‘But you said you wanted her boy?’
‘I didn’t think she would come to me. I thought, well, if I ’ad her son, she’d surely follow the bastard.’
He had said he had seen her, not the boy. How did he know there was a boy with her? I asked him.
He reddened. ‘I ran after her, saw the boy with her.’
‘In the crowd?’
‘Yes. But she lost me in ’mong the people. I lost her.’
‘So you decided to try to take her son, knowing that she could not leave him behind?’
‘Yes.’
He sank another half pint, and I sat back in contemplation. There was a lot that I didn’t understand, that didn’t make sense. If he had wanted his wife back, threatening her with the theft of her son, a son that was nothing to do with him, was surely only going to lead to disputes and quarrels. But this was a man who saw to the end of arguments by use of a long rope and a sharp axe. Perhaps the finer aspects of married life had passed him by. Then again, he must know that whoever the man was who had fathered the boy would be wealthy, and could hire men to steal his boy and wife back. As the brute on the floor of Westmecott’s hovel seemed to indicate.
I mentioned this aspect tentatively.
‘I know, I know. That had occurred to me.’
‘And even now there is proof of it on your floor,’ I said.
‘Yes. Who would ’ave tried to do that?’
‘What, tried to kill you? Or killed the man who attempted it?’
And that, we agreed, was the real question.
TWO
I left Hal in the tavern, no more reassured about the appearance of the corpse than he was.
It was one of those incomprehensible events. There seemed to be no rational explanation as to why the fellow had made his way to Westmecott’s, and I had no idea why someone should have taken it into their head to crumple the man’s pate like an egg, but my main feeling was one of relief that it was not me lying on the floor in there. After all, if I had arrived there a little earlier, I would wager a good sum that the man lying on the floor would have found me and killed me in his place.
One thing was certain, and that was that I wanted nothing further to do with Westmecott, the woman he called his wife, her son, nor the malevolent wench who had persuaded me to follow her to the house where I could be captured and injured. My shoulder still hurt; my blood had drenched my shirt, and it felt sticky and unwholesome now. The mere thought of that was enough to make my head begin to swim, and I was forced to pause on my way homewards and take a detour into a small tavern where they served a vile brandy that threatened to dissolve the tongue in my mouth. Yet, for all its harshness, I felt considerably happier as I continued.
No. I didn’t like Westmecott. His initial outburst, when I first met him, against his wife had been a little too extreme, and then his motivation for my bringing Ben back to him had seemed less in Ben’s interests than his own. Ben was not a mere possession to be traded between those who sought ever more personal advantage, I felt. I could remember what it was like to be a young boy in a house without love and affection. I didn’t want to see Ben thrown into a similar situation, with a bullying father who spent every evening in a drunken stupor. No, I didn’t trust Westmecott.
My door was ajar, and I took a deep breath to bellow at the vacuous, feckless excuse for a servant as I stepped inside. If I had told him once, I had told him a thousand times to make sure that the door was locked. But today, even as I crossed my threshold, I was taken by the sight of young Hector. He almost cringed to the ground, and I snapped my fingers at him. ‘Oh, get up, fool! I’m not angry with you still. You are a good boy, and I’ll forgive you. Come here.’
He made no move towards me, and it was clear enough that the chastisement – and yes, it was deserved – for stealing my breakfast had made him fearful. Well, that was all very well, but I had given the brute a command and expected him to obey. ‘Come here, I said.’
It was as I gave him the order that I saw his eyes roll, as though he was peering behind me. It was a most curious look, as if a ghost had appeared. And in truth, it made me feel that a cold wind had passed through the hall. I felt my hackles rise. It was terrifying to think that there could be something behind me. But I am known, obviously, for my courage. I cast a quick look around, and when I did, I almost sprang from my skin in terror.
There, behind me, stood a tall man, clad entirely in dark velvet, a hat on his head at a jaunty angle, one hand resting casually on his hip, while the other held, in a rather negligent manner, a pistol pointing at my head.
