Revelation: A Matthew Shardlake Mystery (Matthew Shardlake Mysteries)

by C. J. Sansom

  ‘Of course. I think I can bear not seeing him.’ I wondered if Bealknap was still ashamed of giving Felday information about me; of course he did not know that Felday was dead. ‘Will you tell your mistress I am sorry he is such trouble?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  I walked away. For the first time in nearly a month I stopped and looked at the fountain. The water plashed peacefully into the great stone bowl. I thought, how did the killer get to know that Roger had once been a radical reformer years ago? As I stood there looking at the water, something stirred in my mind, something I had heard the day I went to Yarington’s house and spoke to Timothy. What was it? It nagged at my tired brain as I walked home, adding to my general sense of unease.

  I WENT round to my chambers, but Barak had just left. I followed him home; he was eating some bread and cheese in the parlour.

  ‘Thanks for keeping an eye on the work,’ I said.

  ‘How did you get on with the old—with Dr Malton?’

  ‘He was not there.’

  ‘Do you want some food?’

  ‘No. I am not hungry.’ I looked at him seriously. ‘I think you should go to your room, see Tamasin. She is in an unhappy humour.’

  He sighed and nodded. In the doorway he turned. ‘By the way, Orr said that pedlar who’s taken to frequenting Chancery Lane is becoming a bit of a nuisance. He’s called twice this last couple of days trying to sell trinkets, asking for one of the women of the house.’

  I stared at him. ‘Wait,’ I said quietly. ‘Close the door.’ I was breathing hard with the thought that had come to my mind. ‘This pedlar, is he a ragged greybeard?’

  ‘Ay. Him that has been round here for days.’

  ‘And carries his things in a three-wheeled barrow.’

  ‘You don’t think - but he’s an old greybeard. And half the pedlars in London push three-wheeled carts.’

  ‘But what a way to follow us, observe us unnoticed. Barak, is this what he has been doing? Is it him?’

  ‘He’s in Hertfordshire.’

  ‘He’s concentrated our attention there. Fetch Orr,’ I said. ‘Then go to the end of the front garden and see if the pedlar’s in sight. Don’t let him see you.’

  Barak gave me a doubtful look, but hurried away. Orr appeared a minute later. ‘What was that pedlar selling?’ I asked.

  ‘The usual stuff. Bits of cheap jewellery. Brushes and pans. I told him to be off.’

  ‘Pedlars do not usually waste time on second calls if they have had no luck the first time.’

  ‘He asked for the woman of the house. Perhaps he thought he could wheedle Tamasin or Joan into buying something. When he called he kept looking past me, into the house.’

  Barak returned. ‘He’s coming down Chancery Lane from Aldgate. He’ll be here in a minute.’ He frowned. ‘You’re right, there’s something odd. He’s just pushing his cart down the street, not stopping at any houses or accosting passers-by.’

  ‘I think he may be the killer,’ I said quietly. ‘What better way to go around unnoticed, follow people, listen to conversations, than pass yourself off as a ragged pedlar whom people will notice only to avoid, part of the refuse of mankind none of us wants to see.’

  ‘But he’s an old man,’ Orr protested.

  ‘I’m not sure he is,’ Barak said. ‘He walks like a younger man. And have we not recently passed Palm Sunday, when people dress up as the old prophets and false beards are ten a groat?’

  ‘Jesu, have we got him?’ Orr breathed.

  ‘Shall we try to take him now, we two?’ Barak asked him.

  Orr nodded. ‘He seems unarmed.’

  ‘Let’s do it now,’ Barak said. ‘We must hurry, or he’ll be past us and into the throng of Fleet Street.’

  I stood up. ‘I’m coming too.’ I spoke with more bravado than I felt. ‘And if when we take him he proves to be a devil with forked horns under that beard and flies off over Holborn then we will know Harsnet was right.’

  ‘I’ll get my sword. Is yours in your room?’

  ‘Yes.’ It had lain there years; lawyers did not wear swords.

