Revelation: A Shardlake Novel

by C. J. Sansom

  Barak went past her. I followed him outside. We could see no sign of Tamasin. We went to the gate and stood looking up and down the road. A moment later Barak's horse Sukey went past the gate at a canter, Tamasin sitting side saddle. She must have gone to the stables. Barak called after her, but she disappeared down Chancery Lane, riding fast towards Fleet Street.

  TWO HOURS LATER, I was tying Genesis up outside the Bedlam. Barak had ridden out to try and find Tamasin, but she had disappeared into the crowds. We had no idea where she might have gone; she was an orphan, alone apart from Barak. She had had a few friends from her days as a very junior servant in Queen Catherine Howard's household, but Barak said she seldom saw them now. I realized how utterly, dreadfully lonely she must have been these last months.

  Barak had gone off to see if he could still trace any of her friends. It seemed her outburst had shocked him into realizing fully what his behaviour had done, and he was full of contrition. I prayed that if he found her he would not retreat behind his defensive armour again. It was something he had to do alone, so I had ridden out to see Adam.

  Hob Gebons let me in. He took me to Shawms' room, where the keeper produced a paper on which was written a report to the court saying that Adam was eating, was kept secure and received regular visits from his doctor. It struck me as being too well written for Shawms to have done it.

  'Did Warden Metwys help you with this?' I asked.

  Shawms gave me a surly look. 'I'm no hand at writing. I didn't come from some rich educated family.'

  'I'll see how Adam is today. If it is still as you say I will approve the report.' I paused. 'Has Dr Malton been to see him?'

  'Can't keep him out of the place.'

  'Is he due today?'

  'He comes and goes when he pleases.'

  'And Ellen, how does she fare? I hope you have not been tormenting her again?'

  'Oh, she's behaving herself now. 'Hob!' he called, and the fat warden reappeared. 'Visitor for Adam Kite. He's had more callers in a month than most patients get in five years.'

  Gebons led me to Adam's cell. He was alone, chained as usual, and to my surprise he was standing looking out of his window, into the back yard. 'Adam,' I said quietly. He turned, then as soon as he saw me he slid down the wall, bent over and began to pray. I went and joined him, kneeling with some difficulty; it hurt my burned back.

  'Come on, Adam,' I said. 'It is me. I will not harm you. You were not praying just now.' A thought struck me. 'Do you do this so you do not have to talk to people?'

  He hesitated for a moment, then gave me a sideways look. 'Sometimes. People frighten me. They seek to hunt out my sins.' He hesitated. 'You did not tell my parents what - what I did with that Jezebel?'

  'You mean the girl Abigail? No. I will say nothing, nor will Guy. We have a legal duty to keep your confidence. But your parents love you, Adam, I have seen that they love you.'

  He shook his head. 'Always they used to criticize me, tell me to be quiet, respectful in my behaviour. They told me of the perils of sin. They know I am a sinner.'

  'Are they not just repeating what Reverend Meaphon tells them?' I asked.

  Adam sighed deeply. 'He is a man of God. All he wants is to bring people to salvation—'

  'Your parents want more. They want you to return their love. I know your father wants you to go into the business with him one day.'

  'I do not know. They say a son going into his father's trade can undo his reputation.' He hesitated, then added, 'And I do not want to be a stonemason, I do not like the work. I never have. That is another sin.' He shook his head.

  'My father was a farmer, but I had no interest in it. I wanted to be a lawyer. I do not think that was a sin. Does not God give us each our own calling?'

  'He calls us to be saved.' Adam screwed his eyes shut. 'Father, look down on me, look down and save me, see my repentance—'

  I rose slowly to my feet. I frowned. Something in what Adam said had rung a bell. And then I made the connection with what

  Timothy had said about visitors. I had spent so much time thinking about who the boy was who had visited Abigail that I had missed the rest of what the boy had said. I found I was trembling, for I realized that Adam had accidentally given me the answer. If I was right, I knew now who the killer was. It shocked me.

