In the end, she told Edgar to fetch the physician again.
‘I don’t need the damned leech,’ Baldwin protested. ‘It is just that this arm feels as if someone has shoved a burning brand into it. God’s blood, it hurts.’
She looked at him, then at his shoulder. Placing a hand on it, she frowned. ‘It is warm. I hope you do not have a fever, husband.’
He looked up at her, and she could see the apprehension in his eyes. They both knew that he had been lucky so far: the wound had been clean enough, and with the careful treatment he had received he should have been fortunate and made a full recovery. But no wound was entirely safe. Any nick or scratch could lead to a fever that would kill the strongest. Everyone knew that. And Baldwin had been holed front and back.
Jeanne raised an eyebrow to the unmoving servant, who grinned widely, bowed in mock obedience, and left the room to obey her command.
‘Even my damned man doesn’t listen to me,’ Baldwin muttered, and sank down into a chair.
‘Remember, Jeanne …’ he began, and she sighed, trying to affect a smile.
‘What?’
‘If I die, just remember, I have never loved anyone except you. You stole my heart.’
She closed her eyes, suddenly dazed, a faint sickness making itself felt in the pit of her belly. When she opened them again, she saw that he was peering at her quizzically. ‘What?’ she asked.
‘I love you more than anything,’ he said. ‘But you do look terrible. If anything, you look worse than me.’
She remembered her broken night, and when she thought about all her doubts and fears, she felt stupid. Smiling widely this time, with true sincerity, she leaned forward and kissed him. She believed him.
Jordan was surprised to hear that they’d found the body. It was irritating. He’d intended to carry Mick to the city wall and throw him over, into the water where the tanners had their pits. The body could have lain there for some little while before anyone noticed it. Still, it didn’t matter too much. He was safe enough. The only two people who knew what had happened were the slut and his mate, Reg. Neither of them would tell anyone. Reg was on his side, and the tart was too scared. If she spoke, she knew Jordan would kill her. Easy.
When Jane came in, he picked her up and swung her up until she was over his head, staring down at him with those great big eyes of hers, at once laughing and so serious. He couldn’t believe that any person could ensnare his heart so effectively, but this little chit had. He adored her.
When Mazeline entered, with her slightly shuffling gait, neither of them bothered to turn to look at her. She was nothing to him compared with this little daughter of his. Why should he worry about her, when he had this bundle of life and joy?
‘Come on, Jane. Let’s go to the market and see if we can find a treat for you,’ he said.
‘Husband, can I …’
‘Shut up, bitch. We’re busy,’ he snapped as he ducked under the lintel, carrying Jane giggling on his shoulders.
Chapter Sixteen
Ralph had returned home after a pleasant and rewarding payment from Betsy for helping Anne. Betsy had gone with him to the gate and had a whispered conversation with the porter that resulted in the wicket gate’s being opened so that Ralph could slip through.
The payment was good, but he could not banish the wreckage of Anne’s face from his mind. A man who could do that was surely deserving of the most terrible punishment. Ralph hoped that he would receive it.
When Edgar arrived, Ralph was finishing a leisurely breakfast, feeling a little jaded after his exercise the night before. He listened with the supercilious expression that indicated, so he fondly supposed, a professional concentration. It was perhaps fortunate he did not know that Edgar thought he looked like a constipated toad.
‘Is the shoulder swollen?’
‘I don’t know. I was sent to fetch you. It hurts him, and he rubs it and moves his arm to release the pain.’
‘But you think it is warmer than it should be?’
‘That is what my master’s wife thought, yes.’
Ralph thought quickly. The first rule was, if a case was hopeless, don’t get involved. Better that a man should not lose his reputation: a prudent physician would not tend to the dying. Only those who stood a chance of recovery should be treated.
However, there were two mitigating factors. One was the fact that the wound had looked so good when he saw the man only recently. It was hard to believe that the knight had suddenly relapsed so badly for no reason. Perhaps a potion to ginger him up, or a salve to lower the heat and rebalance the humours in that shoulder … The second, crucial factor was that the Dean had himself promised to pick up the full cost of any bills because the knight had earned his wound in the Dean’s service. Not that he would have realized how much an expert like Ralph could charge.
