Execution

by S. J. Parris

  ‘He didn’t say that,’ the woman cut in.

  ‘I’m not an idiot. I’m not interested in what you do with them. Tell me about the girl.’

  ‘I thought she was asleep,’ he said, his voice growing tight; the memory clearly upset him. ‘She was sitting up against the back wall, under the tree, with her head forward, like this.’ He demonstrated. ‘She had fine shoes, that was the first thing I saw. Leather with glass beads on them. I touched her leg and she didn’t do anything, so I—’ He bit his lip.

  ‘You took them. Then what?’

  ‘She didn’t even twitch, so I thought I’d see what else she wouldn’t miss. But suddenly she moved.’ He flinched, as if it had just happened, and a shudder racked his thin body. ‘She slid sideways. I jumped back, but then I realised she had just fallen over, passed out. I had no lantern, I don’t when I creep up on them – I see well enough in the dark, but there was not much moon that night. I went to feel if she had any jewellery on, earrings or necklace or the like, and my fingers came away sticky. So I ran to grandfather for a lantern and then we saw. What he had done to her.’ His face creased and his gaze returned to his shoes.

  ‘Did you see him? The man?’

  The boy shook his head, mute, but he would not raise his head and look at me. I wondered if he was lying out of fear.

  ‘I reckon he went up the tree, over the wall. By the time I looked, there was only her.’

  ‘Did she have any jewellery? A necklace, perhaps?’

  ‘No. I swear it. No earrings, neither – well, she didn’t have any ears. They’d been cut off. And her hair, and her nose all smashed. She looked like someone with the pox, like her’ – he pointed to the girl on the table – ‘only worse.’

  ‘Did you hear them go to it,’ I asked, ‘before you went to see what they might have left behind? Or did you hear any sound of a struggle?’

  ‘Nothing like that.’ Joe sniffed. ‘They were quiet. I only listen to know when they’re done, but grandfather makes a joke of it sometimes – “Ooh, that was a bit quick,” he’ll say, “didn’t get his tuppence-worth there,” or “She’s having a fine old time, this one, good fellow.” But I didn’t catch a sound that night after we heard them come in, not even a scream. So she must have been dead when he cut her, right?’ He lifted his eyes to me then in a question.

  ‘I already told you that,’ the woman said, with a trace of impatience. ‘She won’t have felt a thing.’

  ‘I know, but he’s a doctor.’ His eyes were imploring; he looked as if he might cry. Unusual, I thought, for a child of a Southwark midwife, used to gore and premature death and disfigured faces, to be so visibly distressed by the memory, but then he was so young. The woman’s words made my eyes stray to the inert girl on the table. She won’t have felt a thing. Not if she had been drugged.

  ‘I’m not a doctor. And your mother is right. She wouldn’t have known. So what did you do then?’

  ‘Grandfather said I should run home. He was afraid they might think we did it, he didn’t want me in trouble. He said I should wash the blood off and at first light he would send for the constables.’

  ‘So you didn’t stay and search for any more valuables?’

  He shook his head again. ‘I only took her sleeves and her shoes, I swear it. I was going to leave the sleeves, but I knew Mama has a mixture that can get blood out of cloth, and they were good silk – ow—’

  The woman leaned forward and cuffed him around the back of the head. ‘Sometimes I think you were born with no wits. That’s your English blood.’ She turned to me. ‘He has no more to tell.’ To the boy she said, ‘Go and change your shirt before you get back to work, you look like you’ve been in a battle.’

  ‘I don’t care about her sleeves,’ I said. ‘I want to find out who killed her.’

  ‘Did you love her?’ She sounded genuinely curious. I hesitated.

  ‘A friend of mine did.’

  ‘Ah.’ She gave me a knowing look. ‘Well, I am sorry for your friend’s loss. But my son can’t help you any further, so you can be on your way.’

  I stood, looking down at the sorry state of my clothes in the candlelight. In the penumbra of the room I had almost forgotten it was morning outside, though I understood why the windows needed to be kept boarded up.

  ‘How much, then?’

