The Treason of the Ghosts

you
can’t tell anyone, can you, Peterkin? The Mummer’s Man, the next time he
approached you, reminded you of that. Ah well.’ Corbett sighed. ‘Peterkin is
now very frightened. This dreadful Mummer’s Man truly has him by the neck. If
he confesses what has happened, who will believe Peterkin? People will start
pointing the finger. You wouldn’t be the first man, Peterkin, to be strung up
like a rat on the town gibbet.’
    Peterkin’s
jaw was now trembling. He started to shake, one hand going out towards Mother
Crauford.
    ‘He’s
just a fool,’ the old woman repeated.
    ‘Not
as dull as you think, Mother Crauford. And you know that! Haven’t you ever
wondered why Peter kin is eating a pie or a sweetmeat? Or how he bought some
gewgaw from the market stalls?’
    ‘People
are kind,’ she retorted.
    ‘Oh,
I am sure they are,’ Corbett declared. ‘But let’s go back five years. Sir Roger
Chapeleys was accused of the murders. He died on the gibbet. The murder of the
young women abruptly ended and so did the visits from the Mummer’s Man, or at
least I think they did. But, late in the summer of this year, the Mummer’s Man
reappears. Peter kin has no choice but to obey his instructions. Somehow or
other you took the message to Elizabeth the wheelwright’s daughter, didn’t
you?’
    Mother
Crauford seized Peterkin’s hand, rubbing it between hers.
    ‘You
have no proof of this,’ she whispered to Corbett. Her hand went out and
clutched Peterkin’s face.
    Corbett
wondered about the true relationship between these two. Some blood tie? Some kinship? Everybody in Melford acted their roles. Blidscote, the pompous master bailiff, Adela the bold-eyed tavern
wench. Why not Mother Crauford and Peterkin? She, the old crone, but in
reality her mind and memory were sharp and fresh as anyone’s, as Corbett’s
study of the Book of the Dead had proved. And Peterkin? In truth, he led quite a comfortable life: dull in his wits but not the fool he
pretended to be.
    ‘They
could hang you.’ Ranulf spoke up, wondering how his master had discovered this
information.
    ‘What
do you mean?’ Mother Crauford snapped. ‘They couldn’t hang Peterkin!’
    ‘They
would,’ Ranulf retorted. ‘And you beside him. Don’t you understand the word “accomplice“?
Sir Hugh is correct. Some people might even allege Peterkin’s the murderer. You
can tell from his face he is being confronted with the truth.’
    ‘You
could hang.’ Corbett leant forward. ‘You must have known what the Mummer’s Man
really intended. But, there again, you were frightened, weren’t you, whilst,
after the first murder, you had no choice.’ He glanced at Mother Crauford. ‘And
I wonder how much you knew? Did Peterkin ever tell, or begin to tell you, what
had happened? Did you press your finger against his lips and so help the
Mummer’s Man in his murderous games? Oh, you knew Peterkin wouldn’t hurt a fly.
After all, such murders were taking place in Melford long before Peterkin was
born. Yet, I tell you this,’ Corbett concluded briskly. ‘If Peterkin tells the
truth he gets rewarded. Some coins and a letter, with the King’s Seal on it,
proclaiming he is never to be troubled by anyone. And when the new priest
arrives...’ Corbett paused: he could have bitten his tongue off. ‘In future
years, perhaps, even a small annuity for Peterkin and Mother Crauford from the
parish chest?’
    Peterkin
stopped his gibbering, a calculating look in his eyes.
    ‘And,
before Mother Crauford starts talking about the truth,’ Corbett added,
‘Peterkin must also be puzzled: sometimes he delivered the message but nothing
happened because the young woman concerned didn’t go or went too soon or too
late.’
    ‘Like
whom?’ Mother Crauford demanded.
    ‘Adela the tavern wench.’
    ‘Oh
no.’ Mother Crauford tightened her grip on Peterkin’s hand. ‘Not that
bold-eyed, loud-mouthed hussy. It’s a wonder she wasn’t suspicious.’
    ‘Nothing
happened to her,’ Corbett smiled. ‘So why should she be? And everyone knows
Peterkin. Isn’t it true, Mother Crauford, some years ago, long before this
spate of murders began, Peterkin was used by love swains to take messages to
their sweethearts? That’s why the Mummer’s Man chose him in the first place.
However, if I went back to the Golden Fleece and told Adela the true story...’
    ‘Peterkin’s
been stupid,’ the simpleton mumbled, head down. ‘Peterkin’s been wicked.’
    ‘Look
at