A Plague of Sinners

by Paul Lawrence

  Sheets covered the floor and furniture. Dust swirled about chairs and table legs in little eddies, as a light breeze swept through from outside.

  Gyles tugged the corner of a sheet and more dust billowed into the air. ‘No one livin’ here,’ he said.

  Footsteps sounded from behind the door as if to contradict him, heavy and fast. The door flew open and Conroy appeared, wearing the same tailored costume he had worn afore, though today it was crumpled, his shirt soiled.

  ‘What in God’s name have you done?’ he demanded, staring at the broken glass upon the floor.

  I stepped towards him. ‘Where is Lady Wharton?’

  ‘She is not here,’ he said, scanning us all, paying particular attention to the assortment of knives. ‘I’ll thank you to leave afore I have you punished.’

  ‘We know they are here,’ Dowling growled, pushing past and into the passage beyond, discovering Lady Wharton listening at the door.

  ‘You,’ she hissed, tight-jawed. She wore a simple woollen skirt and linen jacket, appropriate for riding.

  ‘Yes, madam.’ I bowed. ‘Come to look around your house.’

  She regarded me like I was mad.

  ‘Where is your son?’ I asked.

  ‘Resting,’ she snapped. ‘Now will you kindly begone. You have no authority.’

  ‘We have Lord Arlington’s authority,’ I replied.

  ‘Nonsense!’ she exclaimed, eyes wide. ‘You have no such thing. Now I insist you leave.’

  I spoke low and soft. ‘As I said, madam, we will look round your house.’

  She shook her head, perplexed and distracted. ‘Why should you want to search my house? My husband is dead. Would you not leave a widow to grieve? This is abominable.’ She glared at Dowling, appealing to his soft belly.

  ‘Your husband is not dead,’ said Dowling.

  She paled, as though pricked. ‘I have just come back from London with my husband’s body and you tell me he is not dead?’ She stumbled on her words like an actress struggling to remember her lines.

  ‘We passed every turnpike this morning and no one has passed with a coffin,’ I said. ‘Show us the box.’

  Conroy stared into my eyes as if he would tear them out. ‘He lies at rest in the church.’

  I watched Lady Wharton put her head in her hands. ‘I think not,’ I said. ‘I think it is a ruse. If two of us were to leave for the church that would leave three of us against you and Wharton, and Wharton is a murderous beast.’

  Lady Wharton gasped, apparently outraged.

  ‘Dead or not, Lady Wharton, he is a murderous beast,’ I reasoned. ‘I spoke to him last night and he happily confessed to all the blood he spilt.’

  I wondered how near Wharton was, whether he too stood close, listening. I led the butchers down the passage out towards the main hall, a wondrous space, with huge panelled walls and painted ceiling. Yet the walls were bare and all furniture had been removed. Lady Wharton emerged from behind Conroy and positioned herself at the bottom of the staircase, hands clasped at her waist, haughtiness regained.

  Isaak, Luke and Gyles stared up at the frescoes as though they had never been inside a big house before. I breathed hard to quell the frustration within, contemplating the impossibility of our task. The house was huge and the grounds vast. Wharton could happily flit from place to place leading us a dance for as long as he chose. Conroy’s mouth curled in a great sneer.

  I could think of little else to do other than lead us on a long meander about the ground floor, room to room, each one bare and bereft of hiding places, Conroy and Lady Wharton following us each step. I sensed their silent mockery, their desire for us to give up and leave.

  Twenty minutes later we arrived where we started. I tapped my knuckles against the wood-panelled wall to see if it sounded hollow or solid, uncomfortable beneath her withering gaze. ‘These old houses often have hidden panels and the like,’ I whispered to Dowling.

  ‘Aye,’ Dowling raised his brows, resigned, ‘and we stand little chance of finding them.’

  ‘We will go upstairs now,’ I declared.

  Lady Wharton barely nodded, then stepped aside inviting us to climb the wide staircase. Long, dark corridors stretched left and right.

  ‘Where will you go first?’ she asked.

  ‘Your bedroom,’ I replied, frustrated.

  The room was bare as the others we had seen. The bed itself was dismantled, curtains gone, sheets and mattresses stowed away. All that remained was the naked tester and a truckle.

