Execution

by S. J. Parris

  I thanked her, and dragged Ben off up the lane towards the river. When I left Anneke last night, she had said she was going to look for work. If she hadn’t returned home, it was possible that someone might have intercepted her – someone who, like me, suspected that her friend Lotte might have told her something that would shed light on her disappearance.

  I hurried up New Rents towards Bankside at a half-run, Ben jogging alongside to keep up. When I saw the roofs of the bull and bear rings ahead, I slowed my pace, following a path between them that brought us on to the dock where I had walked with Anneke the night before. Below the quay wall, the tide had risen, the river was higher now, and the abandoned boat she had tried to entice me into was half-floating, its back end sunk on the bank while the prow lifted gently as the water ebbed and flowed. I walked out across the mud, apprehension curdling in my stomach. The sides of the boat were high enough that a person – or even two people – lying in the bottom could not be seen from the shoreline; presumably that was what Anneke liked about it. But I could see gulls and crows circling above it, diving and screeching at one another. I waved my arms as I approached, my boots sinking into the water; a couple of gulls perched on the boat’s rail tilted their heads and regarded me with mean yellow eyes for a moment, before flapping a few feet away. I saw the material of her dress, dark with river water, before I saw the face. Her spotted scarf was pulled around her neck; the killer had not even bothered to hide the fact that he had used it to strangle her. I reached over and prodded the freezing skin of her bare forearm. By the stiffness in her limbs, I guessed she had been dead a good few hours.

  ‘Is it her?’ Ben asked, craning to see past me.

  ‘Get back – don’t look.’ I held up a hand to ward him off.

  ‘I’ve seen dead people before,’ he scoffed, straining at my arm. ‘Seen my ma dead, and my baby brother.’

  ‘Not like this, I hope.’ The crows had already pecked her eyes out. At least, I hoped it was the crows. ‘We need to fetch someone, as quickly as possible. You go – run for the nearest constable. I’ll wait with her.’

  The boy shook his head. ‘No, sir. We need to get away from here, right now.’

  I snapped my head up; it was the ‘sir’ that told me he was serious.

  ‘What are you talking about? A woman has been murdered.’

  ‘Let someone else find her and report it. What do you think will happen if a person like you is found with her body?’

  ‘A person like me?’

  He sighed, impatient. ‘Foreign. They’ll say you did it.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. I’m not going to be arrested, Ben. I know people,’ I added, in a confidential tone.

  ‘You think that’ll matter?’ He glanced anxiously back at the quay. ‘Anyway, they find you here sitting beside a dead woman, you’d be torn apart long before I got back with a constable. There’s Londoners would love any excuse to beat the shit out of a Spaniard.’

  ‘I thought Southwark was full of foreigners?’

  ‘That’s why the locals want any chance to give them a kicking. Come on, let’s go.’ He took me firmly by the wrist and pulled. As I straightened up, he leaned past me for a look into the boat. ‘Eurgh, that’s horrible,’ he said with relish. I hauled him away.

  He was right, I knew, it would do me no good to report Anneke’s murder, but I hated the thought of leaving her alone and cold at the edge of the water, irrational though it was. I recalled the warm pressure of her breast against my arm as she huddled into me on our walk, and her anxiety about her missing friend. It had never occurred to me then that she might have been in danger – because I had not been quick enough to guess that it was not Clara in the Cross Bones, though I cursed myself for not seeing it sooner. The only person who might know anything now was Leila. A knot of dread lodged in my throat; if the killer could dispatch Anneke so casually, could there be any hope left for Joe?

  ‘Let’s get to the Unicorn,’ I said. If Leila was there, I could at least tell her about Anneke. Ben was still holding my wrist, and I sensed that it was not just to make sure I accompanied him; for all his bravado, his narrow face had turned pale, and he was unusually quiet. ‘This is where you earn your money,’ I told him. ‘We’re trying to find out what happened to the boy Joe, who worked here. He was last seen in the yard yesterday afternoon, talking to a tall man. Get chatting to the stable lads, find out what they saw, or if Joe said anything to them about someone he was worried about, following him, maybe.’ If Ben could learn any more detail about who had approached Joe, it would be worth the risk of running into Ballard. ‘And it’s an old building with lots of hiding places, apparently – find out if any of them know anything about secret doors, cellars, anything of that sort. They’re more likely to talk to you. Go in ahead of me – you can pretend you’re looking for work.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to talk to Joe’s mother, if I can find her. Tell her about that poor girl back there. She’ll know what to do. Wait for me outside the main gate.’

