‘I…er…’
‘You didn’t rob someone, did you?’
Barnabus coughed and looked very shifty. Carey stared at him until he shrugged. ‘In a manner of speaking, sir.’
‘All right, what happened?’
‘Well, I was coming back to you when I tripped on a…well, somebody who’d bin in a fight and got the worst of it, I’d say.’
‘Where?’
‘Down the alley between Scotch street and Fisher street.’
‘And so you robbed him?’
‘No, sir. First I helped him in his door, then I robbed him.’
Carey put his hands to his head. ‘Barnabus, I have told you about footpadding…’
‘I didn’t footpad ‘im, sir; ‘e was already done over. I just…’
‘You just bloody robbed a man who was lying there helpless. For God’s sake, Barnabus, where’s your Christian charity?’
‘I was drunk, sir. It seemed like a good idea…’
‘How much did you get?’
‘Half a crown sir, and some pennies.’
‘Well, you could hang for that half a crown, you silly bugger. You robbed Andy Nixon and I would imagine that’s the reason why he went to the trouble of incriminating you.’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Which has indirectly caused me an immense amount of aggravation.’
‘Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.’
‘You damn well deserve to be in here, and that’s the truth.’
Barnabus looked about him and evidently found this a bit hard, but he decided to say nothing, which was wise of him, Dodd thought, considering Carey’s expression of disgust. At that moment there was a complicated rattle of keys and the gaoler let Lady Scrope into the cell. She looked around, sniffed and shouted over her shoulder. ‘Mr Barker, bring a bucket and spade in here.’
Dodd helpfully moved out of the cell so there was room for Barker who came in eventually with a bucket and spade borrowed from the stables.
‘Pick that up and take it out of here,’ said Lady Scrope, pointing imperiously at the turds by the drain.
‘That, my lady?’ said the youth unhappily.
‘Yes, that. It’s causing bad airs. Quickest way to get gaol fever in a place, which you could catch as well, William Barker, and die of, what’s more. So clean it up.’
‘Me, my lady?’
Lady Scrope put her basket down on the wooden bench next to Barnabus and her hands on the bumroll padding out her hips.
‘I’m not going to do it and nor is my brother. Barnabus can’t because he’s been chained. So that leaves you or Sergeant Dodd to fight it out between you, and personally, I’m backing Dodd.’
Dodd put his head round the door and fixed Barker with a glare that settled the matter. Mumbling that it wasnae his job and an insult forbye, Barker used the spade and bucket and slumped out of the door.
‘I’ll stand guard while you put that on the midden heap,’ said Dodd, wondering briefly if this were some complex way of breaking Barnabus out of jail. No, why be so elaborate about it? If he was going to defy all of Scrope’s authority and the law of the land into the bargain, the Deputy Warden could simply unlock the doors.
Philadelphia turned to Barnabus and briskly examined his eyes, mouth and ears, felt his forehead and wrist and demanded that he undo his doublet buttons and lift his shirt so she could inspect the bruises on his body.
Carey whistled with sympathy and muttered something about bringing a suit for assault against Lowther on Barnabus’s behalf.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Robin,’ said Philadelphia tartly. ‘It was perfectly normal interrogation of a murder suspect. Besides, Lowther owns or can terrorise almost any jury you could put together in these parts; it’s one of our main problems with him.’
That made Carey look depressed and thoughtful for a moment. His sister took the cloth off her basket and brought out a couple of black leather bottles. Barnabus rolled his eyes as she poured two horn cupfuls of what looked like bogwater.
‘Don’t look so worried, Barnabus,’ Philadelphia added. ‘My lord Warden has already refused Lowther permission to put you to the question so nothing else is going to happen to you.’ Barnabus swallowed stickily. ‘Now what else is wrong with you?’ she demanded, putting her hand on his forehead again. ‘You’re running a fever. Have you got a headache?’
‘No, my lady,’ croaked Barnabus. ‘I’m sore, but…’
‘Stick your tongue out.’
Barnabus did and Philadelphia squinted at it critically. ‘Hm,’ she said. ‘Have you been vomiting or purging, or passing blood in your water?’
Barnabus hesitated and looked at Carey.
