by C. J. Sansom
'What are you muttering about now?' Tamasin called down.
'Will you do as I say, woman?' Barak called up the stairs. Holding his arm, he strode up to where Tamasin stood, her expression a mixture of anger and perplexity. He walked past her into their room. She followed. The door slammed behind her.
Outside, the rain started up again, pelting hard against the windows.
I WAS PREPARING to get ready for bed, looking out of the window at the rain and wondering if they had repaired the gates at the Charterhouse, when there was a knock at my door. I opened it to find Barak there.
'News from Harsnet?' I asked.
'No.' He was in his shirt, his right sleeve rolled up and his forearm bandaged. On the bare skin above the bandage I saw other scars, relics of old sword-battles. He looked very tired. 'May I come in?' he asked brusquely. 'I need to talk.'
I nodded assent, and he sat down on the bed. He was silent a long moment, then shook his head. 'She is angry because I will not let her go out of doors and will not tell her why.'
'You should tell her about the vitriol.'
He shook his head. 'I could not tell her that something so awful might have happened to her. Just the thought of him doing that to her face—' He broke off and I saw tears in the corners of his eyes.
'Come, you know how strong she is. That is what you first liked about her at York. Do you remember;'
'But I am her husband now. I should be able to protect her.' And then he added, 'I should be able to give her a child.' He was silent a few moments again. 'I know it is supposed to be the woman's fault when a child dies just after it leaves the womb, but who knows anything any more these days; What if the fault is mine; All I wanted was to provide for her, keep her safe, give her a family. Carry on my father's old Jewish name. And I have been able to do none of those things.' He stared bleakly at the door. 'I love her, I have never felt for any woman what I feel for her and God knows I have known plenty.'
'Perhaps that is the problem,' I answered gently. 'You built a fantasy of how married life would be, and find hard the reality of a union which heaven knows has been blessed with little luck. But that is the fault of neither of you. If only the two of you could talk freely.'
He gave me a sidelong look. 'For one who has always lived alone you are a shrewd old bird, aren't you;'
'Easy enough to see the problems in others' lives. I have made the opposite mistake with Dorothy. I have said too much to her too soon.'
'Ah, I wondered what was happening there.'
'Nothing is happening. And if you tell anyone else about it, I will have you out of Lincoln's Inn faster than a crow can fly,' I added jestingly, to relieve the tension. Barak smiled and nodded.
'Talking of crows,' he said, 'you don't think you may have competition from Bealknap? Maybe he is not ill at all, and seeks to rouse her pity.'
'Bealknap would only be interested in a woman if she were made of gold and could be melted down.'
We took refuge in brief laughter, then Barak said seriously, 'Will you be able to make it up with the old Moor?'
'I do not know. I will try. As you should with Tamasin.'
He rose with a sigh. 'I ought to go back to her. Thank you,' he added.
'Jack,' I said. 'Do you remember once at York you told me you were torn between your old adventurous, rakchell life and settling down. You chose to settle down with Tamasin, you made your choice. To move from a life of self-reliance to sharing. You have much courage, now you must have the courage to open yourself to her.'
He paused at the door. 'There are different types of courage,' he said gloomily. 'Few have them all in good measure.'
THE RIDER FROM Lambeth Palace called after midnight, when we had all gone to bed. I was not asleep, however, for lying in bed I could hear muffled shouts from Barak and Tamasin's room; they were arguing again. The sound stopped suddenly at the loud knocking on the front door.
Barak and I were told to come immediately to a conference with Archbishop Cranmer. We dressed quickly, fetched the horses and rode through the darkened city to Whitehall Stairs, where a large boat was waiting to ferry us across the Thames. It had stopped raining and bright moonlight shone down on the silvery, deserted river.
We were led to Cranmer's office. As Barak and I arrived outside another clerk approached from the opposite direction, Harsnet beside him. The coroner too looked as though he had just been roused from his bed.
The Archbishop was sitting behind his desk. His face was strained, great bags under his eyes. Lord Hertford was not present but Sir Thomas Seymour was, gaudily dressed as usual, his arms folded across his chest and a look of excitement on his face.
