The Treason of the Ghosts

wagged.’
    ‘Your
man Furrell said that in court?’
    ‘He
swore on oath but no one believed him. They said he was drunk and everyone knew
how kindly Sir Roger was towards him. They even claimed he had been bribed.’
    Corbett
closed his eyes and recalled the trial record: Furrell the poacher had defended
Sir Roger.
    ‘What
did your man mean about the devil making people lie ?
Are you saying they were bribed?’
    ‘Bribed?
Threatened, what does it matter? A good man died.’
    ‘You
should be careful,’ Corbett warned.
    ‘Oh,
don’t worry, master clerk, I keep my mouth shut. I wander around as if I am fey
in my wits, a still tongue in my mouth. Old Sorrel sees nothing, she knows
nothing.’
    ‘But
you believe Furrell’s been murdered and buried?’
    ‘I
know Furrell has been murdered and buried. I intend to find his grave.’
    ‘After
five years?’ Corbett queried.
    ‘All
I know is that he went out one night and never came back. Melford, and the
countryside around it, is crisscrossed by pathways, culverts, brambles,
thickets, woods and marshes, but I pray. Every night before I go to sleep, I
pray I’ll discover Furrell’s corpse.’
    ‘And
Furrell was murdered because of what he said in court?’
    ‘Perhaps. As I have said, Furrell was a sly one, as stealthy as
the night. Even with me, he could be tight-lipped, if he wasn’t drunk.’
    ‘So
you think he saw something?’
    ‘I
wager to God and His saints that he did, so he had to be silenced. After all,
he is the only one who ever heard the Jesses killer.’
    ‘Ah
yes.’ Corbett let the horse snuggle his hand. ‘I’ve heard that. What did
Furrell actually see or hear?’
    ‘He
was out poaching, not far from here. Night had fallen. He saw a shape and heard
gasps, the tinkle of bells. Now Furrell was visiting one of his hiding places
where he had concealed some venison. He didn’t want to be caught red-handed. He
thought it was some local with his leman or one of the townspeople with a doxy.
Remember, master clerk, Melford is a small town: its walls and pathways have
eyes and ears. If you take a fancy to your wife’s maid, she’s best enjoyed out
in the countryside. Then there’s the young with their love trysts and starlight
meetings. Furrell scampered away. When Blidscote was asking questions, Furrell
told him what he’d heard. Furrell always insisted that was a mistake. He
regretted ever opening his mouth.’
    ‘But
he did about Sir Roger Chapeleys?’
    ‘Ah,
that was different. It was in a court, on oath in front of a royal justice.
Furrell thought he’d be safe.’
    ‘And
what else do you know? If you travel the woods and forests, you must see things
others don’t. You followed me from Melford. You heard about my coming. You
couldn’t wait to speak to me.’
    ‘I
will speak to you, clerk, but I beg you never tell anyone what I say.’ Sorrel
gazed back down the pathway.
    ‘Are
you frightened of Tressilyian, of Chapeleys?’
    ‘No.’
    She
smiled down at him through the darkness.
    ‘I
act my part well. They are great lords of the soil. They’ll think that you
think as they do. Who would believe poor, mad Sorrel?’
    She
pulled at the reins of the horse and Corbett stopped. He was aware of how the
darkness had closed in swiftly. They had left the wooded area. On either side,
hedgerows, fields stretching away in the distance. The sky was starlit, a full
moon white and strong.
    ‘Furrell
would love such a night,’ she whispered. ‘Forget all the stories about the
darkness. Furrell liked to know where he was.’
    Corbett
could sense the tension from this woman. She acted fey-witted, the relict of a
poacher who had disappeared but she was a woman consumed with the need for
justice, a desire for revenge.
    ‘Do
you pray, Sorrel?’
    ‘I
have a statue of the Virgin,’ she replied. ‘It’s made of wood, rather battered
and chipped. Parson Grimstone gave it to me. Every night, every morning, I
light a wax candle bought specially from the chandlers. I pray: “Dear Mother,
you never lost your husband but I have .“ ‘
    Corbett
smiled at this makeshift prayer.
    ‘Am
I your answer, Sorrel?’
    She
leant down and grasped his shoulder. In the moonlight Corbett could see how,
when she was young, Sorrel must have been a lovely girl.
    ‘I
want justice, clerk.’ Tears glittered in her eyes. ‘Is that much to pray for?
Can’t the good God in His Heaven give out a little justice to me, a poor widow
woman? You are the answer to my