Free The Canterbury Murders by Maureen Ash Page A

home through the gate that led out of the precincts. They found the priest in the vestry, divesting himself of the alb and stole he had worn to conduct the service. He was an elderly cleric with a thin face and pedantic air. He read the letter of authority Nicolaa had given Miles very carefully before granting permission for them to examine the corpse.
    “I trust you will show full respect for the remains of the poor woman,” he said, his almost fleshless lips pursed in disapproval. “Her life was taken against God’s will; it was a heinous crime, and one that should not be compounded by liberties being taken with her body now that she is dead.”
    “I assure you that we shall not infringe on her modesty,” Miles said and gestured towards Clare. “We have brought Lady Nicolaa’s maidservant to perform any intimate inspection that may be necessary, and my companion and I will withdraw while she does so.”
    The priest, not altogether satisfied, but forced by Nicolaa’s writ to give his assent, reluctantly agreed to show them to the death house and led them out of the church. “The dead woman’s sister is with the deceased at the moment,” he informed them as they walked towards a small stone building set alongside the graveyard, “and has brought a neighbour to help with washing and laying out the body. As is to be expected, she is most distraught. I must insist that you have a care for her sensitivity.”
    Surprised, Miles said that he knew it had been King John’s intention to locate the washerwoman’s family, but he had not been aware that a relative had already been found.
    “Maud Cooper is one of my parishioners,” the priest told them, “and I knew she had a sister serving as a laundress in the king’s retinue. When the unfortunate woman’s body was brought here, and I was told she had been King John’s washerwoman, I thought it possible she was Mistress Cooper’s relative. I sent for her to come and view the body and sadly, my supposition was correct.”
    “I shall ask Lady Nicolaa to inform the king that Mistress Cooper has been notified,” Miles told the priest.
    “There is no need,” the priest replied with righteous self-satisfaction. “I sent word that I had identified her to the castle this morning and was most gratified, just an hour ago, to receive a message from King John along with the murdered woman’s belongings and a purse of silver for Mistress Cooper. In his letter the king asked me to convey his personal condolences for her bereavement, which was a great comfort to her.”
    By now, they had reached the door of the death house and the priest opened it and led them inside. The chamber, set with half-a-dozen raised stone slabs resting on squat pillars, was icily cold and beads of moisture dotted the walls. On one of the slabs lay the washerwoman’s corpse, her remains covered with a linen sheet pulled up to the chin to hide the dreadful wound to her neck. Next to the bier stood a small brazier and a bucket, the latter full of water which had sprigs of rosemary floating on the surface. Faint whiffs of the fragrant herb drifted across the room, but the scent was not strong enough to dispel the miasmic odour of death.
    Candles had been lit at each end of the bier and just beyond them, in the shadows, two women were sitting on a bench. One was of middle age and in obvious distress, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen from the tears that were trickling down her cheeks. The other woman, older and more composed, sat close beside her, one hand resting solicitously on her companion’s arm. They both looked up in surprise when Miles, Gianni and Clare followed the priest into the chamber.
    While the cleric was introducing the woman with the tear-stained face as the dead woman’s sister, and her companion as a neighbour, Edith Bottler, Gianni peered intently at the victim. She had a broad and full face that, with life’s vital essence, would have been plump, but was now flaccid and sunken;