I told them of the incident with the pedlar. 'You could not see who he was?' Harsnet asked quietly when I had finished.
'No. He was well disguised.'
'Goddard had a large mole on his face,' Cranmer said.
'I did not see it. But he was caked with make-up.'
Cranmer sat considering for a moment. Then he turned to Sir Thomas. 'Tell them the news from Hertfordshire,' he said.
'I found Kinesworth easily enough. It's just a small village, a mile from Totteridge. The local magistrate knew all about the Goddard family. They lived in a manor house just outside the village. They were wealthy once, but Goddard's father was a drunk and lost it all. Their estates were sold by the time the father died thirty years ago. Goddard was still a boy then. He and his mother holed up in the house; apparently she was a woman of good breeding and ashamed of what had happened to the family. When he was old enough Goddard went to Westminster Abbey to be a monk. The old woman lived on at the house alone as a recluse until she died a few months ago and Goddard inherited it.'
'That was when he moved out of his London lodgings,' I said. 'That was where he went.' I took a deep breath. 'Is he there now?'
'Apparently he comes and goes. He was seen riding out to London yesterday. We waited all day to see if he would come back, but there was no sign until well after nightfall yesterday. Then smoke was seen coming from the chimney of the house.'
'So he's there,' Cranmer said.
'He could have been the pedlar on that timescale,' I said. 'Our encounter with him was at dusk.'
'Yes.'
'Then let us take him,' Sir Thomas said, his voice full of excitement.
'Wait a moment. What else do the locals say about him?' asked the Archbishop.
'He is known as unfriendly, does not mix at all with the local people. He doesn't come into the village, gets supplies sent to him. The house is just about falling down.'
'He has money then?' Harsnet said.
'Some at least.' I thought of the beggars who had come to sell their teeth.
'Did you see the house?' Cranmer asked.
'I went to look at it, from a safe distance. That was easy enough; it's surrounded by trees. It's a manor house, probably impressive once but decayed-looking. All the shutters were closed. It's got an overgrown garden surrounding it, woods all around. And here's an interesting thing,' Seymour paused. 'After his mother died Goddard dismissed the few old retainers she had left. It caused much resentment in the village.'
'So he is quite alone there?' I asked.
'Yes. I left a man to watch the house secretly, and rode back here with my steward.'
'This magistrate,' Harsnet asked. 'Can he be trusted?'
'I believe so. He seems capable enough.'
'You did not tell him I was involved?' Cranmer asked sharply.
'No, my lord. Only that this was a secret matter of state.'
Cranmer nodded. He turned to Harsnet. 'Sir Thomas has suggested we send a group of armed men to ride there now, break into the house.'
'Then let us do it.' The coroner laughed bitterly. 'After all the questions I asked in London and the neighbouring counties, and came up with nothing. If only I had gone that little bit further.'
'You did all you could,' Cranmer said. He turned to Sir Thomas. 'How many men can you provide?'
'A dozen, my lord,' he answered confidently. I could see he was enjoying being the centre of attention. 'Under my steward, Russell. All young men, strong and sporty. That is the type of man I like to have serving me.' He smiled complacently.
'What will they be told?'
'Only that some men of the court are hunting a villain, and we want their help to catch him.'
Cranmer looked round the room. 'I think this is what we must do,' he said. 'End this matter now.'
'After that note,' I said, 'that must be what he is expecting us to do. This is tied in with the killing of the seventh victim.'
'I know,' Cranmer said quietly. 'But what else can we do but go there in force?'
I had no answer. 'I want you to go with Sir Thomas' party, Matthew,' the Archbishop continued. 'It seems that for the killer you are connected to his mission. That is all the clearer after the pedlar's attack.' He looked at me sternly, perhaps expecting argument, but I only said, 'Yes, your grace.'
The Archbishop turned to Seymour. 'Mark this well, Thomas,' he said firmly. 'This is not sport. If it goes wrong and the King finds what we have been doing it will not only be me who suffers. Curb your enthusiasm for adventure. And remember that if Goddard is caught he must never be brought to trial. The matter will be closed, quietly and secretly. Tonight.'
Sir Thomas flushed, but nodded. 'I understand how important this is, my lord,' he said haughtily.
