The Treason of the Ghosts

witless fool,’ Mother Crauford mumbled.
    ‘He’s
not as stupid as you think,’ Corbett retorted. ‘You know that, Mother, and so
does he. It’s not really foolish Peterkin, is it? Or simple
Peterkin? Or witless Peterkin?’ Corbett caught
it — just a shift in the eyes, a gleam, a knowing look. ‘You understand what I
am saying, don’t you?’ Corbett continued.
    ‘Peterkin
does not know.’ The reply was low, throaty.
    ‘Yes
you do. I’ll tell you and Mother Crauford a story. But first I do wonder where
you have your secret place, Peterkin? Where do you hide the coins the Mummer’s
Man gives you?’
    ‘What
secret place?’ Mother Crauford demanded.
    She
pulled across a stool and studied Peterkin rather than Corbett, as if the
clerk’s words had jolted a memory.
    ‘What
I’ll do,’ Corbett declared, ‘is tell you my story, then I’ll threaten. I’ll bully you with all sorts of dire punishments, Peterkin,
but, if you help me,’ he smiled, ‘it will be a silver coin for wise Peterkin.
St Edmund’s parish in Melford,’ Corbett continued. ‘Well, it’s a strange place
for a man like you, Peterkin. People are growing wealthy, travellers arrive,
merchants, traders, pedlars and chapmen. Your world is changing, isn’t it,
Mother Crauford? Forty years ago, who cared about Melford, when the plough
ripped the earth and the peasants spent every hour wondering what the harvest
would be like? Now it’s all different: broad meadows cut off by hedgerows where
sheep graze and everyone becomes fat on the profits. Peterkin has to be
careful. He has no family: people say he has no wits. He acts the part but
Peterkin is quite cunning. He has to protect himself from the goodly, newly
rich people. Peterkin is frightened of one thing: that he will be taken away
and put in some Bethlehem house. No one knows this better than the Mummer’s Man. Where does he meet you, Peterkin? Does
he come to this desolate lane? And has he taught you a poem?’
    Mother
Crauford was now staring at Corbett.
    ‘He
did, didn’t he, over the years — take a message to
this or that young woman? How a lover or admirer has left a gift, a token of
their appreciation near Devil’s Oak, Brackham Mere or some place along Gully Lane .
Peterkin takes the message. Everyone ignores you, running up and down,
backwards and forwards across the marketplace.’
    ‘That’s
true,’ Mother Crauford intervened. ‘But it’s only poor Peterkin. He often talks
to young women yet he means no harm. No one takes offence.’
    ‘Of
course they don’t,’ Corbett replied. ‘Look at him: innocent as a lamb. He wants
to be accepted and chatters. Our killer recognised this. So, five years ago,
young Peterkin is approached. He’s taught the doggerel, given the message—’
    ‘And
why should he obey?’ Mother Crauford broke in.
    ‘Because the Mummer’s Man is frightening. He has a
hideous mask. He threatens: if Peterkin doesn’t do what he says, the masters of
the Bethlehem house will come with a cart and a whip. Poor Peterkin has seen that, haven’t
you? When the parish gets rid of some beggar? Peterkin’s frightened.’
    Corbett
paused and glanced at Ranulf. In this dank cottage everything he had
concentrated on the previous night now hung in the balance. He studied Peterkin’s
sallow, unshaven face. The mouth hung slack but the eyes were not so
frightened, more watchful.
    ‘Peterkin
is also rewarded. Because the Mummer’s Man holds a rod in one
hand but a coin in the other. All Peterkin has to do is go into Melford,
seek out a certain young woman and deliver the message. Peterkin may have
refused but, there again, why should you? Never, in all your woebegone days,
have you earned a penny so quickly. You are given simple instructions. You are
to approach the young woman when she is alone, never in a group. You are to
tell her to keep quiet but, there again, she’s not
going to tell anyone, is she?’
    ‘Oh my God!’ Mother Crauford groaned. ‘Oh, sweet
Mary and all the saints!’ The old woman was now following Corbett’s
logic.
    ‘A
simple ruse,’ Corbett continued, pressing his point. ‘Peterkin delivers the
message. A short while later that young woman’s corpse is found out in the
countryside—’
    ‘Peterkin
wouldn’t hurt a fly,’ Mother Crauford interrupted.
    ‘I
didn’t say he did but Peterkin is now truly trapped. He must have remembered
the victim was the same young woman to whom he delivered the message. But