Read Online Hugh Corbett 06 - Murder Wears a Cowl by Paul Doherty - Free Book Online
Authors: Paul Doherty
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the key and turn it. Yet, it’s the cat which really puzzles me more. The few I have known remind me of you, Ranulf. They have a keen sense of their own survival and a particular horror of fire.’
Ranulf looked away and pulled a face. Corbett went back and studied Cade’s scribbles on the bottom of the memorandum. According to the under-sheriff, earlier on the day he died Father Benedict had sent a short letter to the sheriff saying that he knew something terrible and blasphemous was about to happen but that no further details were available. Corbett shook his head and looked at the last, greasy, tiny scrap of parchment. A short report from a government informer about rumours of the master counterfeiter, Richard Puddlicott, being seen in Bride Lane near the Bishop of Salisbury’s inn. Corbett tapped the parchment against his knee and stared at the dirty rushes on the floor. So many mysteries, he wondered, but Puddlicott really intrigued him. The King’s messengers had been pursuing the villain all over Europe, so what was he doing in England? Was his presence linked to these deaths? Or was he in London for some other nefarious purpose? Either for his own or for Amaury de Craon’s? Corbett sat lost in his own thoughts, sipping his wine until Cade returned.
‘Did you find the papers interesting, Corbett?’
‘Yes, I did. You have no clues to the murderer of the whores?’
‘None whatsoever.’
‘And Lady Somerville?’
‘She was returning with a companion from a meeting of the Sisters of St Martha at Westminster. They went along Holborn and stopped for a while at St Bartholomew’s Hospital. Lady Somerville then announced she would slip across Smithfield to her house near the Barbican. Her companion objected but Lady Somerville just laughed. She said she was old and, being involved in her good works, was well known to all the rogues of the underworld who, therefore, would not accost her.’ Cade shrugged. ‘Lady Somerville had one son who had been out roistering with friends. He returned in the early hours, discovered his mother had failed to return and organised a search. His servants found her body near the gallows in Smithfield, her throat cut from ear to ear.’
‘But no other mutilations on the corpse?’
‘None whatsoever.’
‘Before her death was Lady Somerville distressed or anxious?’
‘No, not really.’
‘Exactly, Master Cade.’
The under-sheriff hid his irritation. ‘Well, one of her companions claimed she was withdrawn and kept muttering a certain proverb.’
‘Which is?’
‘ Cacullus non facit monachum ; the cowl doesn’t make the monk.’
‘What did she mean by that?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps it was a reference to another of her charitable duties.’
‘Which was?’
‘She often laundered the robes of the monks at Westminster. You see their abbot, Walter Wenlock, is ill. The prior is dead so Lady Somerville often supervised the abbey laundry.’
Corbett handed back the sheaf of parchments.
‘And Father Benedict’s death?’
‘You know what we did.’
‘Strange, he didn’t unlock the door?’
‘Perhaps he was overcome by the smoke, or his robe caught fire?’
‘And the cat?’
Cade leaned against the wall and tapped his foot on the floor. ‘Master Corbett, we have corpses all over London and you ask me about a cat?’
Corbett smiled. ‘I just can’t see why the cat couldn’t escape through the open window?’
Cade raised his eyebrows then narrowed his eyes.
‘Of course,’ he murmured. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘I would like to see the house or what remains of it. And the message Father Benedict sent to you?’
‘We don’t know what it meant, it could be anything. You know the scandals which can plague the lives of priests and monks. Perhaps it was something like that or it could be connected with Westminster.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, the abbey and palace are deserted. All building work has come to a sudden halt because the
Ranulf looked away and pulled a face. Corbett went back and studied Cade’s scribbles on the bottom of the memorandum. According to the under-sheriff, earlier on the day he died Father Benedict had sent a short letter to the sheriff saying that he knew something terrible and blasphemous was about to happen but that no further details were available. Corbett shook his head and looked at the last, greasy, tiny scrap of parchment. A short report from a government informer about rumours of the master counterfeiter, Richard Puddlicott, being seen in Bride Lane near the Bishop of Salisbury’s inn. Corbett tapped the parchment against his knee and stared at the dirty rushes on the floor. So many mysteries, he wondered, but Puddlicott really intrigued him. The King’s messengers had been pursuing the villain all over Europe, so what was he doing in England? Was his presence linked to these deaths? Or was he in London for some other nefarious purpose? Either for his own or for Amaury de Craon’s? Corbett sat lost in his own thoughts, sipping his wine until Cade returned.
‘Did you find the papers interesting, Corbett?’
‘Yes, I did. You have no clues to the murderer of the whores?’
‘None whatsoever.’
‘And Lady Somerville?’
‘She was returning with a companion from a meeting of the Sisters of St Martha at Westminster. They went along Holborn and stopped for a while at St Bartholomew’s Hospital. Lady Somerville then announced she would slip across Smithfield to her house near the Barbican. Her companion objected but Lady Somerville just laughed. She said she was old and, being involved in her good works, was well known to all the rogues of the underworld who, therefore, would not accost her.’ Cade shrugged. ‘Lady Somerville had one son who had been out roistering with friends. He returned in the early hours, discovered his mother had failed to return and organised a search. His servants found her body near the gallows in Smithfield, her throat cut from ear to ear.’
‘But no other mutilations on the corpse?’
‘None whatsoever.’
‘Before her death was Lady Somerville distressed or anxious?’
‘No, not really.’
‘Exactly, Master Cade.’
The under-sheriff hid his irritation. ‘Well, one of her companions claimed she was withdrawn and kept muttering a certain proverb.’
‘Which is?’
‘ Cacullus non facit monachum ; the cowl doesn’t make the monk.’
‘What did she mean by that?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps it was a reference to another of her charitable duties.’
‘Which was?’
‘She often laundered the robes of the monks at Westminster. You see their abbot, Walter Wenlock, is ill. The prior is dead so Lady Somerville often supervised the abbey laundry.’
Corbett handed back the sheaf of parchments.
‘And Father Benedict’s death?’
‘You know what we did.’
‘Strange, he didn’t unlock the door?’
‘Perhaps he was overcome by the smoke, or his robe caught fire?’
‘And the cat?’
Cade leaned against the wall and tapped his foot on the floor. ‘Master Corbett, we have corpses all over London and you ask me about a cat?’
Corbett smiled. ‘I just can’t see why the cat couldn’t escape through the open window?’
Cade raised his eyebrows then narrowed his eyes.
‘Of course,’ he murmured. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘I would like to see the house or what remains of it. And the message Father Benedict sent to you?’
‘We don’t know what it meant, it could be anything. You know the scandals which can plague the lives of priests and monks. Perhaps it was something like that or it could be connected with Westminster.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, the abbey and palace are deserted. All building work has come to a sudden halt because the
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