  ‘Mind she doesn’t witch you,’ he said darkly. I sighed, wondering if the English would ever get over their fear of anyone who looked different.

  Ben scampered off ahead through the main gates. After a few minutes I followed him into the yard, making directly for the main entrance and watching to either side for any sign of Ballard. I was certain of one thing: my encounter last night with William Weston was the spark that had lit the fuse to a barrel of gunpowder. I had no way of knowing how long it would take to burn down, but sooner or later it was going to explode in my face. I only hoped I would be able to find Joe before Ballard and the rest of the conspirators learned that I was not Father Prado. I recalled Anneke’s story about him beating the man who had threatened Joe almost to death, and the priest’s own admission of his violent temper; I did not want to find myself on the wrong side of it. In my haste to get to the Saracen’s Head earlier I had not had time to write my note to Phelippes urging him to arrest Ballard as soon as possible, but I hoped that the knowledge of Gifford’s flight would make Walsingham see that he needed to swoop on the conspirators before any more of them realised the plot was blown. I knew it was madness to walk into the very place I was most likely to run into Ballard, but I needed to speak to Leila; if she knew the truth about the girl in the Cross Bones, she might have some idea of who could have approached Joe for the henna, or perhaps Anneke might have mentioned some detail about her friend Lotte’s disappearance that would help us.

  A distant church bell struck the hour of nine as the maid opened the door, stifling a yawn. It was early to be visiting a brothel, and her surprise when I asked for Madam Rosa reflected this, but she took my knife and slipped away, leaving me jittery in the wide entrance hall, glancing between the stairs and passageways for any sign of Ballard. Fortunately, it took only a few moments for the madam to bustle into view from one of the corridors, her wig seeming to move independently of her head as she walked.

  ‘Hello, my darling, didn’t expect you back so soon! You’re bright and early, have you come for your clothes? I’ll send Dorothy to fetch them.’ She called the maid back and barked a few instructions. ‘I’m sorry to say you’ve missed Captain Fortescue – he had a visitor and they popped out together at the crack of dawn – he’s such a busy man, isn’t he? Do you want to wait for him, love?’ She leaned in with a knowing look, and I recalled Ballard saying that she was sympathetic to the Catholic cause. I wondered if she knew his real identity, and guessed me to be another priest, as Leila had.

  ‘He certainly is. Please don’t trouble yourself, I’ll catch up with him another time.’ I tried not to let my relief show, though the news of his early visitor set off another ripple of anxiety. ‘How much do I owe you?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that – the Captain has taken care of it. But if there’s anything else I can offer while you’re waiting, Master – I’m sorry, I don’t think the Captain told me your name?’

  ‘Pra
do. Oh – no, thank you. It’s a bit early.’ I smiled politely; she nodded, as if to say she understood.

  ‘No, the Captain said you wouldn’t partake, but I thought I should offer. A man has needs, after all, even when he has his mind on higher things.’

  ‘This is a beautiful old building,’ I said, to break the awkward silence. She followed my gaze up to the carved wooden ceiling.

  ‘Two hundred years, at least,’ she said proudly. ‘It was built as a coaching inn, but it’s full of secrets, this old place – the first owner used it to bring in contraband, up the river, and it’s said they hid soldiers and escaped prisoners too.’

  ‘A fascinating history,’ I said. ‘There must be all kinds of secret nooks and crannies, then – I imagine that comes in useful.’

  ‘Very useful indeed. They’re downright ingenious, some of them. Why, on the top landing, there’s a—’ she broke off and gave me a naughty, reproachful simper, as if I were the one who had been indiscreet. ‘Well – I mustn’t give away all our secrets, even if you are a friend of Captain Fortescue. Suffice to say, we know how to look after people here, in every sense.’ She punctuated this with a broad wink, as the maid returned with Prado’s clothes, neatly folded in a pile.

