The Treason of the Ghosts

terrified. He
fled back to the Golden Fleece. He’d make excuses, say
he had changed his mind. He really wanted someone to accompany him back. What
an ideal opportunity for you. Good friend Burghesh accompanied him down and the
rest is known.’
    ‘Has
Repton told you this?’
    ‘No,’
Corbett smiled. ‘But he will do. When we fasten his hands and allow the King’s
questioners to interrogate him, it’s wonderful what he will remember. You were
with Repton, weren’t you? Good old Burghesh slipping in and out. I suspect it
was you who attacked me near the mill on my first night in Melford. You were
trying to confuse me. When I reached the Golden Fleece, you were sitting there
cradling a tankard, jovial and hearty, beyond any suspicion.’
    The
weight on the bell rope reached the end of the ledge and fell off. Corbett
ignored the jangle of the bell.
    ‘All
was now ready. Sir Roger’s house was searched. You’d sent the keepsakes of
those other victims to Sir Roger. You knew the mind of the man. He’d regard
them as gifts or tokens from some of his conquests. He’d throw them in a chest
and think nothing of them.’
    ‘And Deverell?’
    ‘Ah,
now we come to the rest of your stratagem. I said Parson Grimstone is a toper.
He is also lonely. He’s a well-meaning man but garrulous in his cups.’ Corbett
tapped the side of his nose. ‘He knows all the secrets of the village, doesn’t
he? Especially Molkyn’s. The death
of his first wife, as well as his illicit relationship with his own daughter,
Margaret. The same is true of Thorkle. How his wife was planting a pair
of cuckold horns with young Ralph? And, of course, about the
carpenter Deverell, in truth a monk who’d fled his monastery, enjoying an
illicit marriage whilst hiding from the eyes of the Church.’
    Beads
of sweat glistened high on Burghesh’s forehead. ‘Those are confessional
secrets!’ he spluttered.
    ‘Some
are , some are not.’ Corbett sighed. ‘But Parson
Grimstone is lonely. He’s drinking with his close friend and half-brother
Burghesh, who has collected such juicy morsels over the years. You do know
about such scandals?’
    ‘I
will say nothing,’ Burghesh retorted.
    ‘I
wonder how you approached your blackmail victims. Was it scribbled on a piece
of parchment? Some quotation from the Bible? Like the
one Molkyn received, quoting Leviticus, which strictly condemned incest? Was it
a personal visit in the dead of night or along some alleyway? Do this, do that
or face the consequences. They would all be terrified: Deverell faced ruin,
Thorkle ridicule, Molkyn public anger.’
    ‘I
didn’t choose them for the jury. Blidscote did!’
    ‘Blidscote?’ Corbett asked. ‘Good God, you didn’t have to be a
friend of the parish priest to know about Blidscote. He’s a byword for
corruption, or rather was. He’s dead now. Did you learn about his passion for
little boys? What united all your victims of blackmail was not only their secret fears but their open dislike of Sir Roger. You, the
Mummer’s Man, the Jesses killer, had set the stage.’
    Corbett
emphasised the points on his gloved fingers: ‘Chapeleys had been with Widow
Walmer the night she died; the knife; his ownership of some of the dead women’s
jewellery; Deverell’s testimony; popular dislike against him and, finally, a
jury really controlled by you. What chance did the poor man have?’
    Corbett
moved on the step. He took some comfort from a sound outside, a slight
footfall. He hoped it was Ranulf and not Parson Grimstone.
    ‘The
only fly in the ointment was Furrell the poacher. He knew the comings and
goings of the countryside. On the night Widow Walmer died, he saw Sir Roger
leave her safe and sound. He talked of other people slipping through the
darkness to that poor woman’s cottage. We know Repton went down twice. I
suspect a third was you, the killer.’ Corbett leant forward and jabbed a
finger. ‘And it will be Furrell who hangs you, Burghesh, and hang you shall! He
became very curious about what he had seen, the lies told about Sir Roger. I am
sure you had a hand in the whispering campaign.’ Corbett paused. ‘Above all,
Furrell had seen that triptych: he began to wonder if the truth was as clear as
a picture. So, where does a man go who is troubled?’ Corbett pointed to the
floor. ‘Why, Master Burghesh, he comes to church. I warrant he spoke to Parson
Grimstone, or did he approach you directly? Accuse you openly? Whatever, he
never left this