The Hand of Justice

‘Perhaps,’ replied Julianna enigmatically, causing Constantine to look sharply at her, although Edward did not deign to respond. He smiled, rather unpleasantly, as though he knew something she did not. Bartholomew guessed what it was: Julianna was clearly under the impression that she could have her marriage dissolved, just as she had done with Master Langelee, but she would be in for a shock. Marriages were not often annulled, especially not if the husband objected. Julianna’s inheritance represented a fortune, and Edward was not going to let any part of it slip through his fingers. Poor Julianna was stuck with him, no matter what she thought.

‘What happened to Thomas?’ asked Michael, looking down at the shrouded figure.

Edward stepped forward and whisked the sheet away so that Bartholomew and Michael could see the extent of the injuries Thomas had suffered before his death. His clothes were drenched in blood, his face was crushed almost beyond recognition, and his limbs and chest were unnatural shapes where bones had broken. But if Edward had wanted to shock the scholars, he was disappointed. Bartholomew had an academic interest in such matters, while Michael, although he disliked the more grisly aspects of his post, had sufficient self-control not to flinch. Even William had seen enough violent death to be dispassionate.

‘A horse bolted from Lavenham’s stables during the fire,’ said Constantine, sounding as if he was going to cry again. ‘It collided with Thomas, and he was trampled.’

‘He was drunk when the fire raged,’ said Bartholomew, recalling how the miller had reeled and slobbered from his wineskin just before the inferno had started. He edged past Michael to inspect the body properly, and frowned. The injuries did not fit with the story he had been told. ‘But there are no hoof marks here. Just signs that he was crushed.’

‘Rubbish,’ said Edward. ‘There are hoof marks everywhere and we shall use them as proof.’

‘Proof of what?’

‘Proof that will allow us to sue Lavenham,’ said Edward, casually inspecting his fingernails. ‘He was negligent in the way he stabled his nags. If he had tethered them properly, they would not have escaped and Thomas would still be alive.’ He exchanged a grin with Thorpe.

Bartholomew gazed at him, uncertain whether he was making a jest in poor taste, but he seemed perfectly serious. Julianna saw the physician’s bemusement.

‘He means it,’ she said. ‘He really does intend to make Lavenham pay for the death of Thomas.’

‘After what you have just said?’ asked Michael, astounded. ‘That Thomas killed Lenne and injured Isnard because he fell asleep at the reins? Does it not occur to you that suing Lavenham would be a gross injustice?’

Thorpe did his best to be nonchalant, but he was enjoying himself too much to succeed. His smile was triumphant when he saw the scholars’ shock. ‘We know our rights. The town did not care about justice when Edward and I were ordered to abjure the realm, so why should we care about it now?’

‘Well, you might take a lesson from Thomas,’ suggested Michael. ‘He thought he could evade punishment for his sins, and look what happened to him.’

Thorpe had the grace to look uneasy, but Edward did not react. ‘That is different,’ he said.

‘Why?’ asked William.

‘Because we have not been cursed by Mistress Lenne.’

‘No,’ agreed Thorpe, regaining his confidence. ‘Nor did we crush any old men with carts. The folk we killed two years ago deserved to die.’

Some of Edward’s family looked distinctly uncomfortable with this claim, and one of them collected his wife and aimed for the door. Two or three others followed, and Bartholomew saw there were fractures in the clan that had not been there before. A month ago, they would have stuck together no matter what, but Edward’s outrageous behaviour seemed too much, even for them. Constantine watched the dissenters leave with a troubled expression.

‘The Hand of Justice will never allow mischief to befall us,’ Thorpe continued, ignoring the small exodus. ‘It knows how we have suffered — exiled to places like Albi and Calais.’

‘But even if Lavenham survived the fire, he will be penniless,’ reasoned Michael. ‘The fire deprived him of all he owns. He will not be able to pay you anything — negligently tethered horses or no.’

‘That is not our problem,’ said Thorpe loftily. ‘The town will pay — as it will pay the compensation owed to me and Edward for our unjust banishment. After all, it is only fair.’

Neither Bartholomew nor Michael could think of much to say as they walked to Tulyet’s house on Bridge Street that evening. They were appalled by Edward’s plan to sue Lavenham and, while they hoped the law would be sufficiently sane to see the claim for the outrage it was, their recent experience with England’s eccentric legal system and its dishonest clerks did not fill them with confidence.