Revelation ms-4

by C. J. Sansom

  The door of Adam's room was open. Ellen was seated on a stool opposite him. Adam was still chained; there must be no repeat of what had happened at London Wall. 'Come, Adam,' Ellen was saying, 'take the spoon and feed yourself. I am not going to put it into your mouth like a little baby. Come on.' She put on a babyish voice. 'Goo-goo, ga-ga.'

  To my surprise, Adam responded to her gentle mockery with a smile, quickly suppressed. He sighed, but took the spoon and bowl, and under Ellen's watchful eye he ate the pottage.

  'Well done, Ellen,' I said. 'I have never seen Adam smile before.'

  She got to her feet and made a little curtsy. 'I did not see you, sir.' She blushed.

  'I am meeting Dr Malton here.'

  'Yes, I knew he was coming. I try to make Adam laugh. I have not quite managed that, but I got a smile as you saw.'

  'Yes.' Adam was now eating as fast as he could. He ignored me.

  'I hear the King has proposed legislation forbidding women to read the Bible,' Ellen said.

  'Yes, that is right. And uneducated folk.'

  She smiled sadly. 'Everything is going back to the old ways. Well, perhaps that has to be, it is the new ways that brought poor Adam to this pass.'

  I looked at her, wondering whether it was because of some religious nonconformity that Ellen was not allowed to leave the Bedlam. But she had spoken with detachment. I looked again at Adam's chained leg. 'Ellen,' I said quietly, 'I do not know why it is you may not leave the Bedlam, but if I can help you in any way I would be pleased.'

  She gave her sad smile again. 'Thank you, sir. But I am happy enough.' Yet her expression was sad. I thought, how can such an intelligent woman bear to spend her whole life in this place, second' hand news her only knowledge of the world outside?

  Adam, having bolted down his pottage, curled himself over and began to pray. 'Heavenly father,' he whispered. 'Forgive me, I have sinned against the light. The light—'

  'I will let him pray a little now he's eaten,' Ellen said, 'until Dr Malton comes. That is another of his ideas, to bargain with Adam, allow him some time to pray but insist he does other things too.'

  'Is there any change in him?'

  'A little, I believe. But it is hard work. He woke yesterday saying he believed the birds singing outside were crying out against his sins.'

  'This is harrowing work for a woman, Ellen,' I said. 'I could not do it. It must be hard for you, spending all your time with these folk. None of them can be easy.'

  She frowned a little. 'Who is easy in this world;'

  I realized I had offended her. There was a moment's awkward silence. 'I saw Adam's parents,' I said. 'They say he has made some progress.'

  'Yes. I think his father feels helpless, it is sad to see that big man standing there, totally at a loss for what to do.'

  'But no more difficulties from Keeper Shawms?'

  'No.' She smiled again. 'Thanks to you, sir. He lets me take Adam into the parlour to mix with other patients now. Dr Malton says it is important for Adam to have other people around him, to try and take his attention from that doleful world in which he has set himself.'

  'Shawms says Adam still upsets the other patients.'

  'Less than he did. They call on him to be quiet, to stop praying. That is no bad thing for him.' She smiled sadly. 'Everyone here can cope with everyone else's problems. But usually not their own.'

  'No indeed,' said a voice from the doorway. Guy came in. To my surprise he had a copy of the New Testament under his arm. He looked tired and I felt guilty for sending him running off to Lincoln's Inn the night before. 'How is Bealknap?' I asked.

  'Dr Archer should be arraigned for assault,' he said. 'Apparently Master Bealknap had gone to him with no more than a prolonged stomach ache. He was not eating and so had grown weak. All Archer's bleeding and purges have done is make him weaker yet. I am not surprised he thought he was dying. I have prescribed good food and bed rest for a week, then he can go to his chambers and hopefully look after himself.'

  'Good. Thank you.'

  'I fear Mistress Elliard was not pleased when I said he should be under someone's care just now.'

  'Dorothy still finds it hard to cope. Finding Bealknap collapsed on the doorstep reminded her of Roger's death.'

  'She is a charitable woman. I am afraid I played on that a little. But Bealknap is my patient now, I must put him first.'

  'I suppose so.' Damn the wretch, I thought.

  'I said I would visit him again tomorrow evening, see how he goes.'

