A Murder too Soon

by Michael Jecks

  My liberator was a middling-sized woman with a bosom like a barge. She wore a slightly threadbare gown of dark velvet, and her hair was mostly hidden beneath a clean linen coif, although some strands of reddish gold had straggled appealingly at her temples. She was no young strumpet, but a maid of some five-and-thirty summers, I would guess.

  I gave her my most winning smile. ‘Mistress, I am most grateful—’

  ‘Aye, you’ll be grateful enough when I crown you with my stick,’ she said, and hefted the weapon in both hands in an alarmingly competent manner, which all too closely resembled a woodsman gripping his axe. I retreated, hands aloft to show I meant her no harm. Which is ironic, bearing in mind her actions so far that day.

  ‘Wait, please, Mistress! I’ve done nothing to deserve your buffets!’

  ‘You’d best keep it that way,’ she snapped. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I am called Jack Faithful.’ Yes, I am, sometimes. ‘I’m only recently arrived from London.’

  ‘From London? Why are you here?’

  ‘I came with my master, John Blount. He is here to meet with Princess Elizabeth, for he has messages and reports of her manors for her. There are documents to sign.’

  ‘Princess, eh? I thought she was to be referred to as “Lady”, not “Princess”.’

  ‘I am only a servant!’ I protested. ‘How would I know the correct form of address?’

  Few enough did. Since the old King, Henry, had divorced his first wife to marry his second, the realm was confused. Our Queen, Mary, had been raised as a princess and then discarded when her mother’s marriage was declared void. Now that she was Queen, she had declared that her mother’s marriage was legal, and thus her half-sister Elizabeth was a bastard and, as such, no princess. Or, not any longer. Confusing? Yes.

  ‘What were you doing down there?’

  ‘In the passageway? I was in the hall with some people and heard a noise. I went out there and all but fell over the maid.’

  ‘Did you see a man there who could have killed her?’ She hefted her weapon again, and it struck me that she was peering closely at me.

  ‘I saw nothing, until I stumbled across her, and that Catholic brute with a wall eye tried to prick my throat for me!’

  Sometimes I may not be as observant as I should be. It was only after speaking my piece that I noticed the rosary that dangled from this lady’s belt. Perhaps I should keep my views on religion to myself, I thought.

  ‘Hmm.’ She contemplated me for a moment. In the light from a high window, I could see that she had the most glorious green eyes. After what seemed like an age, she gradually allowed the weapon to fall slightly, as though she was inclined to believe I represented little danger to her.

  ‘You can speak with my master, John Blount. He works for—’

  ‘I know of him,’ she said, and it appeared that the name did not endear me to her.

  ‘He works for Sir Thomas Parry,’ I added.

  She spat at the floor. ‘Him?’

  I concluded that his name too was unfavourably received. ‘And you are?’ I asked.

  ‘If you must know, I am the one who saved your life. Do not rely on me to do so again!’ she snapped, and slipped through the door back to the walls. The door closed with a positive snap like a gaol’s.

  For a little while I stood there, staring at the door, and then I stepped to the wall and slid down it until my buttocks were on the ground. Suddenly, I felt a great lassitude washing over me, and all I craved at that moment was ale, and plenty of it.

  Just now, I thought, my friend Piers would be drinking his fourth pint of the day and preparing the rooms at the brothel for the clients. Looking out through the window at the landscape here, I mourned the narrow lanes and streets of London. They seemed so much safer.

  Then I reflected that at least Thomas Falkes was nowhere near. That was some consolation.

  I stepped into the chamber where the woman’s body lay and made myself known to the men inside.

