by C. J. Sansom
'A deer,' Sir Thomas said. But from the look Russell gave me I could see he doubted too.
A HEADQUARTERS had been set up in the stables behind Goddard's house. I got Russell to help me there, then fetch the man who had seen something. He was another of Sir Thomas' young servants, keen and sharp. 'I was sure it was a man that darted past me,' he said. 'It was just a glimpse, a figure darting between the trees, but I would swear it moved on two legs, not four.'
I was sitting on a bale of hay, Barak beside me. He looked at the young man and then at me. 'God help us. If not Goddard, then who is the killer?'
'I do not know.' I turned to Russell. 'The back of the house did not catch fire?'
'No. It collapsed in the explosion. Anything left of Goddard will be under there.'
'I would like the rubble cleared, and Dean Benson brought here to identify anything that is left of Goddard.'
'He won't like that,' Barak observed. 'He is still here, but he's been told Goddard blew himself up.'
'Sir Thomas wants this matter closed, sir,' Russell said in a warning tone.
'Perhaps if it is put to him that we need to ensure the killer is not still at large, and if he refuses and someone else is killed it will not reflect well on him.' I smiled at the steward. 'I am sure you are used to putting uncomfortable things to your master diplomatically.'
The young man ran a hand to his thatch of blond hair. Like everyone else he was dirty and dishevelled. 'I'll do what I can.'
'And I will tackle Harsnet,' I said.
I HAD COME to have respect for Harsnet's acumen, but when he came into the stables, rubbing the shoulder he had hurt when the explosion blew him over, my suggestion horrified him.
'We can't do that,' he said. 'All on the word of what a servant thought he saw in the dark. We'll have trouble with Dean Benson, and Sir Thomas will be furious. He dislikes you already, Master Shardlake. He is not a good man to make an enemy of
'I have made greater enemies than him.'
Harsnet shook his head. 'It is over. Goddard ended it on his own terms but he did end it. Our duty now is to tell the Archbishop so, urgently.'
I looked at him. 'I know everyone would like it to be over. I wish I could believe that myself. But we cannot always believe what suits us.'
THE STEWARD Russell turned out to be a better persuader than me, and an hour later those of Sir Thomas' men who were uninjured were dismantling the pile of rubble that was all that remained of the rear wing. Russell worked with his men. The explosion had thrown much of the stonework outwards, but part of the roof had collapsed straight down on to the interior of the house. I stood watching as the slates were lifted. Beside me was a frowning Sir Thomas. Harsnet stood at a little distance, occasionally shaking his head. Beside him Dean Benson sat on a lump of brickwork.
'Wherever he goes,' Barak said, 'that old arsehole always finds somewhere to sit down.' He stood beside me nursing his ribs, which the doctor had tied up with bandages.
To my relief, my hearing seemed to be clearing. 'Yes.' I looked out over the ghastly scene. Of the big old house nothing remained but a few skeletal walls within which rubble still smoked. The workmen cast nervous glances at the nearest wall, lest it collapse. On the lawn dazed figures wrapped in blankets still sat, looking at the burned house where they had so nearly died. A cart had arrived from Barnet and the more badly injured were being loaded on to it, supervised by the doctor and Magistrate Goodridge.
A shout from Russell made me turn round. Sir Thomas and Harsnet joined me in scrambling up the rubble. He was pointing at something by his feet. I saw that he had uncovered a severed arm wearing the tatters of a monk's robe, the hand undamaged and ghastly white. A moment later a man lifted a slate and jumped back with a cry. Underneath we saw a severed head, barely recognizable, for it was covered in thick dust. Sir Thomas, quite unaffected, took a handkerchief and began cleaning dust from the ghastly thing.
It was the man who had been sitting in the throne-like chair. The eyes had been blown out, leaving empty red sockets, but I recognized the mole on the nose, the slash on the cheek. Astoundingly the head was still smiling and then, fighting a rush of nausea, I saw why. Tiny nails had been hammered in to hold the mouth open, run through the flesh into the jaw. I looked up at Harsnet. 'This man was dead when we entered that room,' I said.