‘Good day, Master Blackjack,’ he said.
In my long experience of being waylaid and attacked, I have rarely had a more unexpected and unwelcome appearance. I gave a loud cry and leapt about two yards into the air before falling back and almost crushing Hector, who gave a loud yelp and scurried back out into the kitchen. Meanwhile, my sword’s scabbard had become entangled with my legs, and when I landed, the thing caught my left leg, and as I said, ‘Damn your eyes, what the devil do you mean by …’ I discovered that my legs were unbalanced. I tried to shove my left leg out to regain my posture, but all I could do was push my knee out, and with an anguished sense of disaster, I toppled over.
‘Very good. I think I’ll remove these for you,’ my elegant friend murmured, divesting me of sword, pistol and dagger. ‘We wouldn’t want another accident, would we?’
‘Who are you? What are you doing in my house? And what have you done with my servant and his beast?’
‘My dear fellow, please. There is no need for alarm. I only wished to come and speak to you.’
‘Where is my servant?’
Having not seen Raphe all day, I was keen to know where the boy had got to. Yes, he was notoriously unreliable at the very best of times, but for him to disappear overnight struck a new low even for him. And I did not want to have to explain to my master, John Blount, that I had mislaid the fellow. I suspected that Blount was his uncle, and I felt sure that the man would deprecate his nephew’s disappearance.
‘You have a servant?’ the man enquired mildly, raising an eyebrow.
‘Yes. I admit he may not be the best in London,’ I added as he glanced at the heaps of dirty rushes, the cobwebs on the ceiling and furniture, the mud lying in a heap by the door, where it had been swept by the door itself. ‘But that does not mean that he deserves to be beaten or injured by a stranger. Where have you put him?’
Of course, a moment’s thought would tell you that I was being a little unreasonable here, since Raphe had not been in the house when I had taken my unorthodox exit, but I was not to know that this fellow had not been Westmecott’s accomplice, and that he had not in fact beaten Raphe when the door had been opened to him. Besides, I was not feeling unduly reasonable. I was not having a good day.
‘There was no one here when I arrived,’ the man said. ‘The door was open, and I entered without hindrance.’
‘Really?’ I sneered. It is not easy to sneer when trying to clamber to your feet, but I did my best. ‘And you have spent some while looking about you to see what you might acquire of mine, I suppose?’
‘My friend,’ the fellow said, carelessly thrusting his pistol through his belt. Then, taking a grip of my sword, he twirled it about his wrist, ending with it only an inch from my throat. I could feel the muscles constrict as it came to a grey, flashing halt. ‘Please, my fellow, don’t make the mistake of considering me some mere simple ruffian whom you can abuse or accuse at will. I have a gentleman’s temper for accusations of that sort.’
I nodded very earnestly, keen to assure him that I was utterly convinced of his integrity and honesty.
‘Now, why don’t we sit in your parlour? I have lit a fire for you – your servant appears to have forgotten to do that as well – and it would be pleasant to sit before the flames, would it not? And while we sit, we can warm some ale, and then perhaps chat about different matters of importance.’
‘What sor
t of matters?’ I asked.
‘Oh, the little things: the state of the realm, the new laws against our Church of England, the madness of burning priests at the stake, and perhaps the foolishness of providing powder to an executioner that is not up to the job of killing his victim?’
‘Supplying powder—’
‘Yes. You sold powder to Master Westmecott, did you not? Which could well have been an act of kindness, one demonstrating that you felt sure the flames would not touch him. Perhaps you were motivated to see my brother rise from the funeral pyre in one piece. You may have intended to leap into the flames to rescue him. But then again, providing sodden powder could be perceived by a less generous soul to have been a cynical act of cruelty, trying to inflict even more pain and anguish on my brother as he writhed in agony. I wonder of which of those two alternatives you will attempt to persuade me?’
He had indeed managed to raise a good fire. As he pointed to my seat before the flames, I rested my buttocks and held my hands to the logs.
