by David Field
‘What were that all about?’ Tom chided Giles as he reappeared with a wide grin on his face. ‘We needs to get this body back to the Guildhall, and alert that useless Coroner Greville that he’ll need to give up a day’s hunting in order to conduct an inquest. It were no time for you to be making yourself agreeable to the ladies.’
‘They was no ladies, believe me,’ Giles leered back at him. ‘Two of the biggest whores in town, but very keen not to be run in for it, so I keeps them sweet by not running them in, and in return they gives me lots of information about who’s doing what around the town, and who to.’
‘So?’ Tom enquired, far from mollified by the explanation.
‘So they been lying out there all night, and believe me they smelt as if they had as well. They must have been the two what Robert Franklin saw when he were on his way to the mill, and he weren’t the only one they saw while they was coming round from the night before.’
‘And?’
‘Two, or maybe three, blokes on horses, coming over this here bridge out of town, a little while after they heard the miller’s cart heading for the mill, and maybe an hour before they saw “the younger feller”, as they called him, heading the same way. They heard shouting from the direction of the mill as well, but thought nothing of it at the time. Looks like you was right after all.’
‘I hope you got their names,’ Tom muttered, and Giles grinned.
‘I’ve known their names ever since I ran them in one time for strutting their arses in the Market Place on market day. That were two years ago now, and they smelt a lot better in them days. But I knows where to find them, and they’re always more than happy to oblige the authorities, if you get my meaning.’
‘Only too bloody well,’ Tom grumbled. ‘Come on, we’ve got a body to deliver. And tonight we might try a game of skittles.’
Chapter Two
‘Trust you to find an excuse to go drinking ale,’ Tom’s wife Lizzie chided him as she cleared the supper things from the table, and ordered their son Robert to stop pulling his younger sister Lucy’s hair as they wrestled and tumbled in the darkening corner of the all-purpose room in which they would soon be required to climb into their bedding. ‘And you should be ashamed, taking that innocent young Giles with you and teaching him your sneaky ways.’
‘Being sneaky’s the only way to get to the truth in this town,’ Tom insisted. ‘That’s how I got to be “Senior Constable”, remember? I wouldn’t accept all that shit from Ben Hoskins about finding that girl’s body because her ghost told him where to find it, when all the while it were Ben himself what had put her there.’
‘Shit’, Robert repeated almost under his breath, and Lucy giggled. Lizzie’s face reddened with embarrassment and anger as she smacked Tom across the back of his head and glared at their two offspring. ‘Ignore what your father says, because I always do,’ she advised them, then glared back down at Tom.
‘Since your language’s only fit for the alehouse, maybe you shouldn’t waste any more time getting down there. Take your key with you, because I’ll be locking the door after you’ve left, since you took the trouble to fit that lock in the first place. There were a girl misused down the lower end of Fisher Gate the other night, as you must know. A pity you can’t use your desire for the truth in order catch whoever done that.’
‘The lass were in the the White Boar ’til it closed that night, or so I heard in the same town gossip that you must have heard, and no doubt she could hardly walk by then,’ Tom replied huffily. ‘Little wonder she weren’t able to defend herself, or even call for help. Assuming she wanted any help, that is.’
‘Typical!’ Lizzie fumed. ‘Just because she were a lass on her own don’t give anyone the right to do what some animal did to her, and when she has the courage to complain to the constables, all she gets is “You’ve only got yourself to blame.” I only hope that nice Constable Bradbury isn’t picking up the same bad attitude towards women. He’s a right handsome spunk, is that one, and I bet the lassies is throwing themselves at him. I just hopes that he treats them right, that’s all.’
‘He certainly seems to be well in with the town harlots, anyway,’ Tom muttered as he pulled his cloak from its hook behind the door and kissed Lizzie on the cheek that she offered him. ‘Let’s see if he’s any good at catching murderers,’ he added as he ducked under the lintel on his way out into the street.
