Depths of Deceit

by Norman Russell

  This, then, was the Clerkenwell Treasure. Box had bought the penny pamphlet on entering the gallery. It recounted the story of how the treasure was discovered, following an ingenious and diligent search by Professor Roderick Ainsworth, who had tracked the items down after a long perusal of ancient manuscripts and letters, in English, Latin and French, assembled from widely dispersed archives in county houses and obscure libraries. It was in itself a fascinating tale, but it was time for Box to read about the sacred vessels themselves. He turned his attention once more to the penny pamphlet.

  THE CLERKENWELL TREASURE

  The twelve solid gold chalices constituting what we now call the Clerkenwell Treasure were known collectively as The Patrimony of the Twelve Apostles. Each chalice was assigned to a particular apostle, and the Masses at which they were used were known by the names ‘Mass of St Peter,’ ‘Mass of St Paul’, etc.

  The Patrimony was one of the prized possessions of the Priory of St John at Clerkenwell. At the time of the Reformation the collection seemed to have disappeared, and it was rumoured that it had been prudently removed some years before 1532, to the Order’s house in Malta. Thomas Cromwell shared this opinion, and ascribed no sinister purpose to it. It was not until 1887 that the brilliant research of Professor Ainsworth led to the discovery of a cache hidden beneath the foundations of a now long-vanished church in Catherine Lane, Clerkenwell.

  The following brief notes describe the individual chalices and their provenance.

  1. Small gold chalice, with heavy base, ornamented with twenty fine rubies. Florentine, dated to about AD 300 Inscription: Calicem salutaris accipiam et nomen Domini invocabo (Psalm 105, Sarum Breviary). St Paul.

  2. Chalice with plain cup, but with the stem adorned with finely incised quatrefoil tracery from top to bottom. Six fine opals set into the base. London hallmark, AD 1484. Donation of Richard III. St Peter.

  3. Chalice with unusual wide bowl, the base etched with the symbol IHS, and set with six diamonds. Hallmark erased. Provenance uncertain, probably from the Netherlands, early sixteenth century. St Thomas.

  4. Very early chalice of late Romanesque design, the base set with emeralds. Much worn and indecipherable inscription under the base in medieval French. Dated in Arabic numerals 1368. St Andrew.

  There were eight more ancient gold chalices in the display, all ornamented, and studded with precious stones, and each with its own fascinating history. It was upon the discovery of this grear treasure that Professor Ainsworth’s public reputation had been founded.

  Box recalled Superintendent Mackharness’s words, uttered only that morning. He’d more or less ordered him to make this visit to the South Kensington Museum, and had then advised him to follow up the visit with a call on Father Brooks at St Joseph’s Retreat. ‘Humour him, Box,’ he’d said. ‘It might lead somewhere.’ Well, he’d already arranged to visit the enigmatic clergyman on the following afternoon, which was a Saturday. There was evidently something that Father Brooks knew about the Clerkenwell Treasure that was not common knowledge. It would be foolish, to say the least, not to hear what the Highgate priest had to say.

  12

  Provenance Uncertain

  ‘It has always been the practice of the Passionist Fathers, Inspector Box,’ said Father Brooks, ‘to build their monasteries outside the towns. I venture to suggest that we chose no finer site when we selected this particular corner of Highgate for our English house.’

  Box was inclined to agree. The handsome Italianate chapel occupied a commanding position overlooking Waterlow Park on its west side, and the elegant villas of the leafy North London suburb to the east. The air was fresh and invigorating, and the weather bright and sunny. The gloom and tempest of the previous day, with its crosses and nightmares, had been swept away.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve come, Mr Box,’ Father Brooks continued. ‘This retreat of ours is comfortably distant from the curious eyes and ears of Whitehall, and I’ll be able to speak to you frankly and freely. I want to talk to you first about the Clerkenwell Treasure. From some words about that, I hope that we’ll progress naturally to the subject of Professor Roderick Ainsworth.’

  The two men were sitting in a cramped study on the second floor of the monastery, which clung like a limpet to the side of the great chapel. It was a building that looked as though it had been transported by miracle straight from Tuscany. The room was filled with books, big art folders full of engravings, and a disconcerting number of religious paintings and statues. An intimidating portrait of Cardinal Manning hung over the mantelpiece. In the midst of all this sat Father Brooks, his stout form covered by a suit of clerical black, his steel spectacles resting on his nose.

