by S. J. Parris
‘Not as virginal as you thought.’
‘Seems not. He needs to learn to keep it in his breeches. Barmaid, for Christ’s sake.’
‘It could have been worse,’ I said. ‘At least we know he is not arrested or on the run.’
‘Left us worrying half the night for nothing, though. I don’t like people wasting my time. God’s teeth, these rich boys – they think they can do what they want, without a care for anyone else.’
‘He’s young. Wouldn’t you have rushed across town for a hot barmaid, at his age?’
‘Probably. Seems a long time ago,’ Savage said. ‘Since Sarah left, I find I don’t look at women like that. I’m only forty.’ His face twisted, as if the memory of being young and carefree pained him. ‘And you’re soft-hearted, for a Jesuit. Can you get home from here? I must go back to the Unicorn and let John know he can stop worrying about Titch.’
‘I’ll be fine. Give you good night.’
We looked at one another, uncertain of how to take our leave after the unexpected confidences that had been shared. A long pause stretched between us; eventually he reached out a hand, shook mine with an awkward formality and walked away. I slipped back into the shadows, listening for his footsteps to die away; I too was heading back to Southwark, and wanted to avoid any possibility of catching up with him.
At the end of Crooked Lane I passed a tavern with a flaming torch fixed to a wall bracket over the door. Moving in as close to the light as I could, I took out the scrap of paper from Titch’s fireplace that I had tucked inside my doublet and unfolded it. Whatever I had expected to find written there, it was not this: the four symbols I knew by heart from the paper inside Clara’s locket. Half-moon, seashore, ploughed furrow, rose. The drawings were identical, and I was certain they were by the same hand, though I could not compare them to the original. I leaned against the doorpost, staring at the note, trying to work out what this could signify. Without asking Titch directly, there was no way of knowing if this was the same note that had been delivered to him this evening, but I would have bet good money it was. Could it be that the person who had given Clara the message was also writing to Titch? Evidently it meant something significant to both of them; Clara had thrown her locket into the bushes to keep her killer from getting his hands on it, and Titch had rushed out, forgetting his friends, in response to it, after trying to burn his copy. It was clear that he had lied about the barmaid; though the evidence suggested he had been with a woman at some point during the evening, I wondered if that was just a cover, and what else he might have been doing before or after.
I replaced the paper inside my doublet to send to Phelippes when I had the chance; perhaps he had had an epiphany about the meaning of the symbols by now. Titch had made clear that he had no desire to confide in Father Prado, and I could not ask him anything about the note without arousing suspicion, but at least I had evidence of a link between him and Clara Poole – one that they had both been at pains to hide. He would have to be watched closely. I wished we had had time to read those letters in his trunk – he had been so defensive over them that I was sure their contents were worth a look. Perhaps Poole and I between us could contrive a means to keep him away from his rooms long enough for one of us to examine them – but of course he would have found an alternative hiding place, and he would be on his guard now for any sign of intrusion. I would have to leave that with Phelippes. In the meantime, I needed answers that could only be found in Southwark.
TWENTY
Leila’s house was impossible to find in the dark. I tried to work my way back from the Unicorn, taking care to keep to the shadows in case any of the conspirators had stepped outside for a walk; I could not easily explain my presence in Southwark to Ballard a second time. That morning I had ended up in Leila’s yard via the back streets, propelled by the urgency of catching up with Joe; now, with the feeble torch I had bought from a link-boy on the bridge already burning low, I did not like my chances of finding my way there by the same means. I suspected the residents of Southwark would not welcome a stranger climbing over their back fences at night, and I wondered how many more of them had crossbows. But after half an hour of wandering in what had seemed like the right direction, I had to concede that I was lost, and this was not a desirable situation. If Ben had been with me, he would have found the place in no time, but in his absence I was obliged to ask a young woman lolling in a doorway, eyes clouded with drink and her face already showing early signs of the pox.
‘The Moorish witch, you mean?’ She looked me up and down unsympathetically. ‘What do you want her for? You got cockrot?’
‘No.’ I drew myself up.
