The Treason of the Ghosts

him years ago about his own son, Maurice. They also say
Blidscote’s corrupt. A coward at times, a bully at others, his soul is
constantly up for sale.’
    ‘So, Ranulf, a man easily blackmailed. Blidscote
harmed Sir Roger by ensuring Molkyn was on that jury whilst the rest were
people who would give way to the burly miller.’
    ‘Does
the trial record reveal anything?’
    ‘No,
Ranulf. They call it a transcript, but in truth, it is a summary; it contains
nothing new. The prosecution was presented by a sergeant at law from Ipswich , a royal lawyer attached to the city council: he
had an easy task.’
    ‘Will
we trap the real murderer?’
    ‘I
don’t know,’ Corbett murmured. ‘You see, Ranulf, everything we learn is what people tell us. And, as you know, that can be easily
controlled. Some people forget, others conceal, a few
tell us what we want to know. Then, of course, there are the downright lies. Of
course, the killer, or shall I say killers, may make a mistake.’
    ‘So,
we are dealing with two?’
    ‘Oh
yes. The first likes to terrify young women, ravish and murder them. The second
— I don’t know: he or she — wages bloody war against those who sent Sir Roger
to the scaffold.’
    Corbett
recalled Old Mother Crauford’s words about Hacel-dema. He sat and half listened
to the sounds from the taproom below.
    ‘What
happens if we can’t prove anything?’
    ‘Then,
Ranulf, we can’t prove anything. The King has given us little time. He’s
calling a great council at Winchester shortly after the feast of All Saints and we have to be present. Look, go
across to the church. Ask Parson Grimstone if I can borrow the Book of the
Dead.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because I want it.’
    Ranulf
pulled a face and went out. He closed the door behind him and made a rude
gesture in its direction. Ah well, he thought, old Master Long Face will sit
and brood and then leap like a mouse-hunting cat. But will the murderers be so
easily trapped?
    Ranulf
clattered down the stairs. He was so immersed in his own thoughts he didn’t
even bother to stop and flirt with Adela.
    Back
in his bedchamber Corbett lay on the bed. He tried to conceive a map of
Melford, the sprawling town, the silent, secretive countryside around.
Tressilyian was correct in one thing: a man like Furrell could hide out there —
but these murders? He tried to put himself in the place of young Elizabeth , whose corpse
was now buried in God’s acre. A young woman full of romantic notions, probably
resenting the close confines of a family house, Elizabeth would be ever ready to run on an
errand to the market, any excuse to talk and chatter to others. No, he decided,
the Mummer’s Man wouldn’t make contact in the town. Would Elizabeth Wheelwright
stop because of a shadowy voice calling from a doorway? But she would be even
more terrified if she met such a creature out on a country lane. No, there was
something wrong with that. He had to ford that gap in his logic. Somehow Elizabeth , like others,
is lured out into the countryside, some desolate spot where the killer is
waiting. He enjoys himself like the demon he is, then hides the body, or tries
to. Five years ago something went wrong. Perhaps Sir Roger began to suspect the
true identity of the killer. Sir Roger was trapped, accused of the murder of
Widow Walmer. An easy task for, if rumour was correct, Sir Roger was lecherous
as a sparrow. The killer prepared the trap well. He not only slew young women
but had gathered information about the residents of Melford which he could use.
He also sent belongings taken from his victims to Sir Roger. Corbett pulled
himself up against the bolsters. But that wasn’t enough: Blidscote, Molkyn, Thorkle
and Deverell were blackmailed. They were forced to dance to the killer’s tune
and Sir Roger’s fate was a foregone conclusion.
    ‘He
enjoys it,’ Corbett declared. ‘The killer enjoys the power.’
    They
call him the Jesses killer, Corbett reasoned, the Mummer’s Man, but he’s more
like a chess player. He regards other people as pieces to move as he thinks
fit. He likes to see them do what he wants. But who would have such power? Sir
Louis? Sir Maurice? They were both manor lords. They would have spies and retainers
listening to the chatter. But Sir Louis himself had been attacked. He also had
played a major part in Sir Roger’s execution. And Sir
Maurice? A man dedicated to clearing his father’s name, he’d have little
love for the people of Melford.