constable.
‘Who told me? Well, I think it was old Sekston, when they brought William to Bocardo. As I told you, it was Sekston who found William kneeling over the body… over Ann.’
Bullock still could not bring himself to think of sweet Ann Segrim as a dead body. Unlike his usual pragmatic approach to a suspicious death, he wanted to keep referring to her by her name and not as some inanimate object. Not the body, the corpse, the victim, but Ann. Thomas snorted in derision.
‘So, we only have the word of a half-blind old man, who disliked William intensely, that Mistress Segrim did not trip and bang her head. Indeed there could have been many other causes not attributable to William. And his presence could merely have been a coincidence. No, it was a coincidence, as he is obviously innocent.’
Bullock stopped in his tracks, grabbed Thomas’s arm and pushed his weather-beaten face into that of the fresh-faced master.
‘Is that the sort of help you are going to give William. He must be innocent so we won’t bother collecting all the facts that prove it? If that’s what you are going to do, then you might as well give up now and let me get on with it. Because, when the royal justices arrive, they will want more than a kid, who owes William everything, crying out his innocence.’
Thomas was about to protest at being called a kid, about having his efforts so derided, but Bullock held up a warning hand.
‘No. You will let me finish. William deserves more than protestations of innocence. He needs proof. Moreover he needs us to find out who it was that killed Ann Segrim.’ Bullock’s face was puffy and bright red with anger, his brows beetling over his washed out, old man’s eyes. He paused in his rant. ‘And I can’t do it by myself. I never could. William was… is cleverer than me, and so are you. So help me, and between us we will find out who did this foul deed.’
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Thomas grinned wolfishly at Bullock’s words.
‘Of course I will help. I want to do nothing less. So, let’s get on with it.’
They were soon at Saphira’s door and Thomas let Bullock knock. He was the official representative of the law, after all. The red-haired woman with the striking features, who he had seen leaving the spicer’s, opened the door to them. Her friendly smile enveloped Thomas in its warmth. Of course, she didn’t know what had happened yet. However, Bullock’s awkwardness soon alerted her to the fact there was a problem. Anxiously, she looked over both their shoulders. A Jew soon developed a sixth-sense for trouble. Bullock tried to put her mind at rest.
‘Don’t worry, Mistress Le Veske. There is no trouble brewing. Not for you at least.’
‘That’s a very strange thing to say, Peter Bullock. You had better come in. And you too, young man.’
She led them through the main hall of the house and into the kitchen. Here, everything was much more comfortable than the bare, chilly hall at the front of the house. A fire burned in the hearth and two high-back chairs were set either side of it. A book and some clean parchment lay beside one chair on a simple table. Saphira clearly spent most of her time in this cosy room. She offered her two guests the chairs and Thomas sat down on one. Then was filled with embarrassment, when he realized that Bullock had remained standing. The constable insisted Saphira take the other chair and he perched on a chest on the other side of the room. Thomas wasn’t sure whether he had done that out of courtesy, or deliberately, so that he was on the margins of the conversation, leaving Thomas to broach the awkward matter of their reason for being here. He coughed nervously and looked at the beautiful woman. For a time, he was so engaged by her emerald-green eyes he could not remember her name. It came as something of a surprise that he could recall his own.
‘My name is Thomas Symon, mistress… errr…’
She smiled easily and offered
‘Who told me? Well, I think it was old Sekston, when they brought William to Bocardo. As I told you, it was Sekston who found William kneeling over the body… over Ann.’
Bullock still could not bring himself to think of sweet Ann Segrim as a dead body. Unlike his usual pragmatic approach to a suspicious death, he wanted to keep referring to her by her name and not as some inanimate object. Not the body, the corpse, the victim, but Ann. Thomas snorted in derision.
‘So, we only have the word of a half-blind old man, who disliked William intensely, that Mistress Segrim did not trip and bang her head. Indeed there could have been many other causes not attributable to William. And his presence could merely have been a coincidence. No, it was a coincidence, as he is obviously innocent.’
Bullock stopped in his tracks, grabbed Thomas’s arm and pushed his weather-beaten face into that of the fresh-faced master.
‘Is that the sort of help you are going to give William. He must be innocent so we won’t bother collecting all the facts that prove it? If that’s what you are going to do, then you might as well give up now and let me get on with it. Because, when the royal justices arrive, they will want more than a kid, who owes William everything, crying out his innocence.’
Thomas was about to protest at being called a kid, about having his efforts so derided, but Bullock held up a warning hand.
‘No. You will let me finish. William deserves more than protestations of innocence. He needs proof. Moreover he needs us to find out who it was that killed Ann Segrim.’ Bullock’s face was puffy and bright red with anger, his brows beetling over his washed out, old man’s eyes. He paused in his rant. ‘And I can’t do it by myself. I never could. William was… is cleverer than me, and so are you. So help me, and between us we will find out who did this foul deed.’
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Thomas grinned wolfishly at Bullock’s words.
‘Of course I will help. I want to do nothing less. So, let’s get on with it.’
They were soon at Saphira’s door and Thomas let Bullock knock. He was the official representative of the law, after all. The red-haired woman with the striking features, who he had seen leaving the spicer’s, opened the door to them. Her friendly smile enveloped Thomas in its warmth. Of course, she didn’t know what had happened yet. However, Bullock’s awkwardness soon alerted her to the fact there was a problem. Anxiously, she looked over both their shoulders. A Jew soon developed a sixth-sense for trouble. Bullock tried to put her mind at rest.
‘Don’t worry, Mistress Le Veske. There is no trouble brewing. Not for you at least.’
‘That’s a very strange thing to say, Peter Bullock. You had better come in. And you too, young man.’
She led them through the main hall of the house and into the kitchen. Here, everything was much more comfortable than the bare, chilly hall at the front of the house. A fire burned in the hearth and two high-back chairs were set either side of it. A book and some clean parchment lay beside one chair on a simple table. Saphira clearly spent most of her time in this cosy room. She offered her two guests the chairs and Thomas sat down on one. Then was filled with embarrassment, when he realized that Bullock had remained standing. The constable insisted Saphira take the other chair and he perched on a chest on the other side of the room. Thomas wasn’t sure whether he had done that out of courtesy, or deliberately, so that he was on the margins of the conversation, leaving Thomas to broach the awkward matter of their reason for being here. He coughed nervously and looked at the beautiful woman. For a time, he was so engaged by her emerald-green eyes he could not remember her name. It came as something of a surprise that he could recall his own.
‘My name is Thomas Symon, mistress… errr…’
She smiled easily and offered
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