‘Not blood, my lady.’
Philadelphia frowned. ‘What then?’
‘Er…nothing.’
‘Barnabus,’ growled Carey. ‘If you’ve…’
‘Shut up, please, Robin,’ said Philadelphia to her brother. ‘Now please don’t play me for a fool, Barnabus. You’re not well and you have to tell me everything that ails you. I’m worried you might be coming down with a gaol fever.’
Remembering the gaol fever he had caught on board ship after he had gone to fight the Armada in 1588, which had almost killed him, Carey looked carefully at Barnabus again, then shook his head.
‘No. You see, Philly, he’s been in gaol before.’
‘Born there,’ said Barnabus with some satisfaction. ‘It can’t be gaol fever, my lady. I’ve had both kinds and it’s like the smallpox; you don’t get it twice.’
‘Well then, what’s the matter with your water?’
‘Er…’ Barnabus looked at the ground. ‘I’m pissing green, my lady. And…er…it hurts.’
There was a penetrating silence. ‘I expect it’s because of Lowther…’ Carey began.
‘Unless Lowther’s a worse man than I take him for, that’s not Lowther. That’s the clap.’
Neither Carey nor Barnabus knew where to look, while Dodd by the door listened in fascination.
‘It’s that bawdy house, isn’t it? Madam Hetherington’s? The one Scrope sneaks off to occasionally?’
Both Barnabus and Carey made an extraordinary strangulated noise.
‘And I suppose you’ve got a dose too, have you, Robin?’ demanded Philadelphia in withering tones.
‘No, I haven’t,’ said Carey with great emphasis. ‘For God’s sake, Philly…’
‘Don’t swear. Well, Barnabus, there is nothing whatever anybody can do for the clap, no matter what they say, except let nature take its course. You should drink as much mild beer as you can and eat plenty of garlic to clean your blood. You’ll have to give him lighter duties until he’s better, Robin. Anyway, he should rest for today and I think his nose may need resetting eventually. Drink this.’
Barnabus meekly drank down one cup of bogwater and looked relieved when the other cup turned out to be a lotion to put on his nose and face. Carey recognised the smell as the same stuff Philadelphia had been painting him with all the previous week. As far as he could tell it had done him no harm.
Baker came back from the midden and at Philadelphia’s bidding, put the bucket inside the cell where Barnabus could reach it and use it. Carey snapped his fingers for the bunch of keys he carried, took it and unlocked the chains around Barnabus’s ankles.
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Barnabus, rubbing his legs and stretching. ‘I hate to scour the cramp-rings.’
‘Nobody chains my servant,’ said Carey ominously, ‘except me. So watch it, Barnabus.’
They came out, Carey still carefully not meeting Philadelphia’s eyes. Dodd was as straight faced as he knew how, though he thought that Barnabus was getting undeserved soft treatment.
‘Have you fed the other two prisoners, Mr Barker?’ he asked.
‘Oh ay, sir. They got garrison food, same as Barnabus.’
Poor bastards, thought Dodd. When Janet turns up I’ll send her in with some proper vittles.
‘Did ye want to talk to ‘em, sir?’
he asked.
Carey thought about it. ‘No, I don’t think so, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘I need more information.’
And where was he proposing to get it if he didn’t even want to talk to his prisoners, Dodd wondered sourly, but didn’t ask. Philadelphia remained quiet as they walked out of the dungeons and into the silky morning sunlight, all washed clean by the rainstorms of the previous day. She looked about and sighed.
‘You called me from checking over the flax harvest, Robin,’ she said. ‘So I’m going back to it.’
Carey nodded, with the expression of a man who wants to say something comforting but doesn’t quite know how. He remembered the report he had written for Scrope and gave it to Philadelphia to pass on to her husband. She tossed her head, took it and marched off across the yard, trying to pull her apron straight as she went. Dodd felt he was not called upon to comment and so he followed Carey silently as he strode down to the Keep gate and past Bessie’s into Carlisle town.
Wednesday 5th July 1592, morning
Dodd was very shocked when he realised Carey was about to go straight into the house with red lattices and the sign of the Rainbow over the door down an alley off Scotch street.
