The boatman collected the fare and poled the boat back into the current.
“Nay, I’ve got some news of interest regarding this possible monk you mentioned.” Meddybemps lowered his voice as he noticed the three women in front of them leaning back to better hear. He cupped his hand to Bianca’s ear. “I have found out his name.”
“Do tell,” said Bianca. “I wish to know.”
“Apparently, he was a monk from Kent. His name is Ywan Hanks Sedar.” Meddybemps spelled out the first name. “Y, W, A, N, pronounced Yiwan. Y…H…S. Are those not the initials on the paternoster?”
“Where did you learn this?”
The boat began to rock as the wake from another wherry broke against their hull.
“A man came to my cart for a remedy to ease his sore joints. He told me he was once a religious man, but had taken a pension and shared humble quarters with two others. I asked if he found it difficult to live on the pension he was given? He jested that he was used to having very little being from Faversham monastery. I asked where the monastery was located and he told me Kent.”
“That is where Brother Ywan told me he was from,” said Bianca.
“I asked if there were any other monks from Kent who had come to London but who did not live with him. ‘Oh yea,’ said he. ‘One monk was fortunate to secure a position in a parish church in Broad Street ward.’
“‘Were there any others?’ I asked. ‘One more’, said he. ‘Brother Ywan came to London and has not been heard from since.’ He said the monk would have seen his end soon enough if Cromwell’s agents had not closed the monastery. This particular monk believed his personal remorse could not be appreciated without chastening the flesh.’”
“Chastening the flesh?” repeated Bianca. “And how does one chasten the flesh?”
Meddybemps leaned close, so the women in front of them could not hear. “Self-mortification.”
“By knife or by whip?”
“A whip apparently,” answered Meddybemps.
Bianca sat a moment. “One should embrace good health when one has it,” she said. “Why would God want someone to harm their own person?”
“Flagellation is severely frowned upon by the church,” added Meddybemps. “What was once accepted as a show of empathy for Christ’s suffering is now reason for being ostracized. When I heard him mention Brother Ywan I asked for his full name and he told me.”
“Has Brother Ywan been ostracized?”
Meddybemps bit a hangnail. “Possibly. It makes me think that a monk who is shunned and on his own must find other ways to make money.”
Bianca sat quietly, listening to the boatmen call to one another as they passed. So, Brother Ywan and Brother Sedar were one and the same. Certainly, the monk had not told her everything about his shelter for boys. From what Meddybemps had learned, if three pensioned religious men were struggling to survive on their pooled resources, how could Brother Sedar help several boys and himself on a single pension?
“I was on my way to see Patch, but I think I must first visit a monk.”
Chapter 28
Meddybemps accompanied Bianca to the abandoned tannery off Old Change. Brother Sedar had been less than welcoming the first time she visited; he was the sort of character who guarded his privacy but with a house full of boys how could he expect to remain unnoticed? They passed Naylor’s printing shop en route, and Bianca, noticing its darkened interior, took it to be closed.
Turning down the narrow alley, Bianca caught a whiff of the pungent tannery. How anyone could live there puzzled even she, who was more accepting of disagreeable odors than most.
“Fie upon it!” exclaimed Meddybemps, stopping to look around. “That stink! What is it?”
“He lives in an old tannery.”
“I hope for not much money.” Meddybemps waved his hand in front of his face as if it would replace the foul smell with something better. “If I succumb to this smell drag me out to the road before I die. I should not like my last breath to be of this.”
Bianca knocked at the sturdy ash door and received no response. She tried a second time with the same result.
“Let me rattle it,” said Meddybemps, ready to take his turn. He proceeded to pound the door, then kicked it with the ball of his foot.
“There is no need to destroy my door, sirrah. I must ask you to cease,” said a sonorous voice at Meddybemps’s elbow. There stood Brother Sedar looking vexed. “If you have business with me, then out with it.”
“You told me you were not familiar with the name Brother Ewan,” said Bianca.