  ‘You have seen the Clerkenwell Treasure?’

  ‘I have, sir. I went to see it yesterday. I did as you advised, and bought the penny pamphlet. I was quite overawed by all that gleaming gold, sir, and more so by the sheer age of those cups. They were all centuries old, yet looking like new!’

  ‘Well,’ said Father Brooks, ‘now that you’ve seen the treasure, you must let me tell you some little-known facts about it – you’ll see where all this is leading presently. In 1535, Henry VIII was declared supreme head of the church in England, and in the following year Thomas Cromwell became vicar-general. From that year, 1536, the dissolution of the monasteries commenced, and it was not long before Clerkenwell Priory was plundered and destroyed. The last effective prior, Sir William Weston, was bought off with an annuity of a thousand pounds.’

  Father Brooks rummaged through the papers on his desk and produced a faded little book bound in cheap cardboard. He peered at one or two of its pages before continuing his narrative.

  ‘As you can imagine, Mr Box, Thomas Cromwell was most eager to get his hands on the Patrimony of the Twelve Apostles. With the precious stones gouged out, and the gold melted down, it would have provided a welcome addition to the King’s ever-yawning coffers. Are you, perhaps, an admirer of King Henry, Mr Box?’

  ‘Not particularly, sir, I can take him or leave him, as they say.’

  ‘Very well. So Cromwell cast around to find the Patrimony. One of his searchers questioned an Augustinian brother of the Clerkenwell foundation, a certain John Pringle, a man who seemed very eager to co-operate with the new state of things. Pringle was able to persuade Cromwell’s agent that the Patrimony had been removed to the Order of St John’s house in Malta, in 1532. Pringle must have been a good equivocator, because Cromwell believed him, and rewarded him with fifteen shillings. I have part of a letter that Cromwell wrote to the Duke of Somerset pasted into this little book. This is what he told him.

  ‘“I can assure Your Grace that the whole parcel of gold cups fancifully called the Apostles’ Patrimony was conveyed away some years since to Malta; which conveyance was done with no malign motive, but at the request of the Prior of Malta there; which thing is a matter of regret, but now of no moment, as very much remains at Clerkenwell that can be converted to the King’s use.”’

  ‘But what this Pringle told Cromwell couldn’t have been true, could it, Father Brooks?’ said Box.

  ‘No, it wasn’t true. The truth of the matter was that, in 1532, the prior, who could see very clearly the way events were shaping in England, entrusted that very same Augustinian brother, John Pringle, with the task of spiriting the Patrimony away, and concealing it. This he did, contriving a small stone cyst beneath the north wall of the church of St Catherine of Sienna in Clerkenwell, a church which was served by Augustinian priests connected to the Priory. And there the treasure remained until it was discovered by Professor Roderick Ainsworth in 1887.’

  Father Brooks stopped speaking, and looked at Box in a way that suggested he was waiting for some kind of comment.

  ‘A fascinating story, sir,’ said Box. ‘I suspect that the doings of that man Pringle are part of a secret history, known only to a few – to people like yourself, for instance. But are you suggesting that Professor Ainsworth never did discover the treasure? I can’
t quite see where your story’s taking me—’

  ‘Bear with me, if you will, Mr Box,’ said Father Brooks. ‘All will be revealed presently. Of course Professor Ainsworth discovered the Clerkenwell Treasure! He conducted a brilliant investigation, admired by anyone with scholarly pretensions. Ainsworth was able to wrest the secret of John Pringle from the Catholic clergy at St Etheldreda’s, Ely Place, the current guardians of the deposit of secret documents pertaining to Clerkenwell Priory. Brilliant work! But there was a very peculiar flaw in Ainsworth’s discovery.’

  ‘And what was that, sir?’

  ‘In reply, let me ask you a question, Mr Box. How many chalices comprised the treasure as you saw it yesterday in the South Kensington Museum?’