‘No, my friend,’ he said with a smile. ‘Place your back to the fire, please.’
I was not happy with this. ‘I don’t think you—’
‘Please.’
I turned about. As I did so, he suddenly grabbed my wrist and bound it with a leather thong. Then he bound it to my other wrist, before lashing my legs together at the ankles. ‘What has happened here?’ he asked, seeing my shoulder.
‘A foul-mouthed carter assaulted me,’ I said.
‘A man of little distinction, no doubt,’ he smiled, and sat back in a fresh seat. ‘Now, first, perhaps you should tell me why you chose to try to inflict a slow and painful death on my—’
‘I had no idea. Westmecott came asking for some powder, and I sold it to him, but it was fine when he went. I can show you! I still have the barrel downstairs.’
‘Perhaps so. That might be an interesting experiment later. I can think of ways to test your powder.’
‘Yes! Do! I can show you. I have no powder that is not perfectly functional.’
‘So that means you must have decided to dampen it just to hurt my brother. That is not, necessarily, the best defence you could muster.’
‘I didn’t even know whom Westmecott was intending to kill!’
‘In truth? How interesting. Perhaps you should tell me all.’
So I did. From the moment Westmecott had appeared and demanded the powder, to the discussion with him about the ineffectualness of the powder I had sold him. I forbore to mention the body in Westmecott’s hovel. After all, with luck the corpse would already have been removed. If I didn’t mention it, I could deny any knowledge later.
He sat back in my best chair with a faint smile on his face as I spoke. On his lap he had rested my sword, but there was no threat in it. He had a calm demeanour, as so many of these richer nobles will have. They tend to be the sort of people who can entertain a fellow with pleasing comments and anecdotes, and then leap into murderous action in a trice. I don’t know what it is about the English aristocracy, but they all seem to possess this same vile love of violence. ‘You say the powder was perfectly functional when you sold it? Then who could have adulterated it?’
‘I don’t know. All I can say is that it was fine. It’s in a barrel down below. If you let me loose, I will fetch you some, and you can—’
‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ he said, and now there was a cold glitter in his eyes that made my ballocks retreat. It was the look of a killer.
‘No, please! You have to believe me!’
‘I do believe you, my friend. It is a great shame, but I can see no reason to suspect you in this matter. The powder must have been soaked or otherwise spoiled.’ He looked out through my window thoughtfully. ‘But who could have wanted to commit such a heinous offence? The powder was only there to make his end more comfortable. Who could possibly have decided to do that to poor James?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘No, you perhaps do not. After all, the powder was only there for your own use, I assume? Yes. So why would you have wrecked an entire barrel, when there was no need. I can see no reason for Westmecott to do so, either. It is a conundrum. Unless, of course, you had some objection to my brother’s sermonizing.’
‘I have no idea who you are, or your brother! I’ve never met him to my knowledge,’ I protested.
‘You have not heard of James? So you are not interested in matters of heresy?’
‘No. I just try to keep my head on my shoulders,’ I said sourly. My hands were losing all feeling, and my back was growing very warm. ‘I am happy to help you, Master, but could you please unbind me? My hands are grown numb.’
‘Possibly. I wanted to make sure that you realized how warm James must have become as the flames rose higher and higher.’
‘You should speak with the executioner, then, not me.’
‘But what of the executioner? He thought he had purchased good powder.’
‘Which is what he bought.’
‘You say.’
‘Someone must have found it and soaked it in water. Wet powder won’t burn, of course. You know that as well as I.’
‘Perhaps so,’ he said, glancing down at the pistol he had hung from his belt.
‘Consider this,’ I said, growing just a little desperate now. ‘When I sold him powder, how would I know he would not test it? If it was so poor, the defect would be obvious to the meanest spirit. If he tried to set a spark to it, it would not burn. Obviously, I had to sell him good-quality powder, or I would myself be in trouble.’