  There were several of them. Guards, servants gazing fearfully, maids sobbing quietly. My friends Sal and Kitty were in there, although Meg had been taken away. There was a small pool of sick where she had been. Apart from them, there were the steward, a shortish, grey-haired and grey-faced churl, who looked me up and down and didn’t appear to like what he saw; Blount, who stood staring at me with a curious fixity; near him, a sallow-faced man with grim, dangerous features and an expression of glowering suspicion; beside him, a younger lad with a fair thatch and the build of a bull. On Blount’s other side there was a querulous old fellow with hair more white than grey, and thin, pallid features, who stood with his hands clutched in front of him as though he was pleading for a loan from an Italian; and, finally, an enormous belly like a barrel. Looking hard, I saw that there was a shrewd-looking face above it. This individual wore garb that looked vaguely ecclesiastical, almost like one of the cathedral canons from St Paul’s, with thick black cloak and cap.

  As I entered, I took this all in. Then, ‘I was the First Finder, I think,’ said I, and instantly was the focus of all attention.

  ‘Why did you run away? What were you thinking?’ demanded the anxious, older man.

  ‘How did you find her?’ said the steward.

  The big man with the belly was the man with the keenest mind. He lowered his head to gaze at me. ‘Did you kill her?’

  All these questions and many more were fired at me, until my head began to ache. The questions flew thick and fast as pigeons from stubble, and soon I felt that my head was spinning like a top, and I had to hold up my hands to slow my interrogators. The only consolation was the quieter, doleful tone at the back of the room that kept demanding, ‘How did you knock me down, you bastard?’

  Blount left, giving me a sour stare, just before Sal happily told all who would listen that I had been with her and her friends when we heard the rattle of plates on the stone floor. The woman was dead before I opened the door. I was innocent, there were witnesses to prove the fact, and I was safe.

  It was a relief to leave that chamber and gather my reserves. First, I went to the trough by the stables and washed my hands vigorously, trying to remove as much of the blood as I could. I scrubbed and rubbed at them, scraping them on the stone of the trough until there was no more. It was a relief to see that at least my jack was unmarked. Then, weary, I went to sit at the hall’s bench between two buttresses. This old wall was not as strong as it should be, and there were regular supports to maintain it.

  All I wanted then was a warm ale and a chance to close my eyes. Seeing Sal, I asked her to fetch me a drink, thanking her for her speedy assurances of my innocence. Soon she was back, and I emptied the first quart in no time. I was glad that my innocence had been so easy to demonstrate. I was safe for now.

  That was my first thought. Whoever was guilty of this murder, it was plainly not me. For once I was safe.

  After a while, the ale worked its magic and I closed my eyes.

  Not for the last time, I became aware of a sense of dislocation and loss. This wasn’t my sort of place; it wasn’t London.

  While about me the palace bustled, it was a different busyness compared with home. That was what I missed. All of it: the noisy streets, the alleys filled with garbage, the sows ruffling and snuffling in the corners of the walls, chickens squawking as children ran by trying to catch a cat, the shrieks and cat calls from rejected whores, the curses from urchins refused money, the rumble of heavy wagons, the singing and dancing and merriment. It made my eyes moist just to think of it. Here, there was the sound of birdsong, of calm whistling, of dogs grumbling while they waited near a fire. It was weird.

  All I wanted was to be whisked home. Instead, I was stuck in this doleful manor with my master and, of course, a murderer.

  Not that the presence of a murderer was a problem for me. The man who slew Lady Margery Throcklehampton was plainly on the same side as my master, even if I was unsure whose side that was. Still, my master wanted this woman dead,
and now dead she was. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that. With luck, my own position would be eased, for with the target of Master Blount’s hatred slain, there was no need for me to remain. I could hope instead to be permitted to vacate the premises and return to London – slowly. Perhaps Falkes would by then have forgotten my misdemeanours and be more concerned with matters other than me and his wife. I could go back to life in my house near the Moor Gate, or down at the stews with Piers and the wenches in the Cardinal’s Hat. That made me perk up a bit.

  A spasm passed through my back at the thought of the wenches at the Hat. It was pure nostalgia, a poignant memory of all the things I missed, and it was enough to spur me to leave this horrible place. I should walk to the gates and pass through without delay. Now! Falkes or no Falkes, London was calling to me.

  I opened my eyes to the thin sunlight.