  ‘Why, sir, there were twelve – that was the whole point of the treasure, wasn’t it? The Patrimony of the Twelve Apostles. I’ve brought the penny leaflet with me. It lists them all—’

  ‘Yes, it does, Mr Box, but I can tell you, with absolute certainty, that when John Pringle hid the treasure in his little stone chamber beneath St Catherine’s Church in 1532, it contained only eleven chalices. The one designated St Thomas had been given to the Cathedral of St Rombold at Malines, in what is now Belgium, in 1494, in exchange for a grant of land to build a new hospital near Antwerp. I am one of the few people to have been shown the St Thomas chalice in the cathedral treasury there. The exchange, like all these things, was done with subtle propriety, so that it does not enter the common chronicle of history. There are few people today who are aware of the fate of that ancient gold cup.’

  Arnold Box had retrieved his penny pamphlet from his pocket. He held it up for Father Brooks to see.

  ‘Then what are we to make of this chalice, Father, which is on show in the museum? “3. Chalice with unusual wide bowl, the base etched with the symbol IHS, and set with six diamonds. Hallmark erased. Provenance uncertain, probably from the Netherlands, early sixteenth century. St Thomas.” It’s as clear as day!’

  ‘Some days, Mr Box,’ Father Brooks replied with a wry smile, ‘can be decidedly murky. Let me draw your attention to the “unusual wide bowl”. In the Catholic Church, where the wine at Communion is drunk only by the celebrating priest, the chalice bowls are small. But in the Anglican and Lutheran churches, where the wine is delivered also to the laity, the bowls tend to be wider, because they are designed to hold a greater quantity of wine.’

  ‘So what you are saying—?’

  ‘I’m saying, Inspector, that the chalice labelled St Thomas in the Clerkenwell Treasure is a very fine example of a Lutheran Communion chalice. You notice that the hallmark has been erased? That, surely, should have aroused scholarly suspicion when the treasure was finally unearthed. I’ve been allowed to handle that so-called St Thomas chalice, Mr Box, and I have established to my own satisfaction that it is of Lutheran provenance; I would date it about 1540. The workmanship is certainly Flemish. Granted that you believe me, can you see where all this history is leading?’

  ‘You’re beginning to lose me, I’m afraid, Father,’ said Box. ‘You say that only eleven chalices were buried under St Catherine’s Church, which means, I suppose, that Professor Roderick Ainsworth must have added a twelfth – presumably this Lutheran cup. Are you saying that it is a fake?’

  ‘No, no, Mr Box, you’re not seeing what I mean. It’s a genuine sixteenth-century chalice, but it’s been doctored, if you’ll excuse the expression. Professor Ainsworth would have paid a goodly sum for that cup – perhaps several hundred pounds.’

  ‘But why should he do such a thing?’ asked Box. ‘What was the point of it?’

  ‘The man’s a perfectionist, so when the Clerkenwell Treasure proved to be imperfect – eleven chalices instead of twelve – he set out to remedy the matter. A twelfth cup was needed, and it had to be a genuine sixteenth-century one. So he found one, somewhere, filed off the hallmark, and added it to the treasure. Behold! The great archaeologist has unearthed the full Patrimony of the Apostles! History had let him down, but he was not a man to be browbeaten by history.’

  As the elderly priest spoke, Arnold Box realized that he was waking up to reality. Father Brooks was talking about interfering with evidence for private gain, something that belonged not to the realms of the supernatural but to the mundane world of the wrongdoer. He saw that Father Brooks was watching him, gauging whether or not the underlying meaning of his words was taking hold in the inspector’s mind.

  ‘You can see where all this is leading, now, can’t you, Mr Box? If Professor Ainsworth didn’t scruple to fabricate part of the Clerkenwell Treasure, thus compromising its integrity, what else may he have fabricated? And who may have found that out? All those artefacts which he unearthed in the Mithraeum – how many of those are genuine? Or are there more artefacts that could be labelled “provenance uncertain”? Perhaps an investigation is necessary. “Seek and ye shall find”.’

  ‘And what is your motive for telling me these things, Father?’ asked Box. ‘What is your connection with Professor Roderick Ainsworth?’

  A slight flush of anger reddened the priest’s face, but it had gone in an instant.