The monk looked at her. “I do not recognize EEE-wan,” he said, emphasizing the pronunciation. “If you are referring to my first name, it is pronounced Ywan, with a beginning sound like the word ‘if’.”
“Your initials Y, H, S are the same as those found on the paternoster used to hang a boy at St. Mary Magdalen’s Church.”
Before the monk could answer, Meddybemps spoke. “You are the Deft Drigger--the man who runs a thieving ring at St. Paul’s and its side streets.”
Brother Sedar calmly ran his eyes over the two of them. He showed a surprising lack of emotion at being so bluntly accused.
“These are serious allegations,” he said. “And they are unfounded.” He made a move towards the door and was blocked.
“Methinks you should tell your story to the constable,” said Bianca. “If you are as innocent as you claim, then you should not object to this minor inconvenience.”
***
Constable Patch looked up from his oversized desk and perked at the sight of Bianca entering with two men in tow. He recognized the streetseller bringing up the rear and stiffened at the sight of him, but in between was a third incomer, a man he’d never seen before.
“Wells, now. I was just wondering if I might sees you today, Bianca Goddard,” he said. “The day may be significance.”
“This is Ywan Hanks Sedar,” said Bianca. When she noticed Patch’s expression remained unmoved, she added, “His initials match the letters we found on the paternoster at St. Mary Magdalen’s.”
Patch stared a moment, still unable to grasp the connection. Bianca was about to explain when suddenly Patch’s face bloomed like a rose on a hot summer day and he quickly assumed his usual bluster.
“By my beard. Wells now. Let’s hear what he has to say.” Patch leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on the desk, an expectant look on his face.
Bianca stood aside and the monk stepped forward to address Patch.
“It is true,” he said. “My name is Ywan Hanks Sedar. I am a pensioned monk from Kent. I moved here with three others after Cromwell’s agents closed the monastery. We had a difficult time adjusting to London, but it was either this or a more uncertain future in the nearby village. The town folk did not take kindly to men of cloth after the King and his agents embarked on their campaign to denigrate the church.” Here, the monk’s tone turned accusatory. “But I ask you, Constable, who do you think is more corrupt? The King or the Pope?”
Patch squirmed in his chair. He wasn’t about to answer that one.
“Sir, yer bitterness is glaring,” said Patch. “Ye tread on dangerous ground.” Patch did not overtly discourage the man from voicing a treasonous opinion. If the fellow chose to incriminate himself, he would be more than happy to refer him on to the magistrate.
“I speak on grounds of truth,” said the monk. “It was a difficult adjustment coming to London and living outside the routine and protection of the monastery. Indeed, one of us refused to leave, and he did not accept the King’s supremacy. He was punished as a heretic.”
Bianca spoke. “We understand, it must have been difficult to change your way of life. But if surviving in London is so difficult an adjustment, why would you leave the support of others sharing a similar predicament?”
“We cannot live companionably.”
“Yet you got on well enough at the monastery?”
> “We had our separate quarters. And our life there was completely given over to serving God.”
Bianca wanted more of an answer. “And so you ventured out on your own, knowing that it would be more difficult to afford a place to live?”
“I am accustomed to having few possessions.”
Until now, Meddybemps had been content just listening. “Yet you found living in London on your own was too difficult. So you enlisted a tribe of boys to thieve and support you.”
“They are not thieves,” responded Sedar.
“Then what are they?” asked Meddybemps. “They menace Newmarket and Westcheap. There isn’t a vendor who hasn’t had an incident.”
“I do not tell them to steal.”
“Yet they do.”
“If they need to steal in order to survive then it says more about the state of affairs of this man’s kingdom than it does my efforts to advise them. I ask that they seek God’s guidance on a daily basis.”
“You want us to believe that you manage to feed and shelter these boys with just your pension?” asked Bianca.
“I accept the charity of others.”
“And who might be these good Samaritans?” asked Patch.
