[Damian Seeker 05] - The House of Lamentations

by S. G. MacLean

  ‘When did she go missing?’ Thomas was surprised at the degree of interest Glenroe was showing in this.

  ‘Last night some time. She must have left just after the old woman’s body was discovered.’

  Glenroe stood up.

  ‘Where are you going, Evan?’ Thomas asked.

  But the Irishman didn’t even turn around as he made his way between the tables of the courtyard and through the back door of the tavern. ‘There is someone I need to see,’ was all he said.

  ‘You will not forget our appointment?’ Daunt called after him.

  ‘Never fear, I’ll be there.’

  ‘You must not be late – he will not wait on us!’

  ‘Ten o’clock. I’ll be there.’

  ‘A late hour for an appointment,’ commented George, affecting to examine the cards Ellis had just dealt him.

  Thomas Faithly shot Daunt a murderous look. ‘An old friend, making a brief visit.’

  Some time later, on returning from a visit to the privy, Thomas found that Ellis had got into conversation with a Welsh officer of their acquaintance and left Daunt and George Barton alone, playing cards. Barton stood up when Thomas arrived back. ‘Well, I must not keep you all, for fear you will miss your appointment at ten.’

  ‘Never fear, Barton. It’s not so far to Our Lady’s.’

  ‘Of the Pottery?’ asked George, casually. ‘Just a short stroll along the quay there.’

  ‘Oh, no. Not of the Pottery. Back into town. The big one – Onze-Lieve-Vrouwekerk.’ He leaned closer to George and winked, oblivious to the thunderous look Thomas was sending his way. ‘Much more the thing for Mr Longfellow, don’t you think?’

  ‘Oh, much,’ said George, pocketing the proceeds of the trick he had just won. ‘I am sure.’ Then he put on his hat and gave a rueful smile. ‘Well, I fear Dunt has all but cleared me out. I must retire to my lodgings and lick my wounds, gentlemen.’

  No one but Daunt made any attempt to stop him leaving, but just before he reached the door to the parlour, George turned back. He reached into his doublet and produced what looked to Thomas to be a letter. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. Ellis, they gave me this for you at the Bouchoute House; they said it had been delivered for you earlier.’ And with that, he made a bow to all three of them, and left.

  *

  Seeker often took his supper at ’t Oud Handbogenhof. The innkeeper never asked the English carpenter any questions other than what he would have for his supper, and how his work had gone that day. The other workmen of the district had learned that John Carpenter had little conversation, and so left him to his own devices. He was finishing off a dish of mussels at his usual quiet table behind the door, and studying the letter that had come for him, when George Beaumont walked into the inn.

  Seeker folded the letter and slid it into his jerkin. ‘So, what have you learned about the carry-on up at the Engels Klooster?’

  ‘The death of the old nun, you mean?’

  ‘What else would I be talking about?’

  George took the seat opposite him.

  ‘Well, the Cavaliers all appear to have been genuinely shocked by the news, but I have had it from Thomas Faithly that both Daunt and Glenroe were up and about for several hours in the middle of the night. The weapon used to kill the old woman was an old one, taken from a half-forgotten cupboard in the Schuttersgilde.’

  ‘By Evan Glenroe,’ said Seeker.

  George frowned. ‘You think it was Evan Glenroe?’

  ‘I think it more than likely.’

  ‘Why him more than another?’

  Seeker finished the last mussel and washed it down with a draught of beer. ‘Because he was behind the murder of your mother.’

  ‘What?’

  Seeker tore a hunk of bread from the loaf in front of him. ‘The man he paid to shoot her told me so.’ He gave George Beaumont a brief account of his visits that morning to the Oude Steen and the hospital of Sint-Jans. ‘He told me, this Piet, that the man who paid him to kill your mother was there when the ambush took place. He said it wasn’t the man who shot him that had paid him, but the other one who was with him. It was Thomas Faithly who tried to go after their attacker and shot at him. The man on escort duty with him was Evan Glenroe.’

  Beaumont looked puzzled. ‘I still don’t understand,’ he said. ‘If my mother was shot because your spy feared she was the she-intelligencer sent to find him out, then surely Marchmont Ellis is the man behind it, not Glenroe.’

