A Missed Murder

by Michael Jecks

  ‘So you made a comment about me serving Spaniards because he thought someone could be watching me?’

  ‘I only meant to say that you were watching those who were trying to watch you, Master!’

  Although it took a little time for me to work my way through the logic of that, I kept a firm grip of him and maintained my glare. ‘And what of these Spaniards watching me?’

  ‘There is a man, sir – not short, but not over-tall either. He is a strong-looking fellow, with the build of a miller, but the look of a bull. He holds his head low and looks ready to charge.’

  ‘What of his clothes?’

  ‘He wears a cowl, a dark hood over a fustian robe of some sort. Makes him look like a miller clad as a cleric.’

  ‘Where have you seen him?’

  ‘Out in the street, sir.’

  I let him go. ‘You have been drinking too much of my claret and it’s addled your brains, such as they are! Stop worrying about men in the street and start thinking more about your job, if you don’t want to be thrown from my door!’

  For good measure, I kicked his arse as he fled the room, then I sat in the chair so recently vacated by Luys, and chuckled to myself. A little while ago I had watched a man demonstrating his skills as a juggler. One trick had impressed me, and now I copied him, balancing my dagger on my finger and keeping it there a while, thinking that if Raphe knew I was supposed to be a lethal assassin, I might as well pander to his impression. Then the blade slipped, and as it ran down the side of my finger, it cut deep, before clattering on the floor. I picked it up, stowed it in my sheath and sucked my finger.

  The man in the road was no Spaniard. He was surely a London cove, one of those involved in the underworld. I knew that Blount had a couple of men who were often with him. Perhaps this was the one I always thought of as the Bear on account of his size. Raphe was no judge of character or man, and he would look on anyone as tall compared with himself.

  It was plain enough that Master Blount was keeping an eye on me, but less, perhaps, because he thought me a careless wastrel with no competence in the task he had set before me, and more because he thought me a serious agent who was dangerous, but also in danger. So he had set Raphe to guard me, had he? That was good to know. And from the sound of things, another bully London fellow in case Raphe was too dim to do it properly. At least Blount was protecting his investment in me.

  Not that it helped me with my immediate problem: whether I should take my package now and flee, or wait for the Spaniard to return so I could relieve him of his purse. One thing I was certain of was that I was not going to see to the execution of Jeffry of Shoreditch. I could not do that, not even for two bags of gold.

  These were the issues that tormented me. Fly now, or fly later with a rich man’s purse.

  I should have been better occupied in finding a low tavern and drinking myself to a dribbling stupor. It would have been more productive, as my next guest was to prove to me.

  I confess that I was not alarmed when Humfrie turned up at my door.

  The knock, when it came, was a fairly quiet affair. I mean to say, I was expecting the knock of Luys’s companion, which would surely have been a loud rapping with the pommel of a dagger, or the slightly dulled thudding of a gloved fist. Instead, this was a tentative little tap, as of a single knuckle. I was a man of some status now, a man of substance, so I left Raphe to answer it.

  ‘Yes?’ I enquired loftily when he was brought into my parlour.

  The visitor wore a felt cap with a large feather in it. His hats always had feathers, I was to discover. His jack was old and rather threadbare, and he had a cloak of some dull, brownish material that reached to his shins. It looked very coarse. He walked into my room and stood there, gazing about the place as if he was completing his own inventory. Apparently, it came up to expectation, for at last he deigned to notice me and approached me, removing his cap as he came.

  At first sight, he struck me as the sort of man who would work in a smithy. He was not big, exactly, but not small; he had strong shoulders, but they weren’t too wide; his hands were powerful, but hardly fearsome. All in all, I would have said that he was a competent-looking fellow, but not the kind to set the world afire. A man accustomed to using his hands, but not a fighter. He was more a labourer, I would have guessed.

  ‘Yes?’ I repeated.

