by C. J. Sansom
'I am no theologian, Adam. But one thing is for certain, you have not abandoned Him. Only sought to reach Him in the wrong way, perhaps.'
It was too much for the boy, he buried his face in his hands and began weeping again. I stood up painfully, my knees creaking. I turned to Ellen. 'I must leave now. The information Adam has given me is important. For a — a case. I do not know when Dr Malton may come. May I leave Adam with you;'
A bitter look crossed her face. 'Do you mean, am I safe to leave him with?'
'No - I—'
'I am safe enough,' she said starkly. 'Unless I am made to go out.' She took a long breath. 'Most of the time I am sane.'
'I know I leave him in good hands with you.' Her face coloured. 'Do you mean that?'
'I do. If Dr Malton comes, please tell him what Adam said. And tell him — tell him I tried to see him.'
'I see from your face this is something serious,' Ellen said. 'Is Adam in trouble?'
'No, I swear he is not.' I smiled at her. 'You are a good woman, Ellen. Do not let a bullying pig like Shawms make you think otherwise.'
She nodded, tears coming into her eyes. I left the room, my brain racing. So it was Adam who had visited Abigail. He was the dark-haired boy I had been seeking. I wondered suddenly if Ellen was indeed safe to leave with Adam, her terrible panic had shaken me. But no, I thought, apart from her strange malady, she is all too sane, saner than many of the thousands on the streets of London.
Chapter Thirty-nine
I RODE HOME in thoughtful mood. I could not face the morning crowds in the streets, and took the roads north of the city wall. It felt safe there too; there was no one around. The quiet made it worth passing by the stinking Houndsditch, where despite the injunctions of the Council people still dumped dead dogs and horses. I thought about Adam, how easy it was to forget that those who became mad were once ordinary people. I could see now that Adam's bone-thin, tragic face could have been handsome, once, how he could have been, as his father described him, a carefree romping lad. Such a boy would be seen by those in his church as one to be controlled, disciplined, frightened with Hell. And how well that had worked. I thought too of Ellen, her tragic story and what she might have been like before her terrible experience.
I turned into Chancery Lane from the north; it was at once busier. I was still deep in thought. I was brought sharply to myself by a shout of 'Look out, there!' I saw a pedlar directly in front of Genesis, holding a three-wheeled cart full of trinkets. As I jerked the reins I glimpsed a ragged coat, its tatters dragging in the dirt, and a filthy face framed by thick grey hair and a bushy beard.
'Ye'll have me over, ye'll pay if ye break my goods!' he muttered over his shoulder as he hauled his cart out of the way. I steadied Genesis, who had almost stumbled, and placed a hand on his flank to reassure him as I rode on. By the time I could glance back, the pedlar was almost up to Holborn. I rode on past Lincoln's Inn Gate to my house. It was still only half past four.
As I went upstairs to change out of my riding clothes I reflected that one aspect of the mystery was solved at least; the boy who had visited Yarington's house had been locked safely in the Bedlam all these weeks. It looked as if was Goddard after all. But why had he sent us his address?
I took down my Testament, and turned to Revelation:
And the seventh Angel poured out his vial into the air; and there came a great voice out of the Temple of Heaven, from the seat, saying, it is done. And there followed voices, and thunders, and lightnings; and there was a great earthquake, such as was not seen since men were on the earth, so mighty an earthquake and so great.
I sat back in my chair. Every killing had been a simulation, a cruel parody, of what the seven angels had done to the sinful multitudes in Revelation. He had used the body of poor Lockley to dam a stream to symbolize the drying up of the Euphrates by the sixth vial. But as Barak had said, how could even he make the earth quake?
As I laid my Testament on my desk it fell open again, at an earlier page. A passage caught my eye. Paul's first letter to the Corinthians:
And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.
I wondered if the killer had ever read that passage. If he had, it would have made no impression; it would not have chimed with his terrible urge to violence, he would probably not have noticed it. I closed the book feeling further despair at what men had made of their God.
I WENT DOWNSTAIRS. AS I passed the parlour I saw Tamasin, arranging some twigs dusted with early blossom in a vase. Her face wore an expression of pensive sadness. She saw me and smiled.
