A Murder of Crows: A Sir Robert Carey Mystery

by P. F. Chisholm

  The tide being on the ebb with the flow of the river doubled the speed. The boatman was rowing hard to keep the prow aimed straight. His only guide was the torches hanging on the sides of London Bridge which were not easy to see. As they bounced and slid nearer and nearer the noise of the water against the starlings and the grind and clank of the waterwheels still working at the ends were enough to take your head off.

  Suddenly, at a horrible speed they were approaching the dark arches with their single lanterns hung over the two central ones. The wet bricks swooped towards them like mouths of sea monsters intent on eating them. Next second they were under the echoing arch with the dripping brickwork and the great beams going across to brace them, the roar of the waters battering their ears and brains far worse than thunder, nearly as bad as cannon. For a second, Dodd saw eyes peering at them from the narrow ledges and realised there were creatures so poor that they tried to sleep in that awful place. The second after that they had shot across the churning white water and out into the relative peace of the Pool of London with its waterborne forest of ships, each showing its sternlight and mainmast light.

  The boatman backed water and caught his breath. “Done it!” he crowed. “Nobody of my lodge ever did that, ha! Old Noah’ll be proud!”

  He reached over and shook Dodd’s hand, laughing with delight at himself. Dodd gave him a golden angel since it wasn’t actually his money and the man had done well by them. He didn’t plan to shoot the Bridge on the ebb ever again, night or day, but it had been…exciting.

  They were coming close to the Judith of Penryn, a long slender ship with three masts crowded on the deck. There were cannon ports along the side and movement on deck. Dodd saw more lanterns being lit.

  He blinked across the dark waters and had to shut his eyes and refocus carefully: a small rotund figure in the stern was aiming a pistol at him, he could clearly see the match burning.

  “Mr. Briscoe, Mr. Shakespeare,” he said quietly, raising his hands. “Lie down.”

  They stared at him, followed his gaze, saw the pistol in Lady Hunsdon’s steady hands, and ducked immediately. Briscoe drew his dagger and convinced the boatman to keep rowing. Carefully, slowly, Dodd stood up and balanced. There wasn’t a lot of chance she could hit him at that range, but you never knew.

  “My lady Hunsdon, can Ah talk wi’ yer ladyship?”

  “If you have any information on my son who went missing whilst hawking in Finsbury Fields, Sergeant, yes.”

  “He’s gaun tae Court. Naebody’s taken him, he went off by hisself. I didnae ken until this afternoon.”

  “How do you know for sure, Sergeant?” That gun was still pointing at him, steady as a rock except for a gentle movement to allow for the rocking of the ship.

  “He used yer money to get his Court duds out o’ pawn, my lady,” said Dodd, coming up with the only piece of evidence that would have convinced Janet. “And he left me a letter wi’ Senhor Gomes.” There was a thoughtful pause.

  “Explain why I should believe a word of this considering I think that you are the most likely man to have betrayed him.”

  “It’s the truth!” shouted Dodd, outraged to have his word doubted. The match glowed brighter as she blew on it and settled the dag on her forearm to aim better. “Ah, if ye let me on yer boat wi’out my weapons, my lady, ye can kill me wi’ a dagger if ye’re not convinced. Which will save ye the recoil on the pistol.”

  The pistol was still steady. After a very long time, she simply nodded. The boatman rowed carefully up to the tall wooden side of the ship. Dodd unbelted his sword, looked at the ropeladder, and climbed it as fast as he could so he wouldn’t have time to think about it. At the top as he climbed puffing over the rail, Captain Trevasker steadied him, a long carved stick in his left fist, and then walked him up some steps to the rearcastle where Lady Hunsdon was waiting. She looked magnificent and was wearing a steel gorget as the Queen had been rumoured to do when the Armada came. Captain Trevasker drew his long knife.

  Dodd ignored this and pulled the crumpled sheet of Carey’s letter to him out of his pouch, gave it to Lady Hunsdon. Some of the lines of fury on Lady Hunsdon’s face relaxed as she read in the light of her lantern. “Well, Sergeant?” she said and so he told her what had been going on. After a little more time, she pinched out the dag’s match with her gloved fingers and laid it down. As the tale went on she began to get angry again.

