The Saltergate Psalter Read Online Free
Author: Chris Nickson
walk away, the brother limping slowly behind the coroner. Who could have killed Timothy and Nicholas? He had no ideas, nothing to point him in the right direction. What he needed was to learn more about Timothy. What he did, what enemies he might have made during his life.
• • •
It took a little while for Dame Martha to answer his knock. When she did, her eyes were bright, her veil brilliant white and her gown as fine as ever. But somehow she seemed a little more frail, as if she was slowly fading away. For the first time, he noticed the flesh stretched tighter over her bones and the way her skin seemed more transparent.
She’d spent her whole life in the town; few knew it as well. Here there had been joy and sorrow for her. The love of a long marriage. Time and the pestilence that had taken so many of her kin and friends. How does a life balance out, he wondered?
‘Come in, come in,’ she told him, guiding him to a stool. ‘So the coroner has you looking into Timothy’s death? Everyone said Nicholas did it and ran away.’
‘Then everyone’s wrong,’ he said and saw her astonishment. Martha loved to be able to give fresh gossip to the other goodwives in the marketplace. Now he could offer her something tasty to pass on. ‘Nicholas is dead, too. In the garden behind the house.’
‘May God give him peace,’ she said without thinking, then asked, ‘What happened?’
Her eyes were full of curiosity and he told her what little he knew.
‘What I really need is to know about Timothy,’ John told her. ‘And Nicholas.’
She poured ale for them both and sat, sifting through her memories.
‘Timothy was very handsome when he was young,’ she began. ‘He was older than me, but I still noticed him. I think all the girls were in love with him.’
‘Were you?’ She blushed slightly, but didn’t reply. ‘Did he ever marry?’ John asked.
She shook her head. ‘No, he never seemed interested. He rode and hunted, that was what he enjoyed. There was talk that he had someone, but it was never more than that. No one knew a name, even if it was true. He grew up in that house on Saltergate. It became his when his father died.’
‘So he had money.’
‘That goes back a long way in the family,’ she told him. ‘That’s what my mother always told me. Something to do with trading in wool. His father and grandfather before him. And Timothy carried it on.’ She paused. ‘Until his accident, anyway.’
‘Accident?’
‘His horse threw him,’ Dame Martha explained. ‘After that he couldn’t walk much. He sold off his business and spent all his time in that house.’ She chewed at her lower lip. ‘I doubt I’ve seen him more than twice in the last ten years. He had to use two sticks to get around. I think he felt ashamed to be seen like that. After he’d always been so strong and active. I know he owned a few houses around Chesterfield but I’m not sure how much he had besides that.’
‘No children anywhere?’
She shook her head again. ‘Not that I ever heard of. Not around here, anyway. He hardly seemed to notice women. He had his friends and that was all. And the pestilence took most of them.’
He swirled the ale in the mug and took another long sip.
‘How long has Nicholas been with him?’
‘Oh, it must be years and years.’ Martha brought a hand to her mouth, trying to think. ‘Long before the plague, I’m certain of that. Timothy’s parents died when he was about twenty. I suppose it was soon after that.’ She turned to look at him. ‘I’m sorry, I wish I could tell you more.’
‘What was he like?’ John asked. ‘Timothy, I mean.’
‘Pleasant enough when he was younger, I suppose. But he was always a little distant, as if he’d rather be somewhere else. He always rushed through his business to make time for his pleasure.’
‘And then his pleasure was taken from him,’ John said quietly.
‘It was, God rest his soul.’
‘Have you ever heard of a book of
• • •
It took a little while for Dame Martha to answer his knock. When she did, her eyes were bright, her veil brilliant white and her gown as fine as ever. But somehow she seemed a little more frail, as if she was slowly fading away. For the first time, he noticed the flesh stretched tighter over her bones and the way her skin seemed more transparent.
She’d spent her whole life in the town; few knew it as well. Here there had been joy and sorrow for her. The love of a long marriage. Time and the pestilence that had taken so many of her kin and friends. How does a life balance out, he wondered?
‘Come in, come in,’ she told him, guiding him to a stool. ‘So the coroner has you looking into Timothy’s death? Everyone said Nicholas did it and ran away.’
‘Then everyone’s wrong,’ he said and saw her astonishment. Martha loved to be able to give fresh gossip to the other goodwives in the marketplace. Now he could offer her something tasty to pass on. ‘Nicholas is dead, too. In the garden behind the house.’
‘May God give him peace,’ she said without thinking, then asked, ‘What happened?’
Her eyes were full of curiosity and he told her what little he knew.
‘What I really need is to know about Timothy,’ John told her. ‘And Nicholas.’
She poured ale for them both and sat, sifting through her memories.
‘Timothy was very handsome when he was young,’ she began. ‘He was older than me, but I still noticed him. I think all the girls were in love with him.’
‘Were you?’ She blushed slightly, but didn’t reply. ‘Did he ever marry?’ John asked.
She shook her head. ‘No, he never seemed interested. He rode and hunted, that was what he enjoyed. There was talk that he had someone, but it was never more than that. No one knew a name, even if it was true. He grew up in that house on Saltergate. It became his when his father died.’
‘So he had money.’
‘That goes back a long way in the family,’ she told him. ‘That’s what my mother always told me. Something to do with trading in wool. His father and grandfather before him. And Timothy carried it on.’ She paused. ‘Until his accident, anyway.’
‘Accident?’
‘His horse threw him,’ Dame Martha explained. ‘After that he couldn’t walk much. He sold off his business and spent all his time in that house.’ She chewed at her lower lip. ‘I doubt I’ve seen him more than twice in the last ten years. He had to use two sticks to get around. I think he felt ashamed to be seen like that. After he’d always been so strong and active. I know he owned a few houses around Chesterfield but I’m not sure how much he had besides that.’
‘No children anywhere?’
She shook her head again. ‘Not that I ever heard of. Not around here, anyway. He hardly seemed to notice women. He had his friends and that was all. And the pestilence took most of them.’
He swirled the ale in the mug and took another long sip.
‘How long has Nicholas been with him?’
‘Oh, it must be years and years.’ Martha brought a hand to her mouth, trying to think. ‘Long before the plague, I’m certain of that. Timothy’s parents died when he was about twenty. I suppose it was soon after that.’ She turned to look at him. ‘I’m sorry, I wish I could tell you more.’
‘What was he like?’ John asked. ‘Timothy, I mean.’
‘Pleasant enough when he was younger, I suppose. But he was always a little distant, as if he’d rather be somewhere else. He always rushed through his business to make time for his pleasure.’
‘And then his pleasure was taken from him,’ John said quietly.
‘It was, God rest his soul.’
‘Have you ever heard of a book of