  ‘There you go.’ Madam Rosa lifted the doublet from her arms and held it up for my inspection. ‘She’s done a lovely job – you can hardly see it. Told you she was a wonder, our Moorish girl. She’s stitched the tear for you too, look – you’d never notice.’

  ‘Like magic,’ I said, laying on the admiration.

  ‘She’s not a witch,’ Madam Rosa said, immediately defensive. ‘Whatever you’ve heard. I wouldn’t have her under my roof if I didn’t think she was a good Christian.’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean – of course you wouldn’t. Who could think otherwise?’ She looked mollified. ‘In fact,’ I said casually, ‘is she here? I would like to thank her in person. Show my appreciation.’

  Madam Rose eyed the purse at my belt. ‘I suppose so. She’s with one of the girls at the moment, but Dorothy can fetch her while you change. Show the gentleman a spare room where he can have some privacy,’ she snapped to the maid, ‘and send Leila to him.’

  I was shown to a small parlour at the rear of the building, where, with some reluctance, I changed the grey wool doublet and breeches for Father Prado’s amber silk; I had preferred walking around London in clothes that did not demand attention. I was still fastening the doublet when there was a sharp knock at the door and Leila entered without waiting for a reply. Her hair was tied back and her face looked hollow, as if she had not slept; her bronzed complexion seemed ashy in the morning light.

  ‘I hoped you would come. Have you found Joe?’

  I shook my head. ‘I looked for you at your house.’

  ‘I’m always here early, to check the girls. Occasionally they get roughed up during the night.’ A muscle in her jaw tensed. ‘Something has happened, I can see it in your face – for God’s sake, tell me.’

  I glanced at the door and lowered my voice. ‘I’m sorry to bring bad news—’

  She stumbled before I could finish, as if her legs could no longer hold her, fingers pressed to her mouth; I reached out and led her to the window-seat.

  ‘Not Joe. It’s – your friend, Anneke.’

  Her eyes widened and she straightened, shaking my hand away as she recovered from her initial shock.

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘She’s dead. Murdered. I found her this morning, in that abandoned boat she sometimes used, on the shore by the bear ring. She’d been there a few hours, I’d say – I haven’t reported it. I came straight here to tell you. I’m sorry.’

  She blinked hard, her eyes turned down, her jaw set hard; I sensed that Leila was a woman who had learned not to let her emotions show. When she raised her head, her gaze was stony. ‘Why haven’t you reported it?’

  ‘I didn’t want to be taken for the perpetrator. After what happened to your father-in-law.’

  She tilted her chin, as if she half-believed me. ‘You were out there with her last night.’

  ‘I left her at midnight, by Falcon Stairs. I didn’t… buy her services. I went home and she said she was going to look for work. But listen – I think the killer is the same person who took Joe.’

  ‘Why?’ Her expression remained accusatory. ‘Who could want to harm Anneke? What has that to do with Joe?’

  I sat down beside her.

  ‘They both knew something. The girl found in the Cross Bones was not who I thought she was.’

  ‘Not your friend’s sweetheart?’ she said, sceptical.

  ‘No. The body had been made to look like that woman – her name is Clara – dressed in her clothes, and the face beaten so that it would be hard to tell the difference. But I think the dead girl was Anneke’s friend, Lotte.’

  She nodded slowly. ‘Poor Lotte. I did not hold out much hope for her when I heard she was missing. So they are both dead, to save a rich girl. But why?’

  ‘I believe someone thought Clara was in danger, so they staged her death in order to allow her to escape from London, and so that the people who wanted to harm her would give up looking for her. But Clara had a distinctive birthmark on her neck and collarbone. The only way to reproduce that convincingly would be to stain the skin with something like—’

  ‘Oh, God. Henna.’ She touched her fingers to her lips again. ‘You think Joe stole my henna to help someone make Lotte look like this Clara girl. But Joe would never have done that if he’d had any idea she would be killed – he loved Lotte, she used to look after him when he was small, if I had to go out – oh,’ she said, as if sudden understanding had dawned.

  ‘What? Did Anneke tell you anything about the night Lotte disappeared? Did she go with someone?’

