The Treason of the Ghosts

know.’ Parson Grimstone sat in a high-backed chair between two chests. ‘I
know nothing about Sir Roger. I would not describe him as a man of God. Oh, he
attended Mass on Sundays and when he had to. He gave a triptych to the church
which was later burnt.’
    ‘Why
was it burnt?’ Ranulf asked.
    ‘You’ve
asked me that before. Perhaps a member of my parish resented anything from a
Chapeleys hanging in this church.’
    ‘Were
Molkyn the miller and Thorkle churchgoers?’
    ‘Thorkle
more than Molkyn,’ Grimstone replied. ‘The miller feared neither God nor man.
He did not like priests.’
    Corbett
came over and took the Book of the Dead from the parson’s fingers. ‘You are a
priest, you hear confessions?’
    ‘Yes,
both in the shriving pew and elsewhere.’
    ‘Father,’
Corbett crouched down to hold his gaze, ‘there’s a killer loose in Melford. He
has killed Widow Walmer and other women. I believe he was responsible for the
grisly execution of an innocent man. Don’t you know anything that can help me?’
    ‘Ask
me,’ the parson stammered. ‘Ask me anything you wish.’
    Corbett
tapped the Book of the Dead. He got to his feet and glanced at the curate.
    ‘Melford
is a busy place. It trades in wool, is well served by roads and trackways.
People come and go. Has anyone ever knocked at your door and asked about a
missing girl? Tinkers’ families, traders, Moon People?’ He smiled at Burghesh. ‘Even professional soldiers who move
their families from castle to castle?’
    ‘We
have had a number,’ the curate replied, ‘over the years. But, there again, I am
not too sure whether the girls returned or whether they had run away. Sometime
last spring I met a group of chapmen with their gaggle of women and children.
They were asking about some wench who’d gone missing. I listened, but how could
I help?’
    ‘Curate
Robert is correct,’ Burghesh added. ‘For the love of God, Sir Hugh, go to Ipswich . You will find the alleyways and streets packed
with young women who have fled their family or master. Widow Walmer is a good
case in point.’
    ‘Did
you know her?’
    ‘No,
Sir Hugh, but I would have liked to.’
    Corbett
flicked through the book, with its close-marked entries. He accepted what
Burghesh said. If it was true of Ipswich, it was certainly true of London . The brothels of
Southwark were always on the lookout for runaways. The purveyors of soft flesh
were constantly searching for what was new; it was so serious a matter even the
King’s council had debated it.
    He
glanced at Ranulf, standing near the door, and hoped that he hid his unease. It
was comfortable to sit in his bedchamber and spin theories like some master in
the Schools at Oxford but what he needed was evidence, proof.
    ‘Let
me ask you another question.’ Corbett walked over to the small latticed window
so as to study the entries more carefully. ‘The parish of St Edmund’s serves
most of Melford, yes? In your graveyard you have a plot called the Potter’s
Field?’
    ‘That’s
right,’ Parson Grimstone declared. ‘It’s that area of God’s acre which is
reserved for the corpses of strangers, the victims of sudden violence and
contagion. Often we don’t even know their names. We have such deaths in
Melford: a tinker falls ill of the sweat or a beggar is crushed under a cart.’
    ‘And the corpses of unknown women?’ Corbett
demanded.
    Grimstone
chewed on his lower lip and stared beseechingly at the curate.
    ‘Robert,
I can’t remember, can you?’
    ‘There
was one,’ Burghesh declared, taking the book from Corbett’s hand. ‘About two
years ago. A young woman’s corpse was fished out of the Swaile.’
    ‘Ah
yes, I remember.’ Parson Grimstone clicked his fingers. ‘That
poor creature. She had been in the water for so long, she was sheeted
immediately for burial.’
    ‘There!’
Burghesh had found the entry.
    Corbett
followed his stubby fingers across the page and translated the Latin entry.
    ‘Buried, the corpse of an unknown woman: the feast of St John the
Baptist, 1301.’
    ‘And this book?’ Corbett handed it back to the parson. ‘It contains no
other entries which might provoke suspicion? Where was this unknown corpse
found?’
    ‘Down
near Beauchamp Place ,’
Burghesh replied. ‘We think poachers had been out on the river and probably
dislodged it. It was found floating amongst the weeds.’
    ‘Poaching?’
Corbett smiled. ‘I met Sorrel yesterday, Furrell the poacher’s