The Treason of the Ghosts

brought them back but now he
realised he had made mistakes: he should have been more careful.
    ‘And that victim?’ Ranulf asked.
    ‘Her
name was Johanna,’ Blidscote declared. ‘She was the same age as Elizabeth . They were
friends. She was on an errand for her mother to buy something in the market.
People saw her, talked to her, then she disappeared
until her corpse was found near Brackham Mere.’
    Corbett
patted the wheelwright on the shoulder and slipped another coin into his hand.
    ‘Go
back into the church,’ he urged. ‘Light a candle for yourself and Elizabeth in
the Lady Chapel. When you wish, you may go.’
    The
wheelwright shuffled out. Corbett stared down at his hands. He waited until the
door at the top of the steps closed.
    ‘Parson
Grimstone, these two young women — they were decent girls?’
    ‘Yes,
of good families. Oh, they flirted and they laughed, but they came to church.
Minds full of dreams, of falling in love with some handsome knight. Ever ready
to dance and celebrate, whisper secrets to each other. Even,’ the parson smiled
to himself, ‘when they should have been listening to me.’
    Corbett
got to his feet and stretched. ‘Both of these last victims,’ he declared, ‘were
found in places they did not usually go. I suspect they knew their killer. But
what would lure a woman out to some desolate spot?’
    ‘Money,’
Ranulf replied.
    ‘Are
you saying they were strumpets?’ Burghesh asked sharply.
    ‘No,
sir, they were like you and I, greedy! Acquisitive! They were good country
lasses, red-cheeked wenches.’ Ranulf tapped his fingers on the hilt of his
dagger.
    ‘But
they were poor. You heard the wheelwright. To buy a ribbon or a gewgaw...’
    ‘And
they were prepared to sell their favours.’ The curate’s thin, pallid face
flushed, red spots of anger appeared high on his cheeks.
    ‘I
don’t mean to insult their memory,’ Ranulf retorted, ‘but they were country
girls. Such as they share the same bedchamber as their
parents and their brothers. They know what pleasure the love act gives.
It doesn’t mean they are strumpets. God forgive us all. It only means they
could be easily gulled or tricked.’
    ‘I
don’t believe this!’ The curate sprang to his feet.
    ‘Don’t
you?’ Ranulf snapped. ‘You’re a priest, aren’t you? You should know your own
people.’
    ‘Sit
down! Sit down!’ Grimstone got up, tugging at his curate’s robe. ‘Our guest,’ Grimstone emphasised the word sardonically, ‘speaks the truth.’
    ‘Just
what are you saying, Ranulf?’ Corbett asked.
    ‘Here
we have two young women, Master. They come from poor families; their little
noddles are stuffed with dreams and fancies. They go round the market buying
bread and cheese, the necessities of life. Then they pass some chapman’s tray
or pedlar’s stall, with blue and red ribbons, perhaps
a brooch, a ring, a bracelet? To us they are trifles, but to them, more
precious than the King’s jewels. Perhaps the killer lured the bait? A free gift? Buy this, buy that. In return
for a kiss? The token is given. The young woman, of course, is sworn to
secrecy and so the second trap is laid. Only this time in
some lonely, desolate place. The young woman thinks why not? She has
never earned such money so easily and so lightly, so off she goes to meet her
death.’
    Corbett
stared at his manservant. ‘But where is this money?’
    ‘If
our master bailiff,’ Ranulf went over and squeezed Blidscote’s shoulders, ‘went
to the houses of both victims and searched from floor to ceiling, I wager a
silver coin to a silver coin, that the girls’ hiding places would be found as
well as the money they were given or what they bought with it.’
    ‘Do
that, Blidscote,’ Corbett ordered. ‘If Master Ranulf is telling the truth, you
will find me in the Golden Fleece. And where are you going, sir?’ Sir Maurice
Chapeleys had got to his feet.
    ‘I
have answered your questions, sir,’ the young knight replied. ‘My father’s
grave.’ He swallowed hard. ‘I wasn’t given leave to take his body back to our
manor but, Parson Grimstone Was gracious enough...’
    Corbett
didn’t know whether the young knight was being sardonic or not.
    ‘You
wish to visit your father’s grave?’
    Sir
Maurice nodded. ‘This has provoked memories. If you have further questions, our
good parson knows where I am.’
    Corbett
let him go. He briefly recapped on the meeting’s progress and was about to
adjourn when