‘You will have by morning, you keep hanging around these streets.’ She cackled at her own wit. ‘Suppose your woman needs rid of a bastard, then, if you’re looking for the witch. What’s it worth?’
I gave her tuppence and she tucked it somewhere in her skirts before issuing garbled directions that led me a few streets away, where I eventually recognised the filthy lane that led to Leila’s yard. I briefly considered knocking at the front of the house, but guessed she would be unlikely to open it this time of night. Fortunately, I was better prepared than I had been that morning; I stuck the torch upright into the mud, then took off the borrowed doublet, folded it and placed it over the nails along the top of the fence, so that when I jumped and pulled myself up and over, it kept them from tearing my clothes. I dropped down silently into the yard and felt my way between the plant pots to the back door. Lamplight shone through cracks in the shutters, and from within I could hear the sound of a woman crying.
I knocked softly, but there was no reply. I caught a low murmur of voices and renewed sobbing. For a moment I considered leaving the way I had come; it was clear that Leila was treating a woman in some distress, and I felt guilty for intruding. But I reminded myself that she had almost certainly supplied the opium that had been used to sedate Clara Poole before she was killed, and if she or Joe could say who had bought or stolen it, I would have the murderer. I pushed open the door and stepped inside the wide ground-floor room.
Leila sat on a low stool by the fire, clasping the hands of another woman whose dark hair hung around her face. When they started and snapped their heads up to look at me, I saw that both were crying. A shadow of absolute fury passed across Leila’s face as she recognised me, but fortunately her crossbow was leaning against the wall beside the door, too far for her to reach.
‘You,’ she said quietly, dropping her gaze to the floor.
‘Is this him?’ asked the other woman, staring at me with naked hostility. She seemed familiar; as I looked back, I realised she was the girl with the spotted hair scarf who had propositioned me and Poole on our first visit to Southwark. Her hair was loose now, and the scarf bunched in her lap; she raised it in a fist to wipe her eyes.
‘I’m sorry if this is a bad time,’ I began, ‘but I needed to speak to you and it couldn’t wait.’
‘Just a moment,’ Leila said, not looking at me, her voice subdued. She stood and poked the fire in the hearth, where her pot of water was simmering. The logs cracked and sparked as the flames leapt up with renewed vigour. In my view the fire did not need stoking; the room was already unbearably hot. She remained there unmoving, crouched over the fire for a few moments with the poker in her hand, until I began to wonder if she had forgotten me. I cleared my throat to speak, and with one swift movement she spun round, took two strides across the floor and held the glowing orange tip of the poker half an inch from my eye.
‘You piece of shit.’ Her voice was shaking with fury. I thought it best not to move. ‘Where is he?’
‘What?’ I held up my hands in surrender, but she only pulled her lips back in a snarl; I could see the muscles working in her jaw as she spoke through her teeth.
‘Tell me what you’ve done to him or I’ll burn both your eyes out and you can listen to them sizzling and popping. Where is my son?’
‘You don’t have a son,’ I sa
id. It was a gamble, in the light of her graphic threat, but I thought it was worth a try.
There was a brief silence; I heard the other woman draw in a sharp breath. Leila stared at me and then let out a blood-curdling roar.
‘Oh, you filthy, sick bastard – if you’ve laid a finger on Joe—’ The words collapsed into a sob; she fought to master herself, but for a moment the arm holding the poker wobbled, long enough for me to grasp her by the wrist and force her hand up until we were battling to hold it vertical over our heads. I tightened my grip and she let it fall to the ground with a clatter.
‘I haven’t touched Joe,’ I said, releasing her and stepping back.
She rubbed her wrist. ‘Then how would you know he – she – if you haven’t—’
‘I sent a boy I know to find Joe this morning. He happened to see her stop for a piss.’
She cursed softly in Arabic. ‘Stupid child. I told her to be more careful about that.’ Her eyes snapped up to meet mine. ‘Who have you told?’
‘No one.’
‘And this boy of yours?’
‘He won’t say anything.’