Seymour bent and picked up the head with no more concern than if it had been a football. I remembered the ghastly story of the cart full of Turkish heads in Hungary. He carried it, a little blood still dripping from the severed neck, to where Dean Benson sat. The cleric jumped up, his eyes wide with horror. 'Is that a—'
'A head, yes.' He held it up. 'Whose?'
'That is Lancelot Goddard,' Benson said, and collapsed in a dead faint.
EARLY IN THE MORNING of the next day, Barak and I sat at breakfast. The journey back from Kinesworth had been uncomfortable for both of us, we had gone to bed early and slept late. I had tossed and turned uneasily, for pressure on my back brought pain from my burns. Putting my hand behind me, I could feel blisters rising. 'How are your ribs?' I asked.
'Sore,' he replied with a grimace. 'But they're only bruised, not cracked. I've had worse.'
'Is Tamasin joining us for breakfast?'
'I don't know. I left her dressing.' He sighed. 'Sometimes I wonder if she thinks I get these knocks to spite her.'
'Are you still on poor terms?'
'Probably. When we got back I tried to tell her I just wanted to sleep, but she wanted to know everything. I was too tired to talk,' he added. 'Too worried, too, because this isn't over.'
Before leaving the remains of Goddard's house, Harsnet and I and Sir Thomas Seymour had held a conference. It was clear now that Goddard had been a victim, not the perpetrator, of the killings. I wondered whether he, too, after leaving Westminster Abbey had flirted with radical Protestantism, but drawn back and thus had qualified to became the seventh victim. The killer was still on the loose, and we had no idea who he was, or where he would strike again.
'Who is the bastard;' Barak asked. 'How did he get to know all these different people and their religious affinities;'
'At least we know how he got to us. By watching and spying as a pedlar. By the way, that gash on poor Goddard's head was on the wrong side of his face. The killer put it there to encourage our belief we were facing the killer in that room.'
'He slipped up there,' Barak said.
'It's the first time he has.'
'How did he get to Goddard; How did he find out where he lived;'
'Heaven knows. The magistrate said Goddard hadn't been seen for a few days. I'll wager the killer got into the house and tied him up, then sent that note to Dean Benson. And set up his greatest ever display.' I clenched my hands into fists. 'Who is he? Where is he now;'
'We're back to square one.'
'And without any idea where he will strike next. But one thing I am sure of. He will not end it now.'
'Do you think he will come after you;'
'I don't know. Why not just blow the house up with us all in it?' I sighed. I wished I could have consulted Guy. I had heard nothing since our quarrel. I would not have been surprised if Piers had returned, wormed his way back in with my friend.
I pushed my plate aside and stood up, wincing at the pain from my back. 'I should go to the Bedlam today. Shawms should have his report ready for the court and I want to look it over, and see Adam. And Dorothy later. I expect Bealknap is still there.'
'Are you all right to go out;' Barak asked.
'I can't sit around here. I will go to Chambers and try to do some work after I have seen Dorothy. I—'
The door opened and Tamasin came in. She wore a plain dress and her blonde hair was unbound, falling to her shoulders. She looked between us with a hostile glance. 'You have both been in the wars, I see,' she said.
'Where is your coif?' Barak asked. 'Your hair is unbound like an unmarried woman.'
She ignored him, and turned to me. 'Jack says you h
aven't caught him.'
'No,' I said. I added quietly. 'We have to go on searching.'
'He's killed eight people,' Barak said, impatiently. 'Nine, if Sir Thomas' man that was injured in the explosion dies. Seven of them in horrible slow ways.'
'We have to go on,' I said.
Tamasin sat down opposite her husband. She looked him in the eye, with an expression that was somehow both angry and sad. 'It is not what you're doing now that makes me angry with you. It is what you've been like since our baby died.'
Barak looked at me, then back at her. 'You shouldn't be talking of this in front of someone else. Not that you haven't already, I know.'
'I talk in front of someone else because you won't listen when we talk alone.' Tamasin's voice rose to a shout and she banged a hand on the table, making us both jump. 'Do you ever think what it's been like for me since the baby died? Do you think a day passes without it all coming back to me, the day he was born? You weren't there, you were out drinking. Yes, that was when that started—'
'Tamasin—' Barak raised his voice, but she raised hers higher.
