by C. J. Sansom
‘Nothing. Private matters of Guy’s.’
We rode away in silence. I almost groaned aloud at the thought of the harm I had done to our long friendship.
Chapter Thirty-eight
WE RODE HOME. The streets were thronged. Most of the city constables seemed to be on patrol, together with several guards in Bishop Bonner’s livery. Many people gave them hostile or frightened looks. I thought of those who had been arrested, of the danger to Cranmer. I wondered what the godly men were doing, keeping out of sight, probably, waiting till the storm died down. But this latest persecution would only encourage them to see themselves as martyrs. It occurred to me that Harsnet, as a royal official and a radical, might himself be in danger. Or would the protection of Cranmer and Lord Hertford be enough?
I was exhausted; at home I went up to bed and slept for several hours, then had a gloomy dinner on my own, Barak and Tamasin staying in their room. Seymour’s men must have reached Hertfordshire by now. I went to bed early. In the morning there was still no word. Barak joined me at breakfast.
‘What’s happening?’ I said.
‘Maybe Seymour’s men are dealing with Goddard quietly up there,’ Barak said seriously.
I shook my head. ‘They should tell us,’ I said. A thought struck me. ‘Where is Tamasin? Is she missing breakfast again?’
‘She’s still abed.’ Barak looked at me seriously. ‘She’s guessed somehow that there’s been another killing, but I didn’t tell her where I went yesterday. She’s getting mopish, she just lies in bed. She looked so - sad.’
‘Why is it you can no longer communicate, do you think?’
‘I don’t know.’ As so often, he changed the subject. ‘You’re not going to report young Piers, then?’
‘No.’
‘What is it between him and the old Moor?’ Barak looked at me curiously.
‘I think the need for someone to care for, and to pass on his knowledge to, is so strong that it has taken him over. But in the end it does not matter. At least now he is rid of that boy. I hope he has escaped, gone somewhere far from London.’
‘If he has any sense he will have. He’ll know that if he’s tried for theft, he’ll hang.’
I stood up abruptly. ‘I am going to the Bedlam,’ I said. ‘Guy said he was going to visit Adam there. I will try and talk to him, make him see sense.’
Barak looked dubious. ‘He’s pretty angry,’ he said.
I almost said, attend to your wife, she is angry too, but bit back the words. ‘I can’t let it rest like this.’
‘Do you want me to come?’
‘No. No, I’ll go alone.’
He gave me a worried look. I could see he was concerned that the strain was becoming too much for me; his own face looked strained enough. I put my hand on his shoulder.
‘I’ll ride,’ I said. ‘I’ll be safe. Send word if there is any news from Hertfordshire.’
I REACHED Bishopsgate without incident. But as I rode through the gates into the Bedlam yard I heard an unexpected sound: a woman screaming and sobbing in dreadful fear. For an awful moment I feared the killer had misdirected us again and the seventh killing was to be here, now. Then I saw that a woman was hammering and banging on the closed doors of the Bedlam building, screaming to be let in. A little crowd of passers-by had gathered, some laughing at this latest example of the antics of the mad. I wondered why no one came to open the door. Then, as I rode up to the crowd, I saw that the woman was the keeper Ellen. I dismounted and hastily tied Genesis to the rail.
Ellen took no notice of the crowd. She had flattened her whole body against the door as she screamed in what seemed an extraordinary terror. ‘Let me in, Master Shawms! Please! Please!’ I elbowed my way through the crowd and laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Ellen,’ I said quietly.
She did not look round. She went rigid and seemed to press herself even more tightly against the door. ‘Who is it?’ she whispered.
‘It is I, Master Shardlake. What on earth is the matter?’
‘For pity’s sake, Master Shardlake, make him let me in.’ And with that her knees gave way and she slid down the door, still pressing herself against it, sobbing wildly.
I banged on the door. ‘Shawms!’ I shouted. ‘Open this door! What is happening?’ I heard voices whispering, just inside. And from further back in the building I heard people shouting, and thought I heard Adam’s voice among them.
