“But you find it dishonourable?”
Enys shrugged.
“Are you a Papist?” Carey demanded, voice harsh with suspicion.
“No sir,” Enys said with a sigh, “but my family were church-Papists and I find it hard to cheat their friends and neighbours.”
“Are they still Papists?”
“No sir, all of them are buried in good Protestant graves. My brother is my only living relative apart from my sister.”
“Was?”
Enys lifted his hands, palms up. “What else can I think?”
Dodd nudged Carey’s foot with his boot. “D’ye think…?”
Carey sighed. “We can but try.”
***
The men were very happy to stop off at Westminster steps and have ale and bread and cheese bought for them for their labours. Carey, Dodd, and Enys hurried to the crypt of the little chapel by the court.
The undertakers had been and the smell was less appalling since the entrails had been taken out and the cavity packed with salt and saltpetre. Now the corpse was wrapped in a cerecloth. Carey lit the candles with a spill from the watchlight.
Enys swallowed hard, took a deep breath. He had his hands clasped together at his waist as he went forward and Dodd peeled the waxed cloth from the dead man’s face. He looked intently for a few moments and then let his breath puff out in a sigh of relief.
“This is not my brother, sir,” said Enys. “Poor soul.” His gaze travelled down the body and he made a jerky movement with his right hand, then looked down.
Dodd grunted and put the waxed cloth back as carefully as he could. There was a sound behind him and he saw a small, fragile, very pregnant girl coming down the steps being carefully helped by a large man wearing a buff coat. With them was one of Hunsdon’s liverymen.
“Yerss,” said the large man to the liveryman, “it’s Briscoe, Timothy Briscoe. And this is my wife, Ellie.”
Carey stepped back from the corpse and so did Dodd. Enys was already in the shadows.
“Only she ‘eard about a corpse being found wiv a bit of ‘is finger missing,” Briscoe continued, “and she was scared it was ‘er big bruvver who she ‘asn’t seen for years and so I brung ‘er so she wouldn’t worry ‘erself and upset the baby.”
Dodd thought that if anything was likely to bring the baby on, it was the sight and smell of a corpse that had been in water for a while. The girl was shaking like a leaf and gripping tight to Briscoe’s arm. He looked a dangerous bruiser but his square face was full of concern and the girl crept close to the corpse and peered at the man’s left hand. There was a gasp and a gulp.
“Ellie, my love,” Briscoe rumbled. “You mustn’t…
“I’ve got to know,” trembled Ellie. Carey stepped forward and lifted the cerecloth from the man’s face. He was watching the girl carefully. She stood on tiptoe and stared, gulped again and again, and the tears started flowing down her face.
She turned her face to her husband’s shoulder quite quietly. “I’m not sure,” she whispered, “‘is face is different, but it might be Harry. It could be.”
Carey was good with distressed women, Dodd thought. He beckoned Briscoe and his wife up the steps and into the sunlight, gestured for them to sit down on a bench. He sat next to her and offered Mrs. Briscoe a sip from his silver flask of aqua vitae which she took gratefully.
“Mrs. Briscoe,” he said gently to her, “if you haven’t seen your brother Harry…What was his surname?”
“Dowling,” Briscoe said and his wife sniffled, fumbled out a hankerchief and blew her nose. “Harold Dowling was his name.”
“If you haven’t seen him for so long, why did you think it might be him?”
She gulped again with her hand resting on her proud belly. Thank God it didn’t look as if the babe had been brought on by shock yet. “I thought I saw ‘im in the street a few weeks ago, only he wouldn’t talk to me. I was so sure it was him and I was so pleased but he wouldn’t stop and he wouldn’t speak.”
“Where did you see him?”
“Seething Lane, near Sir Francis Walsingham’s old house.”
“How was he dressed?”
“He looked like a gentleman which is what he always wanted to be, you see. He went off to Germany after he had a big fight wiv my dad and went for a miner, but we never heard nuffing more from him and my dad said he’d probably died in a mine and good riddance.” She sniffled. “He was always in trouble, Harry, so maybe he was soldiering as well. It’s a good thing my mam never saw what he come to after she spent all that money to put him to school.”
Carey nodded. “But you’re not sure it’s him?”