'The pain, the awful pain, I never felt anything like it. You don't know what women bear. And then the midwife telling me the baby was all twisted round in my womb, she couldn't bring him out alive and I would die unless she broke his little skull. You didn't hear that crack, it wasn't loud but it still sounds over and over in my head. Then she lifted him out and I saw he was dead — anyone could see he was dead — but still I wanted so desperately to hear him cry, hear him cry . . .' Tears were rolling down her face now. Barak had gone pale, and sat very still.
'You never told me,' he said.
'I wanted to spare you!' she cried. 'Not that you spared me. Coming back drunk, always going on about your son, your poor son. My son too.'
'I didn't realize it had been like that,' Barak said. 'I just knew he was born dead.'
'What in God's name did you think it was like?'
He swallowed. 'I've heard - that when a baby is twisted in the womb like that it can stop a woman having others. We—'
'I don't know if that's why there have been no others!' Tamasin shouted. 'Is that all you care about? Is that all you can say to me?'
'No, no, Tammy, I didn't mean—' Barak raised a hand. He should have gone up to her, taken her in his arms and comforted her, but he was too shocked by her outburst. All he seemed able to do was raise that hand. Tamasin stood up, turned round and left the room.
'Go to her,' I said. 'Go to her now.' But he just sat there, helpless, shocked. 'Come on,' I said more quietly. 'After all that we have been through, surely you can pull yourself together to comfort your wife.'
He nodded then and stood up, wincing at a stab of pain from his cracked ribs. 'Poor Tamasin,' he whispered. He stepped to the door but as he did so the front door slammed. Joan was in the hall. 'Tamasin's just gone out,' she said. 'I told her we weren't supposed to go out alone, but she just ignored me.'
Barak went past her. I followed him outside. We could see no sign of Tamasin. We went to the gate and stood looking up and down the road. A moment later Barak's horse Sukey went past the gate at a canter, Tamasin sitting side saddle. She must have gone to the stables. Barak called after her, but she disappeared down Chancery Lane, riding fast towards Fleet Street.
TWO HOURS LATER, I was tying Genesis up outside the Bedlam. Barak had ridden out to try and find Tamasin, but she had disappeared into the crowds. We had no idea where she might have gone; she was an orphan, alone apart from Barak. She had had a few friends from her days as a very junior servant in Queen Catherine Howard's household, but Barak said she seldom saw them now. I realized how utterly, dreadfully lonely she must have been these last months.
Barak had gone off to see if he could still trace any of her friends. It seemed her outburst had shocked him into realizing fully what his behaviour had done, and he was full of contrition. I prayed that if he found her he would not retreat behind his defensive armour again. It was something he had to do alone, so I had ridden out to see Adam.
Hob Gebons let me in. He took me to Shawms' room, where the keeper produced a paper on which was written a report to the court saying that Adam was eating, was kept secure and received regular visits from his doctor. It struck me as being too well written for Shawms to have done it.
'Did Warden Metwys help you with this?' I asked.
Shawms gave me a surly look. 'I'm no hand at writing. I didn't come from some rich educated family.'
'I'll see how Adam is today. If it is still as you say I will approve the report.' I paused. 'Has Dr Malton been to see him?'
'Can't keep him out of the place.'
'Is he due today?'
'He comes and goes when he pleases.'
'And Ellen, how does she fare? I hope you have not been tormenting her again?'
'Oh, she's behaving herself now. 'Hob!' he called, and the fat warden reappeared. 'Visitor for Adam Kite. He's had more callers in a month than most patients get in five years.'
Gebons led me to Adam's cell. He was alone, chained as usual, and to my surprise he was standing looking out of his window, into the back yard. 'Adam,' I said quietly. He turned, then as soon as he saw me he slid down the wall, bent over and began to pray. I went and joined him, kneeling with some difficulty; it hurt my burned back.
'Come on, Adam,' I said. 'It is me. I will not harm you. You were not praying just now.' A thought struck me. 'Do you do this so you do not have to talk to people?'