  “Is the man completely without commonsense?” she asked haughtily at the news of Heneage’s raid on Laurence Pickering, “What a wittol, eh Captain?”

  Dodd added the facts on James Enys’ true nature, expecting surprise, and found that Lady Hunsdon simply shook her head.

  “Of course I knew that, Sergeant, I knew they were twins and there was no spare brother. I also could see for myself that Enys had no adam’s apple and walked like a woman when she wasn’t concentrating. I didn’t see any need to talk about it.”

  Bitterly Dodd wondered if he was the only one to be taken in.

  “Well Heneage has got her and he’s got Mr. Briscoe’s wife forbye to use for anither hostage.”

  There was a moment’s silence. Lady Hunsdon had her chin on her chest in thought.

  “And Laurence Pickering’s got some plans, but he didnae tell me what they were,” added Dodd. “He said he’d find out where they were keeping her.”

  “Who else is in the boat with you?” Lady Hunsdon asked.

  “Tim Briscoe, Pickering’s man and…er…Bald Will,” said Dodd.

  “Any idea who he’s working for now?”

  “Ay milady, he told me he stole the survey Letty had and giv it tae Sir Robert Cecil.”

  Her very bright eyes glittered slightly at this, but all she said was “At least that’s an improvement. Why did you come to the Judith?”

  “Ah had a mind tae speak wi’ this Vent, who I think is the real James Enys. He disappeared in the last two or three weeks which makes me wonder what he’s been at. Heneage arrested Enys for helping the escape of a state prisoner.”

  “If he hasn’t jumped off, he’s on board now. The bo’sun’s a cousin of his.”

  Dodd nodded at the sense this made. Naturally if you were on the run in a foreign city like London, you’d take refuge on a ship from your own county so you could get back there eventually. Also they might be less likely to betray you. He’d do the same. In fact it might be worth finding out if there were any Newcastle coasters in the Pool since it was a long way by sea to Carlisle.

  There was a clattering. First Shakespeare’s head appeared and he climbed over the rail to be followed by Briscoe, who had evidently been pushing him.

  Dodd realised he had scuffed his knuckles and made a hole in his hose which thoroughly annoyed him. Still, what could you expect from fancy, expensive, but delicate duds? How the devil did the elderly and stout Lady Hunsdon get aboard?

  Briscoe and Shakespeare were looking around themselves nervously at the short, mostly red-headed men bustling about in the lantern light with ropes and barrels.

  A man was brought up from below through a hatch, dressed in workman’s clothes, but with soft hands and a pocky face that might have been good-looking once. It was definitely Vent the card-player. Dodd squinted at him in the flickering light and there was indeed a resemblance to Enys the lawyer. He was a little taller and broader in the shoulder, but the hair-colour was the same and the general cast of the features very similar. His voice was deeper and rougher though.

  Lady Hunsdon sat herself down on a cushioned seachest with Trevasker beside her, and rested her hands on the top of a silver and ebony cane and her chin on her hands. Bright beady eyes raked Enys like gunfire.

  “Well, James Enys, I want a full accounting of yourself.”

  The man bowed nervously. “My lady, I asked for refuge on your ship being a Cornishman because I am a little entangled in gambling debts and I…”

  “Pfui. You are on the run and your sister has taken your place as a man of law. Heneage arrested her in p
lace of you not an hour ago for assisting the escape of a state prisoner. Well?”

  The man paused carefully. “I don’t understand…” He sounded as if his breath was short with shock.

  “Och, my lady, this canna be the man,” said Dodd sourly. “I heard fra his sister while I thought her to be a man that she had sae loving a brother he came and nursed her while she was sick of the smallpox and her husband and children had died, and then caught it himself.”

  “Who are you?” said the man.

  “Sergeant Dodd, Sir Robert Carey’s man. I saw the woman calling herself James Enys taken by Heneage. He slapped her about a bit, mind, but what he and Topcliffe will do to her when they find she’s a woman, I darenae think.” He paused. “And they’ll find it oot as soon as they strip her for the rack.”

  The man swallowed convulsively.