She shook her head. “It might be because of the finger, that’s why I came. When I heard the crier say that about the body. He lost the tip of it when he was a boy and he caught it in a gate and the barber cut it off cos it went bad.”
She stopped, frowned and blinked at him. “Who are you, sir?”
“I’m Sir Robert Carey. My father asked me to try and find out why this man ended in the Thames with a knife wound in him.”
She gasped again. “I don’t know about that. He was a lovely bruvver,” she said, “’e took to me to Bartalmew’s Fair when I was little and every year after and he was such fun, always laughing and full of ideas for making money. He was certain he’d end as a gentleman.”
“I believe the inquest will be tomorrow…” said Carey, looking for confirmation at Hunsdon’s man who nodded, “in front of the Board of Greencloth. Afterwards you’ll be able to claim the body to bury.”
The girl nodded again and blew her nose again. “Thank you, sir.”
“May we help you to your home. I have a boat waiting for me.” Carey was watching the girl with concern.
Briscoe coughed. “Thank you kindly, sir, but we don’t live far from here and my wife prefers to walk, don’t you, Ellie?” The girl nodded as she heaved herself off the bench. “I’ve been walking a lot today, haven’t I, Tim?” she said with a watery smile. “It’s easier than sitting, to be honest, sir. And I don’t know if I could get in a boat at the moment, I’m so clumsy.”
“I see,” said Carey and smiled at her. “Well, God’s blessing on your time, mistress, I hope all goes well for you.” Ellie Briscoe went pink and dropped him a clumsy curtsey as she waddled off with her husband’s arm around her into the molten light that the sun was pouring into the Thames like a beekeeper measuring honey. Enys headed with his shoulders bowed towards the boatlanding.
“Will you not take a quart of ale, sir?” said Carey.
“If we do not presently round up the witnesses to Mr. Heneage’s assault on Sergeant Dodd, be very sure we will never find them,” said Enys in an oddly strangled voice. “Since he himself has given us the slip, I’m sure the lesser fry can and will.”
“Ay but surely they’ll be feared for their kin,” said Dodd who deeply doubted there was any point in finding the witnesses at all. Unpaid ones, anyway. “They’ll no’ testify, naebody would.” He’d thought that their only chance of persuading anyone to do it was being able to say “and Mr. Heneage is locked up now, what do you say to that?” while persuasively bouncing heads off walls. He’d assumed that was what they were about.
“You have a point,” said Carey regretfully as he followed the lawyer, gestured to the oarsmen and bailiffs who were sitting in the sun by the red lattices of the alehouse, and headed to the boat again.
Enys had a list of witnesses that Dodd had drawn up. Most of them were in Heneage’s pay. And Dodd had been looking forward to wetting his whistle which was starting to go dry, which was his own fault.
Scowling he got back in the damned boat again and sat there watching as Enys fumbled and wobbled his way to the seat. Carey stepped across and sat down at the prow, trailing his finger in the water and looking thoughtful.
“It’s a pity Mrs. Grenville’s a woman so she can’t testify,” he said. “All the rest are Heneage’s men, apart from Mr. Cheke.”
Enys frowned. “No
body else?”
“The Gaoler and the gaol servants.”
“Hmm. Sergeant, you were marked in the register as Sir Robert.”
“Ay, but I writ me own name in the book, clear as ye like,” said Dodd proudly, “not me mark but me name and office as well.” It was almost worth the missed football games and beatings from the Reverend Gilpin to be able to say that to the hoity toity London lawyer.
Surprisingly, Enys didn’t seem impressed by Dodd’s clerkly ability but he did look pleased.
“So under whose name were you removed from the gaol? Yours or Sir Robert’s?”
Dodd thought he’d been through this with Enys the night before. “Well, it couldnae have been Sir Robert’s name because Heneage knew fine Ah wisae him for he was angry about it.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Ay, he did.”
“In front of the Keeper and the gaol servants?”
“Ay, he was furious. So he kenned verrah well who I wis and called me Mr. Dodd forbye. Like ye said to the judge.”
“I believe we should pay a visit to the Fleet and arrest the Keeper,” Enys said to Carey. “It’s possible he has not been warned by Heneage and putting him in gaol might help to flush out the Vice Chamberlain.”
