by C. J. Sansom
'We should get to Felday at once,' Barak said. 'Take our chance now.'
'Yes. It is the best opportunity that has come our way yet.'
Barak's face set hard. 'So that's how the arsehole knew where I lived, and he would have been told you work at the Court of Requests. He's probably been following us around.'
'So much for supernatural powers granted by the devil. Nothing supernatural about getting a crooked solicitor to get information from a crooked barrister. And he must have money, if he can afford to set a solicitor and a barrister as spies.'
'We still don't know how he's been able to follow us unseen.'
'We soon will.'
'What are you going to do about Bealknap?'
'Send Peter to fetch Guy. Let's find him.'
'I'd leave that old arsehole to rot.'
'Not in Dorothy's house. Come on.'
I went to the kitchen. Philip Orr was seated at the table, a mug of beer in his hands, a stool creaking under his weight as he talked to the two boys, Timothy and Peter, who were sitting at his feet. 'And then the King entered the city,' he said dramatically. 'You've never seen anyone like His Majesty. A huge man, taller by a head than all the courtiers and servants who followed him. Jewels glinting in his cap and on his doublet. And beside him Queen Anne Boleyn, that was later found to be such a wicked strumpet—' He stood hastily as we came in. The boys too scrambled to their feet.
'Sorry, sir,' Orr said. 'I was just telling them about my time as a city constable—'
'That is all right. But I have a job for Peter to do. Come,' I said to the older boy, 'I will write a note. I want you to take it down to Bucklersbury, quick as you can.' I looked at Timothy. 'Is it not time you were abed;'
'Yes, sir.'
I had been pleased to see Peter and Timothy side by side. There was a new sparkle in Timothy's eyes, that had been so dull before.
'Goodnight, then,' I said. Peter followed us out. I went into the parlour, hastily scribbled a note to Guy and gave it to him. He hurried off. 'Right,' I said to Barak. 'Let us see what good Master Felday has to say for himself. Addle Hill's not far. Bring your sword.'
WE WALKED QUICKLY along Fleet Street to the city wall. The guard there, seeing my lawyer's robes, let us through. The huge bulk of St Paul's Cathedral was no more than a vast dark shape ahead of us. It was a dark night; the moon hidden by clouds, and I smelt more rain in the air.
'You and Tamasin made a peaceful-looking scene just now.'
'I'm trying to behave. But it's hard with this business constantly knocking round my head.'
'It will come right.'
As we turned into Carter Lane we saw a commotion ahead of us. Two constables had a ragged-looking man by the collar. 'I only want to sleep in the doorway,' he said. 'It's going to rain again.'
'Then get wet!' The constables poked him with the end of their staffs, sending him staggering into the street. 'Be gone, mange-hound!' The vagrant turned away and the constables, hearing our footsteps, turned to us. 'I am a barrister visiting his solicitor,' I said as they held up their lanterns. They bowed and let us pass.
Addle Hill was a long street leading down towards the river. At the top the houses were large old four-storey buildings with overhanging eaves, most of them dilapidated-looking. Built on Thames mud as they were, many had settled and shifted with the years and some looked ready to topple over. A woman peered at us from a doorway, then melted back into the darkness.
'Good few whores round here,' Barak said quietly.
'No one else about, though. We're going to have to knock at a lot of doors to find him.'
A group of figures was approaching up the street, some carrying lanterns, conversing quietly. A man and woman left the group and, calling goodnight, went into one of the houses. 'We can ask these folk,' Barak said.
'Excuse me,' I said, stepping into the path of the group. An old man at their head raised a lantern. I saw that he, and the people behind him, wore dark clothes and were carrying Bibles. They must be on their way back from some meeting. I asked him if he might know where a solicitor named Felday lived. He shook his head, but a young man stepped forward. 'I know him,' he said. He took in my lawyer's robe. 'Is he instructing you, sir?'
'I have some business with him.'
'He is not well esteemed among his neighbours,' the young man said censoriously. He was no more than twenty. 'He is known as unscrupulous and irreligious.'
