by C. J. Sansom
'I have some questions. Barak can ask them as one loyal servant to another.'
'I hear Dr Malton has had some money go missing,' Barak said. 'Know anything about it?'
Piers' expression did not change. 'I have heard nothing. Surely if Dr Malton has had money missing he should talk to me himself.'
'Ah, but Master Shardlake here is his attorney.'
Piers' eyes flicked between Barak and me, disoriented by the rapid-fire questions. 'I cannot believe Dr Malton has authorized you to question me like this,' he said.
'But here we are. Stealing is a capital offence.'
The boy's eyes narrowed. 'I have done nothing. I shall tell Dr Malton about this. He will not be pleased with you.'
'It was he who told us about the missing money,' I said.
'Where is your room?' Barak asked.
'Up the stairs. But you have no permission to go in there. I have rights as an apprentice!' His voice rose now, his face reddening.
'Tough.' Barak turned to me. 'Shall I go look in his room?'
'I will go. You stay here and keep an eye on him.' I stared at Piers. He was frightened now.
The boy stepped back, blocking the inner door with his sturdy form. 'No! You have no right!'
Barak drew his sword and used the blade to edge him away from the door. Piers watched with set lips, breathing hard, as I passed through. I mounted the narrow, gloomy staircase. Guy did not trust servants among his equipment; there was no one else in the house. On the upper floor I saw a door was open.
Guy's precious edition of Vesalius lay on a desk, open at a picture of a skeleton dangling from a gibbet, in the posture of a hanged man. Piers had been engaged in drawing a copy of the revolting thing, a quill was lying on the table. It was very well done.
I searched the room. Among volumes on the bookshelf dealing with medicine and herbs I found a copy of the Black Book, the summary of the most lurid cases of sodomy and fornication that Crom- well's agents had found eight years before in their investigation of the monasteries. Many copies had been sold to prurient readers. There was a chest containing clothes, some of surprisingly good quality. I explored the bed, turning over the mattress, and there I found a small leather bag. Inside was a collection of silver coins, totalling over a pound: far more money than an apprentice was likely to have. I took it, left the room and returned down the narrow staircase.
Piers was standing against the table, Barak facing him with his drawn sword. As I entered the room I held up the bag. 'Money,' I said.
'So, my pretty, you are a thief,' Barak said grimly.
A change came over Piers' face. It took on a hard, calculating look. Now, I thought, the mask is gone. 'I could say some things about that old blackamoor if I chose,' he said in a voice that was suddenly sharp as a file. 'Like how he prostrates himself before a big old cross in his bedroom, worshipping idols. How the priest he goes to is known as a secret papist. How he is a pederast, how he makes me commit immoral acts with him.'
'That is a lie!' I shouted angrily.
'Perhaps it is. But part of him would like to. I have seen enough of him to know he would look embarrassed and uneasy at such an accusation. You are a lawyer, imagine how that would look to a jury. Him being an ex-monk. Sodomy is a hanging offence as much as theft. If I lose all I will make sure he loses as well.' He looked at me grimly.
'Nasty little arsehole, isn't he?' Barak said.
Piers' next move was so sudden it took us unawares. He reached behind him to the table, grabbed a flask of liquid and threw the contents in Barak's face. Barak gave a loud yell and stumbled backwards, dropping his sword as he raised his hands to his face. Piers ran to the door, threw it open and fled into the night. I heard his footsteps disappearing into the warren of streets that made up Bucklersbury.
I ran to Barak and gently pulled his hands from his face, dreading what I might find. His eyes were red and weeping, but there were no other marks and I caught the sharp sweet smell of lemons.
'My fucking eyes,' he groaned.
'I'll get some water from the kitchen. I think it's just lemon juice, you'll be all right.' I hurried out, coming back with a pail of water and a cloth. I squeezed water into his eyes. 'Blink, you idiot,' I said roughly.
After a thorough wash the pain in Barak's eyes subsided, although they remained bloodshot. 'What's Guy experimenting with lemons for?' he asked. 'They don't come cheap.'
'Some cure, I suppose.'
'That little rat will be miles from here by now.'
'Yes. I think our best course is to stay here until Guy comes back.' I sighed. I was not looking forward to his return.
