ruffians who tried to rob him. Is there not a band of Roma wandering about?'
'They've arrested Sebastian, the Romany stable hand.'
Fletcher nodded. 'I heard. Some of the lads are unhappy. They like the fellow. Others say he should be stoned to death.' He made a face. 'Bloody little beasts boys can be.'
'One of them put a garter snake in my bed,' I remarked.
Fletcher barked a laugh. 'That would be young Ramsay. He enjoys greeting the newcomer with reptiles.'
'Ramsay is the tow-haired boy about thirteen years old? A bit nervous?'
'Oh, yes. Looks as though he is quiet and innocent, but is a little devil in fact. Smart, though. Sits through his Latin studies and soaks it up. His father is filthy rich, filthy. Owns half of London, I wouldn't wager.'
'But he is a prankster.'
Fletcher chuckled. 'They all are. But if you mean, is he writing letters in blood and setting servants' rooms on fire or murdering grooms, I'd say no. He hasn't got the balls for it. It's garter snakes and toads and beetles down the younger boy's backs. Annoying things. Harmless.'
When I'd suggested to Rutledge that the snake was harmless, he'd gone purple with rage. Fletcher, closer than Rutledge to the boys, agreed with me.
'If you had to choose which boy was perpetrating the more harmful pranks, which would you say?' I asked.
Fletcher's eye gleamed. 'Ah, Captain, that I cannot answer. You are Rutledge's man. First thing you learn when you're inside is that you do not peach on your fellows.'
'I am hardly Rutledge's man,' I said, slightly offended. 'He employs me, as he employs you.'
'The school employs me. And you. And Rutledge.'
'I am not his man, Fletcher,' I repeated.
He nodded. 'I know. Sensed that when I met you. In Sudbury, you are either for Rutledge or against him. No middle ground. He's a bastard, but he knows what he's doing running a school. Have to say that much for him.'
He slurped the last of his ale, waved aside the publican's wife who advanced to ask if he wanted more. 'I have Latin lessons to grade.' He grimaced. 'A task that requires two pints of ale, no more, no less. To answer your question, Captain, I am hard-pressed to say. There are a fair number of little beggars that I'd like to see the back of, but none that I'd call cruel. Or mad. No, depend upon it, it's a servant causing these problems. Or a tutor.' His eyes twinkled.
I admitted, 'I had speculated that the tutors would have access to the places in which the pranks were played.'
'A fair statement,' Fletcher agreed. 'I will protest my innocence, however, Captain. I have no time to play pranks, and what little time I find on my hands, I spend here or flat on my back with my eyes closed. When I sleep, the boys could burn down the entire school without me being the wiser.'
He smiled, as though he'd think it a good joke.
'I imagine the other tutors have similar impediments.'
Fletcher nodded. 'Oh, yes. Rutledge believes idleness is the refuge of weak minds and all that. We barely have souls to call our own. Only the occasional pint.' He smiled at his glass. 'Tunbridge does extra tutoring, but God knows where he finds the time.'
'And he rides,' I commented, remembering what Sebastian had said.
'Oh, he likes a hack across the fields. He fancies himself a gentleman and a man of sport.'
And, I thought, he'd have occasion to know Middleton and his habits.
'Is Tunbridge a good tutor?'
'One of the best, according to Rutledge. And himself. But I know for a fact he's no better or worse off than the rest of us, despite his airs.' Fletcher shook his head, turned his empty glass. 'Ah, the joys of teaching. Joy is all we get; the income is certainly shallow. But one day, Lacey…' He gave me a wink. 'One day, I will be quit of all this. I'll have my fortune, retire to a grand house in the country, and enjoy the amenities of life denied a conscientious schoolmaster.'
I smiled, nodding in sympathy. It was unlikely a fortune would drift my way, either.
'Shall we stroll back together?' Fletcher suggested, rising.
'No, I shall ride along the canal. Perhaps we can meet for port some evening,' I said.
'Never a free moment to myself, I'm afraid. But we'll retreat here for a pint soon, I promise that.'
He nodded to me, gathered up his robe, which had lain on the seat next to him, and a book, which he clutched to his chest, and departed.
I took a long drink of my ale, deposited a few coins, and left the tavern, setting my hat at an angle against the rain.
I rode up and down the canal to no avail. I saw many barges traveling from Avon to London, but none with Roma. Like the villagers in Sudbury and Great Bedwyn, the bargemen I spoke to talked of the murder with interest and faint horror. In a small place like this, murder was an extraordinary thing-a thing of dangerous places like London, although highwaymen still appeared now and again. The farmers and villagers of Sudbury had spread the word to their friends and neighbors, who told the lockkeepers, who in turn told the bargemen as they traveled through the locks.
The horror was mitigated a bit by the fact that a man had been arrested. Quick work-at least we can all sleep in our beds tonight, was the general feeling.
For me, the unease had not gone away. I truly did not think Sebastian had committed the crime-his arrest was just to soothe Rutledge's pique. Someone who had brutally cut the throat of a large man who had been used to danger was still walking about. I wondered whether Middleton had simply been unlucky and come across a robber or madman. But if that were the case, would we not have found him where he'd been killed? Instead, his body had been placed in the lock and all traces of the murderer's trail obliterated.
I believed Middleton had known his killer. Probably had not feared him, which was why he'd allowed the man to get behind him with a knife. They had met somewhere between the stables and the village of Sudbury, walked together to another location, and Middleton had died. Whereupon the killer had taken Middleton to the lock and rolled him in.
Why? A quarrel? Over money, a woman? Or had the man planned to kill Middleton all along? Again, why?
One man I could easily picture cutting Middleton's throat was Rutledge himself. He was large enough and strong enough, and he had the devil's own temper. But I had asked Bartholomew to discover from Rutledge's servants what he had done the night before, and they had all sworn that Rutledge had retired to his bed at ten o'clock and had not left it until rising as usual at six the next morning.
Again, no reason presented itself, at least on the surface. If Rutledge had found out that his daughter and Sebastian were yearning for each other, I could imagine him wanting to kill Sebastian. But Middleton? As far as I could see, the two men had had little contact.
I rode back to the school, unsatisfied. I knew so little. I would have to discover everything about Middleton- his connections and his friends and his enemies. I would have to pry into his life with Denis and beyond.
I would have to discover why anyone would bother cutting the throat of a man who'd simply come to enjoy working with horses in peace of the Berkshire countryside.
I had no time to investigate that afternoon, because Rutledge spied me returning. Angry that I'd disappeared for so long, he piled me with work until supper.
I managed to speak briefly with Belinda after I left the study and before I returned to my own rooms for my meal. I'd spied her in Rutledge's garden, and I slipped out there, pretending to take a short, leg-stretching stroll and encounter her by chance. Swiftly, while I tipped my hat and bowed, I told her that Sebastian was well and that, at this point, she was to say absolutely nothing about meeting him the night before the murder. I would give her further instructions later.
I walked away as she drew breath to ask questions. I knew it cruel, but I could not chance that her father would note any lengthy conversation with her.
