Hugh Corbett 12 - The Treason of the Ghosts Read Online Free PDF Page A

with her sandalled foot. ‘He and Blidscote are upstairs with the high and mighty ones.’ Adela wiped the sweat from her face with the back of her wrist. ‘Come to seek out poachers they have, Sorrel . . .’
    ‘Is that correct, Adela?’ came the cool reply. ‘Then I’ll tell them what I’ve seen down at Hamden Mere . . .’
    Adela’s face coloured and she sauntered off, hips swaying.
    A short while later the taverner came downstairs, shouting at the potboys to take refreshment to his guests. Sorrel leant back and closed her eyes. The tinker had now regained his ferret and moved to a different table. This corner of the taproom was quiet. Sorrel relished the breeze coming in from the herb garden; the smells from the buttery were especially fragrant. What was the taverner cooking? Roasted capons, fat and succulent, venison, tender and juicy to the bite, and simmering in an onion sauce? She heard a sound and opened her eyes. Taverner Matthew stood over her, a frothing tankard in one hand, a platter of bread and meat in the other. He put these down on the table and allowed two silver coins to slip beneath the platter.
    ‘How many?’ he asked.
    ‘Three pheasants,’ Sorrel replied. ‘And I’ll bring two free, next time, if you allow me upstairs to see the royal clerk?’
    The taverner sighed and sat down on a stool.
    ‘I would if I could, Sorrel,’ he replied kindly, ‘but they are tired and busy. They say they have to wash, change and break their fasts. Corbett is already sending out messages: there’s to be a meeting up at the church.’
    ‘What will he do, this Hugh Corbett?’ Sorrel asked. ‘Find the truth, master taverner?’
    ‘I don’t know. He doesn’t speak much; the red-haired one is his mouthpiece. Corbett’s courteous but a man of few words. The first thing he asked me was to describe what happened the night Widow Walmer was killed and what I knew about the other murders.’ He blew his lips out. ‘What can I tell him? Adela knew young Elizabeth, and the night Widow Walmer’s corpse was found, men from the tavern hurried to her cottage.’
    ‘And Molkyn and Thorkle?’
    ‘Now, there’s a mystery.’ The taverner wiped his hands on his blood-stained apron.
    ‘Both were on the jury, master taverner.’
    ‘Yes, so they were. Others are now frightened. I’ve even heard whispers that Sir Roger was innocent.’
    ‘Of course he was,’ Sorrel retorted. ‘My man said he was.’
    The taverner tapped her gently on the hand and shook his head sorrowfully. ‘I’ve heard that song before, Sorrel. I’ve got business to do.’
    He returned to the kitchen and Sorrel greedily drank from the tankard. A potboy came over and, without a word, took the sack. Sorrel drained the tankard and stared across the taproom. Should she try to see the clerk? She shook her head and sighed. No, it would be best if she met him on her own ground. Anyway, she had things to show him, the Moon People to meet. She fought back the tears. Surely he would help her find poor Furrell? Perhaps prove that he’d told the truth and might even have been believed, if the others . . .? Sorrel stared up at the smoke-blackened beam from which flitches of ham and bacon hung to be cured. She would love to show Corbett the bones, the strange things she had seen in her wanderings, such as that eerie Mummer’s Man with his grotesque devil’s mask and silent horse. But would he believe her? They had laughed at Furrell. And why? Because of the likes of Deverell the carpenter.
    Sorrel pocketed the coins and grasped her stick. She noticed the chapman had left his cloak in the corner and recalled his curses. She surreptitiously picked the cloak up, and left by the rear door. She stopped to smell the herbs, relishing the tangy scents of the mint and thyme. She went out through the lych-gate, back into the high street and along to the alleyways which led down to Deverell the carpenter’s workshop at the back of his house. The gate was closed so