There was a murmur of agreement within the group. I frowned at the young man. 'My business is my affair,' I answered sharply. 'Now, will you have the Christian charity to tell me where he lives?'
The young man shook his head sorrowfully, then pointed down the hill. 'Half a dozen houses down, on the right, the house with the blue door.'
'Thank you,' I answered brusquely and stepped out of their way. The group moved on. 'He spoke irreligiously, Thomas,' one of them said loudly enough for me to hear. 'Talking lightly of Christian charity.'
Barak looked after them. 'More godly men,' he said. 'They never miss a chance to tell off someone they think less pure than them.'
'They're bold, walking about in a group like that after dark with Bonner after them all.'
'Probably hoping to be martyrs, like half these godly folk.' I took a deep breath. 'Right, let us find Felday.'
THE HOUSE we had been directed to was less shabby than the rest; the blue door recently painted. I tried the handle but it was locked.
I knocked several times before the door was answered by a woman in her thirties. She smiled at us. 'Yes, sirs?'
'We are seeking Master Felday.'
The smile turned immediately to a scowl. 'You and several others,' she said. 'He's not been in for days. I keep having to answer the door to people looking for him.'
'Perhaps we could go to his rooms. Where are they?'
'First floor, on the left. And tell him when you find him that if he goes away again, to let people know. It's not a neighbour's duty to answer the door every five minutes.' She delivered her last words to our backs as we hurried up the stairs.
There was a wide landing on the first floor, two doors leading off. The layout was similar to the Old Barge where Barak and Tamasin lived, only larger and cleaner. We knocked loudly on the left-hand door. There was no reply. Barak tried it. It was locked.
'Where's the arsehole got to?' he asked. 'Think he's skipped?'
'I don't know.' I hesitated for a moment, then said, 'Break it down.'
He looked at me. 'You sure? That's breaking and entering.'
'We have Cranmer behind us if anyone complains.'
'We should get some light first. I'll go and ask that woman for a candle.'
He went back down the stairs while I looked at the closed door. I wondered if part of the killer's deal with Felday — for I was sure the killer was his client — was that he should make himself scarce for a while, in case I managed to follow the trail back to him. If so, I would find him.
Barak returned, carrying a candle. 'I think that woman downstairs is a high-class doxy. She asked if the lawyer wanted to visit her. I told her you'd think about it.' He grinned, but I sensed the anxiety behind his clowning.
'She'll be disappointed, then. Give me the candle, let's get inside.'
Barak took a step back, then kicked hard and expertly at the lock. The door flew open with a crash, banging against the wall. Inside, darkness and an unexpected breath of cool air. I cupped a hand before the candle-flame to protect it.
'There's a window open somewhere,' I said.
'If he's gone away maybe he left the window open to air the place. It's a bit whiffy.' Barak drew his sword and we stepped carefully inside. There were several doors leading off the hallway. One was half-open; that was where the draught of air was coming from. Barak drew his sword and with the point gently pushed it fully open.
Inside I made out a wall lined with shelves. Under the open window was a large desk, and my hand tightened on my dagger as I saw the figure of a man lying slumped ac
ross it. He wore a white shirt. One of his arms lay on a little pile of papers; the corner of the top page waved up and down in the light breeze.
We went in. Barak prodded the prone figure lightly with his sword-tip. He did not stir. I brought the candle over and shone the light on the man's head. He was young, no more than thirty, with thick brown hair and a thin, handsome face, the features delicate. His eyes were shut, his expression peaceful. He looked as though he had fallen asleep.
'It's Felday,' Barak said.
Something moved in the room. We both jumped round. Barak pointed his sword at a corner. Then he gave a tense bark of laughter as we realized the edge of a brightly coloured wall-hanging had been caught by the breeze.
'Jesus, my heart was in my mouth there,' he said.
'Mine too.'
He went over to the window and closed it, then used the candle to light a lamp that stood on a table. Then he took the man gently by the shoulders and lifted him upright in his chair. It was hard work, because his shirt-front was a mass of blood which had flowed on to the table and congealed there. Barak laid down his sword and ripped the man's shirt open. I winced at the sight of a large stab-wound in his chest, right over his heart.