  ‘You are leaving today?’ I asked.

  ‘The tenancy expires,’ Lady Wharton replied, eyes darting to Conroy.

  I recalled my conversation with the gardener six days before. ‘You have almost two years left on the lease.’

  ‘It is none of your business,’ said Conroy, hardly breathing. ‘Finish your inspection and begone.’

  I walked the walls, tapping with my knuckle again, feeling foolish.

  Dowling sidled up to me and spoke low. ‘He could be anywhere, Harry. You’d have to chart the outside of the house against the dimensions of each and every room to map all the cavities and spaces that might exist. He’ll be hidden well, if he be here at all. He might be hiding in the forest.’

  ‘Aye,’ I muttered, ‘so tell me what we should do.’

  He shrugged. ‘We could watch the house, wait for them to leave.’ His miserable face belied the futility of his suggestion. ‘We need an army of soldiers to search this place.’

  Lady Wharton stood taller as we emerged back into the corridor, cheeks pink and eyes aflame. I suspected she eavesdropped our whispered exchange. The corridor also was wood-panelled. If there were secret doors then we would never find them. It would be an elementary precaution for Wharton to hold a thick panel behind a thinner panel so it sounded solid. I poked my head into the rooms we passed, wandered into a few, wandered out again. Then we came to a small staircase, three steps up leading to a closed door.

  I turned to Lady Wharton. ‘What’s up there?’

  She lifted her chin and nose. ‘The Earl’s private chambers.’

  I sensed renewed discomfort. ‘Will you unlock it, please?’

  She raised her brow. ‘The Earl had the only key.’

  Dowling’s right eye twitched as it did when suspicion beset him. ‘And now he is dead, you will never open it?’

  ‘I am in no hurry to open it.’ She lifted her chin and folded her arms. ‘When I do decide to open it, I will fetch someone to change the lock.’

  I felt like putting her over my knee and spanking her. ‘You had better fetch them now, else I will break it open.’

  Her lip trembled and her cheeks fired. ‘Preposterous,’ she stuttered, again looking to Conroy. There was a long pause while both of them fidgeted, indignant.

  ‘Perhaps there is another key,’ she said finally, voice quavering. She nodded at Conroy, who disappeared. Disappeared where, I wondered. To fetch the Earl?

  We waited in silence, me on the top step, determined to get into that room, Dowling on the other side of the corridor, silent and patient, humming to himself in thoughtful repose. At last Conroy appeared with a key.

  ‘My servants have a copy,’ Lady Wharton explained. ‘They are instructed to keep it clean while Lord Wharton is away.’

  ‘I see,’ I replied, without bothering to ask why she had not said so before. I put out my hand and Conroy gave the key to me, eyes burning.

  Sun shone bright into the room that was eight paces square, lit by two windows looking out onto the woods. A serene environment, peaceful and reflective.

  I ran my finger down the back of one of the leather-bound books that covered one wall. Christian Astrology by William Lilly and The Resolution of All Manner of Questions and Demands. Next to it, Anima Astrologiae.

  ‘The Earl believed in astrology?’ I asked.

  ‘Have you seen enough?’ Lady Wharton sounded shrilly.

  Why did she seek to hurry us? I took my time, pulled out a few books,
leafed through the pages looking for anything unusual; hidden notes, handwritten text, but there was nothing of interest and I had not the appetite to inspect each and every volume. I turned and faced the enormous oak desk, the most promising vassal left until last.

  I lowered myself into Wharton’s great chair, with its heavy rounded arms, and made myself comfortable. Upon the desk stood an empty snuff box, a set of scales in a flat, wooden box and a long, metal, pointed instrument, similar to that owned by Owen Price, Jane’s astrologer. On either side were three deep drawers and at the top, one small shallow drawer. In the top right-hand drawer I found a ribbon, red and faded. I held it up in front of Lady Wharton. ‘What is this?’

  Lady Wharton turned crimson about her ears and neck but said nothing.

  ‘A red ribbon.’ I rubbed it gently between my fingers. ‘Thin and very old.’ I looked to her for understanding, but she turned away.