She did not look convinced. ‘I don’t trust you. Do you blame me? Have you seen what they do to girls Josefina’s age in Southwark? And with what she sees at close quarters in here’ – she gestured to the table where she had operated on the young woman that morning – ‘do you wonder she doesn’t want to become a woman?’
‘They do it to boys too, as I understand.’
‘True. But it’s easier to protect a boy for longer, so as far as you’re concerned, if my Joe wants to be a boy, that’s what he is. Now tell me what you’ve done with him.’
‘I haven’t seen him, I swear. I was hoping to speak to both of you. Is he not at the Unicorn?’
‘Hasn’t been there since this afternoon. Hasn’t been home. Hell of a coincidence – you turn up asking questions about what he’s seen in the Cross Bones, and a few hours later he vanishes.’
‘Could he have run away?’
She shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t. Not unless he was really afraid for his life. More likely someone thought he might have seen them with the dead girl and wanted to stop him talking. That leaves you, or whoever you told.’
‘I think Joe was afraid,’ I said. ‘Listen – I need to ask you something, it might be connected.’
She put a hand on her hip, swiped fiercely at her eyes with the knuckles of the other and nodded for me to continue.
‘It’s – private,’ I said, looking at the dark-haired woman, who had remained silent, watching us intently.
‘Don’t mind her.’ Leila tossed a glance over her shoulder. ‘This is my neighbour, Anneke. She’s lost her friend too.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, not knowing what else to offer. ‘God rest her.’
Anneke balled her scarf between her fingers. ‘She’s not dead. At least, I don’t know for sure. She’s missing, like little Joe. But she—’ She broke off and fresh tears sprang to her eyes. I looked back to Leila in time to see the warning in her eyes.
‘Sit,’ she said to me, indicating the empty stool by the fire. She crossed to a cabinet in the corner and brought out a bottle filled with a clear liquid, and three small glasses. She handed one to me and Anneke and filled them. I sniffed at it suspiciously.
‘What is this?’
She gave me a long look. ‘Aguardiente. I’d have thought a Spaniard would recognise that.’ I didn’t reply. After a pause, she said: ‘If you know anything that will help find Joe, let’s hear it. Don’t look at it like that, drink it – do you think I’m going to drug you?’ She knocked back her own glass and gestured to Anneke to do the same. I hesitated, then drank it off, though I still did not entirely trust her. A sharp heat spread through my veins and I felt beads of sweat stand out on my brow, so close to the fire.
‘Do you sell your opium?’ I asked, when the burning had passed.
She made a noise of contempt through her teeth. ‘That’s your question? No. I keep it to relieve pain, for when I treat patients.’
‘Where do you get it?’
‘Not your business.’ She glared at me, then sighed. ‘A man I know works on cargo ships from Morocco, he brings it in with the spices and silks. But I never know when he’s coming, so what I have has to go a long way. Besides, you need to know how to mix the tincture in the right proportion. It’s powerful stuff, and I’ve seen what it can do in the wrong hands. I would not just hand it out for profit.’ She curled her lip; I had offended her.
‘Could someone have stolen some from you?’
‘Impossible. I keep it locked in that cupboard with all my dangerous herbs, as you saw, and the key around my neck. No one could have got in here without my knowing. I know how to defend myself.’
‘Yes, I’ve seen,’ I said. ‘Could Joe have stolen it? He knew where the key was.’
She shook her head. ‘I’d have noticed if any were missing. Anyway, Joe wouldn’t touch it, why would you think that?’
‘He told me he was worried about going to Hell for something he’d done.’
She cursed again under her breath. ‘That’s Captain Fortescue putting that in his head again, I’ll bet. Did Joe say what it was, this sin of his?’
‘No. Only that he didn’t intend any harm, but harm had come of it. And I believe the dead girl in the Cross Bones was drugged with opium before she was killed.’
At that, Leila’s eyes widened, and she exchanged a glance with Anneke.