“The boys are instructed to help people. Perhaps they carry something for an elderly woman who looks in need of assistance. If they are given a penny or an apple in return, they bring it back for the general welfare of the group.”
“Then can you explain why they might steal?” asked Bianca. “The boys are rascals and we can trace many of them back to you.” This was a fabrication, but Bianca hoped it might jar him into explaining more.
“As I said, I instruct them to help others.”
Bianca considered a different angle. “What happens if a boy is unable to find someone needing help? What if he comes home at the end of the day and has nothing to contribute?”
“Then that boy has failed to find a way to show kindness. Opportunities abound. I want them to see and to understand that. Our way to salvation is through our good acts. It is not by faith alone. A boy who fails even one day is expected to look into his heart and ask himself why he did not do better.”
Meddybemps squinted one eye in disbelief. “These are young lads, sirrah. Do you truly expect them to consider their failings?” He snorted, incredulous. “When I was that age, I would do anything to keep from being beaten.”
Brother Sedar kept his counsel. Bianca found his reticence telling in itself.
“Brother, do you beat the boys if they return with nothing to offer?”
“They learn discipline,” he said calmly. “There is a difference.”
“Ah,” said Bianca. “But do you think the boys are mature enough to understand?”
“It is a small discomfort for their failure. Our Lord suffered a great deal more for our sins. I instruct and teach them empathy.”
Bianca and Meddybemps exchanged looks.
“It is understandable with young boys,” said Patch. Everyone became quiet and cast long looks at one another.
“I met a boy named Luke,” said Meddybemps breaking the silence. “If I hadn’t pulled him to safety he would have been trampled by a dray. He looked distracted for a young boy. I took him to be eight or nine years old. There was a haunted look about him. Mayhaps he was consumed in thought. Distracted. I kept an eye on him.
“He was near a corner tenement near Sermon. He seemed on edge, like he was scared. He cautiously approached the door then left a purse on the stoop. He had no more turned to make away when the door flew open and out came a young man, rather large in build. He chased the boy--with what intention, I do not know. But the boy was terrified.”
“That is where Jane Clewes lives,” said Bianca. “That would have been Huet who gave chase.”
Meddybemps continued. “I know the short cuts through the alleys and lanes and I saw him enter Paul’s Walk. I waited at the other end and saw him exit. He hid by Paul’s Cross. I wondered if his pursuer would give up. The boy had the advantage of being fleet of foot. But nay, his pursuer flushed him out from behind a bush and Luke took off again. But, as I said, I know the cut backs and short paths between these lanes. Now it was me who pursued the boy and I followed him straight to your door, sir.”
Brother Sedar listened stoically to Meddybemps’s story. He gave no hint of surprise or consternation hearing this. The only one showing surprise was Bianca. So, Meddybemps had been to the tannery before.
“I pulled Luke away and questioned him,” said Meddybemps. “I asked him, was this where he lived? You have taught your boys well, sirrah. He did not answer for the longest while. But I know a hungry lad when I see one. After a trencher of beef stew, I asked what he left on the stoop.
“‘A bag of coins’, said he.” Meddybemps’s errant eye began to dance. “A bag of coins? The boy claims he was ordered to deliver the money. And that it was not the first time he had done so.” Meddybemps’s confidence soared as he continued to question the monk. “So, I wonder, Brother Sedar,” he said, “if, as you say, you struggle on a measly pension, why do you instruct this boy to leave money there? What secret do you keep?”
Constable Patch’s eyes doubled in size. He delighted in Meddybemps’s clever handling of the man, even though he still thought the streetseller a shady fellow.
Brother Sedar simply stood there, his expression passive.
Patch spoke. “Sirrah, ye may think ye should nots have to answer, but I assure ye, ye most certainly do. There is the matter of young boys being murdered and ifs ye think ye can remain smug and refuse to cooperate, I shall turn ye over to someone who makes his reputation getting men to talk.” Patch leaned forward in his chair. “So, listen close to what I says. If ye be innocent of these heinous crimes, then proves it.”