HE CAME IN an hour later, his eyes widening with surprise at the sight of us sitting in his shop, Barak still dabbing his eyes with a cloth.
'What has happened?'
I told him, leaving out Piers' threats against Guy. When I had finished he sat down on a stool. He looked bereft. He sat thus for several minutes, then rose slowly to his feet. It seemed to me that he had aged ten years. 'Let me look at your eyes, Barak,' he said wearily. He took the candle and peered into them. 'You have been washing them. Good. It was only something I was working on with lemons, a poultice.' Then he turned to me, and his voice was as I had never heard it, trembling with anger.
'You should have come to me first. You should not have gone behind my back.'
'I thought it best for us to confront Piers.'
'You thought I would obstruct you.'
I had no answer. 'I have just been to see Bealknap,' he said. 'He is better, as I thought, complaining Mistress Elliard's servants do not empty his piss-bowl often enough. I took that ridiculous man on as a patient because you asked me, just as I involved myself in your hunt for this killer. And this is how you repay me. I thought you trusted me, Matthew.'
'I did not feel you could see Piers clearly. And this was urgent. And he is a thief, Guy.'
'And now he has gone.'
'I am sorry. What can I say;'
'Nothing.' He lowered his head, the damp cloth clutched in his hands. There was a silence that lasted only a few moments, but felt like an hour. Then I said, 'There has been another killing.' I told him about Lockley, and the note giving Goddard's address.
He looked at me. 'There is nothing I can do, is there?'
'No.'
'Then I wish you luck in Hertfordshire.' Guy gave me a look that was stony, almost contemptuous. 'I will not have Piers prosecuted if he is caught,' he said. 'I will not see an eighteen-year-old boy hanged for stealing a little money, as the law prescribes.' He picked up the bag of coins from where I had put it on his table, slipping it into his robe. 'There, your evidence is gone. And now I would like you to leave, Matthew. I hope you find Goddard.' His look said that his involvement in the affair was over.
'Guy—'
He raised a hand. 'No. Please go. I have an appointment to go and visit Adam at the Bedlam.' He gave Barak a sudden hard look, and I realized he was wondering if I had told my assistant about his confusion about Piers. 'I have not—' I began.
'Go, Matthew, please.' His cold, angry tone struck me to the heart.
Barak and I left the shop. As we untied the horses Barak asked curiously, 'What is it you haven't told me?'
'Nothing. Private matters of Guy's.'
We rode away in silence. I almost groaned aloud at the thought of the harm I had done to our long friendship.
Chapter Thirty-eight
WE RODE HOME. The streets were thronged. Most of the city constables seemed to be on patrol, together with several guards in Bishop Bonner's livery. Many people gave them hostile or frightened looks. I thought of those who had been arrested, of the danger to Cranmer. I wondered what the godly men were doing, keeping out of sight, probably, waiting till the storm died down. But this latest persecution would only encourage them to see themselves as martyrs. It occurred to me that Harsnet, as a royal official and a radical, might himself be in danger. Or would the protection of Cranmer and Lord Hertford be enough?<
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I was exhausted; at home I went up to bed and slept for several hours, then had a gloomy dinner on my own, Barak and Tamasin staying in their room. Seymour's men must have reached Hertfordshire by now. I went to bed early. In the morning there was still no word. Barak joined me at breakfast. 'What's happening?' I said.
'Maybe Seymour's men are dealing with Goddard quietly up there,' Barak said seriously.
I shook my head. 'They should tell us,' I said. A thought struck me. 'Where is Tamasin? Is she missing breakfast again?'
'She's still abed.' Barak looked at me seriously. 'She's guessed some- how that there's been another killing, but I didn't tell her where I went yesterday. She's getting mopish, she just lies in bed. She looked so - sad.'
'Why is it you can no longer communicate, do you think?'
'I don't know.' As so often, he changed the subject. 'You're not going to report young Piers, then?'
'No.'
'What is it between him and the old Moor?' Barak looked at me curiously.
'I think the need for someone to care for, and to pass on his knowledge to, is so strong that it has taken him over. But in the end it does not matter. At least now he is rid of that boy. I hope he has escaped, gone somewhere far from London.'