‘It’s funny you should ask about Joe stealing,’ she said slowly. ‘I’d swear my opium has not been touched, but I did notice something missing a few days ago.’ She held out her hands, palms down, so I could see the reddish-brown tracery painted on the backs. ‘It’s fading, see. I thought I should refresh it, but when I went to mix my henna paste, it wasn’t there. I asked Joe if he’d seen it and he said I’d run out. But I was sure I hadn’t. I don’t know what that has to do with anything.’
‘Is henna a drug?’
‘No. That’s why I don’t keep it locked up.’
‘Then I can’t see that it’s relevant. Can you think of anyone else around here who might be able to get hold of opium? It’s important – if I can find out who drugged the murdered girl, then I believe I have her killer, and they can let your father-in-law go free.’
Her expression brightened briefly at this, before a shadow fell again. She glanced at Anneke, who shrugged as if to say it was not her decision.
‘I shouldn’t be telling you this. I’ll do it if it will get the old man out,’ Leila said, her voice tight with anger. ‘Everyone knows Abe Goodchild wouldn’t harm a mouse. But there will be consequences for me if it’s known I told you.’
‘I will protect you from any repercussions,’ I said solemnly. It was an absurd claim, and I realised the emptiness of it as soon as the words were out. So did Leila.
‘Oh will you, my handsome Spanish saviour, who is probably not even Spanish?’ She let out a scornful laugh. ‘How lucky I am, to have your protection. You know, I could have killed you twice over today, if I were less generous.’
I acknowledged this with a rueful smile.
‘Well, then,’ she said. ‘Your friend, Captain Fortescue. I know you know him – Joe told me he saw you greet each other this morning at the Unicorn. He is the only other person I know in Southwark who has a ready supply of opium.’
‘Fortescue?’ I tried to temper my amazement. ‘Where does he get it?’
She looked at the floor. ‘From me.’
‘So you are selling it?’
‘There is no money exchanged, and no profit to me, believe me. He halves my supply.’ She twisted her mouth in anger.
‘Then – why?’
‘Call it a quid pro quo. He helped me once, and that was his price.’
‘Seems steep. It must have been quite a favour.’
‘I believe I have paid back the original debt several times over. But he does not see it that way.’
&nb
sp; I pressed my hands together between my knees and stared into the fire. So Ballard had a ready supply of opium, and he was in London when Clara was killed.
‘What does he do with it?’ I asked. ‘Does he take it himself?’
‘I couldn’t say. He says he wants it for the same purposes as I – to relieve the pain of those who suffer. But he is not a physician, as far as I know, so I’m sure he is doing more harm than good, even if he means well. I know what he is, mind you.’ She gave me a direct look. ‘What kind of man would spend all his time at the Unicorn and never touch the girls, except one who has taken a vow? And perhaps the same is true of you, since you are his associate.’ I began to speak but she held up a hand. ‘Your secrets are no concern of mine, as mine are none of yours. So there is your answer.’ She poured each of us another shot of aguardiente. ‘I must suppose it will not help me, nor my father-in-law, since you will not want to believe your friend a killer.’
‘He is not exactly my friend,’ I said, drinking the liquor down. ‘Joe is afraid of him. I saw that this morning.’
She tossed her hair. Anneke gave a contemptuous snort.
‘He fills Joe’s head with hellfire. I don’t care if he is a priest – you don’t preach to a child like that, put them in fear of eternal punishment.’ Her face pinched in anger. ‘He’s told Joe we are destined for Hell because of my religion, and because I am a murderess.’
‘Are you?’
‘I’ve killed better men than you,’ she said, straight-faced. She left a beat, then she and Anneke burst out laughing at my expression; I laughed too, in a slightly forced way, since I suspected it might well be true. ‘He means the girls,’ she continued, her face serious again. ‘The service I do for them. He calls it murdering babies in the womb. We have argued about it – I tell him often the women would die if I did not get the child out, and in most cases it is nothing you would recognise as an infant, just a clot of flesh. Don’t make that squeamish face – you are not a woman, you will never have to see it. But Fortescue calls it murder, and says it is against God’s law, and now I have Joe asking me every night, Mama, shall the Devil come for you because you kill unborn babies?’ She shook her head, her lips tight. ‘He may be a good man, but to fill a child’s head with that—’