  The yard was full of a constipated urgency and excitement. Men ran and tried to look eager and busy, but I could see that they were hurrying back and forth, never going far, always remaining within a short distance of the door as though they were bound by invisible cords. I have seen the same behaviour at home, when peasants will hang around near a scene of disaster, hoping to catch a glimpse of distressed families or bludgeoned burglars. Here in the yard, the men-at-arms and guards mingled with the grooms and maids, all remaining near enough to the hall that they might see the body, or witness the capture of the killer, or, better still, both. There was that restrained thrill that comes of a disaster that has struck someone else.

  I saw no sign of my one-eyed friend, which was a relief. The man’s instant assumption of my personal involvement was disconcerting. If anyone were to learn of my instructions as Master Blount’s assassin, they could become painfully serious rather than merely embarrassing.

  Amidst the huddles of men who stood conferring, the women gossiping freely, there were two who caught my eye.

  One was the younger fair-haired man I had seen in the room. In the daylight, I could see he was a well-built man of perhaps two-and-twenty summers, a bold, strong fellow with a square, open face, and wearing the sort of expression that women think of as endearing, but which makes me think of a dim version of lap dog favoured by rich ladies. You know the sort: fawning and slobbery. He looked rather like that. And altogether too careful about his dress, I thought, too. He had very tight hosen to show off his thighs and calves to best effect, and a richly slashed jack that left little of the expensive silk lining to be imagined. Personally, I thought he looked a frivolous and feckless individual.

  The man with him was a different character entirely. He was the one with the sallow complexion and grimly glowering demeanour. About him there was something of the look of a bold adventurer, like those merchants who kept trawling the seas in search of new lands to conquer. He and the younger fellow stood in the shadow of a buttress supporting the hall’s wall, and, as I watched, the older man prodded the other in the chest with a stern finger.

  I would not have tried such an act. In London, behaviour like that would result in a broken finger – or worse. The younger man did not take it well, unsurprisingly. He rose on the balls of his feet and his head jutted forward, while he said something that was clearly brief and to the point. The finger rose and poked once more.

  It was a mistake. There was a short, blurred movement, and the sallow-faced man was left holding one hand in the other while his face turned a gentle green colour. The younger man leaned down, spat something rude in his face, and pushed him away with both hands, contempt oozing from every pore, before he made his way over across the court.

  When he came level with the open door to the chamber, I saw his eye glance through it. From where I was, I could see inside: the bright splashes of scarlet dulling to a clotted brown, the gleam of auburn hair, the shoulder of a green velvet dress. I looked at the man and saw him blench at the sight. Then he was barging people from his path as he strode away.

  The other man was clearly made of stronger stuff than I had imagined. He held his damaged hand still, but he did not run away to demand assistance. Instead, he stood massaging it, watching while the younger man marched off, heading for the door that led to some of the guests’ chambers. He’d probably only had it bent back and dislocated, not broken.

  I was surprised that the younger man was stationed in the guest chambers. Most had to share their sleeping spaces with the servants in the hall, but the more privileged few were granted their own rooms, like my master, and this fellow was obviously similarly honoured.

  A shout came from the chamber where the body lay. It sounded like a woman’s cry, or perhaps a child’s. Whichever it was, I saw Sallow-Features turn and stare, a look of sudden alarm or concern on his face, before it hardened into a crisp shell of determination, and he hurried to the gates, where he spoke to the porter.

  I cared little. It was nothing to do with me. But as I turned to face the door, I noticed the keen-minded fellow from the chamber. Outside, he looked even more enormous, this one. He was tall, with a thatch of fair hair and amiable features. With his semi-religious garb, he looked like a giant Friar Tuck. His attention was fixed firmly on the man with the porter. As I observed him, his face turned to the door through which the fair man had disappeared. I followed his gaze, and when I looked back at him, he was gone.

  What of it? Three men, and all irrelevant to me, so I thought. I had more urgent things to consider, such as how to disappear from this place, and that quickly.