  'Did you bring a priest?'

  'No. He does not need that. Bringing one would only set him thinking his end was upon him again.'

  'Come to dinner at Lincoln's Inn tonight after you have seen him. As a reward for your trouble. And I will give you Bealknap's fee.'

  Guy smiled. 'He is a strange man. He answered all my questions about his symptoms readily enough, for he was in great fear. But after I told him he was not going to die he hardly said a word more. Gave me no thanks, nor you.'

  'That is Bealknap. I will tell you later,' I added grimly, 'about something he has done.'

  Guy raised his eyebrows. Turning to Ellen, he asked, 'How is Adam?'

  'He has had some breakfast. Even gave me something like a smile.'

  'Then we make progress.' Guy went over to Adam and touched him gently on the shoulder. The boy ceased his frantic whispering, sighed and raised his bony head. 'I need to pray, Dr Malton. I have had no time to pray.'

  Guy sat on his haunches to face him. I envied the suppleness of his limbs. 'I brought the Bible again,' he said quietly. 'I thought we could go through some passages. To read the book is as important as prayer in the eyes of God, is it not?'

  'I will go and see to the other patients,' Ellen said. 'Cissy is mopish again, she will not do her sewing.'

  'Thank you for all you are doing,' Guy said.

  She curtsied and left us. I watched her go, her long brown hair swinging round her shoulders under her coif. I turned back to Guy, who had the Bible open and was struggling to engage Adam in conversation.

  'If you read the gospels, you will see that Jesus does not want his followers to suffer unnecessarily. He wants them to live in the world, and more than anything to live together in harmony; not to cut themselves off as you have done.'

  'But God does test his people, test their faith. Look at Job. He tested him and tested him.' Adam banged a skinny fist on the stone floor.

  'Is that what you feel? That God is testing you?'

  'I hope so. It is better than being cast out. To suffer in Hell for ever and ever. I am afraid of Hell, so afraid. I read in Revelation—'

  'Read the four gospels, Adam. You will see that none who repents is rejected. Look at Mary Magdalen—'

  But Adam shook his head fiercely then, bent right over and began to pray again, his lips moving soundlessly. The vertebrae stood out on his skinny neck. Guy sighed, then stood up. 'I will leave him be for a few minutes,' he said. 'That is our bargain.'

  'Guy, your patience is as bottomless as the sea.'

  'I am following the trail of a mystery. Trying to understand things by looking at Adam's reactions.'

  'You would not leave him the Bible to read?'

  'Oh no. He would look for all the passages about damnation and being cast out for sin, and clasp them to his heart. I wonder what started this. It is often something terrible that has happened in the real world that causes mad people to withdraw into a world of their own.'

  'His mother still thinks he is angry with her and Daniel.'

  'I think perhaps that is part of the story, but not all.' He looked over at Adam's crouched figure, stroking his chin.

  'What inner world has our killer made for himself; I wonder.' I looked at Guy. 'He has killed someone else.' I told him what Bealknap had done, and about the murder of Felday. I spoke in a whisper, that Adam should not hear, but he was so lost in prayer I doubt he would have taken any notice had I spoken normally.

  Guy stood thinking for a
moment. 'The killer's world will be very different from poor Adam's. I think he is in a state of obsession and self glorification so strong it can never be mended. You know, Matthew, there are few obsessives in the Bible. Certainly none in the New Testament.'

  'What about St John; What about the Book of Revelation;'

  'Christianity would be better without that book. It preaches nothing but cruelty and destruction. It teaches that the destruction of human beings does not matter, is even to be rejoiced over. It is evil. No wonder it is the book the killer chose.' He sighed. 'Matthew, I should spend some time with Adam. We will talk more tonight.' He smiled. 'I think his care is assured. Shawms and his master Metwys are afraid of the court.'

  'Guy, 'I said hesitantly. 'Can I ask another favour;'

  'Of course.'

  I told him about Charles Cantrell's eyes. 'Yes I will see him,' he said. 'I cannot say what ails him till I see him.' He looked at me seriously. 'It may be simple, or he may indeed be going blind.'

  'Then better he should know.'