With those two points firmly in his mind, Ralph ordered his servants to fetch him if there were any other urgent calls, then packed his little leather pack and slung it over his shoulder, preparing to follow Edgar.
The way was not far. They had to turn right from his house, up to the northernmost tip of the lane, and then turn left parallel with the northern wall, until the road became Paul Street. Only a short way along here stood Talbot’s Inn, the tavern in which Baldwin was prone to stay during his infrequent visits to Exeter.
To Ralph’s mind, this was not one of the better hostelries. There were others which had a better atmosphere, but it was not up to him where his patients resided. Far be it for him to try to dictate where a man should sleep. Still, it made him wonder. Foul air could cause many illnesses, and he wondered whether there was something about the air in this place that could have caused Sir Baldwin’s shoulder to swell.
He set to his task, manipulating the shoulder, feeling the slight grating of bone and cartilage, then peering into Baldwin’s mouth, feeling the shoulder itself and the wound just under the collarbone, and finally studying the knight’s back and shoulder blade. ‘That’s where it’s giving you trouble,’ he said at last. ‘There is some heat in the entrance wound. I’ll give you a salve for it. In the meantime, I’ll want to put your arm in a sling to stop you using it. Have you been moving it much?’
Baldwin scowled and was about to speak when his servant said, ‘He was practising with his sword yesterday morning.’
‘Can I trust no one about me?’ Baldwin demanded gruffly.
‘Is this true?’ Ralph asked.
‘I am a knight, physician. A knight! I have to practise.’
‘When you are better, you can do so. For now, you will rest that arm and that shoulder, or I shall not be responsible for the consequences. You understand me? I can save the arm and your life, but only if you obey me.’
‘Oh, very well. I shall stop my practising.’
‘Good. And now I think that I can be more usefully occupied elsewhere.’
‘And I want a short walk,’ Baldwin said.
‘Nothing strenuous. You need to keep your energy up,’ Ralph said, throwing a meaningful glance at the man’s wife. Christ’s balls, but she was a delight, too. Sir Baldwin was extremely lucky to have her.
There was a loud rapping on the door as he packed his bag and prepared to leave. When he heard his name being called by his servant, he rolled his eyes heavenwards and shook his head. ‘There is never enough time! Enter!’
‘Master, it’s the … the maid you saw last night. She’s dead, they fear. Can you go there?’
Immediately behind the boy was Betsy, and although Ralph tried to indicate that he would speak to her outside, she ran in. ‘Ralph, you have to come! She drank all that potion you left for her! I don’t know what to do!’
Baldwin was already on his feet, peering at the woman with uncertainty in his eyes. ‘This woman, she is a friend of yours?’
Betsy hesitated. ‘I’d say so.’
Ralph threw him a look, undecided. He had no great desire for the city to learn that he gave his services free to the whores f
rom the stews, but then again, he expected that they didn’t want all the men in the city to realize that they gave their services free either. And it might be worthwhile for Sir Baldwin to see what had happened to the girl. There was still a sense of outrage in him that she had been tortured so violently. ‘You should rest, Sir Baldwin,’ he said slowly.
‘I would like a walk,’ Baldwin said imperturbably. ‘Perhaps we shall walk the same way.’
‘I would like that very much,’ Ralph said, taking a quick decision. ‘Betsy, come. Show Sir Baldwin the way to poor Anne.’
Sir Peregrine was in the middle of completing his final statements to the clerk, who scrawled and scratched as fast as he could, at the head of the alleyway where Mick’s body lay when he heard the hurried steps of Sir Baldwin at the far end.
‘Sir Baldwin. I did not think you wanted to attend this inquest?’
‘I was not interested at first, Sir Peregrine. Sir, do you know Master Ralph of Malmesbury, my physician?’
‘Master,’ Sir Peregrine said, inclining his head politely. To his astonishment, the fellow barged past him as though he was no more than a drunken carter in the man’s path.
He was about to bellow after him when he saw the maid behind Sir Baldwin. She was standing well back, out of earshot, but he could tell that she was a whore, and a pretty one at that.
Sir Baldwin laid a hand on his forearm. ‘I think we may have come a little closer to solving this murder at least, Sir Peregrine.’