  ‘I might guess,’ Dowling stepped forward. He took the ribbon and inspected it close. ‘Indeed very old,’ he reflected. ‘I am reminded of Genesis. “And it came to pass in the time of her travail, that behold, twins were in her womb: and one put out his hand: and the midwife took and bound upon his hand a scarlet thread, saying ‘This came out first’.”’ He looked to Lady Wharton for confirmation. ‘His brother was a twin?’

  I thought I saw a tear, yet no words escaped her mouth. Conroy’s lips twitched like he would say something.

  ‘You know he killed his brother?’ I said to her, returning the ribbon to the drawer. ‘He keeps the ribbon that is memorial to his brother’s birth as well as his own. Yet he burns his face off his head and hangs him by the neck.’

  She turned and walked quickly from the room. Her footsteps stopped halfway down the passage and I thought I heard weeping.

  ‘Where is he, Conroy?’ I asked.

  He followed her out into the corridor without replying.

  I followed after. ‘Where is the Earl, Lady Wharton?’

  She walked away from us down the corridor, towards the staircase, waving a hand in the air. ‘He is not here,’ she called before disappearing.

  ‘Would you have us tear down your house brick by brick?’ I shouted, hurrying after, butchers in tow.

  She reached the hall before rounding on us, legs astride like a cat that has its tail pulled too often. ‘Get out of my house, now!’ she spat. ‘Else I will get the village to tear you to pieces, King’s men or not!’

  Dowling cleared his throat. ‘The villagers we spoke to bear no love of your husband.’

  ‘You will not find him!’ She held her arms out wide. ‘Search all day and all night if you will.’

  ‘But neither can you leave while we still linger,’ Dowling pointed out. ‘And we will not leave this house until we have found him.’

  ‘Sooner or later the King will send soldiers,’ I assured her.

  As if waiting for summons, a fist crashed against the door in furious knocking. Conroy hesitated a moment before striding across the tiled floor to unbolt it.

  ‘Good afternoon!’ Lord Arlington walked across the threshold. He surveyed the scene afore him, hands on hips and chest protruding. Despite the heat he wore a flowing periwig. A trickle of sweat dripped down his red cheek and the black plaster upon his nose was sodden. ‘Lady Wharton.’ He smiled broadly.

  She sighed, body relaxing as though glad to see him. I was so amazed I could think of nothing to say.

  ‘Lytle.’ Arlington shook his head regretfully, approaching me close, fears of plague apparently allayed. Up close I saw for the first time how grey his eyes appeared, how dead. He regarded the butchers with amusement. ‘You fetched your own little garrison.’

  ‘I thought you were returning to Hampton Court,’ I said.

  His gaze lingered on the knives the butchers wore at their belts. ‘I decided you might need some assistance.’

  He called out in French. Four great brutes appeared in the doorway, tall and wide. They wore strange thin tunics with peculiar cut about the neck, belted at the waist. All were dark, swarthy and large-lipped. They appeared foreign. Between them they carried an ugly assortment of weapons; two muskets, three broad swords and a heavy axe. They stood silent, casual and callous.

  ‘Did you find Wharton?’ Arlington asked me.

  ‘No,’ I replied. ‘He is well hidden.’

  Lady Wharton stared at Arlington, hard blue eyes staring out against the chalk white of her painted face, holes in the ice. She nodded her head at the five of us. ‘What will you do now?’

  ‘I don’t want to kill them.’ Arlington regarded me sadly, like I was some prodigal son. ‘I need men such as these.’

  Lady Wharton’s body stiffened. Only her mouth moved, a doll’s mouth, with stiff, wooden lips. ‘They know you collaborated with Thomas.’

  Arlington blinked as if astonished. ‘Lytle. Are you under the impression I collaborated with Thomas Wharton?’

  I shook my head, watching the four beasts frown and lick their lips. ‘I don’t know what is going on.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Arlington looked back over his shoulder, pleased, as though he searched for one of his scribes. ‘I will write that in my report.’

  Lady Wharton stared at Arlington as if she feared a terrible deception.

  He slapped me upon the shoulder. ‘I urged you to fly here, did I not?’

  I nodded.

  He stretched out his arms in magnanimous gesture. ‘And now I come to ensure your success.’

  Lady Wharton drew back her crimson lips and snarled. ‘You promised us safe passage.’