  I left Guy to try and counsel Adam. I was not sorry to go. On the way out I looked into the little parlour. Ellen was sitting with the patient Cissy, trying to make her sew properly, as earlier she had tried to make Adam eat. Cissy sat slumped in her chair, her eyes unfocused. 'Take the needle,' Ellen was saying. 'It is such a pretty blouse.' I thought there was something almost saintly in her patience. I was sure she heard me come to the doorway, but she did not look up.

  THAT NIGHT I had Joan prepare a rich chicken stew. Guy arrived at six, on time as usual, and we sat to our meal. Tamasin had told me Barak had gone out drinking with his friends again. She sounded weary and angry. It was not a good sign. As we ate I told Guy more about Felday.

  'So you had to encounter yet another body.'

  'Yes. It is affecting Barak hard.'

  'How are he and his wife?' I had told Guy something of their problems.

  'I tell myself once this nightmare is over, Barak will make it right with her again. God knows,' I burst out in sudden vehemence, 'it has taken over all our lives. I was going to take some time this afternoon to work up the subscription list for Roger's hospital, but I found it hard to concentrate.'

  'You will do it.' He looked at me. 'That will please his widow.'

  'Yes.'

  'She will need time to set herself in order, Matthew,' Guy said. 'Much time, strong though she is.'

  'I know.' I smiled wryly; he had guessed my feelings. I looked at him. 'How long a wounded soul takes to mend. And Adam, can he ever mend?'

  'I think so. With the help of Ellen, who is putting much effort into his care, I think he can be brought back to the world. I will untangle how he was set on this terrible path, I am determined. As for time?' He spread his hands. 'Six months, perhaps a year. But I will bring him back to the real world, where we must live if we are to stay sane.' He spoke with sudden passion.

  'That sounded heartfelt.'

  He nodded, slowly and heavily. Then he looked at me and said,

  'I am far from being as sure and certain of things as I might appear, Matthew.'

  'You said that once you had the time of despair.'

  'Yes.'

  'And now? You are troubled again?'

  'Yes. Yes, I am.' He paused, then sighed, a sigh that was half a sob. 'Not about God or his goodness, but about what I am.'

  I took a deep breath. 'Has this got something to do with Piers?' He gave me a piercing look, but did not answer. 'Has he some hold over you, Guy?'

  'No. Or at least, not in the way you mean.' His face was suddenly anguished. 'He was so tractable when he came, did everything to help me. But now he goes out roistering in the evenings at will. And yes, you were right, he listens at doors when I am consulting with patients. And I thought—' He broke off, resting his head on a tightly clenched fist.

  'Thought what?'

  When Guy spoke again, it was in broken, fractured tones, head bowed. 'I am fifty-seven years old, Matthew, an old man. I was a monk for thirty years, and I have been out in the world again for five. When you become a monk you take vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. If you take your vows seriously — and I know not all the monks did, you saw that for yourself when we met at Scarnsea — you separate yourself off from earthly passions. That is not something to do lightly. I told you of the woman I loved when I was young.'

  'Who died.'

  'Yes. And that I was angry, bitterly angry with God. I felt he had taken Eloise from me to drive me to the cloister.' He shook his head. 'I went from that anger to doubting God's goodness, doubting whether the picture of God given by the Church was even true at all, whether the savages of the New World had it right in believing God was a cruel and vengeful being who demanded human sacrifice. As I felt Eloise had been sacrificed. In my medical studies I started looking at diseases of the mind, that matched my view of man and God as flawed and lost.'

  The passionate anger that had come into his voice was like nothing I had ever heard from him before.

  He nodded, then smiled gently. 'But that was the nadir, Matthew, that was the lowest point I reached, perhaps that God allowed me to reach, for I was very near despair. I continued to pray. I did not want to but I felt it was important; oddly enough it was an anchor to the real world, which was slipping out of focus for me. And one day I heard a gentle voice that seemed to say, "I did not take Eloise out of the world. Why should your life be more important than hers?" And that gentlest of chidings showed me that all along, without even thinking of it, I had been assuming my scholar's life was more important to God than hers, that he would snuff hers out as a ploy to get me into the cloister.' He sat back. 'There. When God gently chides our arrogance we may be more confident it is truly Him talking to us, than when people come from prayer puffed up with righteous- ness.'

  'Amen to that.'

