A Plague of Sinners

by Paul Lawrence

  He lay prone. I stood motionless, unable to believe he might be dead. I turned his body with my foot. His eyes stared at me, unblinking, a slow line of spittle trickling down his chin. The death mask of a man possessed. Perhaps he and his brother were not so different.

  I ran down the stairs, past the corpse in the corner and out into the street. Cursed night.

  A bell rang five times as I ran across Gracechurch Street, telling all that the sun would rise within the hour. The Bulwark Gate was locked, but it was in poor condition. I pushed hard and saw the gatehouse lit behind. I flung myself against it backwards, not with hope of breaking through, but in an attempt to wake the guards that no doubt slept soundly within. Upon the third or fourth assault I heard the crunch of splintering wood. So encouraged, I slammed my shoulder against it with renewed rigour, each time the doors pushing forward a little further. Then I stumbled and caught my arm in the chains that held it. I clambered up and checked myself for damage. The hook about which the chain was wound, on the door to the right, broke away from the wood, the metal eaten away by years of rain.

  At the gatehouse one man slept, legs splayed, chest heaving in slow rhythm. The other stood wide awake.

  ‘Halt!’ He ran out with pike aimed at my chest.

  I stopped and raised my arms into the air.

  ‘How did you get in?’ he demanded.

  ‘The door is broken.’ I walked slowly forwards. ‘I am sent by Lord Arlington. You have a prisoner here called Alice?’

  ‘Aye.’ He regarded me curiously. ‘Fetched here yesterday. She is in the Salt Tower.’

  I ran east ’twixt the Hall Tower and Traitors’ Gate, past the Lanthorn Tower. The Salt Tower was locked, though lights burnt at the upper windows. I banged my fist upon the door until the lock turned.

  ‘It’s early,’ the guard complained, shirt unfastened and trousers unbuttoned. His hair sat flat on the right side of his head and stuck up in tufts on the left.

  I showed him my credentials. ‘The prisoner, Alice. Where is she?’

  He blew out a mouthful of green air and scratched at himself, stretching. I pushed past towards the stairwell.

  ‘You need the key,’ he grumbled, staggering after.

  At the top of the stairs the door was locked. Behind was silent.

  ‘Better knock first.’ The guard pushed me to one side. ‘She is a lady, you know, and might not be wearing all her clothes, for it is very hot.’

  He knocked, then waited with officious look upon his wrinkled face. He knocked once more, then took his keys and inserted them with great show. ‘She doesn’t answer, but prepares herself quickly.’ He tapped his finger against his nose.

  I held the candle forward and prayed it was indeed Elizabeth. The door opened into a round room with stone walls and wooden floor, dominated by an empty fireplace. A slight figure sat upon a bed beneath a slatted window.

  ‘Hello, Harry,’ she said quietly.

  I turned to the guard. ‘Give me the keys and wait downstairs.’

  ‘I cannot do that.’ He seemed most offended. ‘The prisoner is entrusted to my care.’

  ‘You may safely leave us. He is a friend,’ Liz said, soft.

  ‘A friend, you say?’

  ‘And in the King’s name I ask you to leave us.’ I waved the seal afront of him.

  ‘Aye then,’ he ceded unhappily, ‘but you are not having my keys.’

  I sat down next to Liz and considered her small, pale face. She looked down at my hands. In her eyes I saw pain and fear.

  She lifted her chin. ‘Why am I here?’

  ‘So that I would do as I was bid by Thomas Wharton. Was it he who brought you here?’

  She nodded. ‘I thought he was dead.’

  ‘So did we all.’ I took her hand in mine. She slowly took it back again. ‘He killed four men last night and for some reason was determined I witness each and every one. He imprisoned you here to ensure I pursued him.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Dead.’ I felt tears well. ‘He was plagued.’ I took a deep breath to control my mood. ‘I thought you might be too. He told me …’ I stopped. It would do no good to share with her the image he painted for me.

  She gazed into my face and touched my cheek with one long finger. ‘You look tired.’

  ‘As do you.’

  She smiled tightly. ‘I have just been sitting here.’

  Again I fought unmanly tears. ‘How did he succeed in bringing you here?’ I asked.