  There was a pause broken by shouts and an occasional long creak as the ship swayed at her mooring.

  “My lady, I…perhaps I should speak in private…”

  “You can speak here, now. This is all tangled up with the coney-catching practice about Cornish lands, isn’t it?”

  Enys nodded.

  “And the killing of Fr. Jackson,” added Dodd, since he thought he might as well. “It was ye killed him, was it no’?”

  Suddenly Enys sat down on a coil of rope and put his face in his hands. “I couldn’t think what else to do…”

  “Shh,” said Lady Hunsdon kindly. “Nobody minds you killing a Papist priest. We haven’t much time. Oh, while I remember…Mr. Shakespeare!” The bellow could have cut through a full gale. After a moment, Shakespeare appeared at the top of the companionway to the rear castle, looking frightened.

  “Go and find your master Sir Robert Cecil immediately and tell him I want to speak to him here on the Judith.”

  Shakespeare’s mouth opened. “But milady…”

  “Don’t argue. Go and fetch him immediately.”

  “But what if he won’t come.”

  Lady Hunsdon’s eyes narrowed. “He’ll come.” Shakespeare bowed.

  A man came running up to Trevasker and whispered in his ear. Dodd noticed the ship moving and creaking more and seeming to move at its anchorage. Lady Hunsdon nodded. “Good, the tide will turn in an hour,” she said to Trevasker. “Will you have the men get ready for a cutting-out expedition?”

  The imperturbable Trevasker’s jaw dropped slightly and he stared. “Where’d that be to, milady?”

  “Oh, somewhere around here.” She turned her head, looked straight at Dodd and winked. Dodd almost snorted with amusement.

  Then she rapped with the cane on the deck. “Come along, come along, James,” she said. “Just spill it all out, you’ll feel so much better. When did your sister—Portia isn’t it? I remember that. Her mother named her after a little fishing village in Cornwall for some reason. When did Portia start playing at being a man?” No answer. “Do you want me to ask Dodd to encourage you a little? Just to salve your pride with a black eye, or something?”

  Not for the first time, Dodd’s ribs were hurting with the effort of not laughing James’s face reappeared from behind his hands and scowled at Lady Hunsdon.

  “Ah’ll dae it and glad to,” said Dodd, wishing he had leather gloves on to protect his scabbed knuckles. “It might be safer for him if ye have a man holding him though.”

  “That’s not necessary,” growled the real James Enys.

  “Och,” said Dodd, quite relieved, but did his best to look disappointed.

  “It started after we both came up to London from Cornwall, after it seemed everybody we had in the world had died of smallpox. I went back to Gray’s Inn to continue my legal studies which I had broken to try my fortune in the Netherlands. I had no enthusiasm for it any more, after…after the smallpox. Portia came with me to keep house for me and because she had nowhere else and we always agreed very well so it seemed the best idea. I found that…I was falling behind and so she would help with my studies and write briefs for my moots. The first time she wore my clothes and pretended to be me was a day when I had a terrible megrim and fever…”

  “I expect you were hungover, weren’t you? Distempered of drink?” came Lady Hunsdon’s scalpel-like voice.

  James looked at the deck. “Yes, my lady, I was. She went and mooted for me and did immensely well, carrying her point and utterly destroying my opponent that I had been afraid of. She came back in the best spirits I had seen her in since the death of her children and husband and the next time I had to moot, she went on my behalf again as I never liked doing it.”

  “Ehm…milady, what’s a moot?”

  “As it were a practice court case for the law students at the Inns of Court, like a veney with words,” said Lady Hunsdon. “Often on very foolish subjects.”

  “Whiteacre and Greenacre arguing over a square yard of land upon which is an easement and a flying freehold, generally,” said James incomprehensibly. “Utterly tedious. But Portia enjoyed it and was much better at talking Norman French, so I…well, it seemed kinder to…”

  “You were very relieved at not having to do the work yourself and let her do it.”

  “Yes. She studied and began taking some clerk work to support us and even began being approached for some court paperwork. When it came time for me to be called to the Bar…She was in the hall, not I, and it was she that was properly called. It seemed only just.”

  Lady Hunsdon nodded. “Had she no wish to marry again?”