  Arlington placed a hand upon his chest. ‘Promised whom? You imply that I, Lord Arlington, hath entered into some unholy alliance with a murderer? A beast who hath killed a man of God and two trusted confidants of Lord Chelwood?’

  Lady Wharton breathed heavily through her nose. Fear thawed the ice in her eyes.

  Arlington turned to me. ‘Did you witness such a pact, Lytle?’

  ‘No, your lordship,’ I assured him.

  ‘Yet I see you doubt me.’ He turned to Dowling, upon whose face disgust was clearly writ. ‘The lady hath persuaded you, has she not?’

  ‘What did you do?’ I blurted out.

  His head jerked forward and I felt warm breath upon my neck.

  ‘Did you promise them safe passage?’ I asked, dry-mouthed.

  ‘It seemed like a good idea,’ Arlington grimaced. ‘He guaranteed to rid me of his little band and indicated an interest in working overseas.’ He shrugged. ‘He can be of great service to his country overseas.’

  ‘All in the name of the King,’ Dowling growled.

  ‘In his name, indeed,’ Arlington affirmed. ‘Though he would not want knowledge of it. I will finish my report of your excellent endeavours. It will be a grand tale, ending with your deaths upon Wharton’s sword.’ He bowed to Lady Wharton. ‘Then his death upon my sword.’

  I looked into the faces of the monsters behind, giants with arms thick as tree trunks. The butchers could not hope to hold them off. They would slaughter us all.

  ‘What of your warriors, Arlington?’ I said. ‘Will you not kill them besides? Now they know your secret.’

  Arlington tutted. ‘They don’t speak English, Lytle. They are French.’

  He turned back to Lady Wharton. ‘Come with me, your ladyship.’ He raised his voice. ‘I shall escort you to the garden, where I shall slice your throat, should your cowardly husband not emerge from his hiding place.’ He raised a finger and one of his mercenaries descended upon her with sword drawn.

  Conroy jumped in front of Lady Wharton, his own thin blade aimed at the monster’s chin.

  The Frenchman turned a puzzled face to Arlington afore plunging his sword straight into Conroy’s belly. Conroy collapsed upon his knees, hands clutched to his stomach. A thick, red circle of blood spread across his shirt. He panted twice, then was silent, still kneeling, the top of his head rested against the wet floor.

  The Frenchman wiped his blade against his
trouser while Lady Wharton stared at her dead servant, mouth open, aghast. Arlington turned back to us.

  ‘Tuez-les!’ he demanded, crooking a finger.

  ‘Run!’ I roared, headed for the stairs.

  Over my shoulder I saw the biggest of them pursue me, axe hanging from his right hand. Fortunately the axe was heavy and he ran slowly. I reached the landing afore him and darted left, back the way we came. He appeared at the top of the stairs, barely breathing, while I panted like a fat puppy. I still had the key, I realised, the key to the Earl’s study. I dashed down the corridor and up the three stairs, flung open the door, stepped through quick, and slammed it behind me, locking it. I succeeded only just in time, for the Frenchman smashed his fist against the door, screaming out in his own tongue some obscenity I didn’t understand. Then all was quiet.

  I trod silently to the window and looked out upon the fields and forest. Arlington and one other of his guard dragged Lady Wharton away from the house. That meant Dowling and the other three butchers must be fighting against just the two Frenchmen. They might stand a chance.

  Something crashed against the door, shaking it upon its hinges. Then another blow, slamming against the thick oak like a hammer. It would take him a while to cut through, but only a while.

  I opened the window and stuck out my head. It was a drop of thirty feet onto the stones below, I reckoned, the fall guaranteed to break a man’s leg. There was no ledge on which to climb, no escape. The axe thudded against the door again, this time leaving a deep crack from top to bottom. I looked down again and imagined the fall. Could I somehow roll upon landing and cushion the impact? Too high.

  The axe crashed against the door, splintering it. Light shone through the gap. I whisked off my jacket and lay it upon the ledge of the window, as if it tore from my back, and stepped back against the near wall where I could not be seen. The mercenary hoisted his axe two more times, then was through, running to the window. I tiptoed fast behind him and waited for him to turn. He leant out as far as he could, scanning the ground beneath, muttering to himself. Then he turned, and I plunged the astrologer’s stick straight into his right eye.