‘Sir,’ he protested. ‘I dinna…’
‘You’ve got a mucky mind, Sergeant,’ said Carey. ‘I’m only making sure Barnabus was telling the truth about where he was.’
‘Oh.’
From the way Madam Hetherington greeted the Deputy Warden with a curtsey and a kiss, it was obvious he had been there before, which further shocked Dodd’s sense of propriety. It wasn’t that he didn’t know the bawdy house—he’d been there a couple of times himself, when drunk, and prayed Janet would never find out about it—only he felt it was a bad thing for an officer of the Crown to be seen entering the place in daylight. Carey didn’t seem to care; no doubt Londoners, courtiers and lunatics had different standards in these things.
‘No, mistress,’ said Carey courteously to the lady’s enquiry. ‘I want to talk to you about my servant Barnabus Cooke.’
They were led into her office and wine was brought for both of them. Dodd sipped his cautiously and then found to his surprise that it tasted quite good.
Carey smacked his lips as he put the goblet down.
‘I now know who has managed to find the only decent wine in Carlisle.’
Madam Hetherington had sat down on a stool beside a table clear of anything except some embroidery and she smiled modestly.
‘I have a special arrangement with my cousin, sir,’ she said.
‘Hm. You’re aware of Barnabus Cooke’s arrest.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Can you tell me where he was on Monday night?’
Madam Hetherington took her embroidery and began stitching like any lady of a house. Dodd stared about at her little solar; it was hung with painted cloths and floored with rushmats. When he looked closer at the painted cloths, he stretched his eyes: naked women abounded, were pinkly profuse in all directions. There was a naked woman with a lascivious-looking swan on her lap, and another naked woman riding a bull and a third who seemed to be very happy to receive a lot of gold coins tumbling down a sunbeam. Surely that would hurt, Dodd thought incoherently, all those pennies hitting your bare skin. He was mesmerised by the round pearly shapes and little red touches here and there on lips and nipples…In comparison with Janet’s these were rounder and plumper and…
‘What do you think, Dodd?’ Carey asked.
‘Ah,’ said Dodd, caught out and he knew it. Carey seemed amused.
‘I was saying that Barnabus was certainly here on Monday night after Bessie shut her doors,’ repeated Madam Hetherington kindly. ‘He left early on Tuesday morning in time to go in at the gate to attend Sir Robert.’
‘Oh,’ said Dodd.
‘Madam Hetherington does not think one of her girls will be believed by a jury either.’
‘Er…No, that’s right,’ Dodd said desperately, staring at Madam Hetherington’s embroidery hoop. ‘They wouldna. They’d say she was nae fit person to be in front of them and could be bribed and they couldnae place any confidence in her word.’
Madam Hetherington and Carey nodded.
‘In fact,’ said Madam Hetherington, stitching away at a shape that looked suspiciously like a buttock, ‘Barnabus spends much of his free time here. He was here on Sunday night as well, twice.’
‘Oh?’ said Carey neutrally.
‘Yes, he left at a reasonable time and not too drunk and then he returned a little while later with more money to spend, which he spent.’
‘Yes,’ said Carey. ‘I know how that happened. Another thing I would like to know is how someone also managed to get hold of one of Barnabus’s knives.’
Madam Hetherington was threading a needle and she said nothing.
‘Mr Pennycook owns the freehold of this house, doesn’t he?’ pressed Carey.
‘I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir,’ said Madam Hetherington coldly. ‘Will you or your henchman be wishing to take your pleasure with one of the girls now, sir?’
Carey rose to leave. ‘I must be on my way, Madam Hetherington,’ he said. ‘Oh and by the way, Barnabus has the clap.’
She frowned and bit off a piece of thread. ‘Not from my house,’ she said.
‘No?’ asked Carey. ‘Good day to you, Madam.’
She rose to see them to the door, curtseyed and gave no farewell kiss.
Dodd was quite glad to get out of the place with no more upsetting sight than one of the girls in her petticoat and bodice hurrying through with a bucket of water. He hoped no one had seen them. Janet was likely to be in town soon.
‘Right,’ said Carey to himself and set off again down Scotch street with that long bouncy stride of his.
