Jacob's Justice E-Book

pdr lindsay

• Herausgeber: p.d.r. lindsay
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

It's 1642, and mighty England is tearing itself apart over religious differences. The King won't bend and the Puritans won't compromise. Jacob Emerick, of the Merchants Emerick, shipping owners, must save the family's gold and ships from the loyalists to the King, who will do anything to help their despot. The Puritan extremists want those ships and the gold too. Both sides are prepared to use any methods, including murder, to seize everything the family owns. Jacob has to prevent this happening and learns, through bitter experience, just what determined bigots will do as he struggles to find justice for his family and friends.

In three short months he sheds the easy bravado of privileged youth to become a thoughtful powerful fighter, and a man values peace above all else.

Leseprobe

Jacob’s Justice

P.D.R. Lindsay

Copyright © 2013 p.d.r. lindsay

Published by Writer’s Choice

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-9941194-3-8

DEDICATION

For John, a budding historian

CONTENTS

Title

Dedication

Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Historical Note

About The Author

Writer's Choice Quality Fiction

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My thanks to r Cover design, Grateful thanks also for assistance with research from the helpful experts at the Victoria and Albert Museum, and the Royal Armouries.

Chapter One

London, April 1642.

‘It is naught good a sleeping hound to wake’

There was no need for secrecy, not now. The King had fled, his sycophantic Court and their hangers-on too. Parliament, John Pym and his fellow Members, had set a new guard at Westminster Hall.

Still, a man might be observed and noted there, and cautious men wished to go unseen. Who knew what would happen or might happen? A friend now might seize an advantage, turncoat, be an enemy later, best be careful.

The Thames though, was another story. Crowded with boats which crisscrossed the water fast as shuttles through a loom, one boat and its passengers could hide amongst the many. A constant stream of these wherries ferried men to the Parliament stairs for Westminster Hall. All such boats were official. Parliament was busy. Clerks scurried behind their employers and were sent to hurry back and forth across the river, bringing and taking documents. All the same, these pale lank men, bent of back, scuttling like beetles, clutching their ink horn and quills, grasping their wallets of papers.

A mid-day boat load pulled up to the stairs and two clerks disembarked. At Westminster Hall they parted company, and by various back ways and stairs, the taller of the two took himself to the quieter small chambers behind the Great Hall. He found the door he wanted and slid unobserved into the room. Three men sat round a small ash table, one leaned against the mantlepiece, staring down into the empty fireplace. They all looked up when he coughed.

“Well?” The central man of the seated three spoke.

The ‘clerk’ bowed and straightened. He changed entirely as he reached his full height and let authority sit easy on his now squared shoulders. He looked quite different from that down trodden clerk. “Yes, I've let slip enough information.”

“So,” the man by the fireplace walked to the table, “the hare is off, the coursers follow. You are sure our quarry will go to Kent?”

“I've set a watcher. She talks to the chief household servant. Our quarry is off to Kent tomorrow.”

“Good, so we have placed the two opposing families together. Now we must see how they perform. Can you be there to prevent any damage to our cause?”

The pallid man pushed a hank of limp hair off his forehead, his eyes lightened with amusement. “God willing, I believe so. I have organized a place for myself. We have friends there as you know.” He made a gawky bow. “I know I can prevent both families from doing our cause harm.”

There was an approving murmur and some unkind laughter.

The standing man nodded. “So you go as a clerk again. Be wary, Master Clerk, do not overreach yourself this time.” The authority in his voice bent the Clerk’s head, but not his back. “Let us know what is needed. The good Puritan men of Kent would not be wanting to see supporters of the King in their county. We shall have aid from them there. I can control that, if you can manage the rest.”

“I will, or rather our puppet will for me.”

“Take heed, remember we need the good will of our quarry’s family. Keep your methods civil, spill no blood. Never forget the King can offer much to the ambitious. See that nothing is offered to our quarry that they cannot refuse. And see that the two families do not compromise. Now London and the Thames are closed to him, His Majesty is seeking ships, sailors and soldiers elsewhere. He must have gold to pay for them. We can’t afford to give the King chance to garner profits through either of these families. The more we can tie up any possible flow of gold the swifter he will be to concede.”

“Amen,” a heartfelt chorus.

A wave of dismissal, the ‘clerk’ bowed to the four, walked off, shrivelling into the character of downtrodden worker again. At the door he paused and looked back before he slipped out of the room. His companions ignored him. They left at irregular intervals, one by one, as silently and carefully. There was no need for secrecy, not now, but who knew what would happen or might happen? A friend today could seize an opportunity, turncoat, be an enemy tomorrow, best be cautious. If there were to be any tomorrows for a Protestant England they surely depended on secrecy today.

Chapter Two

London, April 1642

Brothers! I knew it must be them I'd caught sight of, lurking in the shadows at the foot of the stairs. Who else would be sure I'd be coming from the Gamlen lawyer’s offices at this time? Who else would lie in wait to escort me home and prevent me slipping away to find some amusement on the other side of the river? I paused on the half landing, debating whether to startle them with an apprentice boy's catcall. In the end I laughed, jeering down at them. “Do you think to spring out shouting 'boo' and set me all of a twitter, you great dunderheads?”

No response. That seemed strangely unlike my brothers.

The oncoming dusk made it hard to see, but peering down the stairs into the gloom I noted that the dark shapes in the shadows held nothing like the bulk, breadth and height of Amos, Caleb and Samuel. Russet headed mountains they were. Like our father, my agile, light boned, fair haired looks were borne from our mother's side of the family. And that was where I'd have them, stone headed brothers or whoever, my quickness to their snail paced slowness. I placed my hands as far down each hand rail as I could stretch, thrust off the top step with a great push from my legs and swung myself down the flight of stairs, to arrow between the figures and through the arched doorway. I landed in the street beyond. Bouncing on both feet I sprang round, hand going to sword hilt, to face whatever or whoever my nose for danger told me waited in that entrance way.

