by C. J. Sansom
‘Tamasin,’ I said. ‘Dear Jesu, who has done this to you? Was it—’ For an awful moment I thought it might have been Barak.
‘I came to find Jack.’ Her voice came thickly through swollen lips. ‘We had an argument, he went out again. I could not stand being in that house alone: I kept feeling someone was outside, kept fancying I heard breathing at the door. I had to leave, I was going to your house if Jack was not here. All the way here, I thought someone was behind me.’
‘Tamasin . . .’
She looked at me, a stare of pure fear. ‘Then as I was about to turn in here, someone leaped at me, pulled me into a corner and began beating me—’ She broke off, breathing heavily, though she did not cry.
‘Who?’ I asked. ‘Who?’
‘His voice was - strange - not like an ordinary voice. He said he knows you and Jack are hunting him, but you would not stop his mission. Master Shardlake, he knows your name, and Jack’s. He knows where we live. Who is he?’
Chapter Seventeen
I UNLOCKED THE DOOR to my chambers and helped Tamasin inside. I guided her through the dark to a seat in my room, then returned to the outer office. I locked the door and then, with trembling hands, lit a taper from the embers of the fire. I took it through and lit the candles in my room. As the yellow light flickered into the corners I saw that Tamasin was sitting where I had left her, head sunk on her chest. She had pulled off her bloodstained coif and held it in her lap. I poured a goblet of strong wine and held it to her lips. Her teeth chattered. I felt fury towards whoever had ravaged her pretty face; and horror, as well, for an even worse fate might have befallen her.
I sat down opposite her. She took a couple of sips of wine, then she suddenly coughed and put her hand to her mouth. She brought it away with half a white tooth in the palm. She stared at it stupidly, still in shock. Her whole face was bruised, and she had a nasty cut on one cheek.
‘Tamasin,’ I whispered. ‘I am so sorry.’
She looked at me through her swollen lids. ‘Why? It is not your fault.’ Her voice came thick and distorted.
I hesitated. ‘How much has Jack told you of the work we have been engaged on?’
‘Nothing. Only that it was a secret matter. I feared it was politics again.’
‘It is something worse than that.’ I rose to my feet. ‘Tamasin, do you know where Jack is?’
She sighed wearily. ‘His usual haunts, I expect. The Turks Head tavern by Newgate, or the Red Dog near the Old Barge. He missed lunch, he came back late and we - we had an argument. He stormed out again.’
Damn him, I thought. ‘I am going to get the gatekeeper to send someone to find him, and Guy too. You need attention.’
She nodded. ‘My face - hurts so much.’ She looked at me. ‘Do you know who he is, the man who attacked me?’
‘I fear it may be the man we are seeking. He attacked you just outside the gate?’
‘Yes. He leaped out between two houses. When he left me I managed to get up. I would have gone to the gatekeeper, but his lodge was dark; I came in, I thought I would be safe inside the Inn, and perhaps you might be working late . . .’
‘I was at Mrs Elliard’s,’ I said. ‘You are sure he said Jack and I were hunting him?’
‘Yes.’
Sitting there, I felt my hair rise on my scalp. The killer knew who Barak and I were, that we were after him. But how?
‘You said his voice was strange.’
‘Yes. Harsh. Guttural. As though he were disguising it.’
‘Thank God I was here tonight. Listen, Tamasin, I am going now, to rouse the gatekeeper. I will lock the door.’
‘Take care, sir, he may be out there still.’
I TOOK THE DAGGER I kept in my desk and slipped it into my sleeve. In the main office I doused the candles and stood for a moment looking through the mullioned window at Gatehouse Court. A few upper windows were lit. Dorothy’s windows were all dark now. The courtyard was empty. I took a deep breath, transferred the dagger into my hand and stepped outside.
I crossed the yard rapidly. Ahead, the gatekeeper’s lodge was dark. Either he or his deputy was supposed to keep watch all night, but I knew they often drank themselves to sleep. I took pleasure in banging on the door as loudly as I could. After a minute the gatekeeper opened up. An old soldier, a big, red-faced man, his breath stank of beer. I quickly told him a woman had been attacked and her attacker might still be around, ordered him to rouse himself and send his assistant in search of Barak and Guy.