‘And how is that?’
‘Sometimes,’ said Ralph, ‘I help the whores in the stews. A few nights ago, one called Anne was foully tortured by someone and cut about.’
He had completed his swift examination of the body. ‘I was called to help her last night when the women had lost all hope,’ he admitted. ‘They wanted the best medical advice so they came to me, and I did what I could for her, but I left them with a drink to help her sleep. It seems she finished the whole lot off. It killed her.’
‘What of it?’
Baldwin shrugged. ‘It seems curious to me that the pander should be murdered and the girl dreadfully cut about at more or less the same time. Perhaps the pander hurt her and a boyfriend or brother heard of it, and killed the pander?’
‘It’s possible. Certainly this lad wasn’t tortured as such. He just had his throat cut.’
‘She had no family,’ Ralph said. ‘And her only man friend was Mick there.’
‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. ‘And his death looks like an execution.’
Sir Peregrine sighed. ‘I suppose I should view this maid’s body too, then. Where is she?’
‘We were on our way to see her. I thought you would be here, and bringing Ralph seemed a sensible idea.’
‘You recognize this man, then, physician?’ Sir Peregrine demanded formally.
‘He was the procurer for the whore Anne,’ Ralph agreed. ‘He used to work about the docks area for her and bring gulls back to her chamber.’
‘Very well. Let’s go and view this latest body.’
Baldwin nodded, but he was staring musingly down at Mick. ‘Tell me, Ralph, do you have any idea about this man and the girl? Who owned the property where she worked? Who took the rent?’
‘I don’t know, but Betsy will, more than likely,’ Ralph said more quietly, nodding toward her.
The building was not prepossessing, and the neighbourhood very rough. Only the brave or foolhardy would come to an area like this, Baldwin thought as he stepped from the grey morning light into the gloomy interior, then through to the lean-to room.
Here the very air was sour, filled with the taint of sex, sweat, spilled cheap wine and vomit. It was not the sort of place a woman should enter. There was a vast gulf between the married woman who sought some additional money by a little trade on the side, and this. The good wife selling her body for a sum wanted something: a trinket, some food, it didn’t matter. She was involved in the trade because there was something she desired.
This place was utterly different: it was a place where women went when they had no dreams left, no aspirations. They came here in order to stave off death for a little while. Perhaps some arrived here with hope in their hearts, Baldwin thought, touching a beam with a finger and feeling the stickiness of tar from the open fire and candles, but that hope would soon be extinguished. The women in places like this were only meat to be sold for the evening, nothing more. And as soon as the meat grew a little tough or unhealthy, it was discarded.
He followed Betsy and Ralph through to the chamber at the rear. At least here the odours were more wholesome, in the main. Passing the vats where the soap was being made, Baldwin saw large pots filled with wood ash. This would be steeped in water to make the strong caustic solution, lye, that would mix with fat to create soap. Yet even here there was a repellent taint: the sickly smell of illness. Blood and rottenness pervaded the place.
Betsy opened the door to the chamber and Baldwin found himself contemplating the ruined body of the whore.
‘My holy Father!’ Sir Peregrine cried, and turned away.
Even Sir Baldwin, who had seen the foul abominations committed on healthy people in Acre, had to blink and look away a moment. ‘Who could do this to her?’
‘If it was that little shite, he deserved all he got,’ Sir Peregrine said harshly. ‘He died too easily.’
Baldwin could not argue with the fairness of the sentiment. ‘Ralph?’
He was sniffing at the cup beside the bed. ‘I made up my potion and put it in this. I did say to Betsy that she should only have a little – I was hoping that there’d be enough to keep her going a few nights.’
Betsy glanced away from his accusing look with a hangdog air. ‘I think she heard you, Ralph. We should have been more careful. With her face like that, is it any wonder if she thought that life held nothing more for her?’
‘I did say to keep her away from mirrors,’ Ralph expostulated.
‘And we did, but if she heard you say that, what do you think she’d have thought? And she could feel what had happened to her. She probably felt every last cut by the devil that did this to her.’
‘Who did, mistress?’ Baldwin asked. ‘The man who cut her so appallingly was surely the man who killed her. He should suffer the full penalty for murder.’