A key turned and the door opened to reveal Shawms, the big keeper Gebons behind him. Gebons was frowning; Shawms looked angry. As soon as the door opened sufficiently Ellen threw herself inside and flattened herself against the opposite wall. She stood there, breathing heavily. A gaggle of patients stood in the open door of the parlour, their expressions fearful. The old woman Cissy took a couple of shuffling steps forward, hesitantly stretching out an arm. ‘Oh, Ellen,’ she muttered. ‘Poor Ellen.’
I saw that the doors of all the patients’ rooms were shut. I heard the man who believed he was the King demanding his subjects behave themselves, while from down the corridor the one-time scholar was banging himself against his door with loud thuds. Between them I heard Adam’s voice calling to God to help Ellen, save good Ellen.
Shawms shut the front door in the faces of the curious onlookers. ‘What are you doing to these people?’ I demanded.
He looked as though he would have liked to strike me, but kept his voice calm. ‘Ellen there needed a lesson. Thanks to you she has taken over the welfare of Adam Kite and makes so bold as to tell me how he should be treated. Now she is moving on to the other patients, demanding that drivelling old dolt Cissy be released into the care of her family.’ He glared round at the old woman, who shrank back into the doorway. ‘As though her family wanted the trouble, any more than Ellen’s family want her.’ His voice rose. ‘Have you not yet grasped what this place is, Master Shardlake? It is a rubbish-heap, where people of wealth leave their mad relatives. We may have our charity cases and sometimes people even get cured, or pretend they are to get out. But mostly it is a rubbish heap, one that generates gold for Warden Metwys as rubbish generates rats.’
‘Ellen is a member of your staff even if she was a patient once. What in the devil’s name have you done to her?’
Shawms laughed then, right in my face. ‘Is that what she told you? Ellen is still a patient, she always will be. I have given her some of the duties of a keeper, for she is good with the patients, if too soft with them.’ He looked at her. ‘But sometimes she gets above herself, and I have to remind her of who and what she is by putting her outside.’ He turned to Ellen, who was still holding herself rigid against the wall, breathing heavily, her eyes averted from the closed door. ‘That is her madness,’ Shawms continued brutally. ‘She can’t bear to go outside, says the world sways and rocks and will swallow her up. She’s been like that ever since she was set on by a gang of youths down in Sussex where she comes from, and they made a woman of her before her time. Ain’t that so, Ellen?’
Ellen forced herself to stand away from the wall. She clasped her hands in front of her. ‘Yes, Master Shawms,’ she said calmly. She looked from him to me, her long face filled with shame. ‘So now, Master Shardlake, you know all about me.’
I felt great pity for the poor woman, but knew instinctively that to show it would be the worst thing I could do.
‘It does not matter, Ellen,’ I said quietly. ‘Listen, poor Adam is distressed. Will you come with me and help him? You are better with him than anyone. If you feel able.’
She gave me a grateful look. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said quietly, and began walking steadily down the corridor, feeling for her bunch of keys. I turned to Shawms. ‘I hope Adam is not too disturbed by this incident; I should have to report it to the court.’ He gave me a vicious look. As I turned away Gebons gave me a look of something like admiration.
I joined Ellen at the closed door to Adam’s room. ‘Ellen!’ he cried from within. ‘What have they done to you?’
‘It’s all right,
’ Ellen called. ‘I am here.’
‘Has Dr Malton not arrived?’ I asked her.
‘No, sir, he was expected but is not here.’ Ellen’s voice and manner were almost normal now, just a little shaky, as though her earlier wildness had been a dream. She opened the door. Within, Adam was standing as near to the door as his ankle chain would allow him. His face was red, his frantic expression turning to relief as Ellen entered.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked her. ‘You were screaming.’
‘Yes, Adam. Do not disturb yourself, sit down.’ I saw a stool had been brought into the room. The boy hesitantly sat down on it. ‘It was Dr Malton’s idea to bring that in,’ Ellen told to me. ‘Make him sit instead of crouching praying on the floor.’
For the first time, I realized, Adam had shown concern for someone else. Then he turned his wasted face to me, and said something I did not understand.