  ‘Mine’s in the kitchen.’ Orr left, his face grimly determined. I looked round my parlour: the tall buffet displaying my plate, my prized wall-painting of a classical hunting scene. I realized how much it meant to me, the room at the centre of my life. I set my lips and went to fetch the sword from my room. As I went out to the landing, buckling on my scabbard, Barak’s door opened and he stepped out. ‘This is urgent, woman!’ he called over his shoulder. ‘We’ve got him!’ He thundered down the stairs. Orr was already standing by the open door. Tamasin rushed out of her room, her face furious. She grabbed my arm. ‘What in Heaven’s name is happening? Will someone tell me?’

  ‘We think the killer is outside,’ I said. ‘We think he is disguised as a pedlar. This is our chance, we must go.’ I ran hastily downstairs. Orr and Barak were already outside. I caught a glimpse of Joan standing in the kitchen doorway, the two boys clinging to her skirts.

  THE sun Was low in the sky, the house casting long shadows across Chancery Lane. From the gateway I saw the pedlar had now passed my house, trundling his cart on down the gently sloping street. The three of us ran pell-mell after him. Lawyers and clerks passing by stopped and stared. As we splashed through a puddle I saw a blob of mud fly out and hit the coat of Treasurer Rowland, who had pressed himself against the wall to avoid our rush. I felt a momentary stab of satisfaction.

  ‘We’ll look silly if it’s just some old pedlar,’ Orr said. I had not breath to answer.

  As we ran up behind him the pedlar heard us coming and turned, pulling a brake on one of the rear wheels of his cart. As Barak had said, he moved quickly for an old man. I caught another glimpse of a grey beard, wild hair, bright eyes in a dirty face. Then he turned to run.

  Barak jumped him, grasping his ragged collar. Most men would have toppled but the pedlar stayed upright and seized Barak’s arm, preventing him from reaching his sword. Orr grabbed at the grey beard, but it pulled away from his face with a ripping sound, opening a red gash on the man’s cheek and hanging lopsided over his mouth. He ignored it. Then his knee came up between Barak’s legs and Barak doubled over with a gasp. The pedlar jumped for his cart, thrust his hand to the bottom and pulled out a large sword, sending a heap of cheap bangles flying. He stood at bay against the cart; Orr and I, swords drawn, had him pinned against it. I became aware that we were surrounded by a whole crowd of passers-by, looking on from a safe distance.

  I tried to get a look at the pedlar’s face. The bushy grey hair obscured his brow, and blood from where his beard had been torn off was running from his left cheek into the wig. Something struck me as odd about the colour of his long nose, and I realized that like the beard it was a fake, and what I had taken for a dirty face was in fact caked with actor’s make-up. Only the blue eyes, glittering with hatred and excitement, were real.

  The pedlar made a sudden jump, striking out at me. More by luck than judgement I managed to parry the blow. Then Barak, face pale with pain, jumped to my side. He thrust at the pedlar’s sword-arm, but a sudden shout from the side of the road distracted him and he missed.

  ‘Stop this melee!’ Treasurer Rowland was yelling at us as though we were a group of frolicking students. He disoriented us for a second. The pedlar took his chance and thrust his sword at Barak, catching him on the forearm and making him drop his sword. Then he jumped aside and ran at a man in the crowd, a law student who had dismounted from his horse to watch and held his animal by the reins. The pedlar slashed at his cheek with his sword, then dropped it on the ground as the boy screamed and put his hands to his face. The pedlar jumped into the horse’s saddle, kicked at the horse and in a second he was racing back up Chancery Lane towards Holborn. The poor student lay writhing and screaming on the ground as Barak held his bloody arm and cursed. I thought of commandeering a horse from the street and making chase, but by the time I had done that the killer would be long gone. I turned weari
ly back to the scene around the cart.

  Barak had received only a small flesh wound but the poor student was badly hurt, a slash across the nose and cheek that would scar him for life. It was a miracle the blow had missed his eyes. Treasurer Rowland ordered him taken back to Lincoln’s Inn. Then he turned to me, furious, demanding to know why we had attacked a pedlar. Telling him it was the man who had killed Roger Elliard shut him up.

  The crowd slowly dispersed, and Barak and Orr and I were left with the cart. We looked through it but there was nothing there but trays of pasteboard jewellery, some cloths and dusters and bottles of cleaning-vinegar for silver.

  ‘Big enough to hide a body,’ Barak observed. He took one of the cloths and wound it round his arm to staunch the blood dripping to his fingers.