‘As you are,’ he nodded, with a fresh smile.
I ignored that. ‘So someone else must have learned he was going to use powder, and soaked it for him,’ I said.
‘Someone who must have known where he lived, of course.’
‘Yes. Or someone who knew his favourite tavern and threw water on it there,’ I said. But the idea that someone would have followed Westmecott all the way to a tavern, there to hurl water over a bag of powder, hoping that enough would soak into it to make it resist flames was too much to think of. Then I had a sudden intuition. ‘Or,’ I said with conviction, ‘the fool went to a tavern and set his powder on to a wet table. You know how tables are in low-standard taverns – they are regularly left swimming in ale. Think, if the fool of an executioner went in, ordered himself an ale, sat at table, set his powder before him on the table and started drinking, how long would it be before his pouch had absorbed enough moisture to make the entire bag useless? I would think it would be less than the time it would take him to drink six or seven pints, and once he reached eight, you can be sure that he would have spilled so much more ale that even a wax-cloth purse would have become sodden.’
The man looked at me. ‘There is something in what you say. However, I would like to test your own powder before I release you.’
‘Yes, of course. It’s in the cellar,’ I said. ‘If you cut me loose, I can show you.’
He rose, but didn’t release me. Instead, he strode towards the hall.
‘No, please,’ I began, but it was no good. The man had already reached the door. With a mocking bow, he passed through.
There was a sound, rather like that of a large metal dish striking a hammer – a ringing, echoing sound – and I stared at the doorway in time to see him return. He wore a smile, but it was composed of mingled surprise and bemusement. He stared at me, his mouth opened, and he pointed at me, and then his eyes appeared to cross over his nose, and he gave a quiet moan as his legs gave way beneath him.
‘I have never been so glad to see you,’ I said.
Raphe was sitting on the floor before me. He had cut the bonds that held me and fetched rope to tie our visitor securely to a supporting pillar. Now James’s brother sat with his arms behind the pillar, his legs outstretched, his back against it, a thick cord holding him in place.
‘Didn’t sound like it, the way you were describing me.’
‘What did I say about you? I was only con
cerned that you were not about. I had no idea where you were, and I was naturally worried for you.’
‘Said I was the worst servant in London, near as anything.’
‘No, no, no, Raphe. That was just to confuse him. I wanted him to think he was safe from you, even were you to appear. What, you would prefer me to tell him you were a fiend for battle, that you would attack him, as any good servant would?’ I said heartily. I didn’t want news of my insults to return to his uncle – not that Blount would have been worried. He knew what sort of a feckless nephew Raphe was, I was sure. It was likely that which had led to Raphe being installed in my house in the first place. ‘So, this fellow. What shall we do with him?’
Raphe eyed the man, and then stood and kicked him between the legs. ‘He was cruel to Hector. Hector wouldn’t come to see him after he appeared. He must have done something to the poor dog.’
I looked away. This did not seem the best moment to explain that I had been forced to chastise the brute.
With the impact of Raphe’s boot, the man had given a low groan and bent over slowly, sucking in his breath. He made a half-hearted effort to bring his legs together for the protection of his sceptre and diamonds, but the mere act of bringing his legs into closer union was enough to make his eyes pop.
‘Who are you?’ I asked.
The fellow’s forehead was growing. A large plum appeared to have been cut in half and thrust on to the right side of his brow. It was only the colour of a greengage just now, but I had faith it would grow and darken. As for himself, the man narrowed his eyes as he glared at Raphe, but that did little to dampen my servant’s ardour. He pulled his leg back again.
‘You do see your problem, don’t you?’ I said. ‘Raphe here believes you have mishandled his dog, and he is quite prepared to exact the most painful of punishments. Of course, if you wish, and if you are brave, you may decide to test his ability and your own endurance. But I should warn you …’ His boot slammed forward, and I winced. ‘He really is most fond of his dog. As you can no doubt tell.’
Death Comes Hot Page 7
