A Murder too Soon

by Michael Jecks

  ‘Yes. Why don’t we walk out of here?’ Atwood said.

  ‘You can. You’re a carter,’ I said bitterly. ‘For men like me the gates are locked.’

  ‘But now the Coroner’s inquest is over, and you say Blount has been arrested for the lady’s murder and attempts to rebel, so there is clearly no further need for the ban on poor servants and churls leaving,’ he said. ‘I think we should depart this place.’

  ‘You think you can persuade the Coroner to let us go?’ I said.

  ‘I am sure of it,’ he said. His dagger was withdrawn. ‘I will be at the cart again shortly. You go there and wait. I’ll be with you very soon.’

  As he withdrew, I felt my entire body sag. That dagger had been so much a part of my vision that it seemed a surprise to look about me now and see that life continued. Stablemen and grooms cleaned and swept and shovelled and polished, while guards stood on the walkways high overhead, chatting with each other as they scanned the horizon for a view of brave but foolish men who would dare to try to assault such a strong palace, set in what was, mostly, a dangerous swamp.

  I tried to saunter around the corner of the hall, but almost at once I found that my legs were reluctant to obey me. I stumbled and was close to falling. It was only by putting out a hand and grabbing the wall that I saved myself, and I stood there, panting slightly, my head whirling, and the blood pounding in my veins (and nose).

  ‘Master Blackjack, come with me,’ I heard, and saw Lady Anne had joined me. She wore a concerned expression, and I was grateful for that for an instant, before I realized that she was thinking more of my weakness attracting unwelcome attention from guards and servants, rather than displaying any sympathy for me. I tried to pull myself together, but still my legs shook and wobbled so badly that I was forced to lean fully against the wall. Still, at least now I was in plain sight of the gates, and Atwood would find it more difficult to hold a knife to my breast and threaten me with death. Not that the man would be too concerned about details such as being caught. He seemed to have an infallible certainty of success, no matter what he did, and even when he was shown to be on the losing side in a fight, he would still survive. It was a trait I desired to emulate.

  That was when he came swaggering from the hall, pulling on thick peasant’s two-fingered gloves. He threw a look in my direction, giving me an unreadable glance, as if I was of no more moment than a peasant at the side of his road, and made his way to his cart, where he spent an unconscionable age fetching his pony, rubbing her down, harnessing her and setting her between the shafts, the while whistling tunelessly and all but oblivious to me, as it seemed.

  Soon he had the beast prepared, and stood at its head, leading it towards the gates with a click of his tongue and gentle murmurings. He stood a moment at the gates, holding out a parchment. One guard looked at it, at him, and at it again, but the second guard took it, read it slowly – I could see his lips moving – and then bellowed to the porter to open the gates. The order to hold all in the palace was rescinded.

  Atwood turned and glanced at me. I smiled and stared back. If he thought I was going to join him after he had held a knife to my throat, he was mistaken. I waited until the cart was gone and had rattled its way halfway along the causeway before I levered myself away from the wall. Atwood shot a look at me over his shoulder once more, but seeing I was not following him, he urged his pony to a greater pace and appeared to set me from his mind. I stood a moment, urging my legs to stop wobbling, and then began to walk to the gate.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Lady Anne said.

  ‘I’m just going into town. I want to make sure all my belongings are safe at the inn,’ I lied, and, taking a deep breath, walked to the gates. For a moment, I had the horrible feeling that someone was going to stop me, but then I passed beneath the gatehouse and out beyond into the flat, wet countryside.

  It was horrible. Never have I longed so much for the comforts, the welcome stench and shouting noisiness of London, but it was infinitely better than being locked inside that appalling palace with the reek of death about it.

  As I entered the inn, Thomas Parry was sitting at a great trestle with his back to a wall, a clerk sitting to his right, scribbling furiously. From his post, Parry could see everyone who entered the place before the door had a chance to close. There was a roaring fire in the hearth, and he looked a little warm in his heavy jack and cap, but the gleams of the flames set off his chins and made his eyes glitter like jewels. There was a line of men waiting to speak with him, some supplicants with their hats in hands. All looked anxious except one who stared at me. I ignored his unsettling gaze.