  “My sister is convinced that no man will look twice at her since her complexion is now so hideous.”

  Lady Hunsdon nodded sympathetically.

  “And she has no inheritance for all her husband’s land went to his brother with the death of his issue and very little jointure, nor no dowry from me neither. A man would have to take her in her smock or not at all.”

  Lady Hunsdon nodded again.

  “In the meantime, as she says, she must eat and as it seems she has an ability and an understanding for the law—which to be sure, I have not—then she will carry on being a man to do it for as long as she can.”

  Enys sighed, spread his hands on his knees. “I have been a very ill brother to her. I did find some clerkwork for Heneage but that went wrong too. For him I drafted many of the deeds for the Cornish lands that were supposed to have gold. They were all being sold by a Mr. Jackson—a man I only knew as a correspondent in Cornwall. I didn’t realise he was a Papist priest. I even found him new buyers. It became quite the fashion at Court and many of the lands have been conveyed at higher prices—so much that I began to wonder at it. I was sure most of the lands I was dealing with bore no gold. To be sure there was gold in Cornwall—there are a couple of places near Camborne where there were gold mines in the olden days, but they are all worked out now.”

  “Then suddenly Jackson came up to London and…I had never met him face to face and he was being elusive. So I spoke to a lady who had lent him a chamber in her house. It turned out he was a Jesuit.”

  “You are not a Catholic, Mr. Enys, are you?”

  Enys coloured and stared hard at the deck. “Not really, my lady, not a proper Catholic. My parents were and tried their best with me but…I attend church service when I should and…” He shrugged. “It seems very unimportant to me what exact flavour of religion we should follow, when it’s most likely that we are simply howling into the void and mistaking the echoes for divinity.”

  There was silence at this shocking statement and Trevasker crossed himself and fingered an amulet. Dodd felt for his own; just because it was probably true didn’t mean you should go shouting about it like Marlowe and offending…Something.

  “It was the children,” said Lady Hunsdon gently although she had frowned at first. “Seeing the children die of so evil a pestilence as smallpox?”

  Enys nodded, gulped again, and continued in a rush. “Suddenly, somehow, everything went wrong and Heneage arrested Jackson.”

  “How did you find out?”

&nbs
p; “I…heard about it. Then I was in terror it would be me next for being with him—after all, once they put him to the question mine would be a name he would give. I was hiding at the Belle Sauvage under another name. Then I recognised Richard Tregian when he came to town—God, I was pleased to see him. I asked his advice and he warned me off the Cornish goldmines himself. He said he had been sent up to London by you to warn the authorities and that you would bring his daughter with a true survey of the lands in question to prove they had no gold-bearing ore in them.”

  “So who was it ordered you to help Fr. Jackson escape from Heneage?”

  “From Topcliffe in fact, Jackson was being held at one of his private properties upriver in Chelsea so Heneage could deny knowing about…what was happening.”

  Lady Hunsdon leaned forwards and spoke very clearly. “Who ordered you to break him out?”

  Enys licked his lips. “Sir Robert Cecil.”

  Lady Hunsdon sat back with a triumphant smile on her face. “I thought so,” she said smugly, “No wonder Robin bolted for the Court.”

  “I had gone to him to ask for an audience for Richard Tregian and when I explained why, he just smiled. Then he asked me if I would do a dangerous job for him for fifty pounds and I said yes. I was desperate for money to go abroad in any case, it seemed to me that the Netherlands was the only hope I had of ever being able to find my sister a husband.

  “Cecil gave me a map to show where he thought Fr. Jackson would be kept and a password and key for the dungeon. I went there at a time when Heneage was overpressed with business to do with another matter, and I managed to fetch Fr. Jackson out of Topcliffe’s hands before he had been badly hurt.

  “I had him in the boat with me, in his shirt, crowing with triumph, boasting of how he had destroyed the Queen’s best men through their own greed. And I had trusted him and recommended him and found buyers for his lands and…”

  “And had bought some yourself, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, my lady, I had. And he told me that none of it was true, it was all a lay to coney-catch the great men at Court, there was no gold or hardly any, but that he had turned many worthless Cornish wheals into money and freedom for Catholic families.”