  'After that, my bitterness slowly left me. Yet now I am disturbed and uncertain in my mind again. It is strange we should be hunting an obsessive murderer just now. When I am again prey to disturbing feelings, and yes, this time they are about Piers.' He hesitated, then said, 'I have wondered if my feelings for him are honourable.'

  So that was it. And Piers, I knew, would use that. 'What do you think?' I asked gently.

  He shook his head sadly. 'I am not sure. When I first met him, when his old master was dying - and that old fraud did not treat Piers well, by the way — it was his intelligence that struck me, intelligence that was being wasted. But I noted his fair form and face, and when he came to my home I found I had feelings that were new and strange to me.'

  I could think of nothing to say. Selfishly, I thought, Guy is my rock. Do not let him crumble now.

  'Oh, I have pondered on it deeply,' he said, 'and prayed too. And you know what I think: I think what I want, perhaps have always wanted, is a son. To educate, to exchange ideas with, to come and visit me when I am past working. In the cloister there was always company, but in the outside world I am so often alone. That is why many ex-monks suffer so.'

  Guy looked at me, his face full of sadness. 'Have you ever felt that, Matthew: The need for a child, or some substitute for a child:'

  'Oh, I collect waifs and strays,' I answered. 'I suppose I always have. The children Timothy and Peter, young Cantrell. Barak and Tamasin are my waifs and strays in a way. And there was old Master Wrenne.' I sighed. 'And my assistant Mark, that you knew at Scarnsea.' I looked at him. 'Even if one's motives are honourable, one can choose the wrong people to be one's — I do not know — substitute children.'

  'Yes.' He hesitated and took a deep breath. 'Piers — he — he flirts with me.' Guy bit his lip. 'The way he smiles, the way he touches me gently sometimes, he is inviting me to something. And part of me, I fear, would follow. He knows that, knows how to use it if I am angry with him. I fear he has raised something in me I did not know was there, something more than this urge to be a father to him.'

  'Guy, in a way it does not matter what your feelings are. It matters more what Piers
is. He is cold, calculating, exploitative. I have seen how he listens at doors, seen his wheedling and his arrogance when he is with you.'

  Guy put his head in his hands. 'Something else has happened now,' he said. 'I have noticed that money has been going missing. Small amounts from my purse, here and there, but it adds up to several pounds now.'

  'You must get rid of him,' I said quietly.

  'Cast him out, I that took him in:'

  'You took a viper to your bosom.'

  'Did I: Or is Piers disturbed, not well in his mind, that he takes my money: He has no need to steal, I give him enough.'

  'Get rid of him.'

  'Do you think Piers is one of those who prefers men to women?' he asked suddenly.

  'I do not know. But I think he is one who would use any trick to gain advantage.'

  Joan came in then with the next course, and we fell silent. Not until he was about to leave did he say, 'I will pray about this, Matthew. I will not talk to Piers yet.' He shook his head. 'I cannot believe he is as bad as you think. He has a good mind.'

  'And a bad heart.'

  When Guy left I returned to the parlour and sat thinking of the loneliness so many men carry in this divisive, fractured age, and the ruthless people who would exploit it.

  And then another thought took shape, one that sent a chill down my spine. We had been talking of Piers as cold and intelligent and ruthless. He knew about our hunt for the killer. He listened at doors, and he had seen the bodies of the slain. But I shook my head. It was impossible; he worked for Guy, and the killer had freedom to come and go as he pleased. And it could not be Piers who followed us. No, Piers was no killer. In an odd way, he was too selfish, too coldly sane. My mind was in a fever. I would be suspecting Joan or Tamasin next. Was it truly Goddard? And if not him, who? Who?

  Chapter Thirty-five

  ANOTHER DISTURBED NIGHT; a ghastly dream in which Ifound myself back on that dark icy morning when I entered Lincoln's Inn to find the two students standing by the ice-covered fountain. But in my dream, when they turned to face me, one slipped away into the darkness. The other was Piers. He reached in and turned the body over, and it was Guy lying there with his throat slashed. I woke with a gasp to the sound of heavy rain lashing at the window, and then my heart jumped with horror, for footsteps were ascending the stairs. I exhaled with relief as I recognized Barak's steps. He must have been out late again.