A Murder too Soon

by Michael Jecks

  There was little else to occupy me. Keeping a careful watch for One-Eye, I left the buttery and walked through the hall and out through the rear, where the door gave into what had once been a solar suite, but which was now a ramshackle affair of smaller chambers with tawdry decorations that should have been replaced during the reign of old Henry. Or his father.

  It was through here that I had encountered Lady Margery’s body. I had been here, in this side chamber, with the three pretty little maids, Sal, Kitty and Meg, trying to pick which would be best to warm my bed that evening, when we all heard the crash and clatter.

  I found myself in the small corridor again. On my left was the door to the courtyard, while to my right was a flight of stairs leading up to the next floor. Beyond these a passage ran to another door, which gave on to a corridor that led off to more chambers. At the side of the staircase there was a sideboard with a display of pewterware. It was that which I had heard when the woman was killed.

  She had collapsed and knocked pewter from the sideboard as she fell. Perhaps she had stretched out her arms and caught the plates in her death throes. They had rolled and clattered to the stone flags of the floor, causing the noise we had heard.

  In the hallway, I stood and glanced about me. There was a large stain on the ground where she had lain, I saw, and knew it was her blood. No amount of scrubbing would clean that up. Not a nice sight. I’ve always hated the sight of blood. But since she fell there, if the necklace had broken, I thought, perhaps it had fallen away here, and the ring, too.

  I was determined to look. But although I searched some little while, feeling under the sideboard, bending and peering, the only thing I could find was a single twisted piece of metal. It looked like a circle of silver, a ‘C’, where the two ends had once been connected, but which had been torn apart in a moment of violence. It could, I thought, have been a link in a tiny chain, perhaps a part of a thin necklace made to hold a crucifix and a signet ring.

  I stood with the link in my hand. It was just a little circle of metal that had been twisted and broken, but it told of violence and murder, and the mere touch of it made my hackles rise. I shuddered at the feel of it and almost dropped it again. I was thinking: with the mark on the woman’s neck, it was plain enough that the necklace had been ripped from her by main force. Who would want to steal something that was of little value, something that had once been important as a seal but which now was irrelevant? I was reluctant to admit it, but I had a feeling that Master Blount would be able to make more sense of this than me. Walking to the door that led outside, I slipped into the yard.

  His chamber was at the farther side of the court when I walked out. I had to pass by the end wall of the hall near the chapel, and turn left to walk past the gatehouse, and I was about to march to Blount’s door when a hand fell on my shoulder. Turning rapidly, I found myself looking up into Harvey’s face. His affable smile did not reassure me; it did not seem to meet his eyes. In any case, I’ve learned over the years that often those who smile most are those who are most ready to attack under an amiable cover.

  ‘A friend would like to see you,’ he said.

  I was suddenly bustled into a doorway near the gatehouse, up some stairs, and into a comfortable, well-appointed parlour. There was a fire in the hearth, and wall hangings with fine needlework and bright colours, but none of them struck me at first. All I could see was the fine, pale features of the woman sitting on the chair.

  Harvey gave me a shove between the shoulder blades as he sank to one knee. I copied him quickly.

  ‘You are Master Jack?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, your Highness,’ I managed. I was tongue-tied and concerned to be here with her.

  ‘You are servant to John Blount?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you discovered the body of my good friend, Lady Margery Throcklehampton? You were the First Finder? Tell me, did you see the necklace about her neck? Her crucifix?’

  I looked up. There was a distinct sound of sadness in her voice. She did not sound like a woman who had heard of an enemy dying, yet a spy was surely not an ally to her.

  ‘No. When I found her, I would swear that it was not there. But when she was cut, the blood went everywhere. If she had a thin necklace, it would have been hidden, perhaps.’

  Harvey’s voice was a low rumble as he stood and wandered to a sideboard. A manservant reached it before him. Harvey smiled, aware he was not trusted. ‘I do not think so.’

  ‘Why so?’ she said.