  ‘I don’t want your money.’ She stood and smoothed down her blood-drenched dress. ‘The old watchman. Abraham Goodchild, my father-in-law – he was arrested when he reported the body, and they’ve kept him locked up since, on some invented charge. He’s done nothing wrong. You’re a gentleman, or you’re pretending to be one. Speak to the City authorities, tell them to let him go.’

  ‘Mistress, I am a foreigner here, as I said. I have no influence with the authorities.’

  ‘You could at least make enquiries. They’re more likely to answer a man. I can’t even find out which gaol he is in.’

  I bowed. ‘I will do my best.’

  ‘I’ll hold you to it.’ She gave me a long look up and down, appraising me, and I saw that something in her expression had changed; I almost fancied I saw a spark of interest. ‘What is your name?’

  After a long pause I said, ‘Xavier.’

  ‘Spanish, then. As I thought.’ Her lip curled in magnificent contempt.

  ‘You have something against the Spanish?’

  ‘Do you think so?’ Her face suggested she would like to cuff me around the head too. Too late, I realised my ignorance. She pointed a finger at my face with the same intent that she had levelled the crossbow. ‘Your parents drove my family out of Granada.’

  ‘I’m sorry for that. My mother can be unreasonable when she’s had a drink. But after what you said about her privates—’

  She glared at me for a moment before bursting into laughter. ‘And where will I find you, Xavier, if I should need your assistance again?’

  ‘You can ask for me at the Saracen’s Head in Holborn.’

  ‘How appropriate.’ She led me back to the yard, this time unlocking a gate set in the fence. With a hand on the latch, she turned and lowered her voice. ‘I’m no fool, Xavier. I can make an educated guess about what you are, and why you don’t want to draw attention to yourself with the authorities.’ She shrugged. ‘Not my business. You keep my secrets and I’ll keep yours. But if I am right, you will know men of influence. If you can find news of where my father-in-law is being held, or plead his case, I would be grateful.’

  ‘What about your husband?’ I glanced around, in case he might come charging out from behind the plant pots at any moment.

  ‘Dead,’ she said bluntly. ‘Let me go and fetch that child.’

  She disappeared into the house and a few moments later Joe scampered out behind her, wearing a clean jerkin.

  ‘See this gentleman safely back to the river,’ she said. ‘And don’t say another word about the Cross Bones till he’s paid what he promised.’ She stepped closer and laid the flat of her hand over the buttons of my doublet. ‘And you – if you care about your friend, tell him he would be wise to leave this business, however much he loved her.’

  ‘Why?’ My skin prickled; I had sensed from the first mention of Clara that both Joe and his mother knew more than they were telling.

  She left her hand there, and her voice softened. ‘Because they don’t lock up an innocent man for finding a dead girl in Southwark. You get more fuss over a dead horse around here. They don’t spirit a body away as if it was never there and hush up everyone who saw it. There’s something more to this murder, trust me – the old man was right to keep Joe out of it, and I don’t want him dragged in now. We have enough trouble of our own already, just for being who we are.’

  I met her eye and nodded. ‘I still don’t know your name.’

  She hesitated, then appeared to relent. ‘Leila. Leila Humeya. Wait.’ She licked her thumb and rubbed at a spot on my brow. Her breath was hot on my cheek. ‘Blood,’ she said, by way of explanation, before turning abrupt
ly and disappearing into the house.

  SIXTEEN

  Joe led me back through a maze of streets towards the river. Along the way I attempted to ask him further questions about finding Clara, but he had clammed up, evidently more afraid of his mother than of me, for which I couldn’t blame him.

  ‘It must have been a terrible thing to witness,’ I said, as we neared the inn. He darted a wary glance sidelong at me.

  ‘I’m not afraid of the dead,’ he said, in a voice that was small but firm. ‘Grandfather says they can’t touch us. It’s the living you got to look out for. Especially men.’

  ‘He sounds like a wise fellow.’

  ‘Will he go straight to Hell?’

  ‘Your grandfather?’

  ‘No.’ He clicked his tongue in a way that reminded me of his mother. ‘The man who killed that girl.’

  ‘Well…’ I was not sure how to answer this; too much had happened on too little sleep for me to debate judgement and salvation with a child. ‘I’m sure you know your commandments, Joe.’