‘Fancy a game yourself when this lot have finished?’ Giles enquired as they sat on the bench to the side of where two local men were arguing over the rules that governed the game of skittles. Tom shook his head with a knowing smile. ‘You’re only asking because you reckon you’re better at it than me. That’s not why we’re here, anyway. Keep your eyes peeled for strangers.’
‘How am I supposed to know who’s a stranger and who isn’t?’ Giles complained. ‘You know the town folk far better than I do, on account of the fact that you’ve been a constable for more years than me. We’d be far better off enquiring of the landlord, wouldn’t we?’ Tom allowed himself a hollow laugh.
‘You’re not wrong when you claim not to be so familiar with town folk. Have you ever attempted to get information out of Ted Hollins?’
‘Is he the landlord?’ Giles enquired, and Tom smirked triumphantly. ‘See, you don’t even know the bugger’s name! Have you never had occasion to break up fights in this place? There’s plenty of them on Saturday nights.’
‘More than once,’ Giles replied, ‘but I never dealt with the landlord. Just Polly, that lovely lass what serves most of the pots in here. She’s always very grateful when I steps in.’
‘I dread to think how she shows her gratitude,’ Tom muttered, ‘but talking of pots, it’s your turn.’
Ten minutes later Giles returned with a rueful smile, but empty handed. ‘I think I just met the landlord. Is he a big feller with a baldy head and a wart on his chin?’
‘That sounds like Ted Hollins, right enough,’ Tom confirmed. ‘And where’s our ale?’
‘Polly said she’d bring them down to us. Don’t worry, they’re paid for. Only that there Ted Hollins didn’t seem all that keen to serve me when I asked him if he had any strangers staying here.’
‘What did he say, exactly?’ Tom enquired, and Giles frowned.
‘He said that the only people what stay here is strangers to the town, and that if they lived locally, they wouldn’t need a bed for the night in The Bell. He had a point, I suppose, but when I asked about a feller what were playing skittles with Edward Franklin last night, he told me to fuck off, and it were then that Polly offered to bring us the drinks.’
Tom snorted derisively. ‘No wonder he told you to fuck off. It’s all over the town that Edward Franklin were found dead early this morning, after he were in here playing skittles last night, and landlords like Ted Hollins can’t afford to get their names associated with stuff like that. I just hopes we doesn’t have to wait too long for them drinks.’
‘While we does,’ Giles said encouragingly, ‘tell me why you turned out so different from other constables. I mean, why is that you won’t just settle for what people tells you when they makes an official complaint? How come you always has to make your own enquiries?’
‘It’s personal,’ Tom growled defensively as he let his eyes drop to the floor. ‘Obviously it’s personal,’ Giles persisted, ‘but if I’m to follow in your footsteps, you might at least tell me what’s led to you getting up the noses of the likes of Coroner Greville when you takes it upon yourself to investigate matters what’s best left alone.’
Tom sighed deeply, and looked Giles in the eye. ‘Does you really want to know?’ he enquired reluctantly, and Giles nodded. ‘Of course I does, else I wouldn’t be asking you, would I?’
It fell silent for a moment during which Tom was clearly battling with some inner emotion before he began to explain.
‘I grew up in London, in a place called Newgate. It were pretty rough in them streets, but my father and older brother was a bit diffe
rent from the normal run of folks down there. They was only common labourers, working in the wharfs along Thames Street, but they somehow found God. Not the fancy kind, with bishops and suchlike swinging them incense bottles and prattling away in Latin. The true religion – the way of Tyndale and his likes, who took the word of God straight from the Bible, and not from priests what wasn’t fit to call themselves men of God, the way they carried on.’
‘You one of them Protestants, then?’ Giles enquired, and Tom smiled. ‘Indeed I am, and proud to admit it. But there were a time when it weren’t safe to say that you was.’
‘It still isn’t, in some quarters,’ Giles reminded him, and Tom nodded again. ‘But I’m going back to a time before now, to the reign of Queen Mary. “Bloody Mary” they called her, and she were well named. She ordered her bishops and suchlike to hunt out all them what was Protestant, and have them burned for what were classed as heresy.’