Back in chambers I did what I could to help Tamasin, fetching water and a cloth for her to wash her poor ravaged face.
‘Jack should have been with me,’ she said. ‘He should not have left me in fear.’ Shock had been replaced by anger.
‘Tamasin, you said you had feared someone was outside your apartment.’
‘This last few days, when Jack has been out, several times I heard a footstep outside. Tonight I went up to the door to listen, and - I heard breathing, as though someone had their head right up against the door on the other side.’
‘Did you tell Jack?’
‘He said I was full of fancies. But tonight, listening at the door, I did hear a footstep, someone leaving. The outside door creaked. It was so silent then, I could no longer stand it, and I ran out of the house. It was foolish.’
I sat back. He must have been waiting outside, perhaps he waited outside every night. I felt a creeping horror again. He must have followed Tamasin to Lincoln’s Inn. And he had been following me, I had been right there. Tamasin began to cry, softly, and I laid a hand on her arm. It seemed to be my job tonight to comfort innocent women tormented by this creature.
Barak arrived half an hour later, rousted from the Newgate tavern by the gatekeeper’s assistant. He rushed in, wide-eyed. ‘What’s happened? They said Tammy’s been hurt!’ He hurried over to his wife, but halted as she lifted her head and turned her ravaged, angry face to him.
‘Yes, Jack,’ she said. ‘By the imaginary fellow outside our door, by my fancy, my phantasm.’
He turned to me. It was one of the few times I had seen him at a loss. I gave him some wine, sat him down and told him what had happened. All the time he kept glancing at Tamasin, who still sat looking at him fiercely. She was very angry.
‘I never thought he could know where we lived,’ Barak said to Tamasin. ‘Or even who we were. How could I?’ He turned back to me. ‘And why do this? It’s almost as if he was taunting us!’
‘You know I thought I too was being followed,’ I said quietly.
‘Do you think this could be someone we know?’ Barak asked.
‘I hardly know what to think. Tamasin, did you see nothing of him?’
‘No. He jumped out at me from behind. I closed my eyes when he started hitting me. He was very strong. When I fell to the ground he kicked me once and then said what I told you, that he knew you were hunting him, but you would not stop his mission.’
‘That settles it. It was him.’ Barak’s face was ashen.
‘Who?’ Tamasin’s voice was suddenly shrill. ‘Who is it you are hunting? Who has he killed?’
Barak and I looked at each other. He nodded, and I told Tamasin the story of the three murders, the link to the Book of Revelation, the task from Cranmer. I did not tell either of them, though, of Guy’s theory about compulsive killers, nor of my own researches into the Strodyr case.
‘Oh my God,’ she said when I had finished. ‘Then why did he not finish me off, if he is seeking more people to kill?’
‘I think you did not fit what he calls his mission. Revelation speaks of the fourth vial causing men to be scorched with fire.’
‘So he wanted to threaten us?’ Barak said. ‘Warn us off?’
‘I think so. Jack, you and Tamasin should move to my house. Tonight. There is safety in numbers. And I will ask Harsnet if he can send a man over, to keep watch. I will send another message.’
‘That’s a good idea, Tammy,’ Barak said gently.
�
��Yes,’ she answered bitterly. ‘Leave it to your master to protect me.’ She began to cry again. This was not like Tamasin; she was at the end of her tether. I nodded impatiently to Barak, and mouthed the words, ‘Comfort her.’
But Barak was angry too now, at the insult to his manhood. ‘That’s not fair,’ he said. ‘If I’d known this man was real, but you’ve had so many fancies—’
It was the worst thing he could have said. She half rose. Injured as she was, I think she would have thrown herself at him, had a knock on the outer door not made us all start and whirl round. I went to open it. Guy stood there, his eyes wide. ‘Matthew,’ he said. ‘A man came to call, with a garbled message about a woman attacked here.’
‘Come in, Guy.’ I sighed heavily. ‘You have arrived at just the right moment.’