'If he has any sense he will have. He'll know that if he's tried for theft, he'll hang.'
I stood up abruptly. 'I am going to the Bedlam,' I said. 'Guy said he was going to visit Adam there. I will try and talk to him, make him see sense.'
Barak looked dubious. 'He's pretty angry,' he said.
I almost said, attend to your wife, she is angry too, but bit back the words. 'I can't let it rest like this.'
'Do you want me to come?'
'No. No, I'll go alone.'
He gave me a worried look. I could see he was concerned that the strain was becoming too much for me; his own face looked strained enough. I put my hand on his shoulder.
'I'll ride,' I said. 'I'll be safe. Send word if there is any news from Hertfordshire.'
I REACHED Bishopsgate without incident. But as I rode through the gates into the Bedlam yard I heard an unexpected sound: a woman screaming and sobbing in dreadful fear. For an awful moment I feared the killer had misdirected us again and the seventh killing was to be here, now. Then I saw that a woman was hammering and banging on the closed doors of the Bedlam building, screaming to be let in. A little crowd of passers-by had gathered, some laughing at this latest example of the antics of the mad. I wondered why no one came to open the door. Then, as I rode up to the crowd, I saw that the woman was the keeper Ellen. I dismounted and hastily tied Genesis to the rail.
Ellen took no notice of the crowd. She had flattened her whole body against the door as she screamed in what seemed an extraordinary terror. 'Let me in, Master Shawms! Please! Please!' I elbowed my way through the crowd and laid a hand on her shoulder. 'Ellen,' I said quietly.
She did not look round. She went rigid and seemed to press herself even more tightly against the door. 'Who is it;' she whispered.
'It is I, Master Shardlake. What on earth is the matter?'
'For pity's sake, Master Shardlake, make him let me in.' And with that her knees gave way and she slid down the door, still pressing herself against it, sobbing wildly.
I banged on the door. 'Shawms!' I shouted. 'Open this door! What is happening?' I heard voices whispering, just inside. And from further back in the building I heard people shouting, and thought I heard Adam's voice among them.
A key turned and the door opened to reveal Shawms, the big keeper Gebons behind him. Gebons was frowning; Shawms looked angry. As soon as the door opened sufficiently Ellen threw herself inside and flattened herself against the opposite wall. She stood there, breathing heavily. A gaggle of patients stood in the open door of the parlour, their expressions fearful. The old woman Cissy took a couple of shuffling steps forward, hesitantly stretching out an arm. 'Oh, Ellen,' she muttered. 'Poor Ellen.'
I saw that the doors of all the patients' rooms were shut. I heard the man who believed he was the King demanding his subjects behave themselves, while from down the corridor the one-time scholar was banging himself against his door with loud thuds. Between them I heard Adam's voice calling to God to help Ellen, save good Ellen.
Shawms shut the front door in the faces of the curious onlookers. 'What are you doing to these people?' I demanded.
He looked as though he would have liked to strike me, but kept his voice calm. 'Ellen there needed a lesson. Thanks to you she has taken over the welfare of Adam Kite and makes so bold as to tell me how he should be treated. Now she is moving on to the other patients, demanding that drivelling old dolt Cissy be released into the care of her family.' He glared round at the old woman, who shrank back into the doorway. 'As though her family wanted the trouble, any more than Ellen's family want her.' His voice rose. 'Have you not yet grasped what this place is, Master Shardlake? It is a rubbish-heap, where people of wealth leave their mad relatives. We may have our charity cases and sometimes people even get cured, or pretend they are to get out. But mostly it is a rubbish heap, one that generates gold for Warden Metwys as rubbish generates rats.'
'Ellen is a member of your staff even if she was a patient once. What in the devil's name have you done to her?'
Shawms laughed then, right in my face. 'Is that what she told you? Ellen is still a patient, she always will be. I have given her some of the duties of a keeper, for she is good with the patients, if too soft with them.' He looked at her. 'But sometimes she gets above herself, and I have to remind her of who and what she is by putting her outside.' He turned to Ellen, who was still holding herself rigid against the wall, breathing heavily, her eyes averted from the closed door. 'That is her madness,' Shawms continued brutally. 'She can't bear to go outside, says the world sways and rocks and will swallow her up. She's been like that ever since she was set on by a gang of youths down in Sussex where she comes from, and they made a woman of her before her time. Ain't that so, Ellen?'