He hesitated for a moment, then gave me a sideways look. 'Sometimes. People frighten me. They seek to hunt out my sins.' He hesitated. 'You did not tell my parents what - what I did with that Jezebel?'
'You mean the girl Abigail? No. I will say nothing, nor will Guy. We have a legal duty to keep your confidence. But your parents love you, Adam, I have seen that they love you.'
He shook his head. 'Always they used to criticize me, tell me to be quiet, respectful in my behaviour. They told me of the perils of sin. They know I am a sinner.'
'Are they not just repeating what Reverend Meaphon tells them?' I asked.
Adam sighed deeply. 'He is a man of God. All he wants is to bring people to salvation—'
'Your parents want more. They want you to return their love. I know your father wants you to go into the business with him one day.'
'I do not know. They say a son going into his father's trade can undo his reputation.' He hesitated, then added, 'And I do not want to be a stonemason, I do not like the work. I never have. That is another sin.' He shook his head.
'My father was a farmer, but I had no interest in it. I wanted to be a lawyer. I do not think that was a sin. Does not God give us each our own calling?'
'He calls us to be saved.' Adam screwed his eyes shut. 'Father, look down on me, look down and save me, see my repentance—'
I rose slowly to my feet. I frowned. Something in what Adam said had rung a bell. And then I made the connection with what
Timothy had said about visitors. I had spent so much time thinking about who the boy was who had visited Abigail that I had missed the rest of what the boy had said. I found I was trembling, for I realized that Adam had accidentally given me the answer. If I was right, I knew now who the killer was. It shocked me.
I jumped as the door opened, and Ellen came in with a tray. She coloured when she saw me there. 'I am just bringing Adam his food, sir,' she said. As a good servant should.'
'You have been much more than that to poor Adam, Ellen.' I took a deep breath. 'I would like to talk to you again, Ellen, but now I have to go — something urgent I must attend to. But I thank you again for Adam's care. I will see you soon.'
She gave me a puzzled look. With a quick bow, I walked rapidly away, past the door of the man who thought he was the King, and who called to me to walk sedately near the royal presence. First I had to go home and talk to Timothy. Then I had to see Dorothy, for if I was right it was she who might hold the last piece of the puzzle.
AN H
OUR LATER I was knocking on her door. I had stopped first at my house. Timothy was frightened to be questioned about Yarington again, and although he could not give me the name I was looking for he gave me a description, which if it did not prove my suspicions at least did not disprove them. It was enough to send me hurrying round to Dorothy's, barely pausing to ascertain from Joan that Barak had not yet returned.
Margaret the maid answered the door. 'Is Mistress Elliard in?' I asked.
'She has gone downstairs to have a word with Master Elliard's clerk about some payments due to his estate. Some clients have not paid because they know Master Elliard is dead. They think they can get away with it.' Her voice with its Irish lilt rose indignantly. 'And they say lawyers are wicked!'
Impatient though I was, I smiled at Margaret. She had been a tower of strength to Dorothy these last weeks, had probably helped her, been closer to her, than anyone. 'You feel much for your mistress, do you not?' I said.
'She was always good to me, patient of my clumsy ways when I started. And Master Elliard. It used to warm my heart to see how loving they were to each other.'
'Yes, they were.' It struck me that a week ago Dorothy would not have gone down to check on Roger's fees with the clerk, she would have sent me. The thought made me sad, and I chided myself for selfishness. 'She's coming back to herself,' I said.
'Yes, sir. Slowly. But it would help if she didn't have that wretched cuckoo in the nest.' She lowered her voice, inclining her head to the room Bealknap had taken over. 'He is running the servants ragged with his demands, and now he has rediscovered his appetite he is eating Mistress Elliard out of house and home. He is a guest, but the cost—'
'Then I will make an end to it,' I said grimly. I crossed the landing. The cloth of my shirt chafed against my raw back. Before this weekend I would have taken it to Guy to treat; but now there was no one, for I hated anyone else seeing my bent back. I took a deep breath, and shoved open the door of the chamber where Bealknap lay.