GUY ATTENDED TO Tamasin. She had suffered bad bruising to her face, a broken tooth and a cracked rib. She would not be fit to go out of doors for a week, but I was relieved to hear that there would be no permanent damage apart from the tooth which had been broken off, fortunately at the side rather than the front of her mouth. Guy said he would send her to a tooth-drawer to have the remnants of the broken tooth extracted.
‘I will fetch some stuff from the Barge,’ Barak said, as Guy applied some soothing oils to Tamasin’s face. ‘Could you take Tammy to your house, sir?’
‘I will.’ I followed him out to the outer office. There I took his arm. ‘If you do not comfort her,’ I said in an angry whisper, ‘accept your part in what has gone wrong between you, you will lose her.’
He shook off my arm and glared at me. ‘Leave my wife’s affairs to me,’ he said thickly. ‘What do you know of married life?’
‘Enough to know you have a rare pearl in Tamasin.’
‘I’ll keep her safe,’ he said. ‘We’d best turn our minds to catching this man. Either he is someone we know, who knew we would be on the marshes that day and has found out where we live, or . . .’
‘Or what?’
‘Or maybe the devil’s in it after all.’ He turned away, threw open the door and went out.
IT WAS LONG BEFORE any of us went to bed that night. When Guy left I held a whispered conversation with him on the doorstep, telling him about the Strodyr case. He nodded sadly. ‘It is what I expected,’ he said.
I led Tamasin home. Barak arrived with baggage from the Barge, and I installed him and Tamasin in the room Tamasin had occupied when she helped look after me during my illness the previous year. My housekeeper Joan, who was fond of her, was horrified to see her face. When they were settled upstairs she took me aside.
‘That poor girl,’ she said.
‘I know. I am sorry to involve you in my troubles again.’ I had told Joan that Tamasin had been attacked by someone we were investigating, and that I had sent the gatekeeper to find some protection from Harsnet.
‘Tamasin and Master Jack, they seem to be hardly speaking. After what she’s been through . . .’
‘I know, Joan. Between her anger and Jack’s pride they have fallen out. We must try to bring them together.’
‘But should we interfere, sir? Between man and wife?’
‘I think if something is not done they may not be man and wife much longer.’ I looked at Joan. She looked frightened and tired, and suddenly old. I remembered thinking she needed more help around the house, yet I had done nothing. I laid my hand on her arm. ‘It will be all right.’ I spoke with a confidence I did not feel.
HARSNET RESPONDED to my messages with commendable speed. Not long after first light next morning a man arrived from him, a muscular fellow of around thirty, craggy-faced with keen eyes. He told me he was Philip Orr, one of the Westminster constables, and had agreed to take on the job of watching the house out of respect for the coroner, ‘a good man and a godly one,’ as he put it. Another hot-gospeller, I thought, but was nonetheless grateful to Harsnet for providing someone capable so quickly. The coroner had also sent a message by Orr; he wished to question Dean Benson of Westminster Cathedral at once about his former infirmarian and his assistants. He asked Barak and I to accompany him, saying he would meet us by the abbey gatehouse at eight thirty. The letter noted that I should have time to go on to Westminster Palace for that morning’s hearings in Requests. I was grateful to him for considering that.
‘He works fast,’ I said to Barak as we walked down to the river to catch a boat. It was still mild, but drizzly, a light rain driven into our faces by the wind. The look Barak had given me when he came down to breakfast that morning left me in no doubt he did not want to hear any more about his marriage; Tamasin, still suffering from her injuries, had stayed in bed.
‘Lord Cromwell trained his men well.’
‘He is a religious radical. I hope that doesn’t cloud his investigative skills.’
‘He seemed sharp enough to me,’ Barak replied. I did not pursue the point; he was in a mood to turn discussion into argument.
We walked from Whitehall Stairs to Westminster again, through more squally rain; I was glad the day’s court papers were secure in the leather panniers Barak carried. Instead of turning left into New Palace Yard as usual, we went under the gatehouse of the former abbot’s prison into Thieving Lane. The rain had stopped, and patches of white clouds moved across a blue sky, sending shadows chasing each other across the ground below.