'At least this poor fellow died quickly,' Barak said quietly. A stab to the heart, he wouldn't have known what hit him.' He looked at me. 'Is this the sixth victim?'
'No,' I said quietly. 'This killing was quickly and simply done. Not like the others. And I see no symbolic linking to waters drying up.'
'You mean someone else killed Felday?' Barak asked, astonished.
'No, I think it was our killer,' I answered quietly. 'But not as part of his sequence. I think Felday was killed in case we found our way to him, or in case he talked.' I sighed. 'Bealknap told Felday I was persistent.' I looked at poor Felday. 'I think the killer came to visit him, calling on him as a client to his solicitor. They were probably sitting talking across the table when he thrust the dagger in his heart.' Sure enough, an empty chair was positioned opposite where Felday sat. I looked again at the solicitor's oddly peaceful face. 'By the sound of it Felday was an irreligious man. Just as well for him; if he had been an apostate from the godly men, he would no doubt have been incorporated into the sequence, and he would have died slowly and dramatically.' I began prowling round the room. 'He didn't want Felday found quickly. That's why he left the window open, to keep the room cool and prevent the smell of death going through the house too quickly.'
'I'd say he's been dead a few days,' Barak said. 'He's rotting, you catch the smell close to. God, the bastard is clever.'
'Come,' I said. 'Help me. I want to go through the desk and all these papers. See if there is some sort of clue. A note, a receipt, anything.'
For an hour we searched the solicitor's office, and the rest of the neat, well-appointed little dwelling. Outside heavy rain started again, hissing on the cobbles and dripping from the eaves. But among all the papers we found nothing, only an empty square of dust on one of the shelves where some papers had been taken, probably Felday's notes for his spying work. The trail had gone cold.
Chapter Thirty-four
WE RETURNED HOME. I sent a message to Harsnet, then ate a gloomy dinner on my own; Barak did not want any. Felday's death, coming so soon after Mrs Bunce, was almost too much to bear.
I was almost pleased to have an interruption later that evening, when one of Roger's clients called in a state of great anxiety. It was Master Bartholomew, who had organized the interlude at Lincoln's Inn. That was barely three weeks ago, though it seemed an eternity. Two of the actors he employed in his company had been arrested a week before, for possessing forbidden plays by John Bale. While he himself steered clear of religious controversy, Bartholomew found that many of those he worked with now did not wish to be associated with him; such was the climate of fear developing in London.
'My costume supplier won't let me have any costumes for my next performance, and a carpenter who was to build the scenery has pulled out. It is a performance of The Castle of Perseverance, at the Lord Mayor's house next Thursday. They are breaching their contracts, is there nothing I can do? Normally I would have gone to Master Elliard, but since his death
I told him he could sue, but not in time to save his performance. He could only try persuasion. Master Bartholomew left, gloomy, but less panicked, to try again with his contractors. In the doorway he looked out into the rain that was teeming down again, and raised the hood on his coat. Then he turned to me. 'Is there no progress on finding Master Elliard's killer, sir? I heard the inquest was adjourned for the coroner to investigate.'
'I fear there is no news yet.'
He shook his head. 'Nor ever will be, perhaps. That's what happens if you don't catch a murderer quickly. You never catch them.'
He left. I thought, if he or any of the citizenry knew the true story, what a panic there could be in this anxious city.
NEXT MORNING I rode out early to the Bedlam. I had passed a disturbed night, constantly waking to the sound of the rain, and was in a tired and worried frame of mind as I rode along, Genesis taking careful steps in the muddy streets. Felday's death still preyed on me; if I had not become a focus of the killer's attention he would not have died. But then if he had not been so crooked, he would not have died either. I had had no reply from Harsnet yet, and I had left a message at home saying where I was going.
I had received a brief note that morning from Dorothy. Guy had visited Bealknap, and judged that with care and rest he should recover, though any more purging and bleeding might well kill him. 'Your doctor friend advises he stay here some days, until he is stronger,' Dorothy concluded. Reading between the lines I guessed she would rather he had not.