  ‘You decided to try to avoid your rents, didn’t you?’ Parry was saying to a tall, older man. ‘The Princess is not turned moon-struck just because she’s being kept here.’

  ‘I didn’t think she was, Master, but—’

  ‘But like all the others who suddenly discovered that their Lady was being held here, you thought that you could hold on to your due taxes and rents, rather than paying what you owed, because she might be kept locked up for an age. You thought that you would be able to avoid paying, didn’t you?’ Parry said, with a world-weary tone. He leaned back in his seat, his hands on the table, palms uppermost, like a trickster about to pull a coin from a man’s ear. ‘I am not a fool, either.’

  ‘No, Master, but …’

  Parry leaned forward, and there was a dangerous light in his eyes. ‘You will pay all the rents and customary fees due by the end of the week, or you will be evicted from your farm. I will not aid those tenants of her manors who try to hold on to money owed to her. And consider this: she is soon likely to be released, and when she is, she will hold to account all those who were tardy in providing the funds she needs. You do not wish to be one of those who is held to account?’

  ‘No, Master, I—’

  But Parry waved his hand dismissively, looking over to his clerk. They had a brief conversation, and then Parry was looking up at me expectantly. He beckoned.

  I didn’t have a drink of any sort to calm my stomach, and my last ales with Sir Walter seemed a very long time ago now. I regretted the lack as he peered up at me with a frown on his face. He took in my nose and my badly stained and ruined jack, and could scarce control his shock. ‘What happened to you?’

  While I explained, Parry clapped his hands and a well-presented herald brought a pewter tray with a jug and a cup. Parry sent him away to fetch a second for me, listening all the while as I spoke of the inquest, the uncouth Coroner, the attack on me, Blount’s attempt to save me, his arrest, and lastly the fresh assault on Blount himself and the reopening of the gates.

  ‘What of the Princess? How did she look?’

  ‘She is fine. Only bored with the Coroner’s inquest, I think.’ I did not mention the seal.

  ‘Yes, she told me she detests being held against her will,’ Parry said. He glanced at a sheet of parchment his clerk passed him and nodded.

  I took the cup proffered by the herald, who gave me the impression he would have spat in it, had he not been so near his master, and sipped the wine. It was very good.

  ‘Come, sit next to me,’ Parry said, and his herald disappeared to fetch me a three-legged stool, setting it down with a disdainful glance at me. Parry leaned towards me, his eyes still fixed on the rest of the people in the room. He spoke in a faint whisper so quiet I had to lean closer.

  ‘I understand that the Lady Margery has died? Very sad.’

  ‘Yes, she was—’

  ‘I don’t need any details. You have done well.’ He pressed a soft leather bag into my hands. It had the delightful heft and feel of a purse filled with good coins, and I felt my mouth begin to spread into a broad grin. ‘There will be a need for more work soon, but for now you should take your rest for a day or two.’

  My grin disappeared. He thought me guilty of the murder of Lady Margery, too. I just hoped his idea of ‘more work’ wouldn’t mean I would be expected to actually kill someone else in the
near future.

  DAY THREE

  I had an enjoyable time at the inn. It was perpetually filling and emptying with new faces. All those who were responsible for the Princess Elizabeth’s estates were coming for orders, to confirm progress on previous commands, to bring money, or just to gather or disseminate news. The landlord of the place was hurrying about with a fixed grin on his face that threatened to separate the top of his skull. He had not seen so much business in many a long year.

  There was much news to relay. Up and down the country there was a rising annoyance with the way that the Queen was riding roughshod over the interests of others. The reasonable religious reforms of her father and brother were being dropped, according to many, and the sober priests who had been installed in the name of the English Church were being removed. There were rumours that the monasteries could be brought back, and people feared that great taxes would be levied to pay for the replacement of roofs, decorations and ornaments that had been stripped out on the orders of King Henry. Although the Queen was still head of the English Church, it was well enough known that she favoured the return of the Pope as spiritual leader, and many Englishmen were unhappy that the Roman faith might return.