  She brushed her dress straight with palms of her hands. ‘He simply came up to me in the street. He told me he wanted to bring me here as Alice Matthews. He said if I consented then it would only be for a few days. If I refused, he would cut out my father’s eyes.’

  ‘Godamercy.’

  The tears now leaked from her eyes instead. ‘He said it so easily, and I got the feeling that he would be just as happy if I refused him.’

  I put my hand upon hers again without really thinking of it. ‘I think we can leave now.’

  The tears stopped, as if I reminded her I was there, and that it was wrong to cry in front of me. Her hand slipped away again.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  IF THE QUERENT SHALL OBTAIN THE OFFICE DESIRED OR NOT

  If the Lord of the tenth be joined to Venus or Saturn, and they or either of them in the ascendant, and themselves as oriental and direct, and not one opposite to another, this does argue obtaining the preferment, though with much importunity.

  I sat in the middle of the Banqueting Hall, Dowling to my right and Newcourt to my left, no one close to us, in a great, open space upon the fine, polished floorboards. Sun blazed into the room from the windows to our right, illuminating the beautiful paintings above our heads.

  ‘The King would see you himself, Lytle,’ Lord Arlington called from his chair on the raised dais at the end of the hall. ‘But none are allowed to visit him while there is still plague, while everything remains so … so infected.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘He sends me instead.’

  Behind him sat two other fine-dressed fellows, each at a table with journal and quill to the ready.

  Arlington leant forwards. ‘I must take a full report with me, Lytle,’ he shouted. ‘Since you seem to be the one at the centre of all, you must tell me precisely what has happened this last week.’

  Newcourt sat with arms crossed tight, brow furrowed and jaw clamped. Upon first arriving he had strolled towards Arlington and friends, only to be shooed back in most undignified fashion. A petulant display from one who was happy to leave me rotting in the bowels of the Compter.

  ‘You have been busy, I hear!’ Arlington cried.

  Really he did not need shout so loud. The Banqueting Hall was tall and wide and empty. A man might whisper at one end and be heard at the other. I assumed the vast emptiness was why he chose to meet us here, us poor afflicted.

  ‘Yes, your lordship,’ I said in normal voice.

  He held his head with one ear pointing at me. He nodded to acknowledge he heard. ‘Tell me about it!’

  ‘It is a long story, your lordship.’

  ‘You’ve both done well, Lytle, and I have time to spare until dinnertime.’ He looked over his shoulder to check his scribes were ready to begin. ‘Come on.’ He snapped his fingers impatiently.

  I stood and walked behind my chair. It was easier to speak loud standing. ‘Well, your lordship, it began when you summoned us to the Vintners’ Hall, a week ago.’

  ‘Aye, so it did.’ Arlington turned to the men behind. ‘At a time when there were none sick in the parish and the bearers and searchers had not yet assumed residence in the churchyard. Please make that clear.’

  ‘Indeed, your lordship,’ I agreed. ‘We found a man dead, a man we assumed to be Thomas Wharton, Earl of St Albans.’

  ‘So,’ Arlington rubbed his hands together. ‘Why did you assume that?’

  ‘You told us it was he,’ I replied, lost for a moment. ‘And we found his clothes in the hall, piled neatly in
one corner.’

  ‘So, Lytle.’ Arlington tapped his cheek with one finger, seeming thoughtful. ‘I don’t recall telling you it was the Earl of St Albans. I may have mentioned the possibility it was he. So I propose the record shows that you assumed it was the Earl of St Albans because you found his clothes.’ He arched his fingers and cocked his head. ‘Is that your recollection?’

  I nodded, for it made no difference. ‘When we took the body to St Albans, the man Conroy helped us carry it to the church and he said nothing to contradict it.’

  ‘Odd,’ Arlington exclaimed.

  ‘The dead man’s face was burnt,’ I explained. ‘To hide his identity as it turns out.’

  ‘Yes.’ Arlington waggled a finger. ‘But I meant odd the widow would not wish to keep the body in the house.’

  ‘She said she could not bear to sleep under the same roof,’ I told him. ‘Which I did not think was so odd, since he was an awful sight and there were few servants still employed.’