“He’ll get bail,” Carey said.
“I expect so,” said Enys placidly, “but the point will have been made. And with luck we will be able to establish something very damaging to Mr. Vice in the process.”
Dodd leaned forward. “Ay, but surely Heneage will get away wi’ it in the end,” he said, realising as he spoke that that was why he had been in a dump since they left Heneage’s house in Chelsea. Jesu, the man had his own personal dungeons and torture chamber. He was going up against someone more dangerous than the Grahams, that was sure. He couldn’t bring himself to admit it but it had been the blood on the manacles bolted high on the pillar in the cellar that had sent him queasy. Him. A Dodd from Upper Tynedale. At the age of sixteen he had taken a fine and bloody revenge for his father’s murder by the Elliots and…
No, he wouldn’t take the insult from anybody…but was law the right way to go about it? For all Carey’s father’s fine talk about paper weapons and lawyers as men at arms and champions.
“On the criminal charge, yes, he’ll likely compose with a fine which you should accept. On the civil…” Enys shrugged. “If we are before Mr. Justice Whitehead and any of the witnesses agree with you…Again it will be in the nature of a fine.”
Dodd grunted. It all came down to money for these folk, didn’t it. Well, was money what he really wanted? And since Heneage was still at large, would they find he had called out his affinity and descended on Somerset House while they were away. Och God, was that where he was?
He was about to mention the possibility to Sir Robert when Enys interrupted.
“It is certainly worth subpoena’ing the henchmen to testify that Heneage laid hands on you himself. Was he the only one?”
Dodd blinked at him. “Nay, they all had in wi’ a boot or a fist, tho…” Dodd paused and brightened. “Ay, but they might not mind admitting that Heneage laid into me wi’ a cosh if I said that he was the only one. Ay, I’ll say that.”
Enys coughed and looked at the bottom of the boat. “If we are in front of Mr. Justice Whitehead, may I urge you to tell the truth at all times. His honour is most perspicacious.”
Dodd didn’t care how much he sweated, he wanted to know how to get the judge on his side and keep him there. If telling the truth was what it took, then so be it. He sighed.“Ay, so it were all of them with Heneage in the lead.”
“How are you now, Sergeant?”
Dodd shrugged. “Ah’ve had worse, I think.” He couldn’t recall exactly when, mind, certainly since he’d learned to fight, but he had woken up hungover and aching as badly on more than one occasion.
“Did you see a surgeon?”
“Ay, better than that, my lord had his ain physician tend to me.”
“Would he testify as to your injuries?”
“He might,” said Carey, “for a fee.”
“He give me this stuff for medicine, which is very fine indeed,” said Dodd taking out the clay pipe and the henbane of Peru again. Once he’d got it lit he took a good lungful of smoke which was tasting better and no longer made his head whirl so badly. He liked the odd sensation of mild drunkenness without the rage that booze normally uncovered in him, and it definitely helped with aches and pains. He offered the pipe to Carey first, who shook his head, and then to Enys.
“I’ve never drunk tobacco,” said Enys.
“Ay? I thought all the students at the Inns of Court were terrible for it.”
“Oh they are,” said Enys ruefully, “drinking, gambling, fighting. It never appealed to me, drinking smoke. What are chimneys for?”
Nonetheless Enys took the pipe and cautiously sucked some smoke. Then he burst into a mighty coughing and wheezing, handing the pipe back to Dodd just before he would have dropped it.
“Ay, it takes you that way first,” Dodd agreed, smiling wisely as the medicine took hold. “I thought my head would fall off with the phlegm. It’s better now. You wouldnae think it wis medicine at all since it disnae make you purge.”
Still coughing, Enys nodded and mopped his eyes. That henbane of Peru surely did blast the phlegm out of you, though Dodd was hazy as to how that might help your kidneys.
They went first to Mr. Cheke’s apothecary shop, but did not even knock on the door. The windows were shuttered and on the door was the painted red cross and the printed warrant saying that the house was under quarantine.
Dodd felt sick. Poor man. Of all the physicians and apothecaries in the city, he had at least tried to fight the plague…Which was probably why he had caught it himself, despite all his terrifying precautions.
