of ale.
    She served us delicately, smiling at her father, though her smile widened as she handed Benjamin a tankard. She didn't ignore me, but stared shyly at me from under her eyelids. She then sat on a stool beside her father and returned (oh Lord save me from jealousy!) to studying Benjamin. My master, too, was distracted. Pelleter leaned forward and tapped his tankard against my master's.
    ‘Your good health, Master Daunbey. You know who I am, where I live. You know I have a pain in my back,' he smiled. 'And you have met my lovely daughter, the light of my life. But why are you here?' 'Robert Sakker,' Benjamin declared brusquely.
    Pelleter groaned and sat back in his chair, favouring his wound.
    'God have mercy!' he breathed. 'Sakker's responsible for this!'

Chapter 11
    We must have sat there for at least two hours whilst the under-sheriff described the depredations of the Sakker gang on the Canterbury road. I must admit I did not object. Why should I? Miranda was sitting there like a rose in full bloom, as fascinated by Benjamin as he was with her. I knew why jealousy is such a terrible sin. My stomach curdled, my blood boiled. I heartily