There were three men, but not my brothers. These looked like a wealthy Lord's paid lifeguards, plain dark clothes, half cloaks, curled plumes on wide brimmed hats which hid their faces, and good workman-like swords. They stepped forward, swords hissing from scabbards, heedless of the busy street, or the people passing. I backed off on to the wider paved part of the street, drawing my own sword. This was no jest, these men, whoever they were, advanced in life threatening earnest. I didn't like the odds, and looked to better them. Idlers and passers-by had melted away like frost in the morn. No help available in the street. I stared beyond the men, over their shoulders, and yelled. “Hurry up, you tardy idlers, there's one for each of you, I'll cheer you on.”

They weren't fools, these three, to swing round and gawp whilst I ran off. They moved easily, forming a rough triangle, backs facing in, allowing one to see behind them. That one spoke. “Ah, a clever ruse, Master Jacob Emerick, but not clever enough.” His voice mocked me. He touched his beard, and looked down from his stiff-necked height at me. “I want….”

But I never heard what he wanted, for there indeed, in answer to my fervent prayer, were my brothers. They came out of a side lane, unmistakable, filling the width of the street with their bulk. Striding rapidly for all their rolling seaman's gait, they moved in my direction.

“Amos,” I bawled, “Caleb, Samuel, give aid.” I waved my sword above my head and danced backwards, away from the trio. My brothers' roars shook plaster off walls. The sound of their boots crashing towards me had my would-be assailants turn, stare, then run.

“Now,” said Amos, regarding the vanishing trio with a grin, “what trouble have you been the causing of?”

I spluttered, sheathed my sword, and clouted him in his ribs.

“Tush, tush, you bothersome boy,” Caleb caught my shoulders, spun me away from Amos. “Who were they? 'Tis a fine state when our little brother can't do the simplest task without upsetting folk.” He was grinning too.

I shrugged him off impatiently. “I don't know. Nor do I know what they wanted, but the leader knew my name.”

Samuel closed in so that the three of them made a wall around me. “It could be that Merchant we bested over the Dutch beer. He raged sorely at us and you were the one who found us the trade and signed the contract.” Amos and Caleb mumbled agreement. “I doubt they'll try again, but be thankful we came to walk you home, little brother and keep that document safe.”

“In truth, my thanks, big brothers,” I straightened my hat, “but...”

They halted abruptly, I cannoned into Samuel, bumping my nose on his big elbow. Caleb hauled me upright. “Never say it's not there,” he said, setting me straight on my feet.

“I won't then.”

They stared, three faces showing degrees of shock, fear and horror.

“In here,” Amos said, veering sharp left and guiding us into the street's busy pie shop, “and give us your news.”

Scant worry about finding a place to sit with those three giants to lift what they wanted out from under quieter customers. A table and benches appeared in moments, were set down in the corner over by the window where we settled. My concern fixed on who would pay for pies and beer. They'd left me holding the bill before now, and my purse was thin.

“Jacob, what's to do?” Caleb thrust a tankard into my left hand and a pie in my right. He always was cack-handed.

“We've the family meeting tonight, and I must tell all then.” I bit into the pie. My brothers fumed, knowing I had the right of it. My information should go first to our father and our uncles, who were the senior Merchants Emerick.

I let them chomp their pies and swig beer before I spoke again, voice low, head bent towards them. “The kernel is this. Denzil Gamlen did change his will. He's left all to his other sister’s child, a niece, one Mistress Loveday Maye.” I saw their faces lighten. “Nay, it's worse than if it were left to Master Rolph Fawke as Gamlen originally planned. The Fowkes aren't going to lose that inheritance. This Mistress Loveday Maye is not of age and she lives with Lady Fowke.” I took another bite and chewed thoughtfully.

“Well, little brother?” Samuel, pie devoured in three bites, leaned towards me and tried to snatch my pie.

I dodged his large hand but he gained a chunk of crust. “Mistress Maye’s under the Lady's care and guardianship.”

Three jaws ceased mastication, paused mid chew, and gave me the displeasing vista of partly opened mouths full of clumps of pie. I hid a grin. Of a certainty my brothers did bear a strong resemblance to oxen. They even swallowed together, then resumed their chomping, staring at me with three wide eyed stares. I waited for them to see what I saw.

Amos drew his face into a heavy frown as he drank a mouthful of beer and gazed at a point beyond my ear. “Why, little brother, is this worse than if Denzil Gamlen had left the estate to Rolph Fowke? We have our copies of the Emerick-Gamlen agreement. They are signed and sealed, fully lawful. Stop your guzzling, Jacob. You are our lawyer, explain. Tell us what we're missing.”

I shook my head and raised my hands as if astounded.

Amos blinked, reached forward and knocked my hat askew. Samuel laughed, Caleb spluttered.

Brothers! It was their massively simple thinking which ruffled me so. There were many threads to this Emerick-Gamlen problem, but you wouldn't think it to hear Amos, Caleb and Samuel trying to untangle the skein. I wanted to rap their skulls till their brains woke up.

“Reason it thus. Where is Rolph Fowke?”

“With the King.”

“Aye, Caleb. And where's the King?”

“York, last we heard.”

“Where are we and the lawyers and the documents?”

Samuel stretched across the table to clout me. “London, as we well know, you fool.”

I dodged, hissing at them as at bad actors. “Use what wits God gave you.”

They couldn't.

“The Fowkes support the King. Pym, Parliament and the Puritans have driven the King and his Court out of London. Rolph Fawke would find it very difficult to come to London and make trouble for us.” I gusted a sigh over them. “You great loobies. If Rolph Fowke had inherited we would be saved from any attempts to call in the loan for at least a year.”

Caleb grinned. “For if Rolph Fowke went to Kent to claim the Gamlen estate the good Puritans of Kent might seize and restrain him.”

“There you have it. Most of Kent supports Pym and Parliament with vigour. Rolph Fowke risks too much to go openly into Kent.” Three nods, much thoughtful puckering of lips and brows. “But this Mistress Maye is going to Kent, and with Lady Fowke, to take charge of the Gamlen estate, and all its affairs. And you know what Lady Fowke will do?”

Once again my three brothers paused, swallowed and nodded gloomily, three stalled oxen.

“She'll call in the loan,” Amos said.

Samuel jibbed. “Our loan is protected. What of those clauses...?”