  ‘Odd also that there are few servants.’ Arlington rocked forwards with hand on lap. ‘For Wharton is a wealthy man.’

  I recalled the empty rooms and overgrown gardens. ‘We thought he must be in debt.’

  ‘Perhaps you might have asked me.’ Arlington spread his palms wide. ‘I should have been able to advise you.’ He looked behind his shoulder again. ‘Make a note of that please.’

  Newcourt glanced at me with bright, laughing eyes, happy to bear witness to another’s noble injustice.

  I held my anger tight inside a giant fist. ‘Odd, then. Yet wheresoever the oddity lies, the family accepted the body as Wharton.’

  ‘Do proceed,’ Arlington leant back. ‘And please don’t consider my enquiry a slight upon your services. I think you have both done an outstanding job, and will say as much to the King.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’ I bowed. I believed not a word.

  ‘So you discovered a body you believed to be Thomas Wharton.’

  I watched the scribes. ‘Aye, sir, and took it to St Albans where Lady Wharton accepted it as that of her husband. Also, we learnt Wharton had a brother, a lunatic locked up at Bedlam.’

  ‘How did you discover that?’ Arlington asked, intrigued.

  ‘The gravedigger told us,’ I replied. ‘The brother of a gardener at the estate.’

  ‘A gravedigger and a gardener?’

  ‘Aye, sir.’ The patronising smirk upon his face made me want to slap him. ‘Whose advice proved most useful, since that is where we found Wharton.’

  ‘What good fortune.’

  I breathed deep and sought to clear my mind. ‘We found the man we supposed to be the brother, at Bedlam, living there under the name Edmund Franklin. He indeed appeared to be a lunatic, yet when we visited John Pateson, the warden, he described a different man. When we visited Bedlam again, two days later, we found Franklin missing and another of Wharton’s dogs killed.’

  ‘Two days?’ Arlington clicked his tongue and shook his head. ‘What were you doing in the meantime?’

  ‘We were discovering bodies, pursuing Henry Burke and avoiding being killed by Lord Chelwood’s men,’ I exclaimed, anger leaking. ‘And seeking assistance from your man Newcourt, who told us he was too busy to help.’

  Arlington sat motionless a moment, as did everyone else in the great hall. ‘Don’t write any of that down,’ he said at last, finger in the air. ‘For Mr Lytle gets ahead of himself.’ He raised his chin and looked down his nose, as if to remind me of his status. ‘Do proceed, Mr Lytle.’

  ‘Henry Burke wouldn’t talk to us. Each time we saw him he was accompanied by Forman and Withypoll, two attendants of Lord Chelwood who were among those killed last night, or likely killed, I should say.’

  ‘Likely killed?’

  ‘I found them at the King’s Wardrobe, each bound to the body of a dead woman infected by plague.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Arlington demanded. ‘The King will not be pleased. How did you get into the King’s Wardrobe? There are confidential documents stored within.’

  ‘It was not difficult,’ I replied. ‘And I ought tell you they are both still there, unless others have rescued them.’

  ‘You left two men tied to infected bodies?’ Arlington held up a finger again. ‘Don’t write that down either.’

  ‘They tried to kill me at Three Crane Lane,’ I growled. ‘They worked for Lord Chelwood and were under instruction from him to find out who killed Wharton. They suspected you, so they said, until they considered the manner of the killings. I discovered Burke hidden at the house of a man called John Tanner. For that they would have killed me. And they killed the last of Wharton’s men.’

  ‘They suspected me?’ Arlington’s cheeks turned a shade of puce. ‘Stop writing,’ he ordered his assistants. ‘On what basis did they suspect me?’

  ‘Lord Chelwood suspected you,’ I answered happily. ‘Chelwood was unhappy Wharton exceeded his authority and so he went to Ireland in the expectation you would have him killed. It was only the manner of the deaths that led him to doubt it.’

  ‘Devious dog!’ Arlington exclaimed, squaring his shoulders and pulling at his jacket. ‘How dare he.’

  The two scribes waited patiently.

  Arlington mopped his brow and leant back, plucking his lip. ‘Proceed, Lytle,’ he snapped. ‘Why do you keep stopping?’

