by C. J. Sansom
'I'll go by myself. But I must go now, before the footprints melt.'
'You don't know what you may find at the other end,' I cautioned.
'He's long gone. But I'll follow the footsteps as far as they go. We need to find out all we can. You know as well as I that if a murderer is not taken quickly, he is often never found.' He took a deep breath. 'And this is no normal killing, done for money or lust. The killer knocked him unconscious then carried him into Lincoln's Inn and put him in the fountain. He was still alive when his throat was cut or he wouldn't have bled. He must have knocked him out hard enough to keep him unconscious for a good time but not hard enough to kill him. That's very chancy. What if he had woken and started struggling? It looks like some sort of awful vengeance.'
'Roger hadn't an enemy in the world. Was it another barrister? Only a member of Lincoln's Inn would have a key to that door.'
'We should go now, sir.' Barak looked at me seriously. 'If you are to tell the lady.'
I nodded, biting my lip. Barak squeezed my arm, an unexpected gesture, then began running back to Gatehouse Court. I followed more slowly. As I rounded the corner I heard a woman's scream. I felt a violent shiver down my spine as I started to run.
I was too late. In the middle of the growing crowd around the fountain, Dorothy, dressed in a nightgown, was kneeling on the wet ground by her husband's body, wailing piteously, a howl of utter desolation. My coat had been removed from Roger's head; she had seen that awful face. She wailed again.
I RAN TO HER, knelt and grasped her by the shoulders. Under the thin material her skin was cold. She lifted her face to me; she looked utterly stricken, her eyes wide, mouth hanging open, her brown hair wildly disordered.
'Matthew:' she choked.
'Yes. Dorothy — oh, you should not have come out, they should not have let you see. . .' I glared accusingly at the crowd. People shuffled their feet, looking embarrassed.
'I could not stop her,' Treasurer Rowland said stiffly.
'You could have tried!'
'That is no way to talk to me—'
'Shut up,' I snapped, anger bursting out again. The Treasurer's mouth fell open. I lifted Dorothy up. As soon as she stood she began trembling. 'Come inside, Dorothy, come—'
'No!' She fought me, trying to break loose. 'I cannot leave Roger lying there.' Her voice rose again.
'We must,' I said soothingly. 'For the coroner.'
'Who - killed him?' She stared at me, as though trying to seize hold of something to make sense of the horror around her.
'We will find out. Now come inside. Treasurer Rowland will ensure no one does anything disrespectful. Will you not, sir?'
'Yes, of course.' The old man actually looked sheepish. Dorothy allowed me to lead her inside, where Roger's clerk, Bartlett, stood in his office doorway, looking shocked. He was a conscientious middle-aged man who had come with Roger from Bristol.
'Sir?' he asked in a whisper. 'What - what has happened? They say the master is murdered.'
'I fear so. Listen, I will come down to you later and see what should be done with his work.'
'Yes, sir.'
Dorothy was staring at Bartlett as though she had never seen him before. Again I took hold of her arms, leading her gently up the wide staircase to their rooms. Old Elias stood in the open doorway, half dressed, his white hair standing on end. A young maid in a white apron and coif stood beside him.
'Oh, my lady,' the maid said in an Irish accent. She turned her tearful face to me. 'She had just got up, sir, she must have gone through to the front and looked from the window. She screamed and ran out and—'
'All right.' I studied the girl. She was plump and dark-haired. She seemed sensible, and genuinely upset for her mistress. Dorothy would have to rely on her much in the days to come. 'What is your name?' I asked.
'Margaret, sir.'
'Do you have some strong wine, Margaret?'
'I've some aqua vitae sir. I'll get it. Sir — out there — is it truly the master?'
'Yes, I am afraid it is. Now please, get the aqua vitae. And fetch your mistress a thicker gown. She must not get cold.'
I led Dorothy into the parlour and sat her in a chair before the fire. I looked round, remembering my pleasant evening there a week before. Dorothy sat trembling. She had passed, I realized, from horror to shock.
The maid returned, draped a warm gown round Dorothy's shoulders and passed her a glass of spirits, but Dorothy's hand trembled so much I took it from her fingers.
'Stay,' I said to Margaret. 'In case she needs anything.'
'The poor master . . .' Margaret brought a stool to her mistress's side and sat on it heavily, herself shocked.