Andy Nixon’s landlady was a Goodwife Crawe, widowed a few years back in a raid, who lived precariously by spinning and letting out her loft. Her two tousle-headed young boys were at the football in the alley when Carey and Dodd arrived.
It was difficult to talk to Goody Crawe because she would not stay still, but kept turning the great wheel of her new-fangled spinning machine and walking backwards to twist the thread, then forwards again to wind it on the spindle, back and forth, back and forth like a child’s toy. Spindles hung all about her small living room; Dodd tripped over one of the half-dozen baskets of carded wool lambstails on the floor and there was a pile of new sheep’s fleece lying by the ladder to the loft, ready to be picked and carded.
‘Tell me what Andy Nixon did on Monday, Goodwife Crawe,’ said Carey formally.
‘Well,’ she said unhappily, ‘I dinnae want to get him in any more trouble because he’s a good lodger and a nice lad and pays his rent every other Monday and it’s a pleasant thing to have a grown man about the house, for the boys, ye ken.’
‘Only tell me the truth, Goodwife; that will help him best of all.’
‘Hmf. Y’see, I heard he was accused of cutting Mr Atkinson’s throat and I dinna see him doing it. In a fight, perhaps; he’s a bonny fighter is Andy…’
‘I know,’ muttered Carey.
‘…and sometimes doesnae ken his ain strength, but from behind with a knife—nay, he’s not the type.’
‘How about his…friendship with Mrs Atkinson?’
‘Ay,’ said Goodwife Crawe heavily. ‘That was it, y’see. I couldnae blame them for it, but the Lord knows it’s a sin and a scandal.’
‘What happened on Sunday night, Goodwife?’
She sighed as she stepped backwards nimbly over the rushes, her fingers flying as she smoothed the wool into a taut thin thread.
‘Some men jumped him in the alley as he came home,’ she said. ‘Poor lad, he was in a terrible state. He couldnae get up the ladder and his hand was all puffed up. And some dirty thieving bastard had cut his purse as well, which Andy took very hard because it had his rent in it and he knows well how I fare and that I need the money. He knew who it was too, sir, for he said he heard the
man’s voice and there was nobbut one voice like that in Carlisle.’
Carey nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘It was my servant, Barnabus.’ He felt in his belt pouch and brought out some money. ‘Here’s your rent, Goodwife Crawe,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry about it. I’ve told him often enough about footpadding, but some habits die hard.’
Don’t give it to her yet, ye soft get, thought Dodd in despair, wait until she’s told ye what she knows. Do ye not know anything?
Goody Crawe took the half crown and put it in her bodice looking thunderstruck, as well she might.
‘Ay well,’ she said. ‘Once a reiver, allus a reiver, I say.’
‘When did you find Nixon then, Goody?’
‘Och, a while before dawn when I came down to milk the goat. He slept down here on the fleeces when he couldnae climb the steps in the night. I gave him milk to gi’ him strength and put some cold water on his face and give him a sling for his arm, though he said it annoyed him. Then off he went when the sun was up and that’s the last I saw of him that day, for he didnae come back until it was well dark and I was in bed, but I heard him at the door and going up the ladder.’
‘That was Monday night.’
‘Ay sir. A little before midnight, I hadnae heard the bell yet. And then yesterday, he was up as usual and looking a bit better though he hadnae much stomach to his meat for breakfast, and then he was off to see Mr Pennycook, the man he works for. And then he come home in the afternoon and he was in a terrible state o’ fear, and he didnae tell me what it was but I think he heard ye’d gone to arrest Mrs Atkinson, and he packed his bags and promised me the back rent as soon as he could get it, and then he was off out the door as fast as he could go. And that’s the last I saw of him, sir, as ye know, for I told ye yesterday.’
Carey smiled at her. ‘Thank you, Goodwife. That’s very clear.’
‘Ah’ve done him nae good, have I sir?’ She had actually stopped her toing and froing to look at Carey.
Ye’ve about hanged him, woman, Dodd thought but didn’t say. Instead he handed her a fresh basket of lambstails for spinning and she gave him a distracted smile of thanks.
‘We’ll see what happens,’ said Carey diplomatically. ‘Nothing is certain yet.’
2 A Season of Knives Page 18