  ‘Yes. It all makes a strange kind of sense.’ She rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands. ‘Lotte had cut her hair off, the day before.’

  ‘She cut her own hair off?’

  ‘Anneke said Lotte was afraid she had caught the pox, and she wanted to sell it while it was still worth something, before it started to fall out. She had lovely hair, Lotte – just an ordinary brown, but long and thick, all down her back. She asked Anneke to cut it for her and they planned to take it to the wig-makers on Silver Street, up by the Cripplegate, to see if they could get a good price. And then, that same day, when she was walking along Tooley Street, a man approached and said she was just what he was looking for, and he’d pay her good money if she’d spend the evening with him the following day. Anneke told me that Lotte was excited about it, because it was such an unusual request.’

  ‘What did he ask her to do?’

  ‘According to Anneke…’ she paused, and a shadow passed across her face, as if she had just remembered that the girl who had told this story only the night before was lying in a rotten boat out on the Thames shoreline. ‘This man wanted Lotte to pretend to be his wife for the evening.’

  ‘His wife?’

  ‘He told her he must have dinner with an elderly relative who was going to leave him a large inheritance. This old uncle or whatever wanted him to bring his wife. The man told Lotte he had left his wife some months before, but if the uncle knew this, he would not bequeath him the money, as the uncle was very proper about marriage. So this man proposed to pay Lotte a good deal if she would dress as his wife and pretend to be her for the evening, to secure the will. The old uncle hadn’t seen the wife in years and would never know the difference. Anneke told me Lotte couldn’t believe her luck and said, imagine being paid to put clothes on instead of take them off. He offered her five shillings, too, just to have dinner. Lotte said she wouldn’t have cut her hair off if she’d known that was around the corner.’

  ‘I’d guess that’s precisely why he thought she would be suitable – it was easier to disguise the body. And the henna?’

  ‘Anneke said the only thing this man asked, apart from putting on a wig, was that she let him draw a birthmark on her n
eck, because the wife had one. I can’t believe I didn’t think sooner that Lotte might have wanted my henna for that, and asked Joe.’

  ‘How would this man have known about henna? Are Englishmen familiar with it?’

  She gave a wry smile. ‘Hardly. I don’t know anyone else who uses it. Which makes me think this man must have been acquainted with the Unicorn. Some of the girls here used to ask me to paint henna designs on their hands and feet, they thought it looked pretty, but Madam Rosa asked me to stop because she said it was too – exotic. Some of the clients didn’t like that.’ She made a face.

  ‘So this mysterious stranger with the wife story could well have seen henna paintings on the girls at the Unicorn, and known that it would not wash off the skin. He must have known where to get hold of it, too.’

  ‘You mean – he’s someone who knows me?’ She frowned; I could almost see her thoughts chasing one another behind her eyes. ‘Lotte must have asked Joe to lend her the henna,’ Leila said. ‘Joe would gladly have done her a favour – he probably meant to put it back before I noticed.’

  ‘That must have been what Joe meant when he asked me if he would go to Hell for something he did, even if he hadn’t meant anything bad to happen. He must have known the body was Lotte as soon as he saw her. Did Lotte tell Anneke anything that would help identify this man?’

  She twisted her mouth, trying to recall. ‘Only that he was English, quite handsome, and not too old. Lotte said it was a shame – one of the few she wouldn’t have minded bedding, and he didn’t even want that.’ Her expression hardened again. ‘You must have some idea who he is, if you know this Clara?’

  ‘There are several possibilities. Nothing definite. I’m trying to find evidence that will narrow it down.’

  ‘I’ll tell you how we’ll narrow it down.’ She placed a hand on my thigh and leaned in so that her face was inches from mine, her wide dark eyes boring into me. My pulse quickened, but with apprehension, not excitement. Fast as blinking, she whipped out from somewhere in the folds of her skirt a slender pocket knife, like the one Ben carried, and held it with the tip to the soft hollow at the base of my throat. ‘You bring these possibilities to me. Or you take me to them. I’ll make the bastards answer questions – by the time I’ve finished they’ll have told me everything they’ve ever done in their sorry lives and be crying for their mothers.’