  He nodded, uncertain.

  ‘Then you know what God says about killing. I don’t think anyone who does that to a woman should go unpunished, do you? By God or the law. So if you know who he is…’

  I left the question hanging. He appeared to consider it for a few paces. ‘Would someone go to Hell if they did something that they didn’t think was bad, but a person got hurt because of it?’

  I slowed my pace and kept my eyes fixed ahead, aware that a misstep now could frighten him into silence.

  ‘No. I think God sees our intentions. If this person never meant anyone to be harmed by what he did, I don’t believe God would make him suffer. But I don’t see why you think I am an expert.’

  ‘Mama said you are probably a priest.’

  I laughed. ‘Your mama has plenty of imagination. Don’t repeat that to anyone, will you?’

  He shot me a look of pure scorn that was so exactly like Leila that I laughed. ‘We know how to keep secrets in our family.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’ We turned a corner and the river appeared ahead, at the end of the street. To our right was the wide double gate leading to the Unicorn’s yard. ‘But listen – if you ever want to talk about any of your secrets, or this friend of yours who did something he’s worried about – I’m good at listening. I can keep secrets too.’

  A small, nervous smile creased his face. ‘I don’t doubt it,’ he said, in a fair mimic of my accent.

  We passed under the arch to find the yard even busier than we had left it. I slipped Joe a couple of coins. ‘Will you fetch my horse? The piebald mare.’

  But as we rounded the corner to the stables, I froze. A few paces away, chatting easily with one of the ostlers, stood John Ballard, decked out in full Captain Fortescue fashion, all gold-trimmed satin and starched lace, an ostrich feather bobbing in his hat, jaunty despite the damp. He took in my appearance with one swooping glance, patted the stable lad on the arm and sauntered towards us, eyebrows raised in mock surprise. Joe stopped dead too; his face turned ashen and he whisked around Ballard and ran to the stables without a word. I watched him disappear; evidently this was not his first encounter with the priest, and I wondered what could have caused that reaction in the boy.

  ‘Well!’ Ballard said heartily, gesturing to my clothes. I looked down and properly took in the state of myself. There was a gash in the breeches from climbing Leila’s fence; the fine leather boots were caked in mud, horseshit and probably worse; the silk hose had rips down both legs, but all those were nothing compared to the quantities of fresh blood covering me from head to foot.

  ‘Southwark is renowned for fights, but I hadn’t thought they started at this time of the morning. What the devil happened to you?’

  ‘I—’ I blinked at him. There was no convincing explanation for the way I looked. I willed my mind to work faster. ‘I – wanted to continue God’s work.’

  ‘What?’ The bonhomie evaporated.

  ‘After the visits last night – when I woke this morning, I felt the hand of God urging me to do more for his flock.’ I laid my palm flat on my breast, warming to my invention. ‘I recalled what you said about the streets south of the river, so I made my way here thinking there might be poor souls in need of help.’

  ‘And were you set upon?’ His expression was a tussle between concern and suspicion.

  I hung my head. ‘I’m afraid so. I was too confident – I thought God would protect me, as you said. But a gang of apprentices on their way to work – I think they did not like my face. I fought back as well as I could, but—’

  ‘I’m sure. I remember what you did at Paul’s. Never seen a man take Savage down, in all the years I’ve known him.’ He looked at my front. ‘But dear God, the blood! One would think they knifed you – did they? – but then surely you could not be walking.’

  ‘They didn’t. Only their fists. The blood is not mine – I caught one of them in the nose. He pushed me to the ground, and this happened.’ I gestured to my clothes.

  ‘He must have had enough blood for ten men,’ he said, with a sceptical tone that warned me he did not necessarily take me at face value. ‘Are you sure you didn’t knife him? That would have been very unwise.’

  ‘No one was knifed.’ I drew my dagger from its sheath at my belt to prove it was clean.

  ‘And the Moorish child – what were you doing with him?’

  ‘He found me in the street. I asked him if he could point me to the Unicorn – it was the only name I could think of, because you spoke of it. I thought I might ask for some water.’

  Ballard gave me a long look, weighing me up. I suspected he found the story as implausible as I did, but he was not willing to make an outright accusation. He moved as if to lay a hand on my shoulder, took account of the state of my doublet and thought better of it.