  However, it was not until later the next day, when Parry called me to his chamber, that I realized how serious matters had become.

  ‘Sit, Master Blackjack,’ he invited as I walked in. There was a clerk at his side, and two men-at-arms in the Princess’s livery stood at the door, but when Parry waved his hand, they went to stand outside. ‘Have you heard the rumours?’

  ‘Of the Church, you mean?’ I said. ‘I know many are up in arms at the thought that the Catholics might demand the return of monasteries and manors.’

  ‘No, it was the Princess I was thinking of,’ he said. He took his seat near the fire. ‘You can ignore Paul here. He has been my clerk for many years. But we have received very alarming news. It seems that there is no evidence to have my Lady Elizabeth executed for treason. Although the torturers went about their business with their customary zeal and determination, they could not force any of the rebels to implicate Elizabeth in any of their plans. The rebel chief, Wyatt himself, must have suffered a great deal at their hands while he was imprisoned in the Tower, before he was executed.’

  ‘That’s good, then,’ I said. ‘She is safe.’

  ‘No. She is not to be murdered on a pretext, but that does not make her safe. Now she is at risk from others who would see her removed. Some would have her disinherited, so that she would be forced to beg or endure constant hardship. Others would see her murdered in a counterfeit of execution, wanting her assassinated.’

  Perhaps it was my pain, but this was washing over me without my being able to comprehend the full meaning. ‘Who would dare?’

  He looked at me. ‘The Spanish, because they are determined to remove a potential difficulty; factions in parliament who want to see Mary reign without the embarrassment of a half-sister who is clearly head and shoulders above her in intellect and learning; Bishop Gardiner, in his position as Lord Chancellor, would prefer to see the Queen rule without the threat of another rebellion. In God’s name, we have seen poor Lady Jane Grey try to take the throne from Queen Mary already, and then Wyatt raised his banner in support of her or Elizabeth, and Gardiner will not want to see another threat. He is a good man: he seeks to placate all sides, but he knows that this troublesome realm will not rest easy while Mary has a rival.’

  I nodded. ‘I am glad all such matters are above me!’

  He cast me a look that seemed to me to carry a weight of meaning. ‘It is not your primary task, but I have a new role for you. Master Blount was intended to keep a close eye on the Princess. In his absence, you must take on his duties.’

  ‘What? But I—’

  ‘I appreciate that it is not what we hired you for, but we have no option but to protect Princess Elizabeth as best we can, and you do at least have full access to the palace. It is more than I have.’

  ‘I can’t, though!’

  ‘Why not?’

  That was a difficult one. Again, I found myself in the troublesome position of not being able to speak of my personal reservations about ending other men’s lives. Parry eyed me for a moment, and then nodded as if the matter was agreed.

  ‘You will need to have help. There is a man who is reliable, who can take messages to the Princess when you need, and he can arrange to bring news to me here when necessary. He is already known to you.’

  He clearly meant Harvey.

  ‘I can’t do this! Bedingfield will be certain to suspect something, and—’

  ‘Bedingfield doesn’t have the wits of a harvest mouse. He demands much, but he cannot force our hands, and he knows it. He insisted that I should not be permitted to visit the Princess, but then he realized that it would mean he must pay for her staff and guards. So he agreed that she should pay, but the consequence of that was that I have to be on hand to help with the finances. As it is, he knows that he is on difficult ground. The Princess is paying for herself, her servants, and also his own men. He cannot afford to pay for them himself. His “Norfolk understanding” does not stretch to comprehending how to resolve matters.’

  ‘What if his men decide to attack me? Even now they could have beaten the truth out of Blount, and be preparing to arrest me! They may think that I killed Lady Margery, and that I plan to harm another!’

  Parry shook his head. ‘You will be safe enough. You have one function only, and that is to guard and protect the Princess. Do that, without fear of consequences. Serve the Lady as best you can. You will be secure. Is there anything else?’