'I thought these would make a pretty display. I took them from the garden, I hope you do not mind.'
'They will remind us that it is spring. Where is Jack?'
'He has gone over to Lincoln's Inn to see how Skelly is getting on alone.'
'I should go there.' I hesitated. I looked at her seriously. 'Tamasin, we may be nearly there. We have located the house of the man that we think is behind all this, near Barnet. Sir Thomas Seymour has organized a party of men to go there and take him. We may have to go there tonight.'
'You have the murderer?' she asked.
'We are fairly sure who he is.'
'So Jack may be off adventuring again,' she said.
'Tamasin, he hates this. As I do, who brought him into it.'
'You are right,' she agreed. 'He fears this creature you are hunting.' Then she spread her arms wide in a despairing gesture. 'But I can give him no comfort. When I try to talk to him seriously he calls me nag or scold.' She sighed wearily. 'So the same pattern just goes on and on, like a donkey turning a waterwheel.'
'Tamasin—'
She raised a hand. 'No, sir. You mean well and I thank you. But I am talked out.' She curtsied and left the room.
Still restless, I decided to walk up to Lincoln's Inn to see Dorothy. If Bealknap was better, perhaps I could shame the rogue into returning to his own lodgings. But when I arrived Margaret said that Dorothy had gone out, to settle some accounts.
'It is good she is attending to business again,' she said.
'Yes.' I raised my eyebrows. 'How is my brother in the law, Master Bealknap?'
'He is a great complainer. You would think he owned this place and I were his servant.'
'Perhaps I could see him?'
'I will see how he is.' Margaret went inside, returning a minute later, red-faced. 'He says he does not wish to see you, sir. He feels too poorly. I am very sorry, but without the mistress here I cannot—'
'Of course. I think I can bear not seeing him.' I wondered if Bealknap was still ashamed of giving Felday information about me; of course he did not know that Felday was dead. 'Will you tell your mistress I am sorry he is such trouble?'
'Yes, sir.'
I walked away. For the first time in nearly a month I stopped and looked at the fountain. The water plashed peacefully into the great stone bowl. I thought, how did the killer get to know that Roger had once been a radical reformer years ago? As I stood there looking at the water, something stirred in my mind, something I had heard the day I went to Yarington's house and spoke to Timothy. What was it? It nagged at my tired brain as I walked home, adding to my general sense of unease.
I WENT ROUND to my chambers, but Barak had just left. I followed him home; he was eating some bread and cheese in the parlour.
'Thanks for keeping an eye on the work,' I said.
'How did you get on with the old— with Dr Malton?'
'He was not there.'
'Do you want some food?'
'No. I am not hungry.' I looked at him seriously. 'I think you should go to your room, see Tamasin. She is in an unhappy humour.'
He sighed and nodded. In the doorway he turned. 'By the way, Orr said that pedlar who's taken to frequenting Chancery Lane is becoming a bit of a nuisance. He's called twice this last couple of days trying to sell t
rinkets, asking for one of the women of the house.'
I stared at him. 'Wait,' I said quietly. 'Close the door.' I was breathing hard with the thought that had come to my mind. 'This pedlar, is he a ragged greybeard?'
'Ay. Him that has been round here for days.'
'And carries his things in a three-wheeled barrow.'
'You don't think — but he's an old greybeard. And half the pedlars in London push three-wheeled carts.'
'But what a way to follow us, observe us unnoticed. Barak, is this what he has been doing? Is it him?'
'He's in Hertfordshire.'
'He's concentrated our attention there. Fetch Orr,' I said. 'Then go to the end of the front garden and see if the pedlar's in sight. Don't let him see you.'
Barak gave me a doubtful look, but hurried away. Orr appeared a minute later. 'What was that pedlar selling?' I asked.
'The usual stuff. Bits of cheap jewellery. Brushes and pans. I told him to be off.'
'Pedlars do not usually waste time on second calls if they have had no luck the first time.'
'He asked for the woman of the house. Perhaps he thought he could wheedle Tamasin or Joan into buying something. When he called he kept looking past me, into the house.'