The Westminster streets teemed with people. Well-dressed MPs were walking to Parliament from their lodgings, harried unmercifully by beggars and pedlars. Some of the Members had been here long enough to develop the trick of waving a hand in dismissal without looking if someone approached, but one man in a fine red cloak and jewelled cap was being mobbed by a group of pedlars. He had made the mistake of trying to argue with one, and seeing an opening the whole group had flocked round him like starlings round a dropped cake. ‘No, no, I said I don’t want any of that stuff!’ he called plaintively as someone grasped his sleeve. He lost his temper and began shouting, ‘No! No! Go away, damn you, and take your rubbish!’ A pedlar thrust a copper necklace in his face.
Barak laughed. ‘Some country gruff. They’ll eat him alive.’
I jumped back as a long iron knife was thrust in my face. It was another pedlar, a tray of ironware tied round his neck. A tall grey-bearded man, smelling mightily.
‘Have a care!’ I snapped.
‘Fine steel knives, the very best, sir!’
I shouldered him aside and we went on. Harsnet was already standing by the ancient gatehouse, wearing a lawyer’s robe embossed over the heart with the royal arms, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked up Thieving Lane. He nodded as we approached. I began by thanking him for sending Orr to my house.
‘The women must be protected. And if the rogue does try to gain entry we have a chance to catch him. Orr is a good man. I hope your wife is not too badly hurt, Goodman Barak.’ His face softened with genuine concern.
‘A bit of rest and she’ll be all right.’
‘But what exactly happened?’
I told Harsnet about the attack on Tamasin. He set his lips. ‘How can that have happened? We must talk further after we have seen the dean.’
‘And you, sir?’ I asked him. ‘Have the neighbouring coroners reported any - any horrific murders like our three?’
‘None. And we are still in the dark as to how our killer got to know those men, why he chose them.’ He sighed, then essayed a tired smile. ‘Well, let us see what Dean Benson has to say. I told him to expect us. He will be at the former prior’s house, which he has taken over.’ Harsnet frowned; a reformer would disapprove of an ex-monk benefiting from the Dissolution.
‘One thing,’ I said. ‘Have you thought, this last week, that someone might be following you?’
The coroner shook his head. ‘No.’
‘I fear I have. I think you should take care, sir.’
‘I will. Thank you.’ He drew a deep breath as he led the way under the gate into the old monastic precinct.
THE OUTER COURTS of
most Benedictine monasteries had long been places of commerce, but Westminster had been in a class of its own, partly because of its enormous size but also because of its ancient privilege of sanctuary. Those who were wanted by the law could move there and set themselves up beyond the reach of justice. Thus the house of God had been surrounded by villains evading retribution. The precinct was ringed with a mixture of fine houses and poor tenements, home to criminals of all sorts, all paying profitable rents to the monks. Most of the old privileges of sanctuary had been abolished by King Henry - one of his better initiatives - but the Sanctuary itself had survived the Dissolution, and debtors and petty thieves could still find refuge there. Some fugitives had spent a lifetime in Westminster Sanctuary, often living a comfortable life, doing business in London using lawyers like Bealknap as intermediaries, and going each Sunday to St Margaret’s church, a fine, recently rebuilt building that dominated the northern part of the precinct.
As we passed the church, I noticed a little group standing outside, two of them clerics in white robes. ‘Bonner.’ Harsnet spat out the name. I recognized the feared Bishop of London, a squat, thickset, round-faced figure. He was laughing with the other cleric, perhaps the St Margaret’s vicar. I studied the bishop who wanted to purge London of radicals.
‘He seems cheery enough,’ I observed.
‘Vicar Brown is cut from the same cloth,’ Harsnet said grimly.
‘St Margaret’s is still full of gold and candles and images; it was enough trouble to prise their relic of St Margaret’s finger out of them. That porkling of the Pope would have us all back to Rome.’
‘Yet Bonner was once Cromwell’s man,’ I said.
‘Now Cromwell is dead the wolves cast off the sheep’s clothing they adopted to keep in favour.’ He glared at the bishop. ‘God forgive me, I wish our killer would aim at Bonner, not good reformers. But the devil looks after his own.’