After missing last week, I’m back with the fourth episode of the Elizabethan serial. Need to catch up or refresh your memory? Just scroll down for the earlier parts…
‘I was busy,’ he replied as if it was nothing at all and glanced at the body. ‘Why would anyone murder Tenche?’
‘If we knew that, we’d know who did it,’ I replied sharply. He’d missed the beating of the bounds, vanished without trace for a few hours when I needed him as part of the Waits and the watch.
‘What about his wife?’ He peered down at the wounds, frowning. I told him the little we knew.
‘Alderman Skyes is with her now.’ That made him raise his eyebrows.
‘Putting his case for a quick marriage?’
‘None of my business. If you want to help, see if you can discover where Tenche went last night.’
He gave me a doubtful look, opened his mouth as if to speak, then nodded and left. What could I make of that? I’d think about it later, when I had time. For now I had to inform people about the murder, then be out there hunting for the killer.
4
At home, the little house on Marsh Lane, on the other side of the beck from the town, I penned letters, one to the county sheriff, the second to Walsingham’s man in the West Riding, detailing what little I knew about Tenche’s murder, the possible reasons behind it, and those who might be suspects. I’d never written a good hand, but it was legible. After I read each one through, I sanded and folded them and applied the official seal of the watch before locking my door and walking back into Leeds and leaving the letters with Harmon Javeson at his shop on Vicar Lane.
It was a place of oddments and curiosities that nobody was likely to buy. A horse harness where the leather was cracked. An empty old wooden scabbard with an inscription that had faded beyond reading. More, much more. Everything covered in a patina of dust, cobwebs hanging in the corners of the ceiling, so ancient the spiders had dried to husks.
But Harmon didn’t need to sell anything. He was Lord Cecil’s man, the government’s eyes and ears around here, paid to pass on information, to keep aware of all that was happening. He was older than me, with lank, grey hair and wisps of a white beard, looking like someone in need of a hearty meal.
I passed over the letters. He’d arrange the delivery and pass on any reply.
‘Bad business, yon. Word’s all over.’ He shook his head. ‘Walter Tenche.’
‘Any ideas?’ I asked, but he shrugged in reply. He’d always been a miser with his thoughts, keeping them to himself until he could play them to advantage.
As I turned away, hand on the doorknob, he said: ‘The upright man’s looking for you.’
‘Is he now? I’m easy enough to find.’
Everyone called him the Upright Man. There were probably some who didn’t know his real name. Bartlett Wilson. Sly as the devil, cunning. He ran much of the crime in Leeds, with the young cutpurses and whores all giving him some of their takings, on pain of beatings or worse. If they were caught, they knew to take their punishments and not mention his names. A sentence of hanging over on Gallows Hill meant Wilson would tend to their families if they kept their mouths shut. For a while, at least, then his care would ebb to nothing.
He was the bane of my life; I’d never mange to catch him in crime; out of fear, nobody peached. He had money, a home, such as the hovel was. I couldn’t charge him as a vagabond. Very careful about showing his hand. We kept a distance from each other.
Why would he want to see me?
The fifth part will arrive in a week or two – if you want it. Meanwhile, both the Cathy Marsden WWII novels, No Precious Truth and The Faces Of The Dead are currently £1.99 on Kindle – the first is just 99p (free with Kindle Unlimited). That’s two books for around the price of a coffee. You’re not likely to find a better bargain this week. I truly hope you’ll but them – because they’re good. I sweated blood and tears over those books!
Chris Nickson 