  There was a shout, more calls, and men were bellowed at to ‘Get back to work!’ as the door to the little chamber with its repellent bloody decoration was firmly closed. I span on my heel to fetch my gear before leaving, only to find that the giant was standing right behind me. He gave me a broad smile, tipping his head, and then, shoving his hands into his belt, walked away, whistling.

  His sudden appearance behind me and his knowing look both inspired a feeling of deep trepidation. I decided there and then to escape this place.

  But before I could, I was accosted by the querulous old man from the chamber.

  ‘I would speak with you, Master Blackjack,’ he said as a servant ran to him and spoke of a message from the Queen’s Coroner.

  That was when I first realized that the fellow was Sir Henry Bedingfield, the seneschal of this palace.

  He was a nervous old soul, I have to say. As he spoke, his fingers were pulling at threads on his jack, tugging at his bottom lip or the hair at his temple, or rubbing his chin. He was never still, and his eyes darted about the yard like a bird fearing a cat.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What exactly are you doing here?’

  ‘I am Master John Blount’s servant.’

  ‘And what is he doing here?’

  ‘We are here bringing messages from Sir Thomas Parry. I don’t know more than that.’

  ‘Tell me again how you found her.’

  So once more I told him that I was in the hall with Sal, Kitty and Meg, we heard the noise, I dashed out, tripped, and was found there by One-Eye.

  Sir Henry stood nodding to himself.

  I said, ‘Of course, I’ve never met the woman. Not like you: many will think you had a hand in her death.’

  His mouth fell open. ‘Me? Why me?’

  ‘All must know that Lady Margery was put there to keep a close eye on the Princess. But suppose she didn’t bring you the information you wanted,’ I mused. ‘Others may think you sought to punish her.’ Sheer nonsense, of course, but I intended to stop him thinking about me for a while.

  I failed.

  A shrewd light came into his eyes. ‘Most will think it more likely that the First Finder was the killer. You tried to put the blame on to others,’ he said.

  This was expected. A stranger to the house like me was easier to accuse than someone known to all and sundry in the jury. Yes, it was expected, but it still made my bowels lurch uncomfortably. ‘Why should I? I don’t know the woman! I only arrived here today.’

  ‘Oh,
I see. Yes, I suppose there are always some who will believe the worst of anyone,’ he said.

  Then he shocked me by saying, ‘I have heard you are a dangerous man, Master Blackjack. This lady who has died, it might be thought that she was an enemy of the Lady Elizabeth, so an enemy of your master. It would scarcely be a surprise if you were thought to have slain the woman.’

  I felt as though he had punched me in the gut. ‘An enemy? Surely not! Who says such a thing?’

  ‘Many. And as a lady-in-waiting to the Lady Elizabeth, who took an interest in that lady’s affairs, some say Lady Elizabeth’s friends could have wanted poor Lady Margery removed.’

  ‘Well, I had nothing to do with it!’

  Perhaps the heat of my denial was convincing, for he looked away fretfully and muttered, ‘Who ever heard such a thing as this? A poor woman murdered, and for what? Perhaps for politics, perhaps a jealous … but no matter.’

  ‘This is outrageous,’ I blustered. ‘I’ll have to tell my master.’

  ‘Do so. You will not be the only man suspected,’ he said, and pulled a thread from his felted coat in an abstracted manner. ‘She managed to upset many about the palace. But she was a good servant to the Queen, I have no doubt, if painfully difficult to deal with. I shall have to call the Coroner, of course. We shall see what he can find.’

  He stumbled away soon after that. And if my resolution to depart had not been determined already, that conversation would have convinced me. I turned away, and over at the far side of the court, I saw my Friar Tuck once more. He was staring at me, hard.

  I am no dullard when it comes to danger. Although I craved peace and a place to sit quietly and think, it was obvious I had no time to waste. Instead, I hurried to the hall where my pack lay. Most of my belongings were still at the inn at Woodstock, but I had some few items that I’d brought to the palace. I had expected to be here only for one day, after all. However, I could not find my pack. I hunted through satchels, packs and saddle gear where I thought I had left my bag, but it was gone.