  ‘For all we know, your mother was killed for some other reason entirely. The money, for instance. Glenroe has as much need of that as any of them. What’s he up to tonight?’

  George told Seeker of an encounter he’d had earlier in the evening with the Cavaliers at the Vlissinghe, and that Glenroe had made a hasty exit after the subject of Sister Janet’s death had been introduced.

  ‘Where was he off to?’ demanded Seeker.

  George shrugged. ‘He wouldn’t say.’

  ‘I bet he wouldn’t,’ said Seeker. ‘Tell me, what are they saying up at the convent about Anne Winter?’

  George lifted his beer stein and took a draught. ‘I heard it was only the old woman who had been targeted.’

  ‘It was, but Lady Anne has gone missing. She hasn’t been seen since last night.’

  Beaumont looked surprised. ‘So what are you saying? That she’s been abducted by Sister Janet’s assailant?’

  Seeker practically snorted. ‘Abducted? Her? Have you listened to a single thing I’ve said about that woman, Beaumont? Anne Winter isn’t the kind of woman to get herself abducted.’ He pushed his bowl away. ‘Mind you, she’s not the kind of woman to murder elderly nuns in their beds, either. Either way, we’ll need to get hold of her before anyone else does.’

  ‘It’s the Jesuits,’ said George, as if to himself. And then directly to Seeker, ‘I think the Jesuits will have her.’

  ‘The Jesuits?’ The sight of Anne Winter being led away from the Augustinian priory came back into Seeker’s mind. ‘Go on,’ he said. Beaumont relayed to him a story of Sister Janet and Father Felipe and the blackmailing of patrons of the Bouchoute House he said he had got from Anne Winter. ‘They’ve been placing Jesuits all over England, amongst families that would never otherwise have sheltered them.’

  Seeker shook his head in reluctant admiration. ‘I knew Janet was up to something. No wonder she got herself killed. But what about Anne Winter, what was she going to do with this information?’

  George frowned. ‘I believe she planned to copy the materials. Father Felipe’s name was on the list of those priests who’d been sent to England. Anne Winter believed my mother recognised him.’

  ‘Did she now? Well, if Lady Hildred recognised him, it’s more than likely he recognised her too, and if he did, he’ll have taken steps double-quick to keep her quiet – got Glenroe to do the dirty work. If Father Felipe’s got hold of Anne Winter, it’s the last we’ll see of her. She’ll be in a cell in the Prinsenhof until she gives up what she has discovered and then – well, who knows?’

  George gave Seeker an appraising look. ‘You seem remarkably untroubled on her behalf.’

  Seeker had heard, over a long period of time, from his friend, the Jewish apothecary John Drake, what the Spanish inquisitors did to people.

  ‘That’s only because I doubt very much that my old friend Lady Winter has allowed herself to be caught by Father Felipe or anyone else,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t wish the horrors of the inquisition on anyone. Glenroe’s obviously mixed up in this business too. We’ll need to get hold of Lady Anne, and those lists of hers, before either he or Felipe does.’

  George nodded. ‘Where should we begin looking?’

  Seeker took a moment to think before he responded. ‘I doubt she’ll make for Damme – too much chance of meeting with more Jesuits there. She’ll not want to hang about B
ruges, that’s for certain, but she’ll need help to get away. She’ll have to take a chance on enlisting one of the others – Faithly, Glenroe or Daunt to help her. I hope for her sake it’s not Glenroe, but my money would be on Faithly. Their paths have crossed in the past.’

  This was obviously news to George. ‘How?’

  ‘Never mind. But if she knows your friends are expecting Prince Rupert or the Duke of Ormonde or some other star of Charles Stuart’s firmament to show up any day now in Bruges, I suspect she’d risk almost anything to get to him. Stay close to Thomas Faithly, regardless of what the rest do or say. And get a message to me the minute you know anything about the plans for this Mr Longfellow’s visit.’

  Beaumont leaned forward. ‘That’s what I’ve come about,’ he said. ‘They’re to meet Mr Longfellow in Onze-Lieve-Vrouwekerk at ten tonight. Daunt let it slip.’