I interrupted. “Denzil Gamlen wrote that he believed she will try. With King and Parliament so at odds the King needs money. Lady Fowke could buy great favour and influence. And without that document we might well find the Merchants Emerick fighting in Law Court and King's Court.”

“Why doesn't his lawyer have this document safely stowed?” Caleb waxed indignant.

“It never arrived. Denzil Gamlen died so suddenly, but it was written, for he wrote in the letter of instruction about changing his will, that he was sending it on to his lawyer with those deeds for the land he’d bought for us. Indeed Gamlen’s lawyer is on his way to Aikenthorpe to claim all Gamlen’s letters and papers before the Lady arrives.”

They nodded again, satisfied, but I knew differently.

My dear brothers, good sailors who could read the weather, but didn't read the broadsheets, nor heard what I heard at the Inns of Court. They could smell a storm coming at sea and tell you how dangerous it would be, but not see the death traps hidden in this dreadful one brewing on the land between King and Parliament. Some of those same traps would be as deadly for we Merchants Emerick. That such practical men could be such dunderheads when it came to seeing the world as it really was amazed me. But they'd paid for the beer and pies and came to escort me safely home, indeed they’d rescued me from three dangerous men. We were family and cared for each other. I looked at each in turn. “About our family meeting tonight. Is't possible that you three can claim ignorance of all I said?”

“What and lose a chance to mire you in Father's displeasure?” Amos nudged Samuel.

“I'll land you in Mother's if you try it. Stop your foolishness and promise to be mute.”

They laughed, heaved themselves and me up, marched me to the door. “Never fret little brother, we'll be on your side. We need you to make safe for us and find that document, without it we stand to lose all.”

Chapter Three

The journey to Kent

April, 1642.

I departed for Kent and Gamlen Manor in the community of Auld Connors, the following day. All were in agreement. If I could not reach Gamlen Manor and take the document and deeds from the lawyer before the Fowke party arrived I must negotiate with the heiress and Lady Fowke as though we had the document. My task was to prevent Lady Fowke taking legal action to force the return of the Gamlen loan. The whole process being complicated by not knowing what the King would do the family opinion was that if I could stave off the Lady we would be safe whichever way he jumped.

The whole family, uncles, aunts, cousins, my father and mother walked me, under my brothers' escort, to our personal Thames dock. They were full of advice as they farewelled me.

“Remember what is at stake, Jacob. Take great pains.” My father embraced me in a rib crushing hold, a reflection of his disturbed thoughts. “Have a care, my son, for us and yourself.”

My uncles dwelt more on business. “God be with you, nephew, watch out for the Fowkes. She won’t be mindful of Denzil Gamlen’s wishes, she’ll destroy any papers they find.”

My mother'd not been one for bussing and slopping. Kisses went with blessings and had to be earned, but now she gave me both. Her embrace firm, hazel eyes level with mine, she whispered in my ear. “God keep you safe, Jacob, and beware.” She twisted my long blonde lovelock between her fingers, her eyes filled, her face shadowed over. “I'll pray daily for your safe return.” She stroked the lovelock gently as she released it.

Still heart sore she and I remembered when there had been three broad, big boned, russet haired Emericks, my brothers, and three light boned, fair haired Emericks, Kitty, Eva, and me. My sisters had been the family's poppets, and life had been easier when I had them as companions, but 'the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away' and He took them last year. My mother lost her beloved daughters, I'd lost my right and left hands, my champions and fellow wits, my tricksters and supporters when our big brothers became too much to bear. Why the Lord needed my sisters more than we did is one of God's mysteries, but sometimes it was too hard for my mother and me. I held her in a close embrace, kissed her in return and the aunts, like a covey of sleek, neat partridge, bobbing heads, rustling, clucking and fussing, took their turns, bussed and blessed me as though I were off to far Virginia. “Go with God's goodness to protect and guide you,” they chorused.

I stepped into our wherry and my brothers rowed me away. I took with me a full purse, full pack, and all the family’s hopes. A heavy load indeed. It weighted my shoulders down all the first day of my journey. How to know what the King would do was my chief concern, and I held many doubts about the honesty and honour of the Fowke family. All I could do was pray for the wisdom to find a way and thank the Lord my father had not insisted I complete the entire journey by one of our Emerick boats. Down river to Brockleford in Essex, was enough for me.

***

I rode the final stretch into Auld Connors, five days later, in a fine April rain.

This part of my journey was much more to my taste than the river boat had been. The rain washed out the bilge stench which still clung to my new gabardine, even above its own smell of felted wool. An insidious odour, it caught at the back of my throat yet.

Didn't matter that our river boats and coastal ships were scrubbed clean each day, below decks, especially on the older boats, those with sand and gravel ballast, it could be as noisome as the worst of the shambles before rain on a warm summer’s day. Why wet gravel and sand should stink like a week of butchers’ offal and discards I never understood, but it did. Amos swore he could tell which boat was which with his eyes shut, and I believed him, for each boat developed its own peculiar, pungent odour on a journey. I swear mine was the oldest and smelliest river boat, and that Samuel, may all pestiferous older brothers rot in hell, had arranged it so for me. But I had travelled more swiftly than the Fowkes by using our boats and I had no news of them on this last leg of my journey. I began to hope that my task would be a simple case of meeting the lawyer and collecting our papers.

My horse snorted with gusto. I brought my mind back to the here of this straight road in Kent and the reality that the intermittent, thin drizzle had finally seeped through my gabardine, new though it was. I felt it cling damply upon my shoulders. “April, with his showers so sweet?” I said aloud, and brushed the brim of my hat free from the brilliant fuzz of tiny beads of rain. My mare flicked her ears back; I patted her neck. “Soon, Perry,” I told the slanted ears. They pricked forward again.

I’d wasted two days searching for a good horse, an honest horse-coper was rarer than hen’s teeth. Every stable I visited the men misjudged me. A rare green-one, a tomfool from town, they thought, come to provide them with amusement. I heard their sniggered comments made behind hands as these horsemen looked at my clothes and anticipated the pleasure of parting me from far more money than I should pay for some prinked up, over-preened old nag. I laughed out loud. Perry tossed her head again, as if in agreement. I’d shown them, left them with empty purses, and a farmer happy with the fair price I’d paid for his home bred mare. I nudged her into a canter. Here I was, free of three overbearing older brothers, boats, ships and the sea, and with a task I’d relish if I were sure of success. To pit my wits against the cunning of Lady Fowke, to beat her to those papers and secure the Emerick/Gamlen loan, that was the challenge. God give me strength to face it and the wit to secure that which was rightfully ours.