  ‘Listen, hermano. This is important. What you did was extremely foolish. I have no doubt you meant well, but you have to understand how our business works. We do not call on people at random – there is a delicate network of communication, so that I can receive word of those who need my offices. Savage coordinates it so we stay a step ahead of the pursuivants. Someone like you cannot take it upon yourself to wander the streets of Southwark on the off-chance anyone needs the sacraments.’ His face constricted in alarm. ‘Are you carrying the Host on your person?’

  ‘I am not entirely a fool, John. I did not come looking to minister as a priest.’ I dropped my voice to a whisper. ‘I thought only of more practical help, in case I found anyone destitute in the street. Like the Good Samaritan.’

  He laughed, and I heard the condescension in it. ‘That is admirable. But instead, it is you who needed to be rescued. It’s funny…’ he put his head on one side and regarded me ‘…Mendoza did not lead me to believe you were an impetuous fellow. Quite the reverse. He assured me you were extremely cautious.’

  ‘Sometimes the Spirit can move us to act without thought for ourselves.’ God, I was making Prado an insufferably pious arsehole.

  ‘Within reason,’ he replied. ‘But it would be better if you could temper your zeal with consideration for your comrades, while you are in London. Especially now that we fear we may be watched. Come…’ he began walking towards the main entrance of the inn. ‘Let’s get you a drink and a wash. You’ll have to hand your knife in at the door.’

  I followed him, glancing over my shoulder to see Joe leading out the piebald horse. The boy gave me a questioning look; behind Ballard’s back, I shooed him back to the stables. I would have to wait before I could ask him why the sight of the priest had made him so alarmed.

  The Unicorn was a handsome building – two centuries old, at my estimate, three storeys, double-fronted, with a garden to the rear. If not for the whitewashed façade with the sign of the mythical horned beast painted above the entrance, you might have taken it for an upmarket coaching inn. We had barely set foot in the grand entrance hall, with its linenfold panelling and polished
floor tiles, before a maid appeared in pristine white apron, greeted Ballard with familiarity and recoiled at my appearance. He explained what we needed; she took my knife in its sheath and told us to wait.

  ‘Do you always lodge here?’ I asked Ballard, to pass the time.

  ‘I find it convenient,’ he said, with a knowing smile. ‘For all the reasons I told you. There’s no gossip in London that the madam here doesn’t find out first – she’s a trove of knowledge. And she’s sympathetic too, if you take my meaning.’ He tapped the side of his nose.

  ‘She knows who you really are?’

  ‘She knows a number of people in the network. This old building is full of hiding places. She sometimes takes consignments of banned books and other items from the continent when they come in by boat. The pursuivants wouldn’t think to look for Catholic relics in a place like this.’

  ‘Ingenious,’ I said, filing that information away for later as a plump woman in an emerald-green gown came bustling down the corridor, throwing up her hands in a show of horror.

  ‘Oh, Captain Fortescue, what has happened here? Has your poor friend been attacked? God save us, good Christians are not safe on the streets of this borough, it’s time the bishop took things in hand.’

  She was a remarkable-looking creature; I guessed her to be in her mid-fifties, though her face was so caked in white ceruse that it was hard to tell. Fine hairline cracks appeared in the make-up when she spoke; she had a wide, animated mouth painted red, and merry, dancing eyes that took in everything and assessed it in an instant. Most striking was her hair; a confection of auburn curls piled precariously on top of her head like sugar sculptures on a cake, clearly intended to imitate the wigs Queen Elizabeth wore. She grabbed my hands between hers and wrung them with vigour. ‘Are you all right, my love? Any friend of the Captain’s is welcome here.’ To Ballard, with a broad wink: ‘Isn’t he handsome? You didn’t tell me you had another such comely friend, Captain.’

  He gave me a worldly smile. ‘Don’t be too flattered – Madame Rosa thinks every man handsome who brings a full purse.’ He turned to the madam and swept off his hat with a great flourish. ‘Now listen – my friend needs hot water, some salve for his bruises, and a change of clothes. Do you have anything that might fit?’