  He continued to walk towards me without speaking. His cap was in his left hand now, and as I looked up into his eyes, I saw a cold glitter in them. It was like looking at moonshine gleaming on black ice in the middle of the night: it was as cold and unfeeling. Suddenly, I regretted Raphe’s departure. He had walked away as soon as he had ushered my guest into the chamber. Learning who this was, I would have hoped the black-hearted fool would have realized that I might have needed his help, but I could hardly wave at him or frown while Humfrie stood there before me.

  ‘Yes? Hello?’ I said.

  He had come within a pace of me and now he stared into my eyes.

  His was a face that had been lived in. There, in the gloom of the early evening in my house, his face seemed to be made up of wrinkles and creases, with the dirt deeply ingrained in all, as though someone had set off black powder near his face and the soot had burned deep. His eyes were a deep blue, almost black. His skin was like well-tanned leather that has been soaked and dried a dark colour, like aged oak, and I got the impression that if I were to hit him, it would hurt me much more than him. He did indeed look a hard man.

  ‘You are Jack Blackjack.’

  It was tempting to deny it. There was something about his eyes that was alarming. ‘You have the advantage of me.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  This was unsettling, I confess. I essayed a light laugh, but even to me it sounded a bit too much like a lamb’s bleat. ‘So who are you?’

  He smiled. The slow parting of his lips reminded me of a snake. ‘I am the man sent to kill you.’

  You will understand that this was not news I wished to hear. Suddenly, I had a vision of Thomas Falkes. He had his fingers in so many pies all about the city that it would not be a surprise to learn that some of his companions were murderers. Perhaps one of them had decided to take revenge on me for the insult and any injury done to Falkes. Was this the man whom Raphe had seen, the man who had been watching me?

  I began speaking hurriedly, backing away, thinking that I might dissuade this assassin, but he cut off my babbling by pulling his cap away from his midriff where it had remained since he took it off. Behind it, I saw now that he was gripping a dagger. It was not long, but it appeared thoroughly serviceable, and, more to the point, it was very close to my belly. The candlelight lit the edge, and it shone yellow and malevolent like poison. ‘Be silent,’ he said.

  ‘I … You …’

  ‘Shut up,’ he said.

  ‘You are an assassin? Have some …’

  ‘Shut up. I was sent here to teach you a lesson, for my little Jen takes offence so easily and she wished me to punish you.’

  ‘Jen? My darling Jen?’

  ‘I am Jen’s father,’ he said quietly. ‘I am called Humfrie.’

  What, this fellow was going to try to fleece me for the enjoyment of those womanly parts that should have been kept back for her husband? Well, if he tried to take any sort of high-handed line of that nature, I was prepared to be blunt. After all, it takes two to play hide the sausage. And then I reflected that he held a sharp dagger and looked thoroughly competent to use it. I doubted he would cut himself playing balance the blade. And he might think that I had unfairly forced his daughter into my bed. Many a man could be persuaded to feel a degree of righteous indignation at the thought that the little girl who was his pride and joy had been rudely deflowered of her virtue, without considering that the little strumpet had been wagging her backside at every young man who had a purse or a codpiece larger than an acorn.

  He gave me a look that told me perfectly clearly that just now she was definitely his ‘little Jen’, and no
t mine.

  I took the hint and was silent.

  ‘She tells me that you were out whoring. It made her cross.’

  I gulped a little at that. ‘Oh, it was just a—’

  ‘You know who she lives with?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. There was no point trying to hide it. Everyone knew of Falkes.

  ‘Aye, well, he has disappeared this last year, almost. He may be dead, for all I know. But until his corpse appears, the fact remains that she’s married.’

  ‘She’s married? Why, if—’

  ‘I’m not thinking about you. You should want me to keep it that way,’ he said.

  Raphe poked his head around the door and asked whether we wanted anything. I tried to indicate, without speaking or gesture, that I wished him to slug this man on the head, but he didn’t seem to comprehend and walked out again.