Giles shuddered. ‘They reckon it were a terrible way to die, although I were just a babe in arms when all that were happening.’ He caught the look of pain on Tom’s face, and hastened to apologise. ‘Look, forget what I asked, if it’s bringing back bad memories.’
‘It is,’ Tom admitted, ‘but you’re entitled to know. My Da and my older brother Richard was Protestants, and the church they went to down in Blackfriars were always a pain up the arse to the Bishop of London, a Catholic murderer called “Bonner”. On the orders of Queen Mary he sent soldiers into the Blackfriars church on a night when my Da and brother was in there, worshipping God like good Christian men. All the names of them in there was taken, and they was given a week in which to admit that they’d been misled, and to “recant” their beliefs, as it was called. But they was told that they could only recant the once, and that if they ever once went back to their old ways there’d be no saving them.’
‘I think I’m beginning to understand,’ Giles began, but was silenced by the look on Tom’s face. ‘You understand bloody nothing, so don’t try and pretend you do!’
‘Sorry,’ Giles replied in a small voice. ‘Go on.’
‘Well,’ Tom continued as he took deep breaths to overcome the emotion that the memories were provoking, ‘My Da and brother weren’t the sort that heroes is made out of, so they recanted. But we had these cousins, see? Dad’s sister Martha had two kids – a boy called Francis and a girl called Catherine. They was all Catholics, but for most of the time we all got on well enough. Then Francis – the evil bastard that he were – took a fancy to Catherine in a way that he shouldn’t have done, and his mother – my aunt – caught them at it, and reported it to their priest, who threatened Francis with the fires of Hell if he didn’t earn himself absolution from his wicked sin.’
Tom was breathing heavily, and Giles was becoming concerned for his health, and raised a hand in the air. ‘Look,’ he urged Tom, ‘if this is all getting a bit much for you . . . .’
‘Hear me out!’ Tom all but yelled, causing a few people round them to look up enquiringly, and Giles nodded. ‘If you say so,’ he conceded placatingly.
‘I says so!’ Tom replied heatedly, then lowered his voice to complete the horrible story he had to impart.
‘Like I said, Cousin Francis were seeking absolution. Then he learned that Bishop Sodding Bonner were seeking information about any people what had renounced their recantation, and was still attending Protestant services. So in exchange for absolution, Francis agreed to hand over names, and to make himself look even better in the eyes of the priest what were offering him the way out of Hell, he added the names of Dad and my brother Richard.’
‘And that were a lie?’ Giles prompted him, and Tom nodded as tears of bitter anger welled up in the corner of each eye. ‘Yeah – a wicked, evil fucking lie, an’ if I ever catch up with Cousin Francis I’ll swing for the cunny! Sorry about the language there, but it still rankles something fierce, and you did insist that I tell you.’
‘So they was executed?’ Giles enquired, and Tom nodded as he shuddered. ‘Burned at the stake in Smithfield, along with loads of others, all on the same day. They locked me in the house so as I couldn’t watch, but it were only just round the corner in the next street from our house in Newgate, and so help me God I can still hear them screams!’
Giles, embarrassed and horrified by what he’d just heard, waited patiently until Tom appeared to have calmed down and looked back at Giles with an embarrassed smile of his own. ‘So now, young feller, you knows why I never accepts anyone’s word about the guilt of somebody else without I check for myself. It’s all too easy for someone to be condemned on the word of someone what means them no good.’
‘Here’s your pots,’ a melodious voice announced as a most attractive young lady smiled seductively into Giles’s eyes and handed each man a jug of ale. ‘Ted told me to leave them sitting on the counter until the beer went flat, but I thought it would be better for me to sit on your counter before the froth went out of everything. You haven’t lost your froth I hope, Giles?’
She plumped herself down on Giles’s knee and gave him a lingering kiss, while Tom looked on disapprovingly. She certainly fulfilled every man’s dream of a pot girl, with long black hair, the most enchanting glittering blue eyes, full breasts and curving hips under her simple brown smock. Once Giles had disentangled his face he leered across at Tom with a look of salacious pride and advised him that ‘This is Polly.’