  ‘Tonight?’ said Seeker, puffing out his lips. ‘Well, that gives us almost two hours at any rate.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For you to start looking for that woman.’

  ‘And what are you going to do?’ asked Beaumont.

  ‘Oh, I have business with another woman tonight.’

  George Beaumont left, and as Seeker returned to his stable loft, he wondered why it was that Beaumont hadn’t told him yesterday of Anne Winter’s discovery of the Jesuit plot. The first answer that came to mind – that Beaumont hadn’t known of it yesterday – was troubling, for if Beaumont hadn’t known about it yesterday, how was it that he knew about it today?

  Seeker had taken some care over washing himself at the end of his working day. He had trimmed his beard and put on a shirt newly laundered by the innkeeper’s wife. Now, back in his stable loft, he took off his jerkin, carefully laying aside the letter from Lawrence warning him of the Ellingworths’ imminent departure for Massachusetts, that he’d read again and again. From a hook set in the rafters of the loft he took down and brushed his best grey worsted coat, new made for him by a tailor up north on his last visit to Yorkshire and worn only on Sundays. He pulled out the loose brick behind which he kept his money and filled a small bag with coins. On his way out through the stable yard, he crossed over to the kitchen garden of the inn and plucked a stem of mint. Madame Hélène was no fool. The only way he was going to get the girl Beatte to himself for the hour he could spare before he set out for Onze-Lieve-Vrouwekerk was to play his part beyond suspicion. He pulled the leaves from the stem of mint and began to chew, as he set out on the short walk to the House of Lamentations.

  Twenty-Two

  View from a Window

  He’d never been in the House of Lamentations by night before, only by day. What was shabby, jaded and faded in the light of day took on a completely different aspect, one full of unnamed promises, by candlelight. Madame Hélène, the tokens of whose profession were rendered all too visible by the harsh hues of the morning sun, was restored by night to something of what must have been the exceptional beauty of her youth. She was dressed in a low-cut gown of lush green silk, and what appeared to be emeralds sparkled at her neck. Her dark-red lips curled in amusement as she looked him up and down. ‘The English carpenter. But where are your leather apron and cap tonight, Mr Carpenter?’

  ‘I’m not here to earn tonight, but to pay,’ he said.

  ‘Indeed?’ she said, and now her eyes showed genuine interest. ‘And I wonder what it is you have come here to pay for?’

  ‘A woman,’ he said, ‘what else?’

  Her eyes widened. ‘What else indeed, Carpenter? But you will find we are above the common run of establishments. This is no dockworkers’ tavern.’

  ‘I know it,’ he said. ‘You need not concern yourself that I haven’t the money.’

  She was openly appraising him. ‘Oh, I have no fears about any . . .’ she paused, ‘deficiency, John Carpenter. Anna,’ she called, and a young girl appeared almost instantly from somewhere beyond a set of heavy velvet drapes. ‘I expect to be engaged for some time. Have Nette greet any clients who arrive meantime.’

  The girl bobbed a curtsy and Madame Hélène drifted towards the stairs. A mother-of-pearl encrusted, satin-slippered foot on the lowest step and an elegant hand on the banister, she turned to Seeker who had not moved from his position in the entrance hall. ‘You may follow me, Carpenter.’

  ‘I’ve not come for you.’

  Her cat-like smile briefly faltered before re-establishing itself. ‘You must not worry about the fee. It would, I agree, be prohibitive for most men of your station, but I am from time to time inclined to make an exception.’

  ‘I haven’t come for you,’ he repeated.

  The smile froze on her face and he continued. ‘The girl Beatte.’

  ‘She’s busy,’ Madame Hélène snapped.

  ‘I’ll pay double.’

  Her laugh was derisive.

  ‘Double your price, not hers.’

  ‘You couldn’t afford it.’

  He held up the bag of coins. ‘Count them, if you like.’

  She did. Sweeping back from the stairs she snatched the bag from him and poured its contents out on the top of the huge dresser in the hall. Her fingers moved quicker than a fishwife’s gutting herring. Scooping the coins back into the bag she tied it and kept it in her grip. ‘Griet,’ she called, then more angrily, ‘Griet, you lazy wretch!’

