The Treason of the Ghosts

the
plaster walls soaked by the wind and rain. Corbett could tell by the shape of
the empty windows, the small platform at the far end and the recesses in the
walls, that this must have been the manor chapel.
    ‘I
want to show you something.’
    A
bird, disturbed by their arrival, abruptly burst from where it was nesting in
the rafters and flew up into the night sky. Corbett closed his eyes and
breathed in deeply. He fought back the waves of weariness. He should be back at
the Golden Fleece but, on their journey into Melford, Corbett had repeated to
Ranulf and Chanson, time and again, how quickly they must act.
    ‘We
must take people by surprise,’ he’d told them, ‘not give them time to concoct
stories.’
    ‘Master
clerk, are you asleep?’
    Corbett
opened his eyes. The torch felt heavy, he lowered it and smiled in apology.
    ‘What
is it?’ he asked.
    Sorrel
was now taking away bricks from the wall. Corbett joined her; he realised that
a recess lay beyond. Sorrel told him to stand back and pulled out a makeshift
platter.
    ‘Part
of a doorway,’ she explained.
    She
threw back the dirty linen sheet. Corbett stared in disbelief at the skeleton
which sprawled there. He lowered the torch. The bones were yellowing with age.
The jaw sagged, the blackened teeth had crumbled, faint tufts of hair still clung to the skull. He muttered a prayer, moved the bones
and glimpsed the tawdry, green-tinted bracelet lying beneath.
    ‘What
is this?’ he murmured. ‘A former inhabitant of Beauchamp Place ?’
    ‘No,
no,’ she replied. ‘All its owners were buried in the parish graveyard. I put
this here.’
    ‘Why
didn’t you tell anyone?’
    ‘Oh
come, master clerk.’ Sorrel took the bracelet from his fingers. ‘You know the
old law. Whoever finds the corpse falls immediately under suspicion. You know
what they’d say? “Were you involved in this, Sorrel? Is this the work of your
man, Furrell? Is that why he fled ?“ ‘
    ‘They’ll
say the same if they come here.’
    Sorrel
shook her head. ‘I’ll be sly. I’ll say I never knew the bones were here. I know
nothing of them. Perhaps they belonged to a lady or maid who once lived here.’
    ‘So,
you know it’s a woman?’
    Sorrel
closed her eyes. ‘Of course it’s a woman, hence the bracelet. I also found a
cheap ring, the remnants of a girdle. I kept them as treasure.’
    Corbett,
still holding the torch, sat down on the cold damp floor.
    ‘But why, Sorrel? What is this skeleton doing here?’
    She
took the torch out of his hand and stuck it into a niche in the wall; she did
the same with hers, then she made herself comfortable before him.
    ‘You’ll
tell no one,’ she warned. ‘I won’t be troubled because of this. I am as innocent
as a child.’
    ‘Tell
me,’ Corbett insisted.
    Sorrel
rubbed her face in her hands. ‘Furrell was a very good poacher. He knew all the
trackways and wood lore. When I used to go hunting with him, he’d always tell
me to stay away from this place or that. I asked him why. That’s when he told
me how Melford used to be, about the sacrifices. He tried to frighten me with
stories of the dead wandering the woods.’ She laughed abruptly. ‘He just wanted
me to be safe on dark nights, indoors by the fire.’
    Corbett
watched her curiously. Here he was in this haunted, unhallowed place, the sky
visible through the beams above, the cold wind sending the flames dancing.
Before him the remains of some poor woman and this widow telling eerie stories
about Melford’s dark past.
    ‘Anyway,’
Sorrel continued, ‘I paid him no heed. I told you people talk about the
murders, other women disappearing. I saw it as no business of mine.’
    ‘Until after Furrell disappeared?’
    ‘Yes.
Now I reasoned that Furrell would never enter someone’s house. The night he
disappeared he didn’t visit the Golden Fleece or any tavern or alehouse in or
around Melford. I reasoned that if he had been killed, it must have been out in
the countryside and his corpse secretly buried. I began to search.’ She bit her
lip. ‘Shall we put the remains back?’
    ‘In
a while,’ Corbett replied softly. ‘Continue your story, Mistress.’
    ‘I
won’t be held responsible?’
    ‘You
will not be held responsible,’ Corbett confirmed. ‘But,’ he added wryly, ‘I
wish you to add flesh to the bones.’
    She
laughed at the macabre joke. ‘Furrell was once an outlaw. He knew all about
Sherwood and the other great forests north of the Trent . He