And then I caught a glimpse, and my heart began to race. A fairly tall man, wearing a blue cloak and a green, faded jack with red piping and slashes in the sleeves, had appeared in the doorway to the bowling alley. He stood there now, his eyes lighting about the room like a spy checking for enemies, before entering slowly and crossing the chamber.
I finished my wine and quickly rose and followed the man to the road.
He walked quickly, and I was forced to hurry my steps. The man must have had the stride of a giant, I thought, and I had to move more swiftly to keep up. He strode up the road towards London Bridge like a man who had an urgent engagement. I followed circumspectly, not wishing him to realize he was the subject of my interest. I slipped around a corner, close to where the Thames slapped up against the Walbrook, and was about to step on a plank laid over the bridge when a voice in my ear said, ‘You follow a man like an elephant.’
Yes, when he had seen me in the tavern, he had realized, apparently, that I was there to speak to him. It was galling that he had been so swift to guess my intentions.
‘How could you tell?’ I said.
‘You were staring at me.’
‘But I merely glanced.’
‘Is that what you thought?’ he chuckled, pushing me before him.
Now – and this did surprise me – he had no blade in his hand, nor a gun, and yet I found myself obeying his commands like a sheepdog. He seemed to take away any ability of mine to ignore him, and as he moved forward inexorably, I found myself obediently going where he directed. And soon, with a sense of grim foreboding, I recognized the house. It was where Peggy had brought me earlier.
‘No, I don’t wish to—’ I began, but even as I spoke, I found that he had directed me against the door. His face was near to mine, and there was a sharp intelligence in his eyes, as well as a mildly apologetic look, as though he knew that this must be distasteful, but that it was better to have it over and done with, rather than leaving things to fester. Usually, I would have considered that a relief, but today, after spending so much time with an executioner, I was only too aware that the same expression would be likely to be seen in his eyes. Perhaps in part because it is better for the victim to have to endure less suffering.
No, I don’t think that either. More likely it is because the executioner does not wish to see his supper delayed.
‘Open it,’ he said.
I turned the ring and lifted the latch. The door opened, and I almost fell inside.
‘Hoi!’ I cried, stumbling. Inside, I almost fell over the boy I had seen earlier, who gave a bleat of alarm and fled from the chamber through a door in the opposite wall. He moved so swiftly that I doubt my companion, behind me, saw him.
Inside the doorway, I found myself pushed to one side by the fellow from the tavern. He didn’t seem overly bothered by my presence or the likelihood that I would run away. In fact, he had left the door open behind him, and now he glanced over his shoulder. ‘Close that, would you?’ he said as he walked to the fireplace. Crouching, he laid some sticks over the embers and soon had a fire crackling and spitting merrily.
‘Now, Master Blackjack, let us have a talk,’ he said, resting his backside on a stool.
‘I was intrigued to see you following me,’ the man said. ‘I had thought you would be uninterested in my problems.’
I smiled, trying to indicate a calm indifference. ‘You have me at a disadvantage, sir.’
‘Yes, I do, don’t I? In so many ways,’ he said.
‘I meant, I don’t know who you are.’
‘I am Anthony Seymour. I am sure you will know my name.’
‘The Seymour family is famed,’ I agreed.
‘Yes, indeed. We have the sort of fame that many a family would wish for. And yet notoriety is nearer the mark, would you not say? Yes, we have been fortunate with our rise to prominence, but then again, every noble family sees its stronger limbs pruned, don’t you think? I suppose it is a means of preventing stronger growth in the future, don’t you? Who would want a strong family to appear and start threatening the existing order, eh?’
All of this came in a prattling, inconsequential manner, as though we were two old companions who happened to have met for a chat and pot of wine.
‘Who are you?’ I said.
He cocked an eye at me. ‘Well, now, I am a cousin of Lord Seymour of Sudeley Castle, and of the Earl of Somerset.’
‘The man who was the Lord Protector?’