  I jumped as the door opened, and Ellen came in with a tray. She coloured when she saw me there. 'I am just bringing Adam his food, sir,' she said. As a good servant should.'

  'You have been much more than that to poor Adam, Ellen.' I took a deep breath. 'I would like to talk to you again, Ellen, but now I have to go — something urgent I must attend to. But I thank you again for Adam's care. I will see you soon.'

  She gave me a puzzled look. With a quick bow, I walked rapidly away, past the door of the man who thought he was the King, and who called to me to walk sedately near the royal presence. First I had to go home and talk to Timothy. Then I had to see Dorothy, for if I was right it was she who might hold the last piece of the puzzle.

  AN HOUR LATER I was knocking on her door. I had stopped first at my house. Timothy was frightened to be questioned about Yarington again, and although he could not give me the name I was looking for he gave me a description, which if it did not prove my suspicions at least did not disprove them. It was enough to send me hurrying round to Dorothy's, barely pausing to ascertain from Joan that Barak had not yet returned.

  Margaret the maid answered the door. 'Is Mistress Elliard in?' I asked.

  'She has gone downstairs to have a word with Master Elliard's clerk about some payments due to his estate. Some clients have not paid because they know Master Elliard is dead. They think they can get away with it.' Her voice with its Irish lilt rose indignantly. 'And they say lawyers are wicked!'

  Impatient though I was, I smiled at Margaret. She had been a tower of strength to Dorothy these last weeks, had probably helped her, been closer to her, than anyone. 'You feel much for your mistress, do you not?' I said.

  'She was always good to me, patient of my clumsy ways when I started. And Master Elliard. It used to warm my heart to see how loving they were to each other.'

  'Yes, they were.' It struck me that a week ago Dorothy would not have gone down to check on Roger's fees with the clerk, she would have sent me. The thought made me sad, and I chided myself for selfishness. 'She's coming back to herself,' I said.

  'Yes, sir. Slowly. But it would help if she didn't have that wretched cuckoo in the nest.' She lowered her voice, inclining her head to the room Bealknap had taken over. 'He is running the servants ragged with his demands, and now he has rediscovered his appetite he is eating Mistress Elliard out of house and home. He is a guest, but the cost—'

  'Then I will make an end to it,' I said grimly. I crossed the landing. The cloth of my shirt chafed against my raw back. Before this weekend I would have taken it to Guy to treat; but now there was no one, for I hated anyone else seeing my bent back. I took a deep breath, and shoved open the door of the chamber where Bealknap lay.

  He was asleep, lying on his back and looking tranquil as a baby, a shock-'headed baby with a fuzz of yellow stubble on its cheeks. His face, I saw, had regained both colour and flesh. A tray with a plate, empty save for drops of gravy and some chicken bones, lay on the floor. I looked down on him, then kicked the bed violently.

  Bealknap started awake and stared at me petulantly with his pale blue eyes. He clutched the coverlet with his bony hands. 'What do you mean, coming in here and kicking the bed:' he asked. 'I am a guest.'

  'A guest who constantly troubles his hostess's servants, and runs up great bills for food.'

  'Dr Malton said I must stay here another week,' he answered indignantly. 'I have been very ill, I am still recovering.'

  'Rubbish. Guy would never say that without consulting Mistress Elliard. He has manners. He is a gentleman.' I kicked the bed again.

  'Why are you so angry?' He thought for a moment, then frowned, his eyes sliding away. 'Was it because of t
hat solicitor I told you about? I am sure he was only making enquiries for some client, about a case.' He struggled to sit up. 'You cannot report me for it. I told you about it while in fear of death, I was temporarily non compos mentis'

  'I wonder if you have ever been anything else.' I looked at him. He was so caught up in himself he probably did not even see the effect he was having on this grieving household. I leaned over him, and said, 'Either you get yourself dressed and take yourself back to your own chambers this afternoon, or I will ask Mistress Elliard to come round to my house tomorrow, and while she is out I will send Barak here to turf you out in your nightshirt. Margaret will let him in and she will keep it quiet, do not doubt that.'