Brother Sedar dragged his eyes from Patch and took in his surroundings before answering. He nodded almost imperceptibly, as if he was having an internal conversation with himself.
“I am an honorable man,” he told Patch. “It is my earthly journey to right any wrongs that I may have either willfully or unknowingly caused. But I tell you now and I will tell you true--I am not behind the deaths of those boys.
“I am at a loss how to convince you that I am not a murderer. You have my word as a man of God, but you doubt even that. The King has succeeded in making every cleric, every servant of God, vulnerable to suspicion. It grieves me that I cannot protect the innocent from having their most tender secrets divulged and judged by men like you. No one but God should know what is in a man’s heart. You tread on ground most unnatural for those of your rank.”
Constable Patch’s eyes narrowed into mean little slits as he listened to Brother Sedar.
The monk continued, “I cannot take back a mistake. As I said, my purpose is to make amends.” He paused then continued. “But before I tell you, I want your sworn word that this remains private. I ask all of you to keep your wise counsel.” He looked round at each of them, seeking their promise.
“If what ye tells us is of no use,” said Patch, adding a caveat to his promise.
For once, the monk showed some emotion. His face pinked and he struggled to continue.
“Get on with it, man,” said Patch. “This yammering on to no effect is wasting precious time.”
Brother Sedar closed his eyes as he began. “Years ago, when I was at the abbey, I would travel to Davington Priory to bring them foodstuffs from our stores. Davington was not a rich priory. The nuns had a small bit of infertile land that could not be cultivated. Their prioress struggled to prudently administer their meager funds. Jane Clewes was the cellaress and as such, was charged with procuring food and supplies. Often, they lacked the funds to sufficiently feed the sisters and obedientiaries. Also, the buildings suffered from a number of maintenance issues. The roof leaked in the sleeping quarters, posts rotted, hinges broke. The steward neglected to make repairs, given the lack of resources to properly do so. Faversham Abbey was not so far
away, and we helped them when we could.
“The duty to deliver them food often fell to me. I had numerous dealings with Jane Clewes and we became friends. She often told me in confidence the troubles Davington was facing. It was not just that their money was in short supply, but their prioress spent what money they had on plate and religious objects. It was her assurance against Cromwell and the King dismantling the religious houses. Jane told me this having followed the prioress one night to a strong box buried outside the Priory, covered in a rubble of stone. The cache was filled with glittering gold plate, silver vessels, and pix boxes. Jane knew not what the prioress planned, but neither could she broach the subject to her superior. She kept quiet, but it gnawed at her.
“But the prioress continued to spend lavishly, putting the rest of the household at risk. Food fell in short supply.
“She confided this to me and I have kept silent until this day.” A look of regret came over Brother Sedar’s face. He dropped his head and stared at the ground.
Bianca prompted him to continue. “We wish only the truth in so far as proving your innocence, sir. You have our oath that what you say will go no further than this room. If you are blameless, then tell us all.”
The monk stared at the floor a moment longer, then glanced up at Bianca and sighed. “I admit I felt a concern and care for Jane Clewes that went beyond my duty.” He paused, then said, “We had become familiar with one another.”
Constable Patch’s eyebrows shot up. He looked to say something and Bianca pinned him with a sharp look and a shake of her head. Patch reluctantly shut his mouth.
“Indeed, on more than one occasion,” said Brother Sedar.
Patch couldn’t contain himself. “Ye being a monk? A man of faith and vows! For shame. Can ye not see why the king and his agents dissolved these so-called holy houses?”
Bianca and Meddybemps looked at Patch in horror. The constable’s words fell like a black soaking rain. There was no taking them back now.
But Brother Sedar did not flinch. He probably had expected the reaction, for while the outburst obviously pained him, he continued on.
The Lost Boys of London Page 24