‘During the infancy of our King Edward, yes. But I am a cousin, not from such illustrious stock, I fear.’
‘Whose house is this?’
He cast a look about the chamber as if seeing it for the first time. ‘This? My brother’s. He was always keen to maintain a property in London. He says that a man who wanted to be at the heart of things must always have a base in the city. This was always his.’
‘I suppose your brother looks rather like you, but has a beard that follows the line of his chin, and a pointed face?’ I guessed.
‘You could describe him so,’ he said.
‘He captured me earlier.’
‘Really? How typical of him. He is rather hot-headed at the best of times. Why would he have done that, I wonder?’
‘I was asking about a woman and her son. Her husband asked me to find them.’
‘How fascinating. So you came here to ask after them.’
‘Well, yes.’
‘And, of course, my brother spoke to you at length about them. Did you say who they were?’
‘I was told they were Moll and Ben.’
‘Yes,’ he chuckled. ‘And now you have come here. I wonder what I should do with you?’
‘Do with me?’ I was beginning to feel that my head was whirling. ‘No, wait! I was looking for you, because you have been asking about me.’
‘I have?’
‘You questioned my servant, asking why Hal Westmecott came to my house,’ I recalled. ‘And then you bribed my servant with three shillings! And …’ I had been going to mention the fact that Westmecott was the man who had sent me to find his son and wife, but suddenly I was struck with a reserve. It occurred to me that this man had been asking about Westmecott, and had heard he came to my house to purchase some black powder. This man may well have been responsible for the extended death of James the priest, preventing the powder from exploding. It was a thought to make my skin crawl, that this amiable-seeming fellow was nothing more than a cruel villain who … while he may not have been a murderer, he had made a man suffer unnecessarily. Who would do a thing like that? And why?
‘Oh, that was your servant?’
‘Why were you so interested in Westmecott’s appearance at my house?’
‘It interested me to see you entertain an executioner. Nothing more.’
‘Why should it?’
He peered at me and shook his head as if astonished at such foolishness. ‘My friend, no one is keen to welcome an executioner to their home. Except, perhaps, someone who has some other reason.’
‘What?’
‘Ah, you would have to tell me that. But I suppose executioners can get on with each other. If one meets another, it would be pleasant for them to discuss men they have killed, perhaps? Or traitors they were acquainted with? Men I have hanged, drawn and quartered – that would be their topic of conversation, wouldn’t it?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘You are a cool fellow, Master Blackjack,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘I admire your sangfroid.’
‘I am only a—’
‘I think I know exactly what you are, Master Blackjack,’ he said, and this time there was steel in his tone. ‘A man is easy to recognize by the friends he keeps.’
‘Eh?’
‘And now you return to this house, where you were earlier.’
‘What is your interest in me and my house?’ I said.
‘Well, every subject of the Queen has the duty of defending the realm against all enemies, from within and without. And murderers are
as much an enemy of the state as are foreign agents, are they not? A man who could assassinate others without people noticing him – perhaps he would be a desperately dangerous person? Is that why you are here, Master Blackjack? Because you intend to murder the boy and Moll? You would find yourself in difficulty, you know. Their murder would make a number of serious enemies. You discovered them, so you would be blamed for any harm that came to them.’
‘Discovered them? I was led here by a daft whore who wanted to show them to me; it was hardly a case of my careful discovery! I want nothing to do with them. Call Moll now, bring her here, and I’ll apologize and promise to keep her whereabouts secret.’
‘There is little need. Were you to reveal anything, you would soon cease to be a problem,’ he said with a cold smile.
‘I’m only here now because you brought me!’
He smiled at that. ‘And I would not wish to see you held beyond your welcome. Feel free to depart. I wouldn’t want to detain you. But know this: the woman is flown. She has left the coop, and now has the protection of my family.’