  ‘My motive, Inspector, is a disapproval of murder. Amid all these shams of quicksilver and honey, all these little tokens culled from the forgotten back drawers of museums and left lying around for you and your colleagues to find, lurks the spirit of murder. Two men have been slaughtered – why? Not as sacrifices, but because they posed a danger to someone. Both men evidently knew something very damning about someone – damning enough for that man to murder in order to silence them.’

  ‘Are you saying that Professor Ainsworth—?’

  ‘I’m saying nothing about any named person, Mr Box. I’m simply pointing out to you that there are some men in high places who will murder to preserve a reputation that they have knowingly tarnished. I hope that I’ve proved to you today that Ainsworth is a man who has compromised his reputation, and that if the truth of the Clerkenwell Treasure became public knowledge, his position in the academic world, and in society at large, would suffer irreparable damage. I accuse no one, but I set out for you certain possibilities. Do you believe what I have told you today?’

  ‘I do, Father. As you said on a previous occasion, it was Providence that brought you and me together in Canal Street Police Station.’

  ‘It was. I was there to visit a dying prisoner in the Bridewell, a man whom I’d known in happier times when I was working in Southwark. Sergeant Lambton is one of our flock, and knows me well.’

  ‘Why have you not revealed what you know about the Clerkenwell Treasure before now?’

  ‘It’s not for the likes of me to cause scandal, Mr Box. In any case, I’m a secretive man by nature. Discreet, you know. But murder – well, when murder rears its ugly head, a man can’t afford the luxury of total discretion. So I determined to tell you what I know. My superior here gave me full permission to do so.’

  Arnold Box rose from his chair. It was time to leave this quiet sanctuary in Highgate, and get back to the Rents. Father Brooks and he shook hands.

  ‘Goodbye, sir,’ said Box. ‘You’ve opened up a whole new world of possibilities by what you’ve told me today. As far as the Clerkenwell Treasure is concerned, I’ll try and be as discreet as you have been. Perhaps, after this business has been brought to its rightful conclusion, I’ll come out here again, and tell you the whole truth.’

  Inspector Box, standing in the dusty upper front room of an old bookshop in St Paul’s Churchyard, watched Canon Arthur Venables as he lifted down a slim leather-bound book from one of the packed shelves, and blew the dust off it. A handsome man in his sixties, he was very smartly dressed in a suit of clerical black, relieved by a carnation bud in his buttonhole. He treated Box to one of those smiles designed to give a man time to think before he ventures an answer to a particular kind of question.

  ‘Did I travel on the Edinburgh train, you ask. Travel there on the fourteenth? Why, yes, I did, now that you remind me. And I c
aught the nine-five from Euston, as you suggested. What is this all about, Inspector? I did pay for my ticket, you know!’

  It would be both crass and unprofessional, thought Box, to ask the canon outright whether he had travelled in the company of Professor Roderick Ainsworth. This occasion called for a little harmless subterfuge.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll realize, sir,’ said Box, lowering his voice, ‘that some investigations require a great deal of discretion. There was a man travelling up to Edinburgh that day who is one of England’s most notorious swindlers. He attaches himself to clergymen, and solicits them for large subscriptions to non-existent charities—’

  ‘Well, I can assure you, Inspector, that no such person attempted to relieve me of my ill-gotten gains. There were four of us in the compartment, as I recall. One of the others was unknown to me, another was a City broker whom I’d seen before, and the third was an acquaintance of mine, Professor Roderick Ainsworth, whose name will not be unknown to you.’

  Box received another of Canon Venables’ rather unnerving smiles. He began to feel uncomfortable. Canon Venables continued his observations.

  ‘I read in the papers that you’re busy investigating that murder in the Clerkenwell Mithraeum – Professor Ainsworth’s Mithraeum, if I may put it like that. What a coincidence. But I didn’t see your notorious swindler.’

  ‘And did you speak to Professor Ainsworth on the journey, sir?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. We talked about archaeology, and I told him a few things he didn’t know about the recent excavations at Jericho. Then we discussed tailors, after I’d admired the cut of his morning coat and his silk stock. Very dapper he looked; “dapper”, of course, is not a word I’d apply to myself. But it suited him.’