The ground was still a mucky mess from the spring thaw, not good footing for a pleasant canter. I eased Perry back to an amble, seeking shelter for us both for our midday rest. The drizzle, which a rain-bleached sun turned to fractured rainbows, increased its intensity. Large drops splattered on my hat brim and Perry’s mane. She shook her head and I watched the raindrops fly off in shining arcs, making flashy jewels of themselves. Pretty it might be but we were going to get much wetter. The stretch of open common land we rode through was without a leafy tree or bush to shield us from the rain. I guided her across the slippery mud-churned road. She placed each foot with disdain, lifting her hooves free of the glutinous muck with comic squelching sounds. Once on the firmer ground I set her into a canter again and we left the heath behind.

Two bushy may trees, growing on a little hillock, appeared on our left. I nudged Perry towards them, halted and looked up. Yes, leaf thick enough to make a shelter. There should be dry earth beneath them, enough leaves for a cover, and the blossom not yet fully open. I gave thanks for that, having no wish to drown in the flowers' pungent musty smell. Grass was scant on the hillock but growing thick and long between it and the road, enough for a bite for Perry. The mare turned her head to blow moistly over my rain darkened boot. She asked for rest too.

“And thou shalt take thy ease, my lady fair.” I told her, ruffling up the crest of her mane with a gauntleted hand. One slow look round told me the landscape was open, the prospect clear, no hiding places for lurking ner'do-wells. No ruffian could creep up to take me unaware. I might be travelling in the well farmed, neatly villaged country of Kent, but rogues skulked everywhere. I had been careful, worn nothing ostentatious, travelled with or near other travellers, but anyone on horseback owned more than a vagabond or highwayman.

The rain eased again back to that fretful drizzle. Lifting my right leg over the pommel I dropped to the ground. Perry nudged me hard in my ribs. “Patience, my lady, is a virtue,” I loosened her girths, covered the saddle, then removed my gauntlets to undo the bit buckles. Perry dropped the bit into my bare hand and slobbered messily over my fingers.

“You muck-worm.” I shouldered her in the neck, shook my fingers in disgust and wiped them through the wet grass. Perry snorted, spattering more foamy slobber and stretched her neck to snatch at the thick grass. I pulled one ear, but gently, then took my packet of pastries from the saddlebag. It was three strides up the slope to the shelter of the trees and Perry wouldn't wander with all this good grass to eat.

I wasn’t the first person to stop here. Another man had taken shelter. He'd tucked himself back against the tree trunks, hunched in the shadow of the thorny branches, huddled in his cloak, his hat brim concealing his face. I hesitated. I hadn't made much noise, but surely I'd been heard? The question to ask myself was whether this man was a rogue waiting to surprise me, or a tired traveller sleeping too sound for his own well-being. My pistol I’d left in the saddle holster. Should I fetch it, or rely on the short travelling sword at my side? I fingered the hilt, easing it into my hand. Now to see if this man was traveller or rogue. “God give you good day, sir.”

No reply.

Below me Perry tore at the grass noisily, spilling a spring scent of green sap. Still the man did not stir. The hair at the nape of my neck bristled. I slid out my sword from its scabbard. This man sat concealed, wore a good black riding cloak, leather riding gauntlets and his boots were not muddy. Where was his horse?

I extended my left foot to nudge the toe of the man’s right boot. Nothing happened.

Again I looked round. No one lay hidden anywhere, there was nowhere to hide. No riderless horse grazed the tempting roadside grass. No one scurried away.

I crouched, ready to jump away, reached out to shake him and felt the figure collapse beneath my fingers. He fell forwards. I lurched back, my heart beating loud in my ears. It wasn’t a rigid cold body, but I felt the absence of life, knew the feeling of death.

My brain stopped, my body stilled. I stared and stared as the man's hat slid slowly forwards, off his head, onto the ground. I took one step towards him and his head fell forwards onto his chest, startling me so violently that I found myself back down the slope clutching Perry’s mane, my packet of pastries dropped at my feet. The mare snorted, upset by my rapid arrival. I leant against her warm friendly shoulder, breathing hard, fingers twisted through her mane for support. She nudged me then dropped her head, seeking more lush grass.

I smoothed my hands across her thick plush coat, more for my comfort than hers. I had to walk back to the body. I had rather left it, for the consequences of being one who finds a body were grave, but graver still if the body was known. I thought I knew this man, but I had to be sure. A pink balding pate and fading brown hair were common to many men of middle aged.

I climbed the slope again, bent, grasped the shoulders, turned him over, and the body slid bonelessly towards me. I did know him. This spelt disaster for the Merchants Emerick and particularly for this Emerick. What to do? Dear God, what to do? No one else in view. I'd better make a rapid removal of myself and say nothing. Not an honourable choice but for the protection of my neck, and the Merchant Emericks, I deemed it best.

Before I could ride on I had to search the body. I drew in a deep breath to calm my heart and head, took another, steadied, then forced myself to examine the face again. It had a red tinge to the skin, puffed up especially about the mouth and eyes, but yes, this was Denzil Gamlin's lawyer. The man who promised to collect our papers from the Gamlen estate. It appeared he had never arrived. Good honest Philip Jameson, who had met his end with a narrow pale cord twisted round his neck and tangled in the cloak’s dark hood. Garroted. Now who would want him dead? Not I. With reluctance I searched every pocket and possible hiding place, a loathsome task. The body smelt, he had been dead a while and his pockets were empty.