  Humfrie continued, ‘Yes, she is married. Why she’s so desperate for me to punish you, when she’s the one who’s been playing marbles with another man’s ballocks, I don’t know. Still, she was ever a wilful child. Just you be careful of her. I don’t want to have to keep coming here. In future, if you can’t keep your tarse in your cods, at least go somewhere quiet if you want to swive a wench, and don’t let Jen see you in plain view.’

  I think it’s fair to say that I goggled at him. ‘You aren’t going to hurt me?’

  ‘Do you want me to?’ He lifted the corner of his mouth at that. It looked entirely sardonic, although I wasn’t sure that I liked it. After all, he was implying that he didn’t feel it would take much effort to execute me. ‘No one’s going to pay me to come here and injure you. I only hurt people for money, not for pleasure.’

  I suppose he saw my look of surprise. His grin grew, but although his eyes creased, I didn’t see any humour in them. ‘Did you not know? I had thought Jen would have told you before sending me here. You say you know her husband, Thomas Falkes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you know what sort of a man he is. He employs me. Or did, before he disappeared.’

  ‘That … um. I know what he did.’

  ‘Falkes is a special man. He is an extorter of money, a fence, a man who will rob a cart of its wheels, who would steal the food from a beggar, but he does more serious business too.’

  ‘I know. Jen has told me.’

  There was a faint surprise in his face on hearing that. ‘Really? So you know sometimes he will use harsh methods.’

  ‘He had a man’s legs broken for fiddling him of a little profit, I heard.’ The man had tried to keep back a small amount of money from a whore he was pimping for. When Falkes heard, he had the man’s legs broken, his shin bones and thighs, before he ordered his men to cut off both index fingers, so he would never again ‘put a finger into another man’s pie’, as he said. I swallowed at the thought.

  ‘I see you do know, then,’ Humfrie said. He set his head to one side, surveying me. ‘I kill men for him – for money. Falkes retains me to remove his business competitors.’

  The smile that broke out on my face made him scowl, and I quickly disposed of it. ‘I see.’

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  I quickly fitted a serious expression to my face. ‘Nothing.’

  He looked about him again. ‘Jen tells me you are respected. You have a pleasant home here.’

  ‘I like it.’

  ‘It would be a shame if it got damaged.’

  I shrugged. Today, with all my thoughts of running from London, damage done to my house was the least of my concerns. What was it, after all? Only another man’s investment. It could burn to the ground for all I cared. I wanted money, specifically Jeffry’s money, but I could do nothing about it. I would have to kill Jeffry first.

  And that was when I had a brilliant, shining idea. It was one of those that occasionally strike me, one which has such brilliance that it quite took my breath away. This time, when I laughed, he did not ask why, but his eyes narrowed, and he was suddenly very still and tense.

  I waved a hand at my chair and stool. ‘Master Humfrie, would you mind sharing a little wine with me? I have a proposition for you.’

  I left my house later with a feeling that all was well with my world. Humfrie showed himself to be a thoroughly accommodating man, and when I explained that I had a certain task for him, and that there could be more similar jobs in the future, he looked suspicious for a moment, but when I went on to say that all those he pursued and removed were sworn enemies of the realm, he was far less concerned. He seemed to think that if he made enemies of these people, it would likely be less dangerous than being involved in some of the business disputes that his involvement with Falkes had led to. Remembering Falkes, I could easily see that he might be correct.

  The Spaniard calling himself Luys arrived just as a fine rain began falling, and I promised him an evening to remember. Which, all things considered, was literally true – for me, if not for him.

  We went first to the White Bear down near St Botolph’s, where I bought him a quart of the best strong ale I could find. I had some of the weaker. I wanted him drunk as a duke, so that the next stage of my plan would be executed efficiently. It was a mere chance that we stumbled into the three drinkers at the same time. I had known the three while working the streets as pickpocket. Willyam was agog at the sight of my companion, while Lawyer Abraham looked at him with amusement and Bob seemed barely to notice him. They all noticed Luys’s purse, though. Men of our quality don’t miss things like that.