Barak returned. 'He's coming down Chancery Lane from Aid- gate. He'll be here in a minute.' He frowned. 'You're right, there's something odd. He's just pushing his cart down the street, not stopping at any houses or accosting passers-by.'
'I think he may be the killer,' I said quietly. 'What better way to go around unnoticed, follow people, listen to conversations, than pass yourself off as a ragged pedlar whom people will notice only to avoid, part of the refuse of mankind none of us wants to see.'
'But he's an old man,' Orr protested.
'I'm not sure he is,' Barak said. 'He walks like a younger man. And have we not recently passed Palm Sunday, when people dress up as the old prophets and false beards are ten a groat?'
'Jesu, have we got him?' Orr breathed.
'Shall we try to take him now, we two?' Barak asked him.
Orr nodded. 'He seems unarmed.'
'Let's do it now,' Barak said. 'We must hurry, or he'll be past us and into the throng of Fleet Street.'
I stood up. 'I'm coming too.' I spoke with more bravado than I felt. 'And if when we take him he proves to be a devil with forked horns under that beard and flies off over Holborn then we will know Harsnet was right.'
'I'll get my sword. Is yours in your room?'
'Yes.' It had lain there years; lawyers did not wear swords.
'Mine's in the kitchen.' Orr left, his face grimly determined. I looked round my parlour: the tall buffet displaying my plate, my prized wall-painting of a classical hunting scene. I realized how much it meant to me, the room at the centre of my life. I set my lips and went to fetch the sword from my room. As I went out to the landing, buckling on my scabbard, Barak's door opened and he stepped out. 'This is urgent, woman!' he called over his shoulder. 'We've got him!' He thundered down the stairs. Orr was already standing by the open door. Tamasin rushed out of her room, her face furious. She grabbed my arm. 'What in Heaven's name is happening; Will someone tell me;'
'We think the killer is outside,' I said. 'We think he is disguised as a pedlar. This is our chance, we must go.' I ran hastily downstairs. Orr and Barak were already outside. I caught a glimpse of Joan standing in the kitchen doorway, the two boys clinging to her skirts.
THE SUN WAS low in the sky, the house casting long shadows across Chancery Lane. From the gateway I saw the pedlar had now passed my house, trundling his cart on down the gently sloping street. The three of us ran pell-mell after him. Lawyers and clerks passing by stopped and stared. As we splashed through a puddle I saw a blob of mud fly out and hit the coat of Treasurer Rowland, who had pressed himself against the wall to avoid our rush. I felt a momentary stab of satisfaction.
'We'll look silly if it's just some old pedlar,' Orr said. I had not breath to answer.
As we ran up behind him the pedlar heard us coming and turned, pulling a brake on one of the rear wheels of his cart. As Barak had said, he moved quickly for an old man. I caught another glimpse of a grey beard, wild hair, bright eyes in a dirty face. Then he turned to run.
Barak jumped him, grasping his ragged collar. Most men would have toppled but the pedlar stayed upright and seized Barak's arm, preventing him from reaching his sword. Orr grabbed at the grey beard, but it pulled away from his face with a ripping sound, opening a red gash on the man's cheek and hanging lopsided over his mouth. He ignored it. Then his knee came up between Barak's legs and Barak doubled over with a gasp. The pedlar jumped for his cart, thrust his hand to the bottom and pulled out a large sword, sending a heap of cheap bangles flying. He stood at bay against the cart; Orr and I, swords drawn, had him pinned against it. I became aware that we were surrounded by a whole crowd of passers-by, looking on from a safe distance.
I tried to get a look at the pedlar's face. The bushy grey hair obscured his brow, and blood from where his beard had been torn off was running from his left cheek into the wig. Something struck me as odd about the colour of his long nose, and I realized that like the beard it was a fake, and what I had taken for a dirty face was in fact caked with actor's make-up. Only the blue eyes, glittering with hatred and excitement, were real.
The pedlar made a sudden jump, striking out at me. More by luck than judgement I managed to parry the blow. Then Barak, face pale with pain, jumped to my side. He thrust at the pedlar's sword- arm, but a sudden shout from the side of the road distracted him and he missed.