My stomach revolted and heaved. I backed off, taking the few paces down to Perry, my legs as unsteady as when I walked off a boat. I gripped the saddle for support and swallowed my stomach contents back into place. What, in the Lord's Name, should I do? I had to think clearly. Jameson had not died in a quick fight to protect himself and his purse. This was no clean kill with a blade. This was evil, a man’s life sneaked out of him from behind, choked deliberately for...for what? His purse and horse perhaps, or someone seeking those papers he carried? But here? How did he come to be here? How had I missed seeing his murderer? I needed to find out what had happened, to look carefully under the hawthorns and round the hillock, before I left.

Perry flung up her head, and I heard too what she had, hoof beats drumming on turf. The mare, ears pricked, gazed eagerly down the road. I hesitated, ran a hand over my forehead, then, remembering what it had last touched, wiped both hands clean in the grass. I dithered, rushed back to the body, hastily rolled it under the hawthorns, smoothed over the marks in the dry earth and slid down the slope to Perry. I wiped my hands again in the long wet grass near her and picked up my packet of pastries. Even if the rider stopped briefly he would see nothing, just me resting my horse and enjoying a bite in a sheltered spot. I placed the packet on my open saddle bag, held Perry’s bridle with one hand and rested the other discreetly on the hilt of my sword.

The horse came on, cantering steadily towards me. I knew the rider had sighted me, his horse's flowing pace faltered, then recovered. When they were close, the rider eased his horse into a brisk trot. What a horse it was. I eyed it with regret. This was the horse I had meant to buy, but could not find. A bay with a coat of rich lustrous brown, glossy like wet Thames mud at low tide, his luxurious mane and tail shone jet black. From the arch in the neck, through every smooth curved line of the body, this horse proclaimed himself a stallion fit for the King and he knew it, tossed his head for Perry to admire.

His rider was an unknown quantity. Nothing showed beneath the wide brimmed hat except a tightly wrapped cloak and boot soles. I prayed that he would trot past. I needed to decide what to do. I needed solitude and time to think seriously. The death of Jameson altered all my plans and put the Merchants Emerick in a grave situation.

As the rider drew level the stallion nickered, side stepping, almost prancing on the spot. When his rider insisted that he move on, the horse jounced, then bucked. The rider was in no danger of being dislodged, but his hat was. It flipped off his head and skimmed like a gull across the grass. Perry snorted, amazed, and stretched her neck to gaze at it. I swallowed a curse and moved forward to pluck the hat from the clump of grass it rested on.

“I thank you, sir.” The rider made his horse stand. Hatless he was revealed as a young man around my age, or perhaps a couple of years older, in his early to middle twenties. He inclined his head in my direction and smiled. The smile improved his face considerably. “I can see I shall have to stop. I don’t think Samson wants to miss your mare’s company. We’ve had a long and lonely journey.”

He had to be one of the homeliest young men I'd seen, his freckled face a commonplace bundle of jutting bones under flattened, dull brown hair. He was a startling contrast to his handsome mount. When he dismounted I had to look up. That wasn't a new experience. Accustomed to being the shortest in my family of giants, I looked up daily, but this stranger was nearly as big as my father or Amos. Leaner though, his body more bone than muscle, with that crooked nose and lop sided mouth, only his wide smile stopped him being outright, frog-faced ugly.

I restrained all curses and managed a smile. It occurred to me that this young man was God sent, for it might be arranged, if I took care, that the two of us could find the body together. There was something about the man's whole being that exhaled a decent Godly courtesy and propriety. I might be wrong, but I felt reasonably sure he was not a thief or highway man, just an honest traveller. As such his first reaction to the body would be shock, not accusations. I knew it wouldn't be difficult to counterfeit my own feelings when I saw the body again. My hands still shook from finding it.

“Good day to you, sir. You were close behind me, I’ve just halted here myself. You’re welcome to share the hawthorn shelter.” I held onto Perry and watched the stallion. “That’s a fine horse.” It was easy to fill my voice with admiration.

“I thank you.” The young man courteously bowed the slight bow of equals and accepted his hat. “He’s of my own breeding. Master Nowell Merriot at your service.” The care with which he dusted off the crown and straightened the brim before settling it back over his crushed and untidy hair suggested a nicety about clothing that went oddly with that plain face.

I showed my packet of pastries. “I was about to settle under the shelter of those hawthorns. Master Jacob Emerick, at your service.” We both bowed, then clasped hands briefly. His grip was firm, a courteous touch without any trial of strength. I leaned against Perry and watched the young man tend his horse in a swift and capable manner.

The wait felt an aeon. Forcing myself to stillness, easing my clenched fingers around the pastry, proved difficult. I made myself do it. When Samson settled next to Perry, eating as greedily as she, Master Merriot produced a packet from his belt pouch. .

“I’ve new bread and a good cheese here.” He waved it at me, grinned and headed up the slope. I strode out behind him, close on his heels so that I might bump into him when he stopped, as stop he did with a startled exclamation. “What...?”

I echoed his 'What?' struggling to keep my balance and step around him.

The body was now obviously a dead body. It was lying face down under the hawthorns with its boots sticking out at one side and the hat at the other.

Master Merriot knelt down. “Some poor soul has meet his end here, Master Emerick.” He turned the body carefully by its cloaked shoulders and I gasped as Master Merriot did. The lawyer’s flushed face still shocked and the cord and marks on the neck told their own story. I hoped my face looked as horrified as Master Merriot’s for he was staring at me. “This is no natural death.” He stood up, looked around, then gazed at me.

I read suspicion in his eyes. Time to speak. “I don't understand. I saw no one riding in front of me and you can see a good distance across this flat land. Did you see any traveller?” Master Merriot shook his head. “This man was a rider, look at his cloak, riding gloves and boots, where is his horse?” I stooped and examined the ground around us and under the hawthorns. “I see no signs of a horse up here or other boot prints.” I walked round the hawthorns, careful to step into any marks that might have been my previous footsteps. “How did the body get here? When did it get here? How long has this poor man been dead?”

Master Merriot still watched me, his blue eyes no longer showing friendship. “I don’t know. I saw no other travellers.” Did he hesitate? I wondered if he was not telling all he knew, and hadn’t Master Merriot touched the body in a way that showed lack of fear, or perhaps familiarity with the dead? No, it was all in my imagination. I was afraid of being accused. I stilled my panic.

“I propose that we take him to Auld Connors, Master Merriot. Do you agree?”

