The Treason of the Ghosts

pastime.’
    ‘Oh,
the occasional deer or the lonely lamb that no one would miss. But who’s going
to tell? The peasants we sold it to? Fresh meat in the pot
for their children?’
    ‘And
all that changed?’ Corbett asked.
    ‘Oh,
it changed all right. The night Goodwoman Walmer was murdered.’
    ‘Who
was she?’ Corbett asked.
    ‘She
lived in the cottage on the far side of the town. A strange one: pretty as an
angel, hair like ripe corn, eyes as blue as the sky. She always wore her gown
that little bit too tight- Her face was painted, neck, wrists and fingers
adorned with necklaces, bracelets and rings. No one knew where she came from.
Geoffrey Walmer was a potter, a very good one. He sold as far afield as Ipswich . He was gone for a week and came back with her.
You know how it is, clerk? A marriage between May and
December? There is no fool like an old fool in love. Anyway, Geoffrey
died and Cecily Walmer became a goodwoman, a widow. She looked even more
attractive in widow’s weeds. The men clustered about her like bees round a
honeypot.’
    ‘Did
you like her?’
    ‘We
understood each other. You know what she was, clerk? You’ve heard the story
many a time. A prosperous tradesman goes to a big town. He makes a tidy profit,
enters a tavern and meets some comely maid selling her favours. She’s only too
quick to leave the horrors of the alleyways for a peaceful life and anything
she wants.’
    ‘Are
you talking from experience?’
    ‘Very sharp, clerk. Yes, I am but, enough of that.
Now Goodwoman Walmer owned a cottage, a self-enclosed plot with chicken coops,
dovecotes, piggeries and, in the fields around, juicy pheasants and partridges.
Now, on the night she was murdered, Furrell went down there. Sometimes he would
call in for a flagon of ale. He crept through the garden, saw the door open and
Sir Roger Chapeleys leave. Now, thought Furrell, there’s a satisfied man. The
manor lord climbed into his saddle like a man full of ale and pleasure.
Goodwoman Walmer stood in the doorway. She leant against the lintel, arms
crossed, her hair falling down to her shoulders.
Furrell decided to ignore his ale and crept away.’
    ‘So,
the widow was alive and well when Sir Roger left?’
    ‘Oh,
yes. I don’t think Sir Roger killed those women. He was a lecher and a drunkard
but he was good to me and Furrell. He knew we poached his lands but, at
Christmas, he always sent us a chicken or a goose. I mean, why should Sir
Roger, with all the slatterns and maids at his manor hall, go out and assault peasant wenches?’
    ‘He
visited Goodwoman Walmer.’
    ‘Ay
yes, but she was different,’ Sorrel laughed. ‘An accomplished
courtesan. Sir Roger knew where he was fishing.’
    ‘Was
he liked?’ Corbett asked.
    ‘No,
he wasn’t, by either the priests or the townspeople. Sir Roger kept himself to
himself, except one night in the tavern he called all priests liars and
hypocrites, though he seemed to have a soft spot for Parson Grimstone.’
    ‘Yet
that’s no reason why so many people should speak against him.’
    ‘I
don’t know. Furrell said something strange. The day after Sir Roger was
condemned, my man and I , we were having a meal in the
ruins. Furrell got slightly drunk and abruptly declared the devil had come to
Melford. “Why ?“ asks I. “Oh,“ he replies, “to make those people say what they did.“ ‘
    ‘You
mean the witnesses?’
    ‘Everything,’
she replied. ‘How a bracelet was found in Sir Roger’s house, belonging to one
of the murdered women. How Deverell the carpenter was so sure he had seen Sir
Roger fleeing from Goodwoman Walmer’s house.’
    ‘Fleeing?’
Corbett asked.
    ‘That’s
the way he put it. All furtive.’
    ‘But
I understand from the records of the trial that they found Chapeleys’ dagger
sheath there.’
    ‘Furrell
didn’t believe Sir Roger had left it there. In fact, he said more to me.’
    ‘More?’
Corbett queried.
    ‘On
the night Walmer was killed, Furrell saw Sir Roger leave but claimed at least
three other men, on separate occasions, made their way down Gully Lane towards
her house.’
    ‘Three?’
Corbett demanded. He stopped and stared up at her.
    ‘He
repeated the same in court. According to him, Widow Walmer must have been very
busy that night. Yet he was surely mistaken. Whatever she was in a former life,
Cecily Walmer acted the role of a widow. If she had acted any differently in a
place like Melford, the gossips’ tongues would have soon