  On hearing that we were going to the Cardinal’s Hat, Lawyer Abraham and Leadenhall Bob expressed an urgent need to see the ladies too. Willyam was soon persuaded by the other two, and we set off for the river. There were several wherries plying their trade. Later, many of the wherries would cease their activities as the light faded and the curfew was called, but there were always some who would continue on into the night. They swore and rowed incessantly, but they were easier than fighting your way over the bridge, with its narrow thoroughfare and houses at either side. As long as they were offered the price of a pint or two of ale, they were more than content.

  Soon we were at the other side, and I was happy. I made plenty of noise, and when we passed by the bear pits, I made myself unpleasantly memorable to one of the masters of the mastiffs. I sneered at his monsters on their chains and, egged on by my companions, I laughed at the thought that they would manage anything in the ring. The master saw me and offered to introduce me to the nearest slavering brute, and if I didn’t fetch myself away, he would release the thing and see what I thought of him then.

  I took the quickest route from the pits, you can be sure. Besides, my aim had been achieved. I wanted to ensure that there was a strong alibi. Since Raphe knew that I was commissioned to have something to do with Spaniards, I wanted to make sure that everybody knew exactly where I was, because Humfrie had sworn to achieve his aims this very evening, and had told me that he would do away with Jeffry at nearly midnight at The Brokenwharf. Which was perfect, I thought. It was at the other side of the river and some distance away from the Cardinal’s Hat.

  I had left Raphe with a message for John Blount, informing him that the nuisance would this very evening be removed, and now I needed as many people as possible to remember where I was. Then, when the body was discovered, as it must be, no one would be able to blame me. I would be safe. And it also occurred to me that John Blount would wonder how on earth I had managed to be in two places at the same time. It didn’t matter that he would be confused. In fact, that was one of the attractions of the situation. The more that even he could not reason how I had achieved the murder, the more valuable I must appear to him.

  It was all to the good, I thought. But I wasn’t aware how the Fates were about to punish me for my confidence and arrogance.

  We strolled from the bear pits down the road to the Cardinal’s Hat. All the way, Luys appeared to be casting glances about him, as if he constantly expected to have a gang of wastrels leap upon him and carry him off,
or perhaps merely murder him.

  ‘You’re safe here with us,’ I reassured him, but my words did not seem to ease his mind. The raucous singing and lewd jokes of Bob and Lawyer Abraham were hardly designed to calm the nerves of a Spaniard. They are known to be ever timid, not hardy like Englishmen, so I patted his back in a brotherly sort of way, and led him to the door of the Hat.

  It was one of those afternoons when the place had a number of visitors. The usual roughs at the door had been allowed to go and sink some ales, and in their place was a man built like St Paul’s cathedral, along with Piers.

  ‘Ho! Piers!’ I cried. I was glad to see him.

  He gazed back with a frowning expression while he swayed slightly.

  Piers was one of those men whose age was impossible to guess. I certainly couldn’t. He had greying curls over a drawn, rather haggard face. His blue eyes were still clear, but the mass of veins about his cheeks and nose spoke of the brandy and wine that had been his downfall. Once he had been a moderately successful barber in London, but his wife and children left him as his drinking became ever more problematic and the money did not support them. I think they went back to her father’s house, and Piers could devote himself to drinking himself into a stupor every evening.

  It was the lady who owned the Cardinal who brought him back from the brink. She wanted a reliable man who was not interested in the bevvy of beauties she controlled, who could protect them when customers grew too demanding, and who could cut their hair. Piers had all the requisite skills, when sober, so he was given the job and permitted to cut their hair after his first wet of the morning, but not after the second. One was adequate to stop the shaking of his hands, but by the time he had the second, he was dangerous with a pair of scissors.