He started to speak then checked, conning my words. “Samson wouldn’t carry a body. Would your mare?”

“I don’t know. I’d rather not make assay. We must inform Auld Connors’s authorities, the parish watch, or maybe the parson if there's not a Justice of the Peace there. Tell them what we found.”

“We?” Master Merriot hesitated, glancing at me.

He wanted to ask more questions, questions I did not want to answer for I disliked lying outright. Time to intervene. “Look, Master Merriot, this poor soul came on a horse, where is it? And this cord, look at it.” He did so, reluctantly. “This is the kind of cord you see tying reams of good linen paper, but is it specially marked in any way?” I knelt and examined the cord closely, touching the loose piece falling on the corpse's shoulder, turning it over, seeking marks.

Master Merriot stood off, shaking his head. “That looks like any piece of cord to me. You say you didn’t see a horse. I haven’t seen a stray horse. This is a puzzle...I don’t see how....” He broke off and frowned. “I don’t understand how the body came to be here.” He wiped his gauntleted hands through the tussocks of wet grass, dried them on the inside of his cloak hem then removed them. “We’d better eat and ride on swiftly. Then someone can fetch this body before nightfall.”

I nodded agreement. At least he had not accused me, and I’d done enough questioning and thinking out loud to make him think too. We returned to the grazing horses and stood beside them to open our lunch packets. I looked ruefully at the fragments of what had been tasty meat pastries and picked at the pieces. Had I convinced Master Merriot that the body was not of my making? I hoped so, but I must remain cautious. I had too much to lose. If some lazy or untutored officer of the watch counted my presence as finder the same as being the murderer, then God help me. And if those same officers knew of my family’s involvement with poor Master Jameson then I would surely hang. Master Merriot was my witness that we found the body together and that he had me in his sight, riding towards me, before we found the body. Praise God, Master Merriot might be my salvation.

The pair of us began to eat, each with one hand kept in swift reach of our saddle holsters. Observing him cautiously as he was observing me from under lowered eyelids or with slight sideways glances, I did not know quite how to rank Master Merriot. I could see he wore boots of good leather, but they were not fashionably cut and shaped like mine, just plain well-made riding boots. His brown cloak was thick, of oiled and felted wool, but it showed signs of wear, and had been re-collared. Master Merriott's family were comfortable rather than affluent then, or maybe he had a mother like mine, careful and prudent, who made the younger sons wear out the clothes. I wondered if Master Merriot had brothers. The only advantage of my having mountains for brothers was that I’d never shared their adult clothes.

Master Merriot’s occupation puzzled me too. He did not appear to be a student, too old and worldly wise; nor an apprentice, his hair was too long, his clothes too fashionable. His hands had stubby fingers, but short clean nails. I met his gaze, seeing my doubt reflected in his eyes. He shrugged, looking uneasy, and when the flasks of light ale were empty, we remembered the reason for our haste and rode on together through another heavy shower.

A gust pelted cold rain into my face. I wrapped my cloak more closely and sighed. A sideways glance at Master Merriot caught him looking at me. I grinned in reassurance, but said an earnest prayer for a safe solution for us both. He hunched his shoulders against the rain and I echoed him, easing the damp cloth off mine. Together we rode at a brisk trot into a stretch of woodland. We kept to the centre of the road as the trees thickened into a well-established stand. Master Jameson’s death made us cautious. If truth be told, I felt fear. The murderer must lurk somewhere near and if he wanted to kill Lawyer Jameson, the Gamlen lawyer, he might also desire to kill the Merchants Emerick lawyer, me.

The trees were leafing up, a goodly sight, but I had no time to enjoy their beauty. I did think it remarkable that such good timber, of marketable girth, so near Auld Connors, had been spared the axe. Then the timber gave way to a well-used coppice. Master Merriot’s stallion shied at the stacks of withies, posts and poles lying stacked and ready for use and played up, snatching at his bit and showing off to Perry.

The road wound round like a drunken man staggering home. Auld Connors came into sight only in tantalizing pieces. Small views, framed by stands of trees or high hedges, showed well farmed land, cows or sheep on the lees and rough pasturage, a church spire, orchards beginning to bloom, roofs and chimneys of houses or cottages. Samson kicked out at two peddlers rounding a bend, on their way with full packs and plodding gait. A carrier’s wagon creaked by and several foot travellers sloshed cautiously through the spring mud. A herd boy chasing three runaway pigs startled both horses as they rushed noisily past, making for the woods. Perry eyed them suspiciously, but Samson shied again. I hid a grin, ruffling my reliable mare's mane.

“The orchards begin to blossom. We'll be here to see the cherries in bloom.” My mother's small orchard would be nothing to the sight of these orchards.

Master Merriot broke his silence. “We may, that poor fellow won’t.”

As if I needed reminding. I opened my mouth to make a pointed response, changed it instead to: “God rest his soul.” Then added “Ah, here’s the end of our journey.” We had reached a ford and Auld Connors spread out before us. It was more a large village than the market town I’d expected. We waited as two empty farm carts, reeking of manure, trundled through the rocky shallows.

“It's a tidy settled place,” said Master Merriot. He sounded surprised.

It was too, the buildings a pleasant mixture of old plaster and timber, or brick and timber. The whole place had a comfortable settled air which we were about to disturb.

“Aye and quiet too.” The muffled village noises, compared to the friendly racket of London streets, sounded repressed, and no dogs came out to chase us. I smelt new turned earth, wood smoke and a light tang of well-rotted manure, different from the tatterdemalion assortment of rich smells London produced.

Together we crossed the river in the wake of the wagons. Samson fussed about the water, Perry flicked her heels at him. A man, walking the river side path from the village, turned to watch us. His thin stooped figure straightened somewhat as he cast a sharp glance at our faces. “There's the first Auld Connors busybody,” I told Merriot, “looking for something to gossip about.”

Master Merriot hesitated as the road diverged. “We’d better seek the authorities.”

“Settle into the inn first, show our money, and our worldly goods, then, when we have established ourselves as people to treat with respect, we can find whoever is in authority, perhaps a Justice, the Constable, or the Watch.” Master Merriot gave me a quick glance. I halted Perry to explain. “Master Merriot, I do not want to find myself suspected of killing that man. We found the body, we might well be blamed. I am a lawyer, I know these things do happen.”