'Come,' I said gently to Dorothy. 'Drink this, it will help you.' She did not resist as I held the glass to her lips, helping her drink as though she was a child. Her face was pale, her plump cheeks sagging. I had told her at the banquet that she looked years younger than her age. Now she was suddenly haggard and old. I wondered with sorrow if her warm, impish smile would ever return.
Her face grew pink from the spirit and she seemed to come slowly back to herself, though she still trembled.
'Matthew,' she said quietly. 'They said you found Roger.'
'Some students did. I came on them, helped them lift the body out.'
'I came into the parlour and heard a noise outside.' She frowned, as though remembering something from a long time ago. 'I saw the fountain all red, the people standing there, and I thought, what on earth has happened; Then I saw the body on the ground. I knew it was Roger. I recognized his boots. His old leather boots.' She gulped and I thought she would start crying but instead she looked at me with eyes full of anger.
'Who did this;' she asked. 'Who did this cruel wicked thing; And why;'
'I do not know. Dorothy, where was Roger yesterday evening;'
'He - he was out. His new pro bono client.'
'The same client he went to see on Thursday; When I left him after we had visited Dr Malton he said he was going to see a pro bono client. He said he had had a letter about the case.'
'Yes, yes.' She gulped. 'It came on Tuesday, from some solicitor. Yes. I remember. A man called Nantwich.'
'Did Roger say where he was writing from;'
'Somewhere by Newgate, I think. You know those jobbing solicitors, half of them haven't even got proper offices. He had heard Roger did free work for poor people. He asked if Roger could meet his client at a tavern in Wych Street on Thursday evening, as the man worked during the day.'
'Did you see the letter;'
'I did not ask to. I thought it odd, asking to meet in a tavern, but Roger was curious about it, and you know how good-natured he is.' She stopped dead and gave a sobbing gasp. For a second, talking, she had forgotten Roger was dead and the horror hit her with renewed force. She stared at me wildly. I clutched her hand. It felt cold.
'Dorothy. I am so sorry. But I must ask. What happened at the meeting;'
'Nothing. The man never turned up. But then another letter arrived, pushed through the door on Good Friday, apologizing that the client had not been able to get to the tavern and asking Roger to meet him yesterday night, at the same place. I did not see that letter either,' she added in a small voice.
'And Roger went, of course.' I smiled sadly. 'I would not have done.' Something struck me. 'It was cold last night. He would have worn a coat.'
'Yes. He did.'
'Then where is it?' I frowned.
'I do not know.' Dorothy was silent for a moment, then went on. 'I was surprised when it got to ten o'clock and he had not returned. But you know how he would get caught up in something and stay talking for hours.' Would, not will. It had sunk in properly now. 'I was tired, I went to bed early. I expected him to come in. But I drifted off to sleep. I woke in the small hours, and when he wasn't beside me I thought he had bedded down in the other bedroom. He does that if he comes in late, so as not to disturb me. And all the time—' She broke down then, burying her head in he
r hands and sobbing loudly. I tried to think. The client had asked to meet Roger at Wych Street, on the other side of Lincoln's Inn Fields. The easiest way to get there was to go through the orchard. So he would have taken his key to the orchard door. But why had the man not turned up on Thursday? My heart sank at the thought that Roger, like any barrister, would have taken his letter of instruction with him. There was little chance it would have been left on the body, and the coat he would have worn was gone. But at least we had the name, Nantwich. An uncommon one.
I looked at Dorothy, my heart full of pity. Her sobs ceased. She glanced at me and I saw an anger in her eyes that reflected my own.
'Who has done this?' she asked quietly. 'Roger did not have an enemy in the world. Who is this devil?'
'I will see him caught, Dorothy. I promise you.'
'You will make sure?'
'I will. On my oath.'
She scrabbled for my hand, gripped it fiercely. 'You must help me with things now, Matthew. Please. I am alone.'
'I will.'
Her face crumpled suddenly. 'Oh, Roger!' And then the tears came again, great racking sobs. Margaret put an arm round her mistress, while I held her hand. We were still there, like some pitiful tableau, when Elias came in to say the coroner was below, and must see me at once.
