The Treason of the Ghosts

evidence against Sir Roger was not
final and complete.’
    ‘But
it was.’ Lucy rubbed the bone handle of the knife between her fingers. ‘Master
clerk, you must understand women of this town have been killed. Sir Roger was
seen near Walmer’s cottage. When his house was searched, belongings of the dead
women were found, not to mention his knife and sheath left in Widow Walmer’s
cottage.’
    Corbett
stared down at the table, he had forgotten that.
    ‘I
have my doubts,’ he declared. ‘Yet you are certain neither Molkyn nor Thorkle
ever raised a question about anything amiss?’
    ‘You
have your answer,’ Lucy smiled insolently.
    She
thought Corbett was going to look away but he caught her sly-eyed glance at
young Ralph, mouth slightly open, tongue between her teeth. You are lecherous,
Corbett concluded. Something was very wrong here. These were not two widows
mourning their husbands. The same went for Ralph and his sister. They were
conspirators, pretending to be sad but secretly rejoicing. Was there a
relationship between the saucy-eyed Lucy and this young miller? And why
wouldn’t Margaret look up, catch his eye? She sat silent as a deaf mute,
cutting the vegetables like a dream-walker, almost unaware of what she was
doing. On a few occasions Corbett had done business in towns like Melford. He
had warned Ranulf and Chanson what to expect: tangled relationships, secret
fears, lusts, grudges and grievances. These could abruptly manifest themselves
in a lunging dagger or hacking axe.
    ‘Are
you tired, Sir Hugh?’
    Ursula’s
mocking coolness rubbed salt into the wound. He felt as if he was knocking at a
door knowing full well that those inside heard but refused to answer. He pushed
the tankard away. He wanted to be blunt, tell them what he thought but he
sensed a trap. They were not grieving, yet that was their business. If he
challenged them they would only lie. Were they the killers? It wouldn’t be the
first time the demon Cain entered a family. And the same went for Lucy, sitting
smug at the end of the table as if savouring some secret joke. Had she gone
into that threshing barn, picked up the flail and killed her husband so she
could lie with Molkyn’s son? He pulled back the tankard.
    ‘I
am not tired,’ he replied, ‘just gathering my thoughts.’
    ‘I
am busy,’ Ralph said.
    Corbett
undid his wallet and took out the royal warrant displaying the King’s Seal. He
was wary of this young man whose resentment was so tangible. He was acting the
role of the busy, tired miller but his surly looks were as much a threat as his
dog which had come snarling out of the darkness.
    ‘I’m
also busy,’ Corbett said softly. ‘The King is busy. You, sir, will sit here, or
anywhere I choose, to answer my questions.’
    ‘We
do not wish to give offence.’ Ursula played with the tendrils of her blonde
hair. ‘But, Sir Hugh, you come here and ask about a jury which sat five years
ago. They only returned the verdict. Sir Louis Tressilyian passed sentence.’
    ‘I
will ask him in due time,’ Corbett retorted. ‘Five years is a long time, but a
few days a mere heartbeat, eh? Your husband Molkyn was a good miller, rich and
prosperous?’ He gestured round the kitchen. ‘What do you have in the house? A parlour, storerooms, a writing office and bedchambers above
stairs?’
    ‘ Aye, and a bed as soft as a feather down.’
    ‘And
were you lying there,’ Corbett asked, ‘the night your husband was so
barbarously killed?’
    ‘Molkyn
liked his ale,’ came the tart reply. ‘On a Saturday
afternoon, he closed the mill down. In spring and summer he played quoits or
would go jousting on the Swaile, a little hunting with the dog or cockfighting
down at the pit behind the Golden Fleece.’
    ‘And in autumn and winter?’
    ‘He’d
take a small barrel of ale, sit in the mill amongst his wealth and, quite
honestly, sir, drink himself into such a stupor he’d piss himself.’
    Corbett
flinched at the coarseness.
    ‘And
God help any man, Sir Hugh, who disturbed his pleasure. That included me, his
son and his daughter.’
    ‘I
never went there.’ Margaret looked up, eyes blazing in her thin, white face. ‘I
never went there. You know that, Mother.’
    ‘Hush
now!’
    For
the first time since they had met Ursula seemed disconcerted, begging Lucy and
Ralph with her eyes to assist with Margaret.
    ‘Why
didn’t you go there?’ Corbett asked. ‘Come on, girl!’
    ‘I
am not a girl.’ Margaret made no