Master Merriot’s frown deepened. “I don't understand, surely...” He paused and looked at me. “It makes no sense that we, honest travellers, should...” The comprehension grew in his eyes. “I see, because we are not known.”

“Precisely, Master Merriot, we are strangers and we need to be seen as strangers with place and position. People with influence. To the inn, then?”

He nodded.

The only inn, The Moon and Stars, was an old stone building, blank walls to the outside. But the entrance, when we turned the corner and approached it, had been modernised, new, large windows set to each side of the archway gave the place a friendly lopsided appearance. The distinctive smell of singed hoof and the remote clang, bang of hammer on anvil told me that the forge was near. Good, Perry needed her shoes refitting. I rode her into the yard, dismounted thankfully and watched as Master Merriot had to wait until the admiring stable boy summoned help to hold Samson before he safely dismounted. I risked a grin at him and he returned it. We both stretched stiffly and watched the boys handle our horses.

Fashionable, well patronised by wealthy gentlemen, The Moon and Stars was not. However it did brisk business, judging by the filled stables. The stalls did not smell foisty, the water ran clear in a clean trough, and the boys worked under supervision of the head ostler. Living in London I knew that the showiest inns relied on reputation. I'd found that a quick inspection of stables and the kitchens of any inn soon told the true tale. And Master Merriot chose by the same principle. I saw him check the water and sniff the hay. Clean straw and good fodder for the horse, the lack of bedbugs and untainted food for me summed up a good inn. The Moon and Stars passed that inspection. I'd expected to meet a few rogues and cheats on my journey, but not chinchs biting me every time I went to bed. There was no excuse in a decent inn for not turning and refilling the mattresses, nor scrubbing floors and strewing insect repelling herbs to keep bedbugs at bay.

I turned to Master Merriot. “Now we know our horses have good care perhaps we should make sure the beds are without unwelcomed visitors too.”

Master Merriot snorted much like his horse did. “Aye, some inns are a disgrace, but this is Puritan Kent, where a clean house is expected.” He winked.

I heaved Perry's saddle bags over the stable door and watched Samson fidget and fret. Master Merriot crossed the yard to help the ostler. The stableboys led Perry into large stall, giving her plenty of head rope. Like most females of my acquaintance, she enjoyed a little attention at frequent intervals, so I followed her in and leant on the manger. She arched her neck and blew softly at me. I ran a gauntleted hand roughly up her black shiny mane, to scratch as near her crest as I could reach. A good mare, my Perry, and affectionate. I wouldn’t trade her, even for a Samson. She lowered her head and sighed at me through translucent, pink-rimmed nostrils, wanting more. I laughed, scratched her poll again, then stroked her neck softly. Time to hurry Master Merriot, secure a room, and report poor Jameson’s ungodly end. I farewelled my mare and found Master Merriot. “Is Samson settled? We had best settle in ourselves and present our persons and our findings to the parson.”

Master Merriot gave Samson’s rump a farewell pat and turned to me. “Why the parson. Why not the parish watch?”

I laughed at the now docile horse with his muzzle deep in the manger. “Well, Praise the Lord, I know how to tame Samson if I have need. Give that stallion a manger of beans and chaff and suddenly he turns mild as milk,” Master Merriot grinned and shouldered his saddle pack. “A wager? I'll bet you the parson is all powerful here.” I held out my hand palm up, didn't tell him I'd ask my stable boy who was the law and authority in Auld Connors.

His eyebrows rose, he slapped my palm. “Agreed then. Shall we find the Landlord first and get a room, Master Emerick?”

“How are you placed for money, Master Merriot? Would you share a room with me and ease both our purses?” Ah, the sophistry of a lawyer; if we took a room together it strengthened my protection.

Master Merriot looked at me, and straight through my plan. “The better to give an impression of two honest young men travelling together?” He kept his voice low. “I am only here for one night, Master Emerick, but I will support you as you must support me. Let us be Nowell and Jacob then, and confound their suspicions. God knows, as we do, that neither of us harmed the man.”

“Agreed.” I grasped his arm and gently turned him round so that we headed across the paved stable yard to the inn door, strolling together.

Chapter Four

Auld Connors

As Nowell and I aimed for the inn door, a small boy, with a dirty face and bare legs, exploded into the yard, yelling with excitement. “Come see, Abe, come look, Simion, there's carriages. Warden Nicolls says it’s the Fowkes come to take the Gamlen estate.” The boys dropped their brushes and buckets and ran. I nearly ran too. How could the Fowkes be here so soon?

The groom whistled the boys back. “Nay, then.” His tone was enough to make me start and feel guilty. “You put those tools away quiet and neat then walk. Don’t be frightening the horses.”

The boys sidled off, not quite running, to do as they were bid. I grasped Nowell’s elbow and moved him forward. “Shall we observe this great arrival?”

He gave me a blank stare, then nodded. We strode over the cobbles side by side and settled in the shadow of the arched entrance to watch. Even the groom came out to the gate, while the stable boys joined a trio of short haired apprentices amongst whom they wriggled and shoved. A goodly number of Auld Connors's population contrived to be in the street observing.

Only four outriders? Why such a quiet entry for Lady Fowke? The Fowkes were not known for their modest demeanour. I had seen the kind of display they had made in London. Puzzled, I watched and pondered.

The apprentice boys pointed and muttered, eyes darting towards any adult who might take offence with a hard hand.

“Hired horses, dull old plodders.”

“Thought Fowkes were King's people. Don't want 'em in the manor here.”

“Nay, Parson said 'tis Mistress Maye takes the Manor. She's named in t'will. Old dame Fowke'll be here taking her pick of her brother’s best, then she'll be off.”

“Where's the lord? Only two men at arms?”

Ah, the cleverness of Lady Fowke. I overheard the scraps of comments and conversation and realised what game she played. She knew how to think ahead and confuse her enemies. I would need all my wits about me if I were to deal successfully with her.