‘My concern for Ellen was honourable, sir, please say you saw that it was so if you are asked. I was not sinning again, even in thought. It was not like the wicked reverend’s woman.’ Then his thin face twisted into an agonized rictus and he would have sunk to his knees had not Ellen held his shoulder. ‘Come, Adam,’ she said. The boy put his head in his hands and began to cry.
And then the connection came to me. His vicar, Meaphon, was friends with Reverend Yarington. Timothy had described the boy who had visited the prostitute Abigail as tall and dark. Adam was tall and dark and his mother had told me that once he had been good-looking, until this desperate obsession had reduced him to skin and bone.
I stepped forward. ‘Adam, does the name Abigail mean anything to you?’
At that the boy wriggled out of Ellen’s grasp and crouched against the wall, staring at me in horror. ‘My sin is discovered,’ he whispered. ‘Oh God forgive me, do not strike me down.’
‘Sir, what are you doing?’ Ellen asked indignantly.
‘Turning a key which must be turned,’ I said. I knelt down beside Adam, making my voice calm. ‘Adam, you came to Reverend Yarington’s house once with a message from your own vicar, did you not?’
He looked at me with terrified eyes. ‘Yes.’
‘Abigail saw you and invited you in. She felt the need for a young man. She taught you things you had thought on but not experienced yet. Am I right?’
‘How can you know that?’ he whispered. ‘Has God marked you as the instrument of my punishment?’
I smiled gently. ‘No, Adam. Yarington’s stable boy saw someone from the stable. I just realized it might be you. That is all. Abigail has run away and I needed to find her in connection with a case.’ I must not tell him Yarington had been murdered.
‘That is my great sin,’ he said. ‘I knew if my parents and the church found out they would cast me away, for I have lost my place with the elect.’ Adam looked at me. ‘You will not tell my parents, sir?’
‘No. I promise.’
‘I was wax in her hands,’ Adams said. ‘Jesus, my shield, seemed powerless. She must have come from the devil.’
‘She was only a poor woman. Helpless herself, in the power of that hypocrite Yarington.’
‘Yes. He is a hypocrite.’ He nodded frenetically. ‘I knew I should tell my parents, the church - I turned to God for guidance but could feel nothing, nothing. Has He abandoned me?’
‘I am no theologian, Adam. But one thing is for certain, you have not abandoned Him. Only sought to reach Him in the wrong way, perhaps.’
It was too much for the boy, he buried his face in his hands and began weeping again. I stood up painfully, my knees creaking. I turned to Ellen. ‘I must leave now. The information Adam has given me is important. For a - a case. I do not know when Dr Malton may come. May I leave Adam with you?’
A bitter look crossed her face. ‘Do you mean, am I safe to leave him with?’
‘No - I—’
‘I am safe enough,’ she said starkly. ‘Unless I am made to go out.’ She took a long breath. ‘Most of the time I am sane.’
‘I know I leave him in good hands with you.’
Her face coloured. ‘Do you mean that?’
‘I do. If Dr Malton comes, please tell him what Adam said. And tell him - tell him I tried to see him.’
‘I see from your face this is something serious,’ Ellen said. ‘Is Adam in trouble?’
‘No, I swear he is not.’ I smiled at her. ‘You are a good woman, Ellen. Do not let a bullying pig like Shawms make you think otherwise.’
She nodded, tears coming into her eyes. I left the room, my brain racing. So it was Adam who had visited Abigail. He was the dark-haired boy I had been seeking. I wondered suddenly if Ellen was indeed safe to leave with Adam, her terrible panic had shaken me. But no, I thought, apart from her strange malady, she is all too sane, saner than many of the thousands on the streets of London.
Chapter Thirty-nine
I RODE HOME in thoughtful mood. I could not face the morning crowds in the streets, and took the roads north of the city wall. It felt safe there too; there was no one around. The quiet made it worth passing by the stinking Houndsditch, where despite the injunctions of the Council people still dumped dead dogs and horses. I thought about Adam, how easy it was to forget that those who became mad were once ordinary people. I could see now that Adam’s bone-thin, tragic face could have been handsome, once, how he could have been, as his father described him, a carefree romping lad. Such a boy would be seen by those in his church as one to be controlled, disciplined, frightened with Hell. And how well that had worked. I thought too of Ellen, her tragic story and what she might have been like before her terrible experience.