  ‘A body will not bruise easily after death. If there was a bruise, she won that while alive. I would think the necklace was snatched from her, and that she died a little later.’

  ‘How would you know this?’

  ‘I was a priest, my Lady. I have seen many dead bodies before I buried them.’

  ‘In that case, who could have taken it?’ the Princess mused.

  ‘The necklace or the seal?’ I asked, and got a very sharp look indeed.

  ‘What do you know of the seal?’

  ‘Nothing. Only that others know of it.’

  ‘I would forget what you have heard of the seal,’ she said. ‘But if you find it, tell me quickly. It may be perilous to keep it.’

  Harvey deposited me in the yard once more, and I looked up at him. ‘What was all that about?’

  ‘She wants to know what happened; that is all.’

  ‘But why should she care about a spy?’ I wondered, and then I understood. ‘It’s not the woman; it’s her seal she’s worried about.’

  Harvey shrugged, as if that was not something I need concern myself about. He left me and walked over towards the stables, and I was about to walk to John Blount’s door when I saw something that made me hesitate, then surreptitiously sidle back to the doorway once more.

  Crossing the yard in front of me were four men-at-arms, one with his sword ready, and as I watched, they marched to Master Blount’s door and tried the door quietly. Finding that it was barred and bolted, their leader took to beating with his fist on the timbers. The sound echoed unpleasantly about the courtyard, and I saw several grooms pausing in their work to stare. Even the smith paused in his hammering to peer over.

  ‘Open in the name of the Queen!’ the commander bellowed, and in the subsequent silence, I found myself holding my breath. At a signal, two of the men started to pound on the door with the butts of their polearms, slamming them at the timbers with full force.

  I slid further back until only one eye could peer around the corner, and was set to wondering what could have caused this pandemonium. Just when I thought that the guards would be forced to fetch axes, there was a cry from inside and the noise of bolts being shot. In a moment, Master Blount was in the doorway with a ferocious expression. ‘Is it so urgent that you require a man to stop taking a shit? What is all this?’

  ‘You’re under arrest.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For plotting against Her Majesty, for planning to aid rebellion, for spreading sedition, and for murder.’

  ‘Whom have I killed?’

  ‘Lady Margery Throcklehampton.’

  ‘I wasn’t even in the building when she died!’

  ‘Tell that to the Justice. You’ll come with us.’

  I moved away from the doorway and fell back against the wall, panting slightly.

  There was no reason for me to feel any sympathy for Blount. He had been a useful ally at times, and a good conduit for money to keep me in bread and ale, but he was always so cynical, so suspicious, that he could never grow to be a confidant or friend. At best he was a miserable, intolerant acquaintance with the compassion of a wounded bear. He blundered through life, dealing out pain and injury to all who crossed his path, with barely a thought for those over whom he trampled. The man deserved neither sympathy nor aid. Yet I felt a twinge of guilt to see him in such straits.

  I peered around the corner in time to see a man-at-arms slam a fist into Blount’s belly. It was the sort of blow to make even me winc
e. If that had been me, I’d have been spewing in a second. Blount collapsed, body arched like a spitting cat’s as he dropped to all fours. Then a boot caught his flank and he rolled, but even as I saw the wicked little blade appear in his hand – where did that come from? I’d have to remember that, if I ever tried to disarm the man: he grew weapons like the spines on a hedgehog’s back – a boot slammed down on his wrist, a sword was at his throat, and the fight was done.

  There was nothing more to see. I rested for a little longer, my back to the wall, listening as the guards pummelled Blount’s body, and then laughed and made jokes at his expense, dragging him away from his chamber. I had little doubt that he would soon be returned to one of the foul gaol cells, and I didn’t think his stay there would be comfortable or enjoyable.

  ‘What are you watching?’ a quiet voice said beside my ear.