Nowell stood quietly at my shoulder. I watched as a slight smile curved the corners of his large mouth. We traded looks, sharing an understanding of the cunning of the lady. “She’s not making much of a grand entry is she?” I murmured. “No sign of King’s favours about her. Nothing to provoke the Puritans of Auld Connors.”

He gave me a knowing grin. There was a lot more to Nowell Merriot than I’d ferreted out, but what I knew so far, I liked. I flicked another quick glance in his direction, but he'd shifted forward, looking into the coach and had moved slightly in front of me.

I leant near enough to speak in his ear. “She's too clever for Auld Connors folk.”

Nowell glanced at me. “Aye,” he said, then turned back to watch.

The blinds were raised in the first carriage and I saw Lady Fowke seated on the far side of the coach. A girl, no, a young maid, sat on my side of the coach. Lady Fowke’s straight spine, stiff neck and trick of glancing over her nose put me in mind of a hawk about to bate. This young woman was all gentle curves to Lady Fowke’s lines and angles. She glanced shyly at the crowd, smiling a quiet little smile. I admired her wide spaced eyes, the smooth white skin and high forehead. Soft curls touched her forehead under her coif and hat, curls of a tobacco brown colour, and she blushed, a pink cheeked tint, as she caught my eye. Not a traditional beauty, but those wide gentle eyes and slightly parted lips were alluring. Modest too. She did not tip her head or stretch her neck to attract admiring looks. Around me people muttered. “Mistress Maye” they said, with affection in their voices and smiled as they spoke. I took a long look at the Gamlen heiress, wondering how she might be able to help the Merchants Emerick.

As the coach passed she glanced back with a sudden stare. A warm smile quivered on her lips. For me? It was as though she recognized me. I smiled back, but now she crimsoned with confusion and would not look again. A mistake then. She’d believed me an old acquaintance, but I knew I'd never seen her. I’d surely have remembered her.

I tapped Nowell's shoulder. “I look forward to my visits to Lady Fowke, if that pretty maid is there.”

Nowell snorted, it seemed his favourite method of expressing emotion, and frowned. “I'd say the lady will keep the maid out of your reach. She'll be promised, if not already betrothed. Use your noddle,” he patted the crown of my hat, “the Fowkes marry for land, and position, you lawyers don't have enough of either for her likes.”

Now there was an idea. Distract Lady Fowke with a proposal for a marriage agreement between Emericks and Fowkes whilst I found Gamlen’s document. That might be a means to delay her. “I can but hope.” I carefully readjusted my hat and flicked a finger under Nowell's nose. I knew that maid's arrival was preordained for me. I felt a grin as wide as Nowell's growing inside me and quashed it fiercely. Not yet. I had to present myself to the Auld Connors parson as suitably shocked. There were enough eyes watching here. To be seen grinning and clowning in the inn yard spelt disaster for us both until the cause of Jameson's death was sorted. “Keep a sober face,” I warned. Nowell might not approve of me eyeing pretty maids, but he looked over his shoulder after the carriage before I swung him round into the inn yard again. “Oh ho! You're inspecting her too. Come, Nowell, let's secure our bags and find out from the landlord if I've won the wager.”

Nowell shrugged himself free, then sighed. “That murdered man. Yes, we must arrange something, and swiftly, I cannot stay above one night.”

***

“Parson Paske’s home,” the innkeeper told us, “is next to the church. They're busy,” he said. “They’re doing some building.”

The parson was indeed building, he was one of a party of men removing the outer cladding off the end wall of the house. He stepped forward through the swirl and pall of disintegrating plaster to meet us. The pale dust covered his hair and powdered his tunic so that he looked, not as a man of flesh, but rather one of stone. Statue of a saint? God forbid, I thought it, for he was all Puritan. I blinked and waved away the eddies of gritty dust that wafted forward in spirals of powdery mist and stuffed my nostrils full of a dry prickling. So this was Parson Richard Paske, this firm-lipped, upright man. Nearing forty, perhaps older, of middle height, obviously a sobersides Puritan from the cut of his hair to the cut of his coat, and very much a leader in his community. All the men turned to gaze after him as he stepped away from them. The boy'd spoken truly, Parson Richard Paske carried more influence than any constable and I'd won that wager.

“Parson Paske?” I let Nowell speak first and studied the house. The parson’s home, originally an old fashioned oak framed house with wattle and daub in-fill and plain painted plaster, was being modernized and extended. Brickwork already replaced the plastered wattle in the main part of the building. The oak framing for a new wing stood in place. Stacks of bricks waited, squared up, ready for use.

I liked bricks like these, a warming ruddy pink colour, perfect for making pleasing patterns. I hoped to build my home in brick or even stone, one day...one God given day, when I had achieved that seat in Parliament, I would. I stopped wool gathering and turned to face the company who were now ranged about us.

“Master Nowell Merriot at your service. The innkeeper told us you are the person to speak to. We need your help and advice. Master Emerick and I stopped for a noonday break, not far from Auld Connors, by two hawthorns on a hillock.” Parson Paske nodded. Nowell gathered breath, then spoke in a rush. “We found a man’s body under the hawthorns.”

Time for me to speak. First the polite bow and incline of my head then sober speech, that was the way to this man's good opinion. “Master Jacob Emerick at your service, Parson Paske. Is there a constable in Auld Connors? The man did not die naturally. He was killed.”

The parson’s gaze, from bright hazel eyes, rested on each of us in turn, making careful note of us. At least the man was thinking and wasn’t shouting out ‘murderers’ and ordering us off into confinement. Still the risk was great. We must convince him of our honesty.

Parson Paske remained silent. It was a good trick if you thought the men in front of you carried some guilty secret or had a demon ruling their conscience. Nowell’s fingers tapped on the hilt of his sword, but his face showed no guilt. I gazed directly back. I had done nothing. My conscience lay quiet.

The parson turned and addressed the group of workers. “Abdias, a constable’s task for you. Take the cart out to those two hawthorns set on the little hill, just before the heath. These young men found a body there.”

A muted babble of comments and questions rose.

“We will know more when the body is brought safely in to rest. Zachery, do you go with the constable and use those woodsman’s eyes to see what you can see.” The men moved off, half running.