'Good. And thank you for what you have done so far. Now, what is happening at the Charterhouse?'
'My men have got Lockley's body out, but the gates won't open any further. They're jammed somehow. My brother is sending an engineer to look at the problem.'
'And I have been questioning the beggars,' Harsnet said. 'There was one who came there a few weeks ago, he stayed in that chapel they use as a shelter. He was very keen to learn all he could about the Charterhouse and about the tavern, though he never went there.' He looked at me. 'An old man, with a dirty face, thick grey hair and a beard. The other beggars didn't like him, I think they sensed he wasn't what he pretended to be.'
Seymour laughed. 'The man's a genius. The King should take him in his service as a spy.'
'His skills come from the devil,' Harsnet said. 'When did that matter?'
Cranmer turned to Barak, who had been standing quietly by the door. 'I want you to help Sir Thomas organize his men into an armed party,' he said. 'You worked for Lord Cromwell, you have useful experience in such matters.'
'Yes, my lord.' Barak bowed. I wondered if the Archbishop wanted Barak to make sure Sir Thomas organized things properly, and did not tell his men too much. From the hard look Sir Thomas gave him, I guessed he wondered the same.
The Archbishop stood up. 'I pray you can end this horror,' he said. As we turned to leave he looked to me and I saw commiseration on his face. Well, I thought, I set myself on this path the morning I found poor Roger.
WALKING DOWN the corridor I fell into step with Harsnet. 'Will this be the end, Matthew?' he asked quietly. 'I do not know.'
'You are right to be cautious. I feel we are riding into the devil's jaws.'
'We will have many men.'
'I don't trust Seymour. He is an adventurer.'
'He is. But he has shown skill in this. His military experience is showing.'
'Perhaps.' Harsnet was silent for a moment, then said, 'I saw Lady Catherine Parr ride into her house in Charterhouse Square this afternoon, attended by her retainers. She has much land in the north, but stays on in London. It must be because she is still considering the King's proposal.'
'She will not be able to go without the King's leave. In a way she is trapped here.'
'She must marry the King,' he said with sudden passion. 'If reform is to survive at all. And we must stop Goddard,' he added. 'By any means we can.'
We stepped outside. Sir Thomas stood on the wharf by the raft, lights at his back from the smoking torches carried by the three boatmen standing in the boat. 'To my house,' he said. 'To fetch my men and horses.' As he stood with his arms on his hips, master of the scene, in his pose he reminded me of the King. I shuddered.
Chapter Forty
A LITTLE OVER an hour later, I sat on my horse outside my house. The moonlight shone on the puddles of a deserted Chancery Lane. The horses were nervous at being out at such an unaccustomed hour. I was tired and my injured arm ached.
Sir Thomas Seymour had gone to his house in the Strand to make ready for the journey to Hertfordshire. As Chancery Lane was en route, he had agreed that I should leave a message for Tamasin and Joan that we would not be back until late in the day. I had asked Barak if he wanted to write his own note for Tamasin, but he had shaken his head.
The sound of jangling harnesses approached from the direction of the Strand. A crowd of over a dozen men, all wearing swords, rode quietly up to me. The moon cast a pale light over them. A tall man in his thirties was in the lead, Harsnet and Barak beside him. The men accompanying them were all young, strong4ooking, some with an air of suppressed excitement about them. All were dressed in sober, dark clothes. I realized Sir Thomas was not there. 'Ready?' Harsnet asked. 'Yes.'
He nodded to the tall man. 'This is Edgar Russell, Sir Thomas' steward.'
I nodded at the man, who bowed briefly in the saddle. I was glad to see that he had a serious, authoritative look about him.
Barak looked at the blank windows of my house. 'Everyone asleep?' he asked.
'Ay. I've left a note. I said you were sorry you wouldn't see Tamasin until tomorrow.'
'Thanks.'
'Where is Sir Thomas?'
Barak smiled. 'He's gone to fetch Dean Benson out of his bed and bring him up to Hertfordshire. He'll join us there.'
'Why?'
