The Treason of the Ghosts

countryside. It’s a landscape our killer would love: it dips and rolls.
Part of the forest has been cleared away but copses and woods still survive.’
    ‘And
there’s no ploughing,’ Ranulf declared.
    ‘Good
man, Ranulf! We’ll make a farmer of you yet. When fields are ploughed, you have
a constant stream of labourers moving in and out: harrowing, fertilising,
sowing, reaping . Meadow land is different, that’s why
raising sheep is so profitable. The longer the grass grows the better. The
sheep are put out to pasture and who looks after them? A
shepherd with, perhaps, his boy and dogs? Because sheep wander,
hedgerows have been planted along the narrow lanes. In places the trackways are
like trenches. Someone could move along them and not be seen by a shepherd boy
dozing under a tree — a perfect killing ground. However,’ he tapped his foot on
the floor, ‘we do have one perplexing problem. Why should a young woman wander
out into such countryside to meet this assassin? Yes, Chanson, I accept how you
bribed the tavern wench to come out and meet Ranulf. But, would she have gone
into the countryside, to a lonely place like Devil’s Oak? And
this Mummer’s Man, riding his silent horse? Is he the murderer? If so,
his victim would have to be out in the countryside to begin with. And, bold as
she might be, Adela would not approach such a strangely garbed figure on a
lonely country lane.’
    ‘But
for silver?’
    ‘Oh,
I accept the logic of what you say, Ranulf. If I told any of the serving girls
below that a silver piece was out at Devil’s Oak, they wouldn’t tell anybody in
case they lost it. They’d keep it quiet. I could understand Adela going out for
a second time, if her first journey had been profitable. But, what inducement
would she be given first?’
    Ranulf
snapped his fingers. ‘Master, the Mummer’s Man was seen riding the country
lanes?’
    ‘Yes,
that’s what Sorrel told me.’
    ‘So,
he may have been going to put the silver in the secret place, travelling to
meet his victim? Or even returning after the murder?’
    ‘And?’
    ‘I’d
wager,’ Ranulf continued excitedly, ‘the killer first approaches his victim
here in the town, a narrow lane, a dark alleyway. He calls out a name. Perhaps
he coats the trap with honey? Says so-and-so admires her. Perhaps that Mummer’s
Man, if he is the killer, doesn’t give a name but just says a silver piece will
be in a certain place?’
    ‘I
agree. Few young women could resist such an approach. The victim would be
curious, wondering if it was true or not. So she plucks up her courage and goes
out to some desolate spot. The silver piece is there. Perhaps she is killed on
the first occasion, the assassin lurking nearby. Or, maybe she has only to go a
short distance that first time, and, the trap laid to ensure greater
compliance, it’s the second time he strikes, luring her further away to an
appropriate place.’
    Corbett
half cocked his head and listened to the sounds from the stable yard, the cries
of farewells as the taproom was cleared.
    ‘Anyway,
let me continue my story. Our killer lusts after young women. Wearing a disguise
and mask, he makes his approach. The victim is lured out into the lonely
countryside and killed. For all we know, there may be women who were not
tricked so easily but that might be difficult to establish. Now, so far,’
Corbett continued, rubbing his chin, ‘the story is simple, it’s like luring a
child with sweetmeats. I suspect this Mummer’s Man is the killer. He roams the
countryside lanes and trackways looking for possible victims like a fox hunting
rabbits. Remember, the corpses of these victims have been found because
relatives became worried. But, what happens to other victims, the wandering
womenfolk? Their relatives might believe the wench has run away, gone somewhere
else. Or don’t even care? In the area around Whitefriars in London , God forgive us, you can buy a girl of twelve for a penny.’
    ‘But Widow Walmer doesn’t fit this pattern.’
    ‘No,
Ranulf, she doesn’t. Here’s a pretty widow who has probably seen the world,
knows its wickedness and has the wit not to be trapped. She lived by herself
though Margaret the miller’s daughter served as her companion. On the night she
died she expected Sir Roger, that’s a well-known fact, so young Margaret was
told to stay at home.’
    ‘How
would the killer know that?’
    ‘By deduction, Ranulf. If Sir Roger, God bless him, was
trumpeting