  You know when people say that they all but jumped from their skin after a sudden shock? I’d never truly known what that meant before that moment, but to hear that breathy voice so close to my right lughole was enough to make me leap like a faun startled by a hound. ‘What the—’

  Lady Anne made a most unladylike sound, partway between a snort and a whinny, and I glared at her. It served only to increase her amusement.

  ‘You leap like the greatest tumbler in the Queen’s Court,’ she said, not even trying to conceal her smirk. ‘If you were a lamb surprised by a fox, you could not be more shocked!’

  I felt the blood rush to my face, but there was no unkindness in her eyes – only a kind of affectionate amusement, like a mother smiling at a dim child who strove to do his best. My voice was as hot as my cheeks. ‘You surprised me, is all! Have you any idea what is happening to Master Blount?’

  She set her head to one side and lifted an eyebrow. ‘Has he died, that you thought me his ghost?’

  ‘Perhaps not yet,’ I said, ‘but he soon will if nothing is done. He’s accused of murder, treachery and I don’t know what else besides. The guards have just taken him from his room and they’re giving him a solid beating.’

  ‘That is your master?’ Her levity departed her at once on hearing that. ‘Wait here. I’ll be back in a little while.’

  She slipped away along the side of the hall to the farther corner and disappeared around it. I was left alone, and I need scarcely say that I was unhappy about the situation. I left my doorway and went over to the hall’s wall, from where I could at least see if someone approached me. Then, seeing a guard standing and staring suspiciously, I sidled around the corner of the wall.

  I wiped at my nose. It felt as though it was about to bleed again, and I winced. That was an end to my good looks, I felt sure. I know some men with their noses broken could show little effect afterwards, but I was equally certain that I would not be so lucky. In my case, my face was a large part of my success. I could persuade my gulls to trust me because my looks endeared me to them. They knew instantly, as soon as they saw my rugged, square features and open, faithful brown eyes, that they would be safe in my hands. That conviction would remain with them for exactly as long as it took for me to deprive them of their purses. But with a twisted, broken nose, I would look like little more than a brute who would waylay a nun if there was profit in it. My looks had been my treasure; they were responsible for my good fortune, such as it was. Without them, I was lost.

  If I have a strength, it is that I always look on the favourable balance of the scales. I am not prey to doubts and complaints. I prefer to look at the good that might come from a situation. However, this time I was flummoxed. If there was a positive aspect, I could not find it. My master arrested and held meant that my source of income was gone; without Blount, my house and board were lost.

  Except that then I remembered that Sir Thomas Parry, Blount’s master, was the man who held the purse-strings. Perhaps it would be better to seek his assistance. But no, he was not in the palace; I had seen him leave. And we were still held inside this hellhole, at the Coroner’s pleasure. I peered around the wall. Yes, the gates were still locked. The guards, meanwhile, were enjoying themselves, kicking seven barrels of something out of Blount.

  A hand touched my shoulder and I squeaked. It is a miracle that my bowels did not lighten my load considerably, but as it was, I turned with trepidation to expostulate with Lady Anne for startling me again, and found myself staring down the length of a long-bladed dagger.

  ‘A good day to you, Jack,’ Atwood said, smiling.

  I felt a sense of déjà vu: just as when One-Eye had pricked my neck, I could scarce take my eyes from the blade. Occasionally, I have watched fighters performing their skills with the aid of rebated blades, when the edges are blunted so that they cannot harm anyone, and there’s little excitement in it. When you go to watch a real duel at the bear pits, you can see the light glistening on the blades’ edges. They look very different. The edge is almost a continuation of the blades’ flats. That is a sign of real danger. A man can see the wicked gleam as the blade moves.

  There was no rebating on this dagger. The blade was fire-blackened from its forging and quenching, with a straight back and a gleaming, wickedly angled section where the whetstone had ground away the metal to make a razor-sharp edge. It looked like a weapon that had been designed specifically for stabbing a man like me with the minimum of fuss or effort. I didn’t like the look of that blade. It looked as though it didn’t like me much, either.