ARCHIBALD BROWNE, the Middlesex coroner, was an old man and a sour one. He was one of the old corrupt breed, who would leave a body lying stinking in the street for days till someone paid them to hold an inquest, not one of the more competent paid officials the Tudors had brought in. Small, bald and squat, his round face was pitted with smallpox scars. When I came out he was standing beside the Treasurer, arms in the pockets of his thick coat, looking down at Roger's body. Passers-by stopping to stare were being moved on with curt gestures from Treasurer Rowland. I saw the sun had melted most of the snow now. I wondered wearily where Barak was.
Rowland gestured to me. 'This is Brother Matthew Shardlake,' he told Browne. 'He had the constable roused.'
'I hope I'll get more sense out of him than those two lads.' Coroner Browne grunted. He turned bleary eyes on me. 'You've spoken with the widow?'
'Yes, sir.'
'How is she?'
'Weeping,' I said shortly.
'I'll have to question her. You can come with me if you know her. Now, tell me what in Jesu's name has happened.'
I told him about finding Roger's body, about Barak following the footprints and what Dorothy had told me about the strange client.
'Nantwich?' Treasurer Rowland frowned. 'I've never heard of him. I thought I knew most of the solicitors.'
Browne's eyes narrowed as he studied me. 'Shardlake, I know that name.' He grinned. 'You're the Lincoln's Inn man the King made mock of at York a couple of years ago, aren't you? I recognize the description.'
Of a hunchback, I thought. That story would haunt me, I knew, till I died. 'We need to find out who Roger was meeting,' I said coldly.
Browne looked down at Roger's face, then he stirred the awful head with his toe. I clenched my hands with anger. 'This is a dreadful business,' he went on. 'Putting him in the fountain. He looks very calm. Couldn't have cut his own throat, could he?'
'No. He was a happy man.'
'Then it's a strange one.' He shook his head. 'A fountain turned to blood.' He addressed the Treasurer. 'You should get that drained.'
I frowned. That phrase, a fountain turned to blood. I had heard it before somewhere, I was sure.
'Where's this man of yours who went to follow the prints?' Browne asked.
'I don't know. He set off half an hour ago.'
'Well, have him report to me when he comes back. I shall have to visit the King's coroner before impanelling a jury.' I recalled that the King was at Whitehall now, and cursed the fact. Any murder within twelve miles of the royal residence and outside the City of London boundary — even just outside, like Lincoln's Inn — came under the authority of the King's coroner. He would have to be involved along with Browne.
'That will cause delay,' I said.
Browne shrugged. 'Can't be helped.'
'How long will it take to impanel a jury?'
'Depends if the King's coroner agrees to impanel a jury of lawyers. And it's Easter Sunday. Doubt we'll get an inquest before the middle of the week.'
I set my lips. It was vital in any murder to investigate at once, before the trail went cold. As Barak had said, most murders were solved quickly or not at all.
'I think the lawyers of the Inn will want the inquest to be held as soon as possible,' I said. 'As one of their own is involved.'
Treasurer Rowland nodded in agreement. 'Yes, we shall want an inquest soon.'
'We need to hunt this solicitor Nantwich. Could you do that, sir — just a general query under the Treasurer's authority?'
Rowland nodded. 'Yes. That must be done.'
And if I may suggest something else,' I said to the coroner, pressing home my advantage. 'The manner of his death is so strange, apparently knocked unconscious and kept that way till he was put in the fountain, it might be good to have the body opened.' It was a grim thought, but Guy might find something that would help us. 'I know Dr Malton, who does that duty for the London coroner. His fees are low. I could send him to you.'
'Oh, that old Moor.' Browne grunted. 'And who's to pay?'
'I will, if need be. Roger Elliard was my friend. And could I please ask' — my voice rising — 'to have him covered up?'
All right.' The coroner casually pulled my coat back over Roger's face, then turned to me, rubbing his pudgy hands together.
'What was the deceased's name again?'
'Roger Elliard.'
'Right. I'll see the widow. That body can be taken away now. Master treasurer, have a cart take it to my shed.'
DOROTHY HAD somewhat recovered her composure when old Elias, dressed now but stricken-faced, led us to her parlour. She sat by the fire, staring into it as she held the maid Margaret's hand.
'Dorothy,' I said gently. 'This is Coroner Browne. He would ask you some questions, if you feel able.'