Ignoring the danger of infection, Carey shouted up to the shuttered windows. “Mr. Cheke!” he roared, “Mr. Cheke! Can you hear me? Do you need food or water?”
There was no answer, no sound, no movement. Carey stood for a moment with his head bowed and then turned wordlessly, heading away from the stricken shop.
In a methodical manner, they went round making sure the bailiffs delivered subpoenas to all the names on Dodd’s list after dumping the bag of Heneage’s papers at the Somerset House gate. One more witness was dead of plague. The Gaoler of the Fleet was quite upset to see them again, even more upset to be served with court papers, and positively horrified when Enys impounded the register as vital evidence. Slightly to Dodd’s surprise, there still witten in it as clear as day was the Gaoler’s wobbly painful letters which read “Sr Rbt Carey Knt” and next to it “Sgt Henry Dod” in Dodd’s own hand. Dodd thought he’d written it quite tidily, if large.
Wednesday 13th September 1592, late afternoon
Inevitably they ended up in the Mermaid again where Marlowe was playing primero with Poley and Munday and some obvious barnards as if nothing at all had happened. Marlowe stood up as they came in and bowed elaborately. “Ave, vos moriture saluto,” he said.
Carey returned the courtesy with a lordly nod, sat himself down on a bench, stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. Then he smiled and said, “If that means what I think it does, we’re not going to die yet.”
“Of course you are, gentlemen,” said Marlowe, waving at the potboy, “but it will have been worth it. You’ve tried to put the honourable Mr. Vice Chamberlain into gaol. Wonderful idea. What would you like to drink?”
The two barnards looked in horror from Carey to Marlowe and back again, gathered what was left of their money, and practically ran out the door. Munday tutted quietly.
“Aqua vitae from the barrel under the counter and sherry sack,” said Carey promptly. “Did Heneage pay you your wages at last then, Kit?”
Marlowe smiled and kissed his fingers at Carey.
“I’ll have a quart of double, if ye’re buying,” said Dodd suspiciously. “This here is Mr. Enys, he’s our lawyer.”
“Better and better,” said Marlowe becoming more dramatic by the minute. “Mr. Enys if you were the man who had the balls to draft the pleadings, please do join us.”
Enys coloured slightly and smiled. “Mild for me, thank you,” he said, sitting himself down nervously on a stool with his robe wrapped around him.
“Many tongu’d Rumour is rampaging up and down Whitefriars and the Temple,” declaimed Marlowe, who had clearly been drinking all day, flinging out an arm as if to introduce her. “Is it true Mr. Vice tried to escape and was stopped by Sergeant Dodd here leaping on board the coach, wrestling the driver to the ground, running across the backs of the horses, and halting the coach just before it should tragically fall into a ravine with Heneage in it, at which Mr. Vice ran into the woods and escaped.”
“No,” said Carey dampeningly, “he wasn’t there.”
Marlowe struck his forehead with the heel of his palm. “Such a pity, another wonderful story sadly exploded by prosaic reality.”
“Somebody must have warned him what was afoot.”
“Ah yes, the clerk of the court. As always, a useful purchase. What will you do tomorrow?”
“I have other matters to pursue,” said Carey, “but I expect I shall go to court again. What’s the book?”
Marlowe produced a small notebook from his sleeve. “Here we are. Five to one on that the Sergeant composes the criminal assault with Heneage and makes a deal for the civil damages. Ditto that it’s taken out of Whitehead’s court on account of his notorious honesty. Ten to one on and no takers that you’re both in the Tower for treason by the end of the month.” Carey smiled faintly. “Are you in?” asked Marlowe, reaching for his pen.
“Probably,” said Carey, “I’ll have to think about it. I’ll put in a noble on myself to stay out of the Tower.”
Dodd gulped. Six shillings and eightpence wasn’t much of a bet in Carey’s scheme of things. Plus he hadn’t said “myself and Dodd.”
“Your father’s backing this, isn’t he?” asked Poley suddenly as he added some coins to the primero pot and took another card.
Carey had his eyes shut and had not been dealt into the game. “Obviously.”
A Murder of Crows Page 9