'So he can identify Goddard for certain, if we find him.' Barak's horse Sukey pawed at the ground. Barak looked at me, full of suppressed excitement. 'Ready?'
‘Ay.'
'All right, girl,' Barak said to the horse, then turned to the steward. 'Come on then, let's go and catch this arsehole.'
'There is no need to swear,' Harsnet told him reprovingly.
'Arsehole isn't swearing. Swearing is taking the name of God in vain.'
Some of the men in the entourage laughed. Russell turned in his saddle. 'Quiet, there,' he hissed, and the noise subsided. I was glad to see the steward seemed to have these men under control. 'We must go on now if we are to get there before dawn,' he said to me.
I nodded. We rode up Chancery Lane, the horses' hooves and the jingling of their harnesses sounding loud in the still night.
'What happens when we arrive at Kinesworth?' I asked Harsnet.
'There is an inn just outside the village we will use as a base. The innkeeper is a godly man, and a friend of Master Goodridge, the magistrate. We will set men in the woods that surround Goddard's house before dawn, and go in and take him when the sun comes up.' He leaned in closer. 'The steward Russell is a good man. He has these men under close authority. He was in Hungary with Sir Thomas, he knows warfare. It was he insisted all the men wore dark clothes to attract less attention.'
We rode on through the dark and silent roads, no sound but disturbed birds, the cattle dim shapes in the meadows. It was monotonous and once I almost dozed off in the saddle. It was still dark when Russell raised a hand for us to halt. We had come to a small country inn set back from the road. Lights were burning inside. We dismounted quietly.
'Magistrate Goodridge is inside,' Russell said. 'Coroner, Master Shardlake, come inside. Someone will take your horses. You too, Barak,' he added with a smile. 'We need all the practical minds we can get.'
Inside was a long low room set with tables, which no doubt functioned as a tavern in the evenings. It made me think of Lockley and poor Mistress Bunce. A fire burned in a hearth set in the centre of the room in the old way. Its warmth was welcome after the long cold ride.
A man of around sixty was sitting at one of the tables, a hand- drawn map before him. He rose to greet us. He had a tanned, swa
rthy complexion and sad penetrating eyes. An experienced and competent country magistrate, I guessed. He introduced himself as William Goodridge.
'What is the plan?' Harsnet asked.
He bade us sit and, indicating the map, said, 'That shows the house. It's a mile out of the village. There is lawn on all four sides, the grass is long and unkempt. Beyond that, the house is surrounded by woods.'
'An ideal layout to set watchers,' Russell said appreciatively.
'The house looks big,' I said. 'How many rooms are there?'
'About a dozen, as I recall. Old Neville Goddard was a hospitable man, I remember going to feasts and celebrations there when I was younger. But he could not control his drinking. His wife handled him badly too, she was a shrew.'
'Do you remember young Goddard?' I asked him.
He nodded. A surly, sulky young man. Clever but something — I don't know — effete about him. He had a great air of superiority for someone whose father drank himself into debt. I'm not surprised he went for a monk after Neville Goddard died, rather than stay with that termagant of a mother. All their lands were gone by then, to creditors. When the old woman died and Lancelot Goddard appeared again we hoped he might do something with the house, which she had left to fall to rack and ruin. But he comes and goes, talking to nobody.'
'And he arrived when yesterday?'
'I'm not sure, but there was smoke coming from a chimney when Master Russell and I went to look last night.'
'He never comes to the village? What about church services?'
'No. We are mostly reformers here, perhaps he does not find our ceremonies papist enough. There's a lot of gossip about him, as you may imagine, but people here are nervous of him.'
'The man we are after has a religion all his own,' I said grimly.
'You are sure he is still there now?' Harsnet asked.
'Oh, yes. The man I have watching sent a message half an hour ago saying there were lights at a window.'
Russell stood up. 'I hear horses. Somebody is coming.'
We all turned to the door as it opened, and Sir Thomas entered with four more armed servants. Dean Benson was with him as well, wrapped up against the cold in a heavy dark coat, looking miserable and afraid. Like Russell's men, Sir Thomas' new servants were soberly dressed, but Sir Thomas himself wore a cap with a red feather, a doublet sewn with little pearls and silk gloves.
