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

you standing? How did you see Sir Roger? What were you really doing that night?’ Sorrel leant forward. ‘And why should you, who loves to keep a distance between himself and his fellow man, bustle forward so busily to swear away another’s life?’
    ‘Sir Roger murdered Widow Walmer.’ Deverell stood up. ‘He killed those other women. Don’t forget, poacher woman, there was more evidence, whilst the jury, not I, found him guilty.’
    ‘Aye,’ she replied. ‘A jury led by Molkyn and Thorkle, and you know what’s happened to them. I have seen the squint hole,’ she continued, gesturing with her thumb over her shoulder. ‘And the bolted gate.’
    Her attention was distracted by Deverell’s hands as he pointed towards the door. They were stained, covered in wood dust but she noticed how fine and long the fingers were.
    ‘That’s my business. Now, Mistress, you should be gone.’
    ‘Do you sleep well at night?’ she taunted. ‘Or do you have nightmares about Molkyn’s head floating across the mere?’
    Deverell grasped her by the arm. ‘I think you’d better go.’
    Sorrel shook him off. She walked back across the cobbles. The gate was still open and she slipped through. She turned to make some parting remark but Deverell closed the gate behind her, pushing home the bolts.
    The carpenter listened to the woman’s retreating footsteps, sighed and crossed himself. He went round the yard checking all was well, and felt his hair prickle on the nape of his neck. He really should be more careful. Had his other mysterious visitor gone as silently as he’d arrived?
    A low whistle came from the workshop. Deverell walked hurriedly back. He sat on the stool and stared further down the room towards the shadowy recess. His heart beat quicker and he swallowed hard. He should lock everything more securely; he’d been trapped so easily. Was his mysterious visitor still there? His heart jumped as the cowled, hooded figure stepped out of the recess and stood, hands up the sleeves of his voluminous gown. Deverell chewed his lip. He had been busy here, sawing a piece of wood and, when he’d looked up, a man dressed like one of those wandering friars was standing in his workshop, though this one wore a mask as well as hood and cowl. As soon as he spoke, Deverell recognised the voice he’d heard five years ago. Yet, what could he do? How could he protest?
    ‘You heard what was said?’ Deverell tried to break the ominous silence. ‘That busybody—’
    ‘I’ll take care of her,’ came the grating reply. ‘She’s madcap and fey with it. No one believes her.’
    ‘She asked the same questions the clerk will.’
    ‘And you’ll give the same answer.’
    ‘How did you get in here?’ Deverell made to rise.
    ‘I wouldn’t come closer,’ the voice replied. ‘I just wanted to show you how careful you must be, Master Deverell. I came across your fence. It’s not so dangerous or so difficult. Your wife is in the market and you are always by yourself.’
    ‘I did what you asked,’ Deverell gasped.
    ‘And you’ll do it again,’ came the hurried reply. ‘You saw Sir Roger that night, hastening along Gully Lane. You took an oath, you gave evidence. What more can you say?’
    ‘But, but Molkyn, Thorkle . . .’ Deverell stammered. ‘They’re dead.’
    ‘Aye, and so they are. Perhaps they didn’t keep their word, master carpenter. But, that doesn’t bother me. I have come to remind you of the agreement we reached some years ago.’
    ‘I fulfilled my part of the bargain,’ Deverell protested.
    ‘And I have mine,’ came the hoarse reply. ‘I won’t bother you again. I just want to remind you of what I know and what I can do. If the clerk comes, and he will, have your story by rote, like a monk knows his psalms.’
    Deverell’s mouth went dry.
    ‘You have a good trade, Deverell,’ the voice teased. ‘Your work is admired, and your wife hot and lusty in that great bed of yours? And what do the good burgesses