The Treason of the Ghosts

Molkyn died?’
    ‘We’ve
told you the truth,’ Ursula replied. ‘We were happy. Molkyn went over to the
mill, finished his work and settled down like the pig he was to drench his
belly in ale. Someone came in, took his head and placed it on a tray which was
sent floating across the mere. I am glad he has gone. So is Margaret.’
    ‘And
have you,’ Corbett turned back to where the girl sat listlessly, ‘ever
discussed your secret, Margaret?’
    ‘Never!’ Her head snapped back, eyes blazing with anger. ‘Do
you know something, master clerk, I feel as if I’ve come back from the tomb.
Molkyn’s rotting in his grave. I want to meet a good man and marry. I don’t
want my shame proclaimed throughout Melford.’
    Corbett
got to his feet. ‘In which case I shall not trouble you
again.’
    He
walked round, crouched beside the bench and took Margaret’s fingers in his.
‘Your hands are cold,’ he said softly. ‘Rest assured , your secret’s safe with me. Parson Grimstone will be leaving: God’s justice is
going to be done and so is the King’s.’
    He
let her hands go, got to his feet, kissed her on the top of the head and went
out into the yard.
    ‘Where’s
Ralph?’
    ‘Locked
himself in the mill,’ Ranulf smiled. ‘Said he had better things to do than
argue with busybody clerks.’
    ‘And
we are busybody,’ Corbett smiled.
    They
mounted their horses and went back along the trackway. Corbett was about to
round the bend when a figure stepped out of a thicket so swiftly, Corbett’s
horse shied. Corbett talked to it quickly, patting its neck.
    ‘I
am sorry. I am sorry...’ Sorrel pulled back her hood. A crude bandage covered
the gash on her neck.
    ‘You’ve
been hunting?’ Corbett asked, pointing to the sack she carried.
    ‘Rabbit snares.’ Her weather-beaten face creased in concern. ‘Another murder, clerk? Curate Robert? They say he’s hanged
himself. Did he kill my poor Furrell?’
    ‘No,
I don’t think he did. Tell me, Sorrel,’ Corbett grasped the reins and leant
down, ‘couldn’t Furrell’s corpse have been hidden in a mire or swamp? I meant
to ask you this yesterday.’
    ‘Spoken
like a townsman,’ Sorrel retorted. ‘The swamps and marshes round here aren’t
all that deep. And what goes down eventually comes back. Why?’ she asked. ‘Do
you know where he’s buried?’
    ‘Yes,
yes, I do. I know the exact place.’
    ‘Where?’ Sorrel dropped the sack and grasped the reins, her
other hand clawing at Corbett’s knee.
    Corbett
smoothed the hair away from her face.
    ‘Trust
me,’ he whispered. ‘Let me play this game out. Until then, stay in Melford!’
    Sorrel
let go of the reins. Corbett urged his horse forward and, followed by Ranulf
and Chanson, rode along the trackway back into the town. On its outskirts, just
past the church, Corbett reined in.
    ‘Ranulf,
Chanson, I’ll break my fast in the Golden Fleece. You are to go out to Sir
Louis Tressilyian and Sir Maurice Chapeleys. Bring them both to me. Tell them
they must come on their loyalty to the King.’
    ‘Chapeleys and Tressilyian!’ Ranulf
exclaimed.
    ‘Just
bring them,’ Corbett declared. ‘Tell them I have matters to discuss!’



Chapter 17
     
     
    Corbett
returned to the Golden Fleece where he broke his fast on salted pork, freshly
baked bread, slices of cheese and a tankard of light ale. The taproom was fairly empty though, as he finished, others entered,
calling in on their way to the market. The usual travellers: a relic-seller,
with his tray of so-called blessed goods; tinkers selling ribbons attached to a
pole; a travelling coppersmith; two hucksters with a badger, hoping to bait it
against a dog. Strangers to the town, they shuffled in and kept to themselves.
When Repton and others entered, Corbett decided it was time to leave. He went
back up to his chamber and sat at the table, going through the conclusions he
had reached earlier that morning. He’d only had a few hours’ sleep: his mind
couldn’t settle but he felt pleased at the way his plan was unfolding. He was
sorry for Margaret. Her pain he could not truly understand, but he might have
brought her some measure of peace. Corbett thought about little Eleanor and
wondered how any father could abuse his own daughter. To distract himself, he
prepared the room for his visitors, ensuring both sword and dagger
were within easy reach.
    For
a while Corbett dozed and was awoken by Ranulf’s loud tapping on the door.
Chapeleys and Tressilyian