  Bealknap gave a nasty smile. 'Oh yes, I see now. You would like to have Mistress Elliard to yourself. That is what this is all about.' He gave a wheezy laugh. 'She'd never be interested in an ugly old hunchback like you.'

  'I'll tell Barak to roll you in some puddles when he kicks you out. And you make sure some money is sent over to Mistress Elliard from that great chest of gold you have.' At those words, he looked outraged. 'She is a poor widow now, you wretch. Two gold half- angels should cover it. I will ask her later if she has had it.'

  'I am a guest, guests do not pay.' His voice thrilled with indignation now.

  Outside, I heard the door open and close again. Dorothy had come back.

  'Out, Bealknap,' I said. 'This afternoon. Or take the conse- quences.' I kicked the bed again, and left the room.

  DOROTHY WAS in the parlour, not standing or sitting by the fireplace from which she had stirred so seldom since Roger died, but by the window looking out at the fountain. So she can do that now, I thought. I realized it was days since I had seen her, since that almost- kiss. I feared she might be out of sorts with me, but she only looked weary.

  'Bealknap will be gone by this evening,' I said.

  She looked relieved. 'Thank you. I do not wish to be uncharitable, but that man is unbearable.'

  'I am sorry Guy suggested he stay here. I feel responsible—'

  'No. It was me that let Master Bealknap in. Dr Malton came and saw him yesterday. Bealknap said he was told he should stay here another week—'

  'Lies.' I shifted my position slightly, and a stab of pain went down my back. I winced.

  'Matthew, what is the matter?' Dorothy stepped forward. 'Are you ill?’

  'It is nothing. A slight burn. A house caught fire, up in Hertz fordshire.' I took a deep breath. 'We thought we had the killer, thought it was all over at last, but he escaped.'

  'Will this never end?' she said quietly. 'Oh, I am sorry, I see you are tired, and hurt too. I am so selfish, caught up in my own troubles. A foolish and inconstant woman. Can you forgive me?'

  'There is nothing to forgive.'

  Dorothy had moved back to her favoured position, standing before the fire, the wooden frieze behind her. I studied it as she poured liquid from a bottle into two glasses and passed one to me.

  'Aqua vitae,' she said with a smile. 'I think you need it.'

  I sipped the burning liquid gratefully.

  'You are so kind to me,' she said. She smiled, sadly, her pretty cheeks flushing. 'When we last met — I am sorry - my mind is all at sixes and sevens, my humours disturbed.' She looked at me. 'I need time, Matthew, much time before I can see what the future will be without Roger.'

  'I understand. I am in your hands, Dorothy. I ask nothing.' 'You are not angry with me?'

  'No.' I smiled. 'I thought you were angry with me, over Beal' knap.'

  'Just irritated by him beyond measure. We women get cantankerous then.'

  'You will never be that, if you live to eighty.'

  Dorothy reddened again. The light from the window caught the frieze, showing up the different colour of the poor repair. 'It is a shame that discoloured patch draws the eye so,' she said, shifting the conversation to mundane matters. 'It used to annoy Roger terribly.'

  'Yes.'

  'The man who originally made it was such an expert. We contracted him again after that corner was damaged, but he was recently dead. His son came instead. He did a poor job.'

  I took a deep breath, oddly reluctant to say what was in my mind.

  'The carpenter and his son. Do you — do you remember their names?'

  She gave me a sharp look. 'Why does that matter?' 'One of the killer's other victims also had a carpenter come to repair a damaged screen.'

  Dorothy went pale. She clutched at her throat. 'What was their name? The father and son?' 'Cantrell,' she said. 'Their name was Cantrell.'

  Chapter Forty-three

  I RAN BACK to my house to fetch Genesis, then rode faster than I had for years, down Fleet Street and past the Charing Cross to Whitehall. My burned back throbbed and jolted with pain, but I ignored it. People stopped and stared and once or twice had to jump out of my way. I would have brought Barak, but Joan said he was still searching the streets for Tamasin. She looked upset; I knew she was fond of them both.