The sight of the Bedlam gates ahead brought me back to the present. As I rode through the yard, I saw two familiar figures come out. It was Daniel and Minnie Kite, Daniel's large arm round his wife. He looked thoughtful, though Minnie looked more settled. They glanced up as I approached, and I pulled Genesis to a halt.
'Good morning,' I said. 'You have been visiting Adam?'
'Yes, sir,' Daniel said.
'I am meeting Dr Malton here shortly, he is making one of his visits.'
Minnie's face lightened. 'He is a good man. I believe he is helping Adam. He says it will take a long time, but I think my son is somewhat better.'
Daniel nodded. 'Sometimes now he will pay us a little attention.
Stop praying, just for a short while. And he will eat too. I wonder — I wonder whether he may be able to follow me into my trade after all.' He looked at me almost pleadingly, so I could supply an answer.
'Perhaps one day,' I said noncommittally.
'But I'm not sure it ever was the work Adam wanted.' Minnie looked at me. 'I do wonder if my son is angry with us for some reason. The way he still treats us.'
'If you wait a little, Dr Malton will not be long. You could talk to him.'
They looked at each other dubiously. 'Perhaps we—' Minnie said, but her husband shook his head.
'No, chick. We must go to service. In these days, we must show our support to our preacher.' He looked at me again, and something had closed up in his face.
'How is Reverend Meaphon?' I asked neutrally.
'He is very worried, sir. These are days of persecution.' He looked at me. 'We fear in our church that one of our neighbours, Reverend Yarington, has been arrested. He has not been seen for days. None of his congregation will say what has happened, but Reverend Meaphon is sore distressed. He says Christian folks must stand together against the devil in these days, and he is right.'
'Then I will leave you. Shall I ask Dr Malton to call upon you?'
'Yes, sir,' he said. 'That would be kind.'
They left me. I wondered at how even Minnie seemed to be putting her church before her son now. If Adam had become angry with her in the past, perhaps that was why. Everything was polarizing. Last week a traditionalist priest had been arrested for pricking his ringer and letting drops of blood
fall on to the holy wafer in an effort to prove to his congregation that the bread indeed turned into the body and blood of Christ on consecration.
I TIED GENESIS up outside the long, low asylum building and knocked at the door. Keeper Shawms answered; at the sight of me he frowned, then forced his expression into a semblance of a smile. 'Master Shardlake,' he muttered.
'Good day. I am meeting Dr Malton here.'
He stood aside for me to enter. 'He ain't here yet. But Ellen is with Kite. He is getting the best of care.' Shawms' voice was respectful, but there was a nasty look in his eyes.
'Good. The first report to the court is due in a week. I shall want to see it before it is sent. How is Adam?'
'That black doctor says he is improving, though I can't see it. He and Ellen like to get him out of his chamber, have him sitting in the parlour. But it upsets the other patients.'
'I am sure you cope.'
I had been aware of muffled shouting nearby, and now a door opened and the fat keeper Gebons appeared, red-faced. 'His Majesty is in a fierce state, sir,' he told Shawms. 'Wants his crown mending. Can you settle him?'
Shawms sighed heavily, brushed past Gebons and threw the door of the chamber wide. Inside I saw the old man who believed he was the King, sitting on his commode in his patchwork robe. The paper crown on his head had had an accident, several of its points were flattened. 'You will repair my crown!' he shouted, waving a fist. 'You are my subjects and you will obey me!'
Shawms grabbed the paper crown from his head and crushed it in a meaty fist. 'That for your crown!' he snapped. 'One day you will babble so far you will not be able to pull your tongue in again. Now be quiet, or no lunch.' The fat old man seemed visibly to shrink into himself, then buried his face in his hands and began to weep. Shawms left him, slamming the door behind him.
'There, that's shut him up,' he told Gebons with satisfaction. 'Now, Master Shardlake, we are busy, as you see. I will leave you to go to Adam's chamber.'