Ellen forced herself to stand away from the wall. She clasped her hands in front of her. 'Yes, Master Shawms,' she said calmly. She looked from him to me, her long face filled with shame. 'So now, Master Shardlake, you know all about me.'
I felt great pity for the poor woman, but knew instinctively that to show it would be the worst thing I could do.
'It does not matter, Ellen,' I said quietly. 'Listen, poor Adam is distressed. Will you come with me and help him? You are better with him than anyone. If you feel able.'
She gave me a grateful look. 'Yes, of course,' she said quietly, and began walking steadily down the corridor, feeling for her bunch of keys. I turned to Shawms. 'I hope Adam is not too disturbed by this incident; I should have to report it to the court.' He gave me a vicious look. As I turned away Gebons gave me a look of something like admiration.
I joined Ellen at the closed door to Adam's room. 'Ellen!' he cried from within. 'What have they done to you?'
'It's all right,' Ellen called. 'I am here.'
'Has Dr Malton not arrived?' I asked her.
'No, sir, he was expected but is not here.' Ellen's voice and manner were almost normal now, just a little shaky, as though her earlier wildness had been a dream. She opened the door. Within, Adam was standing as near to the door as his ankle chain would allow him. His face was red, his frantic expression turning to relief as Ellen entered.
'Are you all right?' he asked her. 'You were screaming.'
'Yes, Adam. Do not disturb yourself, sit down.' I saw a stool had been brought into the room. The boy hesitantly sat down on it. 'It was Dr Malton's idea to bring that in,' Ellen told to me. 'Make him sit instead of crouching praying on the floor.'
For the first time, I realized, Adam had shown concern for someone else. Then he turned his wasted face to me, and said something I did not understand.
'My concern for Ellen was honourable, sir, please say you saw that it was so if you are asked. I was not sinning again, even in thought. It was not lik
e the wicked reverend's woman.' Then his thin face twisted into an agonized rictus and he would have sunk to his knees had not Ellen held his shoulder. 'Come, Adam,' she said. The boy put his head in his hands and began to cry.
And then the connection came to me. His vicar, Meaphon, was friends with Reverend Yarington. Timothy had described the boy who had visited the prostitute Abigail as tall and dark. Adam was tall and dark and his mother had told me that once he had been good-looking, until this desperate obsession had reduced him to skin and bone.
I stepped forward. 'Adam, does the name Abigail mean anything to you?'
At that the boy wriggled out of Ellen's grasp and crouched against the wall, staring at me in horror. 'My sin is discovered,' he whispered. 'Oh God forgive me, do not strike me down.'
'Sir, what are you doing?' Ellen asked indignantly.
'Turning a key which must be turned,' I said. I knelt down beside Adam, making my voice calm. 'Adam, you came to Reverend Yarington's house once with a message from your own vicar, did you not?'
He looked at me with terrified eyes. 'Yes.'
'Abigail saw you and invited you in. She felt the need for a young man. She taught you things you had thought on but not experienced yet. Am I right?'
'How can you know that?' he whispered. 'Has God marked you as the instrument of my punishment?'
I smiled gently. 'No, Adam. Yarington's stable boy saw someone from the stable. I just realized it might be you. That is all. Abigail has run away and I needed to find her in connection with a case.' I must not tell him Yarington had been murdered.
'That is my great sin,' he said. 'I knew if my parents and the church found out they would cast me away, for I have lost my place with the elect.' Adam looked at me. 'You will not tell my parents, sir?'
'No. I promise.'
'I was wax in her hands,' Adams said. 'Jesus, my shield, seemed powerless. She must have come from the devil.'
'She was only a poor woman. Helpless herself, in the power of that hypocrite Yarington.'
'Yes. He is a hypocrite.' He nodded frenetically. 'I knew I should tell my parents, the church — I turned to God for guidance but could feel nothing, nothing. Has He abandoned me?'
