Read Hugh Corbett 15 - The Waxman Murders for Free Online Page B

Crutched Friar who’d advised her in the shriving pew was right! The road to hell was broad, easy and slippery. One sin led to many greater. Small gifts, coy glances, secret meetings and furtive kisses: in the end they had become intimate and Wendover had proved to be an ardent lover, a welcome relief from Sir Rauf, though recently Adelicia had grown tired of the chattering youth behind Wendover’s tough warrior pretence. Oh, and how Wendover liked to talk, especially about himself and his past exploits as a mercenary, and how they would find the Cloister Map, their path to wealth and riches. What golden prospects the future held! Adelicia would listen to him, as she had on that cold December afternoon before falling asleep. When she’d woken, Wendover had gone. He often did that. Sometimes she found coins or petty gee-gaws missing. At first she couldn’t believe he was a sneak-foist, a pilferer of pennies, when he was supposed to be her accomplice in the search for greater things, yet the evidence was there. Was he also a murderer? Adelicia wondered. On that fateful afternoon had Wendover slipped towards her house and killed Sir Rauf? He had often talked of her being a widow, about what would she do if Sir Rauf died. True, the preachers sermonised about God’s will, but would a man like Wendover be prepared to give God’s will a helping hand? Had Wendover killed Sir Rauf?
    Adelicia turned quickly and screamed at the rat racing across the table; she shook her chains and the vermin disappeared. She thought again of that afternoon. She stood accused of murdering her husband after a violent quarrel. She had rejected such a charge, pointing to the nonsense of it all, yet the accusations remained and now hung over her like a hangman’s noose. Lady Adelicia was no fool. She was a high-born lady accused of dashing out her husband’s brains. Her cloak had been stained with his blood; gore-soaked napkins had been found in her bedchamber, so what hope did she have before twelve good burgesses whose ears would have been bent by their wives as they whispered their honeyed poison?
    So far, Adelicia had kept her own counsel. She had said nothing about Wendover, or their trysts at The Chequer of Hope. Who would believe her? She was cunning and quick enough to realise that it would only go against her. She would be cast as an adulteress as well as an assassin. No, Adelicia had other plans. She knew a little of the law; she would turn King’s Approver. If Castledene accused her of being an assassin, well, she would accuse Sir Rauf of being a murderer. After all, she knew about Stonecrop, what her husband had done; the evidence was there for all to see, that corpse rotting away in the desolate garden of Sweetmead Manor. She would blame Sir Rauf for that and make no mention of the Cloister Map or her relentless search for it. What else should she fear? Berengaria? The little minx was now lodged with Parson Warfeld, apparently unmoved by the horrors around her. Berengaria acted like a cat who’d licked the cream bowl clean, as if savouring secrets known only to herself. Sharp memories pricked Adelicia’s mind, glimpses caught through a half-open door of Sir Rauf stroking Berengaria’s hair. Would the girl remain loyal? And Wendover, with his arrogance and pilfering ways, what would he say?
    Lady Adelicia clutched her stomach. Whom could she trust? In the end she had made the right decision. Castledene knew she had been a royal ward and had forwarded her petition to the King. Edward was now sending his own man into the city. Adelicia nodded to herself and moved towards the table, eager to take another mouthful of watery ale. She would talk to the King’s man and no one else.

Chapter 2
    Ecce, nocturno tempore orto brumali turbine.
Behold, at night-time the storm breaks.
    Columba
    Sir Hugh Corbett was roughly roused from his bedchamber at the guesthouse of St Augustine’s Abbey by a heavy-eyed lay brother, hands fluttering, who