I turned into Chancery Lane from the north; it was at once busier. I was still deep in thought. I was brought sharply to myself by a shout of ‘Look out, there!’ I saw a pedlar directly in front of Genesis, holding a three-wheeled cart full of trinkets. As I jerked the reins I glimpsed a ragged coat, its tatters dragging in the dirt, and a filthy face framed by thick grey hair and a bushy beard.
‘Ye’ll have me over, ye’ll pay if ye break my goods!’ he muttered over his shoulder as he hauled his cart out of the way. I steadied Genesis, who had almost stumbled, and placed a hand on his flank to reassure him as I rode on. By the time I could glance back, the pedlar was almost up to Holborn. I rode on past Lincoln’s Inn Gate to my house. It was still only half past four.
As I went upstairs to change out of my riding clothes I reflected that one aspect of the mystery was solved at least; the boy who had visited Yarington’s house had been locked safely in the Bedlam all these weeks. It looked as if was Goddard after all. But why had he sent us his address?
I took down my Testament, and turned to Revelation:And the seventh Angel poured out his vial into the air; and there came a great voice out of the Temple of Heaven, from the seat, saying, it is done. And there followed voices, and thunders, and lightnings; and there was a great earthquake, such as was not seen since men were on the earth, so mighty an earthquake and so great.
I sat back in my chair. Every killing had been a simulation, a cruel parody, of what the seven angels had done to the sinful multitudes in Revelation. He had used the body of poor Lockley to dam a stream to symbolize the drying up of the Euphrates by the sixth vial. But as Barak had said, how could even he make the earth quake?
As I laid my Testament on my desk it fell open again, at an earlier page. A passage caught my eye. Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians:And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.
I wondered if the killer had ever read that passage. If he had, it would have made no impression; it would not have chimed with his terrible urge to violence, he would probably not have noticed it. I closed the book feeling further despair at what men had made of their God.
I WENT DOWNSTAIRS. As I passed the parlour I saw Tamasin, arranging some twigs dusted with early blossom in a vase. H
er face wore an expression of pensive sadness. She saw me and smiled.
‘I thought these would make a pretty display. I took them from the garden, I hope you do not mind.’
‘They will remind us that it is spring. Where is Jack?’
‘He has gone over to Lincoln’s Inn to see how Skelly is getting on alone.’
‘I should go there.’ I hesitated. I looked at her seriously. ‘Tamasin, we may be nearly there. We have located the house of the man that we think is behind all this, near Barnet. Sir Thomas Seymour has organized a party of men to go there and take him. We may have to go there tonight.’
‘You have the murderer?’ she asked.
‘We are fairly sure who he is.’
‘So Jack may be off adventuring again,’ she said.
‘Tamasin, he hates this. As I do, who brought him into it.’
‘You are right,’ she agreed. ‘He fears this creature you are hunting.’ Then she spread her arms wide in a despairing gesture. ‘But I can give him no comfort. When I try to talk to him seriously he calls me nag or scold.’ She sighed wearily. ‘So the same pattern just goes on and on, like a donkey turning a waterwheel.’
‘Tamasin—’
She raised a hand. ‘No, sir. You mean well and I thank you. But I am talked out.’ She curtsied and left the room.
Still restless, I decided to walk up to Lincoln’s Inn to see Dorothy. If Bealknap was better, perhaps I could shame the rogue into returning to his own lodgings. But when I arrived Margaret said that Dorothy had gone out, to settle some accounts.
‘It is good she is attending to business again,’ she said.
‘Yes.’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘How is my brother in the law, Master Bealknap?’
‘He is a great complainer. You would think he owned this place and I were his servant.’
‘Perhaps I could see him?’
‘I will see how he is.’ Margaret went inside, returning a minute later, red-faced. ‘He says he does not wish to see you, sir. He feels too poorly. I am very sorry, but without the mistress here I cannot—’