The Saltergate Psalter Read Online Free Page A

psalms in the family?’
    ‘No,’ she answered with a thoughtful glance. ‘Nothing like that. Why?’
    He ignored her question.
    ‘What about Nicholas? Did you know him?’
    ‘Not really. You should talk to Evelyn.’
    ‘Evelyn? I don’t think I know her.’
    ‘Of course you do, John.’ She swatted playfully at his arm. ‘You repaired the hinge on her door back at the turn of the year. She’s the one who lives over by West Bar. One of Timothy’s tenants. Walks bent over. I often used to see them talking on market day.’
    He remembered her now, one of Martha’s friends. They stood together at the side of the church nave with the other goodwives during the Sunday service.
    ‘You don’t miss much,’ he said in admiration.
    ‘I like to know what’s going on,’ she sniffed. ‘But since you’re here, there’s something I wanted to ask you. What are you going to do about Janette and Eleanor?’
    ‘The girls?’ He didn’t understand. ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘They’re very bright. They should learn to read and write.’
    The thought took him aback. Reading? Writing? What would they need with that?
    ‘But why?’ he asked.
    ‘Because everyone should,’ she told him simply. ‘I already talked to Katherine. She agrees.’
    He smiled. Even if he objected he had no chance.
    ‘Who’d teach them?’ John asked.
    ‘I would,’ she told him as if it was obvious. ‘Their numbers, too. I might as well be of some use in my old age.’
    ‘You’re not so old.’
    ‘And you’re not a good liar, John the Carpenter.’ Dame Martha smiled and tapped him on the knee. ‘It’s settled then.’
    • • •
    ‘Yes, I know Nicholas,’ Evelyn told him. She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe he could have killed Master Timothy.’
    ‘He didn’t,’ John said.
    She turned to look at him. Her face was lined with wrinkles, all her hair carefully tucked under her veil. Her wrists were like twigs, her fingers bent almost into claws by age. The years hadn’t been kind to her. Her back had twisted so she could no longer straighten it, and she shuffled more than walked. But her mind appeared sharp enough.
    ‘That’s what everyone said.’
    ‘Someone killed him, too.’ He kept his voice low and gentle and put his hand over hers.
    ‘But … why would anyone do that?’
    ‘I don’t know yet. Dame Martha says you knew Nicholas.’
    ‘Knew?’ She considered the word. ‘We talked. I don’t know if anyone knew him. Maybe Master Timothy did.’
    ‘Anything you can tell me about him will help.’
    ‘I don’t know. He told me once that he was born in Dronfield. Nicholas never really said much about himself.’ She looked around the small house. ‘What will happen to this place?’
    ‘What do you mean?’ John asked.
    ‘Timothy owned this house. That’s the only reason I knew Nicholas, really. He came to collect the rent every quarter day.’
    ‘I suppose the house will belong to whoever Timothy named in his will. Martha said he didn’t have any children.’
    ‘No, poor man. Not for want of offers when he was young.’ Her eyes drifted into memories. ‘We’d all have wed him if he’d asked. But all he wanted was horses and hunting. Hawking, too.’
    ‘What about Nicholas? Did he go with his master?’
    ‘I don’t remember.’ She gave a wan smile. ‘I don’t have a picture of it in my mind.’
    ‘What other houses did Timothy own?’
    ‘Where Richard the Cooper lives, close by the church. And one in the Middle Shambles. Edward the Butcher.’
    The Shambles, John thought. The market for meat, but also home to most of the thieves and the whores of the town. Fine during the day, perhaps, but dangerous at night. A place for an honest man to take care of his purse and his life.
    ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘If you think of anything else, can you send word to me?’
    She nodded her agreement.
    ‘Martha says you’re a good young man. Married now, she told me.’
    ‘I am,’ he agreed with a smile.