  I managed to convince the guards at Whitehall Palace that my business was urgent. Harsnet had been in his office that morning but had gone over to the Charterhouse. Someone was sent to fetch him while I waited in his office. A servant lit a fire for me, giving me curious looks as I paced up and down.

  It felt as if I waited an age. All the time I thought of what fresh horrors Cantrell might wreak. My first thought had been to go to his house myself with Barak, but even had Barak been at home he was still suffering from his injuries. I thought briefly of taking Philip Orr, but I did not wish to leave Joan and the boys unprotected. And this needed more than one man.

  At last, in the early afternoon, Harsnet arrived. He looked utterly worn out. I had sat in the chair behind his desk but rose painfully to my feet as he entered.

  'What has happened, Matthew?' he asked wearily. 'Not another killing?'

  'No.' He looked relieved.

  'I am sorry to fetch you back—'

  'There are problems at the Charterhouse,' he said. 'The engineer has repaired the mechanism of the wheel that opens the lock gates; it jammed when the watchman tried to open them with Lockley down there. But there is so much water backed up now he fears if he opens the gates its force could knock the doors off their hinges and set a flood running round the cellars of Charterhouse Square, all the way to Catherine Parr's house.' He looked out of the window; it was a sunny day again; I had hardly noticed. 'At least the water level hasn't risen any more in the Charterhouse quadrangle.' He sighed.

  'I think I know who the killer is,' I said.

  He stared at me. I told him about the work Cantrell and his father had done at Roger's house and Yarington's. His eyes widened, he leaned forward. When I had finished he stood in thought.

  'We should act now, coroner,' I said.

  'But Cantrell's eyes?' he said. 'He is half blind. We have seen him. And according to the guard there he never goes out.'

  'What if his eyes weren't as bad as he pretended? One may have difficulty in reading what is written on a jar yet see well enough to murder. And what better disguise than near-blindness? Where better to hide than behind those great thick lenses? And he never lets the guard into the house. He could get out without his knowledge.'

  'And he knew Lockley,' Harsnet said. And Goddard. And now, we know, Roger Elliard's and Reverend Yarington's houses. And he could have learned of people who had left the radical reformers' circles when he was with his father's group.'

  'Westminster is only a step away,' I said.

  'I know where the constables live,' he said, decisive now. 'I could get two or three of them and we could go round there now.' 'Before he strikes again.' 'You think he will?'

  'I have always thought so, Master Harsnet.'

  'I agree. He is too tight in the devil's grip for him to let him go.'

  WE WALKED QUICKLY down to Westminster. I chafed with impatience as I stood under the great belfry in the busy square, waiting while Harsnet went to find the constables. At length he reappear
ed, with three sturdy young men carrying staffs and wearing swords. Westminster was a rough place and the constables there tended to be young and strong.

  We gathered in a circle. Harsnet told the constables we were hunting a suspected murderer, and he was dangerous. Then we walked down to Dean's Yard. A little group of prostitutes standing talking in a doorway faded away at the constables' approach. Harsnet lifted a hand to knock at Cantrell's door. I stopped him.

  'No, leave two men here and we will go round the back and talk to the guard.'

  'Very well.'

  Taking one of the constables, we stepped into the noisome little lane running alongside the house, our footsteps echoing against the narrow walls. The constable pushed open the gate to Cantrell's yard.

  It was empty, the door to the little shed shut. I went with Harsnet to the grubby rear window of the house and looked in. The tumbledown parlour inside was empty. The constable, meanwhile, opened the door of the shed. Then he laughed. We joined him and looked in at the sight of Cantrell's guard sprawled on a heap of dirty sacks. He was fast asleep, and the smell from him told that he was drunk. The constable kicked him. 'Wakey wakey,' he said cheerfully. The man stirred, groaned and opened his eyes to find Harsnet glaring furiously down at him.

  'Is this how you guard your ward?' he snapped. 'The Archbishop shall hear of this.'

  The guard struggled to sit up. A dripping tap caught my eye, set in the side of a large barrel. I lifted the lid and saw it was half full of beer. 'He's made sure there was temptation in his way,' I said.