  ‘Yes, your lordship.’ I collected my thoughts. ‘Then we discovered Robert Morrison and Hugh Gallagher, wardens at Bedlam, were once soldiers under Wharton’s command. They paid Pateson to stay away from Bedlam. We began to think then that Wharton might have been the lunatic we first saw there.’

  ‘Very astute,’ Arlington jeered. ‘By which time he was gone.’

  ‘He left only because he knew we’d found him,’ I protested.

  ‘You should have asked for help before,’ Arlington sulked.

  ‘We did.’ I pointed at Newcourt. ‘We went to see him at the Tower before we went back to Bedlam. He told us we should manage alone.’

  ‘I told you I would inform his lordship.’ Newcourt wriggled. ‘I had just finished speaking to Robinson,’ he pleaded with Arlington. ‘You told me to return forthwith once I had his response.’

  ‘Don’t write any of this down either,’ Arlington directed, bestowing a look of pure disdain upon poor Newcourt. ‘What next?’

  ‘William Perkins told us he also thought you killed Wharton, that you sought to blame another for his death, and that I must be the one that killed him, because you sought to install me in his place.’ I blew out my cheeks, exasperated. ‘Then Wharton murders two more men at the Tower and tells me he will torture Liz Willis unless I meet him at Leadenhall at midnight.’

  Arlington pursed his lips, guilt sculpting his face.

  ‘You might say I should have asked for help, and so I did.’ I pointed at Newcourt. ‘He arrives and tells me I should never have spoke to Perkins at all, and that you were displeased with me.’

  ‘So you were!’ declared Newcourt, staring at Arlington.

  ‘Newcourt,’ Arlington winced. ‘If you do not keep quiet, then I shall ask you to leave. Do you understand?’

  Newcourt lowered his head back to the floor.

  ‘Dowling rescued me from the Compter and we followed Wharton all about London. Meantime he killed Perkins, Robert Morrison and Forman and Withypoll besides, assuming they do so die of plague. I caught up with Wharton on Broad Street, where he then died of plague himself.’

  ‘So I understand,’ Arlington gathered his green jacket about his chest and resumed a noble pose. ‘So why did he kill all these other people first if he knew he would die soon himself?’

  ‘At first he wasn’t infected. He saw Chelwood left him exposed, and so he staged his death in such a way Henry Burke was bound to be tried and condemned. By staging his death he rendered himself invisible, able to kill off his own men without them suspecting.’

  ‘Why did he kill them?’ Arlington frowned, perplexed. ‘Why not leave them to live their own
lives?’

  ‘Because they were dogs, I think,’ I replied. ‘They knew him better than any and would have sniffed out the truth of it eventually. One of them was there the day we inspected Wharton’s body at the Vintners’ Hall. If they suspected he deserted them, then they owned all the information they required to see him condemned.’

  Arlington leant forwards with his elbow on his knee. ‘But if he was going to die anyway?’

  ‘I don’t think he knew,’ I answered. ‘There was no sign of plague about him when we saw him at Bedlam. At that time I think his mind was set only upon escape.’

  ‘So he was infected sometime this week,’ Arlington drummed his fingers upon his teeth. ‘How unfortunate.’

  ‘When he realised he would die he sought redemption,’ I explained. ‘So he said. Morrison was complicit in finding poor souls upon whom Wharton practised his dark arts. Perkins was an evil fellow, so he said, and Forman and Withypoll were two murderers. By killing them he hoped to gain redemption for his own black deeds.’

  ‘Why did he not simply confess all and pray hard?’ Arlington waved an arm, perplexed. ‘That’s what I do.’

  ‘He described it as his penance, your lordship, that he rid the world of men as sinful as he.’

  Arlington snorted. ‘Penance? You think he seeks God’s forgiveness for all he has done?’

  ‘That’s what he said, your lordship.’

  Arlington cast a wandering eye upon the magnificent frescoes painted upon the ceiling and formed a bridge with his fingers. ‘In essence then,’ he considered, ‘you discovered little. The gravedigger and the gardener told you he might be locked away at Bedlam, which you naturally investigated. Then he came to see you at the Compter and laid a trail that you might find all the people he slaughtered last night?’ He regarded me in mock puzzlement.

  I had not the energy to debate it. ‘Yes, your lordship.’