'Stop this melee!' Treasurer Rowland was yelling at us as though we were a group of frolicking students. He disoriented us for a second. The pedlar took his chance and thrust his sword at Barak, catching him on the forearm and making him drop his sword. Then he jumped aside and ran at a man in the crowd, a law student who had dismounted from his horse to watch and held his animal by the reins. The pedlar slashed at his cheek with his sword, then dropped it on the ground as the boy screamed and put his hands to his face. The pedlar jumped into the horse's saddle, kicked at the horse and in a second he was racing back up Chancery Lane towards Holborn. The poor student lay writhing and screaming on the ground as Barak held his bloody arm and cursed. I thought of commandeering a horse from the street and making chase, but by the time I had done that the killer would be long gone. I turned wearily back to the scene around the cart.
Barak had received only a small flesh wound but the poor student was badly hurt, a slash across the nose and cheek that would scar him for life. It was a miracle the blow had missed his eyes. Treasurer Rowland ordered him taken back to Lincoln's Inn. Then he turned to me, furious, demanding to know why we had attacked a pedlar. Telling him it was the man who had killed Roger Elliard shut him up.
The crowd slowly dispersed, and Barak and Orr and I were left with the cart. We looked through it but there was nothing there but trays of pasteboard jewellery, some cloths and dusters and bottles of cleaning-vinegar for silver.
'Big enough to hide a body,' Barak observed. He took one of the cloths and wound it round his arm to staunch the blood dripping to his fingers.
'This is how he followed us, no doubt listening to our conversations. I don't remember any greybeard pedlar with a cart in the crowd when I was struck, but he may have other disguises.'
'Was it Goddard, sir?' Orr asked.
'With that false nose and hair and the blood on his face, who can say?'
'I saw no sign of a mole,' Barak said. 'If it's as big as people say, it'd be hard to hide.'
'Why was he here?' Orr asked.
'Perhaps to observe comings and goings. Perhaps to frighten us again, or even to do something to the women.' I thought a moment, then delved into the cart and pulled out the half dozen bottles of cleaning-vinegar. One by one I emptied them into the bottom of the cart. The contents of the fourth made a hissing sound and began to sear the wood.
'Vitriol again,' I said. 'That is why he
has been calling at the house. This was meant to be thrown at Tamasin or Joan.'
THE THREE OF US walked slowly back home. The cart we left where it was. It could tell us nothing more. I threw the fake beard inside it.
Joan was standing in the doorway. She looked frightened, and her eyes widened at the sight of Barak's arm. 'What happened?' she asked, her voice trembling.
'The man who attacked Tamasin and me was outside,' I said. 'He got away.' I looked at her wrinkled, worried face. I could not bear to tell her what might have happened had she, rather than Orr, opened the door to the pedlar. 'It's all right now. Where are the boys?'
'I told them to stay in the stable.'
I nodded wearily. 'They can come out now. Goodman Orr, thank you for your help.'
He nodded and followed Joan into the kitchen. Barak leaned against the banister, his face pale as shock caught up with him.
'I'd have had him but for that gabbling old arsehole Rowland,' he said fiercely.
'Yes, I think you would.'
'I can't tell Tammy about the vitriol. I can't even bear to think of it.' He sighed. 'She can't go outside until this is over. I'll tell her.'
'Why shouldn't I go out if I want to?' I looked up to find Tamasin at the top of the stairs, looking down at us. She must have heard Barak's final words. She looked at his arm. 'What the hell have you done to yourself now?' Her voice was sharp with anger and panic. I realized I had never before heard her swear.
'The killer was outside. We almost caught him, but he got away. This is nothing, just a scratch. Get some water and bathe it for me, would you?'
'But why do you say I can't go out?' Tamasin called down. 'He may still be around.'
'He's been around these last three weeks. Will you tell me what has happened?'
'I think you should tell her,' I said to Barak under my breath. 'She can bear it.'
'I can't. I can't bear such a thing might have happened to her because she is my wife.' He took a shuddering breath.
