Roget standing near the fish stalls. Bascot walked up to the captain and asked him how his investigation into the death of the fishmonger’s assistant was progressing.
“Not well,” Roget admitted in exasperation. “It would seem that Cooper vanished into the air after he left his cousin’s house. I have been into every alehouse between Clachislide and Danesgate and have not found one person who saw him. I have just been speaking again to the fishmonger, asking if he knew of any friends that his assistant might have visited in their homes, but he could not help me.”
He motioned with his head towards the fish stalls where a richly dressed young woman of some twenty-five years was choosing some eels. She was attended by a female servant who was much older than her mistress. “That is the matron that Cooper was swiving. I did not want to call at her house in case the draper should be home and become suspicious of his wife’s involvement with the dead man. I am waiting for her to finish her shopping and then will ask her if she can help me.” He gave Bascot a doleful look. “She is my last hope, de Marins. If she knows nothing of where Cooper might have been on the night he was killed, then I fear I must admit defeat and the chien who murdered him will go free.”
As he was speaking, they saw the young matron recoil a step or two in seeming horror at something the fishmonger had told her. She was very handsome, with corn-coloured hair that hung in two heavy braids from beneath her coif, and eyes that were a luminous dark brown. Her maid stepped forward and placed a hand under her mistress’s arm as though to comfort her, but the goodwife shook it off and seemed to recover herself. She completed her purchase, spoke a word of thanks to the fishmonger and then started to walk in the direction of St. John’s Church, the entrance to which was just a few steps away from where Roget and Bascot stood, at the intersection where the top of Hungate Street debouched into Spring Hill. Her eyes were filled with moisture.
As she neared the gate into the churchyard, the captain stepped forward. “Mistress Marchand, may I speak to you for a moment?” he asked respectfully.
She raised a face full of distress and looked at him. “You are Captain Roget, are you not, of the sheriff’s town guard?”
“I am,” Roget confirmed, plainly impressed by the beauty of her heart-shaped face and lissom figure. She wore a perfume that had the faint scent of gillie flowers.
The captain introduced Bascot and then asked the young woman if she had heard of Cooper’s death.
“Indeed I have,” she replied, tears welling afresh in her eyes. “Just a few moments ago, from the fishmonger. I am very sorry to hear of it.” She nodded towards the church. “I am just on my way to St. John’s to light a candle and offer up a prayer for the repose of Fland’s soul.”
Roget explained the reason he wished to speak to her in a tone that was carefully devoid of innuendo. “I am trying to find out where Cooper was on the night he was killed and, so far, have not met with any success. The fishmonger told me that his assistant often delivered purchases of fish to your home, Mistress, and I am wondering if, when he did so, you may have engaged him in conversation and perhaps heard mention of the names of any friends whose company he was in the habit of keeping.”
The draper’s wife dabbed a scrap of white linen edged with lace to her eyes and regarded the captain thoughtfully. “It is true I was friendly with Fland,” she admitted, “and we did, on occasion, speak together.” Her lips curved a little as though in happy remembrance of those times, and then she compressed them as her distress returned. For a few moments she stood thus, as though in contemplation of Roget’s request. Finally, she seemed to come to a decision. “If you will wait for me in the churchyard while I go into St. John’s, Captain,” she said, “I will speak to you when my prayers are done.”
As she walked through the gate, Roget gave Bascot a hopeful look. “Perhaps fortune is finally beginning to smile on me, de Marins,” he said. “She may have information that will help me discover who was with Cooper on the night he was killed.”
The Templar wished the captain luck and turned to go, but Roget forestalled him. “Will you wait a little and keep me company while I talk to her?” He gave a Gallic shrug and a knowing smile. “In case her husband has suspicions that she is making him a cuckold, it would be better if she was not seen alone in my company while I question her, and no one, mon ami, is likely to believe I would importune such a lovely women with a chaste Templar by my side.”
Bascot returned the captain’s smile, for he was well aware of Roget’s reputation with women, and owing him a debt for finding out the truth about Ivor Severtsson, he agreed to the request.
They did not have long to wait. Before many minutes had passed, Mistress Marchand appeared at the door of the church and came to where they were standing, her servant trailing behind. Roget gallantly removed the short cloak he was wearing and spread it over a small stone seat near the pathway and the young matron sat down.
“I have examined my conscience while I have been in the church, Captain Roget,” she said, “and decided that I must do all I can to help you discover the evil person who murdered poor Fland. I think I may know something that will assist you.”
“I am greatly interested to hear it, Mistress,” Roget assured her.
Motioning her servant to go and wait for her at the gate, she did not speak until the woman had done so. “I saw Fland on the afternoon of the day he died,” she admitted to the captain. “He had not made a delivery to our house for a few days, not since just before that terrible potter poisoned the spice merchant’s family in Hungate, and so we spent a little while in… conversation… just to talk about the trial that was to take place, you understand.”
A slight blush coloured her cheeks as she said this, but Roget gave no sign of noticing. “I understand completely,” he said to her in a gentle tone.
The young matron’s face cleared when she saw no censure in his eyes and then became reflective as she cast her memory back to the last time she had been with her lover. “Fland was very excited,” she said. “He said that the last time he had brought the fish I had purchased, he had seen someone who was going to make a great improvement in his lot, a man he had known in his childhood and who he had never thought to see again.”
She looked up at both of the men who were standing before her. “When I asked him why this man had offered to be so generous, he said that it was not because he was willing to be so, but because he-Fland-had found out about a crime this person had committed, and the person was willing to pay a good sum of silver to keep it a secret.”
“Did Cooper tell you the man’s name?” Roget enquired.
She shook her head. “He only told me that the name the man was using was a false one. That is why I thought it might be important to tell you, Captain. Perhaps this man is the one who killed Fland.”
Roget gave Bascot a glance full of meaning before answering Mistress Marchand. Here, indeed, was information that might lead to Cooper’s murderer. “Please think hard, Mistress. Did he say anything else about this person? Where it was that he had known him, perhaps?”
“I think it must have been someone he met while his parents ran the alehouse on the Wragby road,” she replied, “because he told me he had been born there and had never lived anywhere else until it burned down.” She frowned in concentration for a moment. “I thought this person must be an outlaw, for Fland said that brigands used to come to his father’s alehouse and he often told me stories about them and the daring robberies he heard them plan.” She shivered a little. “His tales sounded exciting when I heard them, but now…” Tears once again filled her liquid brown eyes. “I think it may be that the man he saw was one of those outlaws, one who had come to Lincoln and was fearful that Fland would tell the sheriff of his presence in the town.”
She gave Roget a look of appeal. “I told Fland he was putting himself in danger by agreeing to protect this man, even if he was going to get paid for doing so, but he would not listen to me.”
“It would seem you were right in your caution, Mistress,” Roget said, “especially now that Cooper is dead.”
She nodded and stood up. “I was very… fond of Fland and will miss his cheerful face at the market. I hope you catch the man who killed him.”
Roget exchanged a look with Bascot. He and the captain were both aware that although she had warned Cooper of the peril he was in, she did not realise that she, too, could be seen as a threat to the man who had murdered him.
“I do not wish to alarm you, Mistress,” Bascot said to her, “but whoever killed Cooper may be aware of your… friendship with him and fearful that you know more about him than you do. It may be that he will make an attempt to ensure your silence.”
A look of panic came into the woman’s eyes, and Roget was quick to assure her he would keep a guard