  ‘This is how he followed us, no doubt listening to our conversations. I don’t remember any greybeard pedlar with a cart in the crowd when I was struck, but he may have other disguises.’

  ‘Was it Goddard, sir?’ Orr asked.

  ‘With that false nose and hair and the blood on his face, who can say?’

  ‘I saw no sign of a mole,’ Barak said. ‘If it’s as big as people say, it’d be hard to hide.’

  ‘Why was he here?’ Orr asked.

  ‘Perhaps to observe comings and goings. Perhaps to frighten us again, or even to do something to the women.’ I thought a moment, then delved into the cart and pulled out the half dozen bottles of cleaning-vinegar. One by one I emptied them into the bottom of the cart. The contents of the fourth made a hissing sound and began to sear the wood.

  ‘Vitriol again,’ I said. ‘That is why he has been calling at the house. This was meant to be thrown at Tamasin or Joan.’

  THE THREE OF us walked slowly back home. The cart we left where it was. It could tell us nothing more. I threw the fake beard inside it.

  Joan was standing in the doorway. She looked frightened, and her eyes widened at the sight of Barak’s arm. ‘What happened?’ she asked, her voice trembling.

  ‘The man who attacked Tamasin and me was outside,’ I said. ‘He got away.’ I looked at her wrinkled, worried face. I could not bear to tell her what might have happened had she, rather than Orr, opened the door to the pedlar. ‘It’s all right now. Where are the boys?’

  ‘I told them to stay in the stable.’

  I nodded wearily. ‘They can come out now. Goodman Orr, thank you for your help.’

  He nodded and followed Joan into the kitchen. Barak leaned against the banister, his face pale as shock caught up with him.

  ‘I’d have had him but for that gabbling old arsehole Rowland,’ he said fiercely.

  ‘Yes, I think you would.’

  ‘I can’t tell Tammy about the vitriol. I can’t even bear to think of it.’ He sighed. ‘She can’t go outside until this is over. I’ll tell her.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I go out if I want to?’ I looked up to find Tamasin at the top of the stairs, looking down at us. She must have heard Barak’s final words. She looked at his arm. ‘What the hell have you done to yourself now?’ Her voice was sharp with anger and panic. I realized I had never before heard her swear.

  ‘The killer was outside. We almost caught him, but he got away. This is nothing, just a scratch. Get some water and bathe it for me, would you?’

  ‘But why do you say I can’t go out?’ Tamasin called down.

  ‘He may still be around.’

  ‘He’s been around these last three weeks. Will you tell me what has happened?’

  ‘I think you should tell her,’ I said to Barak under my breath.

  ‘She can bear it.’

  ‘I can’t. I can’t bear such a thing might have happened to her because she is my wife.’ He took a shuddering breath.

  ‘What are you muttering about now?’ Tamasin called down.

  ‘Will you do as I say, woman?’ Barak called up the stairs. Holding his arm, he strode up to where Tamasin stood, her expression a mixture of anger and perplexity. He walked past her into their room. She followed. The door slammed behind her.

  Outside, the rain started up again, pelting hard against the windows.

  I Was preparing to get ready for bed, looking out of the window at the rain and wondering if they had repaired the gates at the Charterhouse, when there was a knock at my door. I opened it to find Barak there.

  ‘News from Harsnet?’ I asked.

  ‘No.’ He was in his shirt, his right sleeve rolled up and his forearm bandaged. On the bare skin above the bandage I saw other scars, relics of old sword-battles. He looked very tired. ‘May I come in?’ he asked brusquely. ‘I need to talk.’

  I nodded assent, and he sat down on the bed. He was silent a long moment, then shook his head. ‘She is angry because I will not let her go out of doors and will not tell her why.’

  ‘You should tell her about the vitriol.’

  He shook his head. ‘I could not tell her that something so awful might have happened to her. Just the thought of him doing that to her face—’ He broke off and I saw tears in the corners of his eyes.

  ‘Come, you know how strong she is. That is what you first liked about her at York. Do you remember?’