  The girl came running.

  ‘Tell Beatte to hurry that fat butcher along; she has another customer.’ Then she turned to Seeker. ‘One hour, and don’t dare to cross my threshold again.’

  A short time later, Seeker was standing in a small room overlooking the bottom of Kortewinkel and the Augustinians’ Bridge. The last of the evening light was gone, and the canal waters glistened with the reflection of lights from the merchant’s house at Ter Brughe and the monastery opposite. Merchants, monks, harlots, all living their lives in this quiet quarter of this small town, hundreds of miles away from anything that mattered to him. One more night, and then he’d be gone.

  Within little more than an hour, in a church across town, Marchmont Ellis, the man who had been his spy, would be meeting a high-ranking courtier of Charles Stuart. Whether Rupert, Ormonde or the Duke of York – it would make no difference in the end. Ellis had not told him of this meeting, therefore Ellis had turned again, was not to be trusted, was dangerous. By all the protocols he had learned or been taught, Seeker should have been effecting his own escape from Bruges right now. His source’s turning meant it was he who was now compromised. Within little more than an hour, he would be betrayed – if he had not been already – and he would be hunted. And yet he was standing here, in a young whore’s bedchamber, trying to uncover the truth of the murder of a young man of little account whom he had met only for an afternoon. He just couldn’t shake off the memory of Bartlett Jones, who’d come all the way to try to find his sister. Tonight was Seeker’s last chance to somehow lay that image to rest by finding out for himself what might have become of the girl before he himself had to leave this city, for good.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  Beatte had come in almost soundlessly, and just as soundlessly closed the door behind her. He had seen her before only by the light of day, when she might have been taken for perhaps a lady’s maid or merchant’s daughter. Now, by night, there could be no doubt as to what she was. Her face was powdered like an old daub and her lips and cheeks were stained with a rouge that they did not need. Her dress, more voile then gown, was cut lower than was decent and the bodice only half-laced. The room, now that he looked at it, was hung about everywhere with drapes, and the bed covered in satin and velvet cushions. The cloying incense burning in a censer hanging from the ceiling could not fully mask the pervasive odours of human sweat and other men.

  Seeker cast about for somewhere to sit. There was only the bed. He remained standing at the window. ‘I’m here about Ruth Jones,’ he said.<
br />
  Panic flitted across her face before she mustered her lie. ‘I don’t know her.’

  ‘Oh, but you do, or did. She slept on a small cot behind a wall of empty barrels in the cellars of this house. She was English, and the brother who came looking for her was murdered within sight of your window. And hers. Want to start talking?’

  Beatte backed against the door. ‘I told you, I don’t know her.’

  ‘All right then, Sister Janet.’

  ‘I . . .’

  ‘Don’t even pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about now. The English nun, in business with Father Felipe. Blackmailing the men who came to this brothel.’

  ‘Not all of them . . .’ she began but stopped when she realised her mistake.

  ‘Just the English ones, eh? Like the men who come here from the Bouchoute House.’

  ‘We had no choice. Father Felipe—’

  ‘Oh, I know all about Father Felipe. But Father Felipe wouldn’t have risked being seen here, would he? Unless, of course, he came by the tunnel. Very handy, that.’

  ‘The tunnel is for our protection. It offers a means of escape, should we ever need it. Madame Hélène knows what happens to houses like this when enemy soldiers come. And then . . .’ She hesitated, but had clearly gone on so far she decided there was no going back. ‘Sister Janet used it.’

  ‘To spy on the men?’

  Beatte smiled. ‘No! The idea! She would have been greatly shocked. No, she used it when she came to collect our . . . depositions, she called them – and to bring girls here.’

  Seeker had not even begun to consider this. ‘You mean she procured young girls to work in a brothel?’

  Beatte’s face opened up in delight; she could not hide her amusement at his misunderstanding. ‘No! Sister Janet a procuress? Never. She brought girls – women – here who needed to be safe, somewhere to hide.’

  ‘Hide? Who from?’

  She threw up her hands as if he were stupid. ‘Cruel husbands, or fathers trying to force them into marriages with men they cannot abide. They flee to the convents, but sometimes the convents are worse than the places they have left.’