The coroner looked at the frieze above the fireplace, the carved animals peering through the branches. 'My, that is a fine thing,' he said.
Dorothy stared at it. 'A piece got broken off when we moved back here,' she said dully. 'Roger got it replaced but it was badly done.' I noticed a corner of the frieze was rather poorly executed, a slightly different colour.
'It is still fine,' Browne said, clumsily trying to put Dorothy at her ease. 'May I sit?'
Dorothy waved him to the chair where I had sat. He repeated the questions about the pro bono client, and asked about Roger's recent movements, in which nothing else unusual was revealed. I saw the coroner was not taking notes, which worried me. He did not look like a man with great powers of memory.
'Had your husband any enemies?' Browne asked.
'None. He had barristers he did not like particularly, whom he had won or lost against in court. But that is true of every barrister in London, and they do not murder their fellows in' - her voice faltered — 'this ghastly, wicked way.'
'And no question he could have done it himself?'
The bluntness of the question appalled me, but it brought out the best in Dorothy. 'No, master coroner, none at all. Anyone would tell you the idea he did this to himself is nonsensical. I wish you had had the grace to talk to others before baldly asking me if my husband might have cut his own throat.' I felt admiration for her; her spirit was returning.
Browne reddened. He rose from his chair. 'Very well,' he said stiffly. 'That will do for now. I must go to the palace, see the King's coroner.'
He bowed to us stiffly, then left. His heavy footsteps clumped slowly down the stairs.
'Old fat fustilugs!' Margaret said warmly.
Dorothy looked up at me. Her red-rimmed eyes were despairing. 'He does not seem to care,' she said. 'My poor Roger.'
'This is just one more job to him,' I said. 'But I promise you, I will be at
his heels.'
'Thank you.' She laid a hand on my arm.
'And now I will go down to Roger's chambers. I will take on what work of his I can. If you wish.'
'Yes, please. Oh, and someone must write to our son. Tell Samuel.' Her eyes filled with tears again.
'Would you like me to?' I asked gently.
'I should not ask. I—'
'No. I will do all I can, Dorothy. For you. For Roger.'
OUTSIDE, TO MY RELIEF, I saw Barak watching as Roger's body was loaded on to a cart, my coat wrapped round it. He looked downcast. I saw he was carrying a dark coat that I recognized. 'You found Roger's coat;'
'Yes. In the orchard. I thought it must be his, from the size.' I shivered, missing my own coat. 'Did you follow the prints;'
'As far as I could. They led through the orchard into Lincoln's Inn Fields, but the snow there was pretty well gone.'
'Was there anything in the pockets;'
'A set of house keys. The killer must have kept the key to the orchard. And his purse, he left his purse, with near two pounds in it.'
'Were there any papers; Any notes;'
'Nothing.'
'He went to meet a new client at an inn in Wych Lane last night.'
Barak looked over at the wall. 'Taken somewhere in Lincoln's Inn Fields, then. That's a hell of a way to haul a body.' He looked at me, frowning. 'What on earth is going on;'
Chapter Seven
Two DAYS LATER, on the Tuesday after Easter, Barak and I walked down to the river to catch a boat to Westminster. I had on a new coat; I had left my old coat with the coroner; stained as it was with Roger's blood, I could never wear it again. I had a busy day ahead, five poor men's pleas to be heard before the Master of Requests. I hoped I would also get a date for hearing Adam Kite's application.
The morning had a real touch of spring at last, the breeze gentle and moist. Normally that would have lifted my spirits; but not with what lay on my heart now. As we crossed Fleet Street on our way down to Temple Bar, we saw a penitent heretic being led along to St Paul's. He was dressed in a grey smock and carried a faggot of birch twigs in trembling hands. Ashes had been tipped over his head and shoulders, turning his hair and face grey. A rope was round his neck, and he was led along by one of Bishop Bonner's men. Three halberdiers followed, wearing swords, the little procession led by a man beating a drum. Passers-by stopped, some jeering and others looking serious. Someone called, 'Courage, brother!' and the soldiers looked round angrily. I was taken aback to see that the tethered man was the wild preacher from Newgate market; he must have been taken for unlicensed preaching. He would be brought to St Paul's Cross where Bonner would preach to him of the evils of heresy. If he were caught again he could burn.