  ‘But I am her husband now. I should be able to protect her.’ And then he added, ‘I should be able to give her a child.’ He was silent a few moments again. ‘I know it is supposed to be the woman’s fault when a child dies just after it leaves the womb, but who knows anything any more these days? What if the fault is mine? All I wanted was to provide for her, keep her safe, give her a family. Carry on my father’s old Jewish name. And I have been able to do none of those things.’ He stared bleakly at the door. ‘I love her, I have never felt for any woman what I feel for her and God knows I have known plenty.’

  ‘Perhaps that is the problem,’ I answered gently. ‘You built a fantasy of how married life would be, and find hard the reality of a union which heaven knows has been blessed with little luck. But that is the fault of neither of you. If only the two of you could talk freely.’

  He gave me a sidelong look. ‘For one who has always lived alone you are a shrewd old bird, aren’t you?’

  ‘Easy enough to see the problems in others’ lives. I have made the opposite mistake with Dorothy. I have said too much to her too soon.’

  ‘Ah, I wondered what was happening there.’

  ‘Nothing is happening. And if you tell anyone else about it, I will have you out of Lincoln’s Inn faster than a crow can fly,’ I added jestingly, to relieve the tension. Barak smiled and nodded.

  ‘Talking of crows,’ he said, ‘you don’t think you may have competition from Bealknap? Maybe he is not ill at all, and seeks to rouse her pity.’

  ‘Bealknap would only be interested in a woman if she were made of gold and could be melted down.’

  We took refuge in brief laughter, then Barak said seriously, ‘Will you be able to make it up with the old Moor?’

  ‘I do not know. I will try. As you should with Tamasin.’

  He rose with a sigh. ‘I ought to go back to her. Thank you,’ he added.

  ‘Jack,’ I said. ‘Do you remember once at York you told me you were torn between your old adventurous, rake-hell life and settling down. You chose to settle down with Tamasin, you made your choice. To move from a life of self-reliance to sharing. You have much courage, now you must have the courage to open yourself to her.’

  He paused at the door. ‘There are different types of courage,’ he said gloomily. ‘Few have them all in good measure.’

  THE rider From Lambeth Palace called after midnight, when we had all gone to bed. I was not asleep, however, for lying in bed I could hear muffled shouts from Barak and Tamasin’s room; they were arguing again. The sound stopped suddenly at the loud knocking on the front door.

  Barak and I were told to come immediately to a conference with Archbishop Cranmer. We dressed quickly, fetched the horses and rode through the darkened city to Whitehall Stairs, where a large boat was waiting to ferry us
across the Thames. It had stopped raining and bright moonlight shone down on the silvery, deserted river.

  We were led to Cranmer’s office. As Barak and I arrived outside another clerk approached from the opposite direction, Harsnet beside him. The coroner too looked as though he had just been roused from his bed.

  The Archbishop was sitting behind his desk. His face was strained, great bags under his eyes. Lord Hertford was not present but Sir Thomas Seymour was, gaudily dressed as usual, his arms folded across his chest and a look of excitement on his face.

  I told them of the incident with the pedlar. ‘You could not see who he was?’ Harsnet asked quietly when I had finished.

  ‘No. He was well disguised.’

  ‘Goddard had a large mole on his face,’ Cranmer said.

  ‘I did not see it. But he was caked with make-up.’

  Cranmer sat considering for a moment. Then he turned to Sir Thomas. ‘Tell them the news from Hertfordshire,’ he said.

  ‘I found Kinesworth easily enough. It’s just a small village, a mile from Totteridge. The local magistrate knew all about the Goddard family. They lived in a manor house just outside the village. They were wealthy once, but Goddard’s father was a drunk and lost it all. Their estates were sold by the time the father died thirty years ago. Goddard was still a boy then. He and his mother holed up in the house; apparently she was a woman of good breeding and ashamed of what had happened to the family. When he was old enough Goddard went to Westminster Abbey to be a monk. The old woman lived on at the house alone as a recluse until she died a few months ago and Goddard inherited it.’

  ‘That was when he moved out of his London lodgings,’ I said. ‘That was where he went.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Is he there now?’

  ‘Apparently he comes and goes. He was seen riding out to London yesterday. We waited all day to see if he would come back, but there was no sign until well after nightfall yesterday. Then smoke was seen coming from the chimney of the house.’