‘How could I say? I don’t know.’
‘How did she arrive here?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Was she attacked down here?’
‘I don’t think so, no. She got here early in the morning on Sunday, and we’ve been looking after her since. The gatekeeper at the South Gate saw her with her head all wrapped in a hood and called to her, but she didn’t reply. He knew her from . . .’
‘I can imagine,’ Baldwin said.
‘Well, he asked after her yesterday when I passed. Said he thought she must be drunk, the way she was rolling and swaying, otherwise he’d have gone to help her.’
‘Did she say anything about the man who did this to her?’ Sir Peregrine demanded bluntly. ‘That’s what I want to know: was it her pander who did this to punish her? Did Mick do it?’
‘Mick? No. She said that he was dead …’
‘She said that?’ Baldwin repeated. ‘So she knew he was dead?’
Betsy sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. She looked at Anne’s face, and shook her head before bursting into tears. ‘She’d been going to leave the city with him. Mick was going to buy a place somewhere else. He’d saved a load of money, and he wanted to get away for ever. Never thought they’d end like this, poor idiots!’
‘Where were they going to go?’ Sir Peregrine asked.
‘Anywhere. Tiverton, Barnstaple … I heard them talking about all sorts of places. There were always opportunities for a man like him. He wouldn’t worry about obstacles. If he was trying to achieve something, you knew he’d almost certainly succeed.’
‘What of this money he’d saved?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Where did he come by that?’
She wouldn’t meet his eye. ‘He was a shrewd man w
ith savings. Perhaps he took all the money she gave him and saved it up?’
‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin agreed without conviction. ‘Or did he rob the clients who came to visit her?’
‘He wouldn’t do a thing like that!’ she declared.
He was silent a moment, but she seemed unwilling to expand on her words. ‘Very well, Betsy. What else can you tell us about this poor child’s suffering?’
‘I don’t know anything,’ she declared, and now there was more than a hint of fear in her voice. ‘You have to leave here now. I’ve got to get ready for work.’
‘At this time of day?’ Ralph asked, surprised.
‘I have paying customers in the morning,’ she said pointedly.
Reg was relieved to get away. The home where he had once been so happy was little better than a gaol now. Sabina never gave him a moment’s peace, always nagging, going on and on and on, or, if not, sitting with a petulant sulkiness about her that was even more humiliating, somehow. Christ Jesus, if only the bitch could just accept that they weren’t in love any more. Just accept they’d grown apart.
If only Michael hadn’t … well, he had. That was the problem. He didn’t realize what he was saying, the poor little sod. Why should he? Probably peeped in through the gaps in the floor that night, and saw some woman’s legs up in the air while Reg bulled away … Oh, dear God in Heaven, so long as it wasn’t that time when Mazeline had her head … no, no, Reg must have noticed if Michael had seen that. The boy would have given himself away somehow.
He sighed again. Since Sabina had learned that he had a lover, he had taken to sighing quite a lot. It wasn’t ever enough, though. A sigh gave not even momentary relief.
Thank Christ Michael hadn’t seen the face of the woman! That was the only thing that gave him some relief, because if Sabina knew he’d been with Mazeline, she’d go and demand to speak to her.
The very idea tore at his vitals. It was terrifying. She’d not care who heard her outburst, and if Jordan should ever learn that Reg was playing hide the sausage with his wife, his rage would know no bounds. He would destroy any man who did such a thing. And he would do so with still more vicious, vengeful cruelty than he had shown with Anne. That had been a masterpiece of brutality in its way, mutilating a pretty girl in front of the man who would have been her lover, and then executing him as well. Each act performed in front of the other, with the added hideous twist that he forced the lad to help him inflict the suffering on his woman. There was a precise refinement to that which made Reg feel sick even now. But in the same way that Mick had not dared to stop Jordan from hurting his Anne, Reg didn’t dare to prevent him either. Both Mick and Reg were complicit in their terror. They would both aid Jordan in his most evil excesses, purely to be safe themselves. And yet they were neither of them safe. Mick had died, his blood smothering the body of Anne, and Reg … God knew what would happen to him.
The Butcher of St Peter's: (Knights Templar 19) Page 20
