The Treason of the Ghosts

prayer. When I saw you riding across the
marketplace, I thought God Himself had come down to Melford.’
    ‘That’s
blasphemy,’ Corbett teased.
    ‘No,
clerk, it’s the truth. If you bring justice to poor Sorrel. If you can find out where my man lies. If those
responsible can be dispatched to God’s tribunal then, every day, I will light a
candle for you.’
    Corbett
repressed a shiver. He had sat in the King’s courts at Westminster . He had listened to petitions for
redress. He had hunted the bloody-handed sons of Cain but never had he been
faced with such passion: a deep desire for justice which sprang from the
innermost soul.
    ‘You
will help me?’ Sorrel asked.
    ‘Have
you ever been in a maze, Mistress Sorrel? That’s where I am now. Melford’s a
maze with little culverts, paths, shadowy corners. Shadows twist and turn. We
have the deaths of these young women, Mistress Walmer, now Molkyn and Thorkle.’
    ‘I
know nothing of those,’ Sorrel snapped. ‘God forgive me, master clerk: when I
heard of their deaths my heart leapt. So it begins, I thought, God’s justice.’
    ‘What
do you mean?’ Corbett demanded.
    He
stared up and caught the fierce look in her eyes. Was she a murderer? Corbett
thought. Was her hunger for justice so great? Did she believe Thorkle and
Molkyn were in some way responsible for the death of her husband?
    ‘I
know what you are thinking, clerk,’ she murmured. ‘I said I was glad, not
responsible.’
    ‘But
why should they die?’ Corbett asked. ‘Is it possible someone else believes Sir
Roger was innocent and is exacting vengeance?’
    ‘I don’t
know. You really should have words with their widows. I am sure you’ll find
them together. Molkyn and Thorkle’s wives are kinswomen, related by blood,
though thinly.’
    Sorrel
slipped her feet from the stirrups and Corbett helped her down.
    ‘I
have ridden enough.’
    She
thrust her hand into Corbett’s, rough but warm. Corbett wondered what the Lady
Maeve would think of this: out in the dark countryside, walking hand-in-hand
with this strange poacher woman.
    ‘Listen.
I have three things to tell you, then I’ll be done,’
she declared. ‘First, I saw you at Devil’s Oak. You were looking at where Elizabeth ’s corpse was
found. Yes?’
    Corbett
agreed.
    ‘I
glimpsed her,’ Sorrel continued. ‘Late in the afternoon on the day she
disappeared. Elizabeth had a secret place in the copse of trees at the top of the meadow.’
    ‘A secret place?’
    ‘Oh,
master clerk, you were a child once! You lived in a house with your parents,
brothers, sisters, dog . You had a secret place.
Elizabeth Wheelwright had one as do the other young men and women, places they
can meet.’
    ‘So,
you were the last to see her alive?’
    ‘Yes,
and before you ask, Elizabeth was hurrying. I hid and watched her go by. You could tell from her face she was
excited, pleased.’
    ‘In
which case,’ Corbett confessed, ‘I am truly confused. All your sighting proves
is that Elizabeth was probably killed somewhere between that copse of trees and Devil’s Oak. Her
slayer cunningly hid all traces of his foul act. I can only deduce that her
corpse was moved from the murder place to where it was found. So,’ he sighed,
‘I’d be wasting my time searching the ground. What else?’
    ‘In
the last five years, six young women, including Good-woman Walmer, have been
raped and murdered around Melford. But they are not the only ones.’ She
squeezed his hand. ‘Remember, I wander the roads but so do others: Moon People,
tinkers, chapmen, families looking for work. I get to know them well. They
talk.’ She shrugged. ‘Two, three, of their womenfolk have disappeared.’
    ‘But
that’s not unheard of,’ Corbett replied. ‘Their womenfolk often—’
    ‘No,
no, listen to what I am saying,’ Sorrel interrupted. ‘Corpses have been found
but I wonder how many other murders there have been. Was Elizabeth
Wheelwright’s corpse meant to be discovered? Have you ever seen weasels hunt,
master clerk? They have a store. They hide the flesh of their victims so they
can come back and eat it later. This Jesses killer is like the weasel: he kills
and hides, though sometimes he’s not fast enough. Question Blidscote, he
collects the corpses.’
    ‘You
don’t like our master bailiff?’
    ‘He’s
corrupt and he’s stupid!’ She spat the words out. ‘He likes nothing better than
holding forth in the taproom, telling his business and everyone