I stood, bemused, staring at the doorway through which he had just walked. He had made me come here, almost dragged me against my will, and had held me in conversation, indicating that he knew full well that I had a profession that was not so far removed from that of Westmecott. Why would he do that? Was he trying to test me, telling me that my career was known to him, that I could hardly make any accusations about him and his family deciding to make a mere priest suffer, unless I wanted news of my own profession to be bruited about? It was possible. I could not tell what to make of his words.
In the end, I decided to return to my home and leave all reflections on this confusing day to the calming and pacifying effect of a pint or two of strong wine. I turned to the front door and walked into the street. It was full night now, and the denizens of the darkness were all about me. A whore stood at the corner of the alley, while in the distance I could hear a man bellowing the hours, so that all those who had just managed to doze off would be called to full wakefulness in an instant. I often wondered that so few night-watchmen were beaten senseless, since their whole effort appeared to be bent on making life as intolerable as possible for the ordinary folk of the city. Meanwhile, I heard the unmistakeable sound of a door being prised open. I crossed the road, avoiding the woman in case she was one of those persistent types. I have been importuned by enough beggars in my time.
There was much to distract me on my walk: the man Seymour’s snatching of me from the street and bringing me to the house. Was it to warn me away, or did he have some other motive? And then he told me that Moll was gone, that he had her somewhere safe. What was that supposed to mean? Why would he care about my knowing that? Surely most people would be happy enough to know that I was still watching an empty house, rather than warning me I had to search elsewhere. Why would he want to give me notice that I must seek her elsewhere? And the boy was still there, too. I had almost fallen over the little bratchet. Why take the mother and leave the pup?
I was almost at my house when I heard a slight noise behind me. My lane is a quiet area, and desirable for that reason. It meant I could come and go as I wished, but it also meant that thieves and other felons would occasionally appear. This sound was exactly like someone moving swiftly and attempting to be silent. It was enough to make my hackles rise for the second time that day, and I turned just in time to see the woman bringing down a rock. It struck my head to the side of the crown of my hat, and I managed to say, ‘Who … why …?’ before my legs seemed to turn to aspic and I fell.
I can happily state that I did not lose consciousness. She did not hit me quite hard enough for that, but I was half mazed nonetheless. As she went through my purse and thrust her hands inside my jack, I was perfectly aware of her soft little hands. And I could see her face. It was the raddled old whore I had seen while hunting through the whorehouses with Mark earlier. I recognized her even now in the dark, and then I realized that I had seen her elsewhere: outside my house as I watched Geoffrey leave. She must have been following me all day.
‘You leave Alice alone – you hear me? Stop looking for her and the boy, else next time you’ll earn more than a little nick,’ she said, sporting a knife in her hand. She set it against my cheek, and I nodded, and then jerked when she drew it against my jawline sharply. ‘That’s so you don’t forget!’ she snapped, and was gone, and I was left with a headache, a throbbing scratch at my jaw, and a pained confusion in my heart.
Who on earth was ‘Alice’?
I came to a little while later, my head cushioned most delightfully by the lap of the lady who lived opposite me.
She smiled down at me with an expression of tenderness that sent a quick flaring of interest to my loins. I tried to return her smile without appearing lascivious, but her raised eyebrow seemed to show that I had failed. At least my broad grin did not result in her evicting me from my present delightful position.
‘You have been attacked,’ she said.
‘Mistress, I was assaulted by a mob,’ I said.
‘Nay, a mere slut. She struck you with a cobble.’
‘At least she was so weak she couldn’t crush my pate,’ I observed, and then felt gingerly where the stone had hit me. To my relief, the bone felt solid still.
‘She wasn’t strong enough to kill,’ my neighbour said. ‘Did she rob you?’
I hadn’t thought so, but now my purse felt a lot lighter, and I cursed her briefly. What, with the lump on my skull and the scar at my jaw, I did not need to be robbed as well, I felt. Still, at least I was alive. It was odd: the woman had looked capable of breaking my pate. Perhaps she was unused to striking people down.