  ‘Hah!’ I managed at last. ‘Atwood!’ I didn’t feel this was sufficient somehow. ‘How are you?’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

  ‘Me?’

  His eyes bored into mine. If a man tells you that eyes are all soft and pliant like a boiled egg, all I can say is that Atwood had eyes that were made of the same stuff as his blasted dagger. It felt as if I had already been stabbed when they struck me, and I sank back against the wall.

  He looked over my shoulder. ‘Your master appears to be in a little spot of trouble.’

  ‘He’s been arrested. They accused him of killing Lady Margery!’

  ‘Yes, well, it’s easy to believe. He is a keen supporter of Lady Elizabeth, and the Queen thinks treachery is a terrible offence.’

  ‘He’s not guilty of treachery!’

  ‘No? If the Queen or her Coroner decides he is, who are you to argue?’

  That was indeed a thought. If Master Blount were to be accused, it would be very difficult for him to defend himself. It was hard to argue against your Queen or her representative. And then, of course, any companion of his would likewise be suspected.

  Someone like me, for example.

  If I could, I would have copied an empty sack and slumped to the ground, but the dagger prevented that. I didn’t dare move for fear of impaling myself. Instead, I tried to think clearly. ‘What are you doing here?’

  He bared his teeth. ‘The same as you, I’d imagine.’

  I thought of the body of Lady Margery Throcklehampton. ‘You’re a bit late, then.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed, staring past me to the court. I could hear the men out there laughing and joking. It wasn’t the sort of sound I enjoyed listening to. Then there were some shouts, the sound of a heavy object being dragged across the stones of the yard. It sounded a lot like a bag of cabbages being pulled along, but I knew it was Blount’s body. With luck, he wasn’t too badly injured. There was the noise of a door opening, and then silence.

  ‘That’s him done, then,’ Atwood said. He turned his face back to me. ‘So, Master Blackjack. What will we do with you, eh?’

  ‘You said you were here for the same reason as me. All I want is to escape this place.’

  ‘Yes, I can understand that,’ he said. ‘After all, things will get rather warm and dangerous now, I’d imagine.’

  ‘I don’t want to hang around for that.’

  He frowned then. I’d forgotten that he was rather an idealistic fellow. He had wanted the rebellion to succeed, thinking, I suppose, that Queen Mary was an unmitigated disaster fo
r the country. Some of us, me included, thought it a case of better the devil you know, but Atwood seemed to think the situation could be improved, and wanted to make things better all on his own. He was a firm believer in improving people’s lives – sometimes by ending them.

  ‘I remember your courage was always in rather short supply.’

  ‘Mine? I was as brave as I could be, but the times were difficult!’ I said heatedly. ‘You had the fun of riding hither and thither, but I was stuck in London, guarding one gate after another, then helping the guards protect the Queen …’

  ‘Yes, you suffered greatly,’ he said with a snigger. ‘And look at all the good you’ve achieved!’

  I heard a door open. It was the one I had come through. There was the sound of nothing happening, and then the door shut again. I turned my head, but there was no one there. I had hoped that Lady Anne might have returned, but whoever had peered out had seen no reason to interrupt our conversation.

  ‘Why do you want to hold me here?’ I asked. ‘You don’t want to kill me. They’d assume you were responsible for the other murder as well, if you did that.’

  ‘Not if I kill you and put you into Blount’s room, for example,’ he said coolly.

  I confess that had not occurred to me. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Now, be silent and let me think,’ he said.

  ‘Why are you so determined to remove the Queen from her throne?’ I said.

  ‘Because she will take us back to the misery of the Roman Church. Now be silent!’ he said.

  ‘How did you get here, anyway? You pretended to be a carter, but someone must have spoken for you in order for you to get inside. And you were with the company of the Coroner, so he must think you’re loyal to the Queen …’ I said, and then I was stilled, for the knife’s point was making his feelings on the matter of my continued speech rather plain.

  ‘All I want is to get away from here and return to my home,’ I said without thinking.