  I was about to leave when I recalled the link. I had placed it carefully in my scrip, and now I fumbled about deep inside to bring out the small silver circlet. I held it up.

  ‘What is this?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know whether it’s important, but when Lady Margery died, it’s said she had a signet of her father’s about her neck on a silver chain, but it’s disappeared. Then she bore another chain, with a crucifix, but she wore nothing when she was dead. When I looked at the floor near where she was killed, I found this, as if the chain had been pulled away. Or the crucifix.’

  Parry looked at the link with bafflement and little interest, then up at me. ‘What of this? Her father’s been dead these five years past. His signet cannot endorse anything now.’

  ‘I know that, but someone has stolen it.’

  ‘So what? The woman was robbed. If you happen,’ he said, and cocked an eye at me, ‘if you happen to come across this crucifix or the signet ring, I would dispose of it in London, where there are many men who will accept a ring and melt it down without asking embarrassing questions.’

  I was already trudging back towards the palace before I stopped in the road and nearly went back, so outraged did I feel. The man assumed I had stolen the ring after murdering the woman! At least he had no interest in it.

  The walk to the palace from the Bull took me past a number of small dwellings, and it was while I was passing these that I heard the sound of a man in great distress. His cries of grief would have been audible in the palace a half mile away, I should think, and I was about to walk on, but something about the sound was familiar. I turned and followed the sounds to a peasant’s hovel. It was a cruck-built house, with wattle and daub walls, but the daub was poorly painted, and great lumps were falling away. The door was little more than a series of planks that could be propped in the doorway, with neither hinge nor lock. It reminded me of so many poor houses near my home in Kent when I was a lad. I had no desire to see inside a shabby dwelling like that and was about to leave when the sound came once more. It was, I was sure, the young squire from the palace.

  I leaned around the doorway. Inside, lying on a low palliasse on the floor, was a pretty maiden. She could only have been twenty, no more. Her skin was the pale of the moon on a winter’s evening, and she had lustrous dark hair, but today it was unnaturally spread about her and
her hands were placed on her breast, crossing at the wrist.

  She was not breathing.

  The squire was kneeling beside the palliasse, and a middle-aged old maid stood beside him while he bawled. He had his face hidden in one hand, while with the other he reached out to clutch the hand of the girl on the palliasse. I would have slipped back and continued to the palace, but as soon as I glanced in, the woman behind him saw me and nudged the squire. ‘This a friend of yours?’

  He looked up. His pale eyes were red-rimmed and filled with a kind of savage grief. ‘What do you want? Are you here to gloat or laugh?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. There was no need to ask what had happened. The clothes balled up in a bloody mess and the basket with more lying at the foot of the bed told the rest of the story.

  The midwife gathered up some herbs and made her way past me to the door. ‘Someone needs to stay with him this night,’ she said quietly. She was older, at least thirty years or so, but had a firm conviction in her low tone. ‘Your friend needs a companion.’

  ‘Wait!’ I said, but she ignored me and bustled out.

  Which left me there, staring down at the two of them. I was not sure how to begin a conversation, and he was in no mood for chatter, so I left him to it, pulled up a stool and sat with my back to the wall. I could see through the doorway to the causeway leading up to the palace from here, and I idly picked up some little pebbles and pieces of gravel from the corner of the floor, throwing them one at a time at a couple of stones just over the threshold. I was not very accurate, but at least it was a distraction from the man’s moaning.

  ‘I loved her so much. I never wanted any other woman,’ he said.

  ‘Oh?’ I said, trying to sound interested.

  ‘She was so kind and gentle. I loved her from the first moment I saw her.’

  ‘I see.’

  He was going to grow maudlin, I thought. It was tempting to get him to drink some ale, so that I could have an excuse to join him, but I didn’t relish the idea of sitting all night with him, listening to his miserable complaints and then trying to get him back to his own bed, while probably avoiding his fists. If I knew anything, it was that men like him would get violent when they grew drunk while mourning the loss of a loved one. I didn’t want another buffet about my head. I’d had enough of them since arriving at Woodstock.