‘You should have a little wine. My husband is away just now, but I could provide you a little wine.’
Her smile implied that I would be welcome to further comfort than mere wine, but even as I was about to agree, Raphe appeared at our side, glowering to see my injury.
‘I am fine, Raphe, I …’
‘You must get inside, Master,’ he said, hauling me to my feet. ‘Thank you, Mistress Haven. I will take him home now.’
‘Of course. I hope you are soon recovered and ready for … for fresh adventures,’ the lady said and lifted a hand in farewell.
I could have punched Raphe.
My servant helped me to my chair and fetched me a quart jug of wine and a towel before leaving me to my grumpy ruminations.
I soaked the towel in wine and set it to my bruised head, mopping the blood from my chin with a corner. With my sore shoulder from the whip’s lash, these fresh injuries were difficult to reach. I was little more, apparently, than a punching bag to all whom I met today. I winced as the pain throbbed in my head, and for a long time I was unsure whether it was the cut to my jaw or the growing lump on my pate that was most painful. In the end I gave up. All I knew was that a short bout of mattress-butting with Mistress Haven would have made me feel considerably happier. No matter what I did, my skull felt as though it was broken into a dozen pieces. I pressed the cloth to the cut on my jaw and yelped. It might have been a short nick, but it stung like a wasp-sting every time I put the wine-soaked towel to it. I poured wine into a goblet and stared into the flames, determined to distract myself and make sense of the things I had seen and heard that day.
A dead priest; Westmecott demanding my help; the man Seymour with his henchmen, the man I found in Westmecott’s room with his pate broken; the girl Peggy leading me to my capture, the bitch; the pale, alarmed face of the boy in the doorway; the priest’s brother; the second Seymour; the whore in the street knocking me down and talking about ‘Alice’ … was it any surprise my mind whirled like a rose petal in a stream? It was impossible to sleep. As soon as my eyes closed, I saw again the young boy, or, more often, the figure slumped on the floor in Westmecott’s chamber.
I poured more wine.
And then the fire was cold, and a grey light was coming through the panelled shutters. I shivered, l
ooking up in astonishment to see that the night had passed. When I tried to pour a little more wine, I found that the jug was empty. I stood, and my legs felt weak and insubstantial, but that was the effect of sleeping on my chair and not going to my bed. It always left a man feeling tired the next morning. Sometimes, like now, it would leave me feeling restless and dull. And then I glanced at the jug and reflected that it might not only have been my resting position alone.
I stood and stretched my back. There was a pain at the back of my neck that made me wince when I glanced to the right – and a pain in both eyes when the sun appeared. It felt as though someone had shoved a ballock knife into my temples, from one side of my skull right through to the other. Yes, this was more a red-wine headache than a sleeping-in-the-chair headache, exacerbated by the wound to my pate. If only Raphe hadn’t rescued me, and I had spent my evening with Mistress Haven. I might have acquired more aches and pains, but they would have been worth it.
Who was the woman who knocked me down? She had warned me against searching for Alice and the boy again, rather than Moll, but who was she? Some strumpet who thought herself the friend of Moll and sought to protect her? Surely she would have got her friend’s name correct in that case?
There was a clattering and rattling in the kitchen that told me Raphe was awake and determined to see me suffer for my rudeness to him last night. I stood leaning on the mantelshelf, considering whether it would be better to simply murder the foul pestilence, or to leave the house and find peace and solitude in the streets. The streets seemed preferable. I walked quietly from the house, hoping that he would continue to beat the crocks and pans, and later discover that it had all been in vain, and made my way to a small inn near the Tower.
It was a dull morning, a morning of greyness. There were no women lurking in doorways or alley entrances, which was a relief. The sky was thick with smoke from a thousand chimneys, the clouds above were grey, filled with rain preparing to fall, and the roads and houses were all dull and grim. In short, my mood was not of the cheeriest.
Death Comes Hot Page 9