‘I didn’t imagine she were the minister’s wife,’ was all that Tom could manage by way of reply, and Polly giggled. ‘I don’t fancy being anyone’s wife just yet. Maybe when I’ve begun to lose my looks, and Ted decides to look for another girl to attract the men in here. By then my arse will be black and blue anyway, with all the attention it gets from pinching fingers.’ She giggled again at the look of shock on Tom’s face, then began nibbling Giles’s ear before advising him that ‘We should be closing before much longer – d’you fancy coming upstairs with me then?’
‘I don’t know when we’ll be finished in here,’ Giles replied as he squeezed her breast, ‘but here’s something to be going on with.’ Tom gave a loud cough and reminded them both that ‘We’re here on official constabulary business.’
‘Oh yeah,’ Polly remembered, ‘that were another reason why I brought the pots myself, rather than leave them for Ted to get around to it. You was asking about a stranger what were playing skittles with Ed Franklin last night?’
‘That’s right,’ Tom confirmed. ‘Can you describe him for us?’
‘I can do better than that,’ Polly replied with a smile. ‘I can tell you where you can find him – upstairs, in the large back room on the first floor. He’s been here for two nights already, and there’s three other fellers what seems to hang around him, except they isn’t staying here. They just wanders in here every day about dinner time, and moons around the front door back there, watching who’s coming in and out.’
‘Are they out there now?’ Tom enquired, and Polly nodded. ‘One of them’s the size of a bloody cathedral, with a big bald head and a scar down his cheek, while the second one looks like he might be his brother, except he’s got plenty of hair, although it’s in need of a good wash. The third one seems to be in charge, and he looks like a ferret with the pox, on account of all the horrible pussy boils on his face. The way he looks at me, I wouldn’t want to be caught down in the cellar on my own with him.’
‘I’ll go and take a look,’ Tom volunteered, and smiled down at Giles as he stood up to leave. ‘I’m sure you can find something to amuse yourself with while I’m gone.’
When Tom returned with a worried frown, Polly was busy flirting with the line of men waiting to play skittles, and Giles was finishing his pot of ale. He caught the look on Tom’s face, and enquired as to its cause. Tom sat down and unfastened the strap that attached his staff of office to his belt.
‘I hope you can trust that little baggage what was sitting on your knee when I left just now, because I think our landlord may be tipping off them three fellers
what may be guarding the bloke you was asking about when you ordered the ales. He was talking to the ferrety looking one, and pointing out the back here. Best have your staff handy, just in case.’
Polly breezed past them on her way back into the main room, blowing a kiss to Giles as she did so. Tom kept his eyes trained past her as three men answering the description she had given only moments earlier appeared in the narrow alleyway between the main room and the skittle alley. One of them grabbed her arm and hauled her back down towards Tom and Giles, and Giles whipped round urgently as he heard her cry of pain. Then he leapt to his feet and raised his staff in the air, just as landlord Ted Hollins appeared in the doorway and yelled ‘That’s him! That’s the feller what were asking about your friend!’
‘Let go of the lassie!’ Giles demanded, then stepped back slightly as the man with the poxy face drew a sword. ‘Says who?’ the man demanded, and Giles announced that he was a local Constable. The man spit into the rushes and grinned. ‘Suits me – I always wanted to kill me one of them.’
‘Come and give it a try, then!’ Giles challenged him, but the man’s grin didn’t fade as he turned to his two companions. ‘Seems like they only hires blind fellers as constables in this shithole of a town.’ Then he turned back to Giles, adding ‘As you can see, there’s three of us.’
‘And there’s two of us,’ Tom announced as he rose to his feet wielding his own staff at shoulder height. The man spat again into the rushes and cackled with laughter as he continued to leer at Giles.
‘Brought your Dad with you, did you? Very well, let’s start the dancing.’
