Death Comes Hot

by Michael Jecks

  What if he didn’t want Moll because she was his wife? What if he was only ever in the pay of the Seymours? Perhaps he wanted Moll because they told him to find her? But no, that was lunacy. The Seymours were happy with the service Geoffrey’s brother had provided in baptizing the boy. Why would they willingly let Hal kill the priest? Unless, of course, he had not mentioned to them that he was going to do that. They might have had no idea that he contemplated giving Geoffrey’s brother a slow, lingering death just so that he could blackmail me into finding Moll.

  In any case, I began to feel more comfortable. I allowed myself to think that, with a little good fortune, the whole affair would soon be over for me. The boy had disappeared courtesy of Humfrie, the woman Moll was in the care of the Seymours, and Hal Westmecott knew where she was. My tasks seemed to be coming to an end.

  After all, if my master demanded to know why he had not heard of the child’s death, I could happily tell him that the child had been ‘removed’, and the mother was even now at the house of Edward Seymour. Master Blount need never hear of them again, once we had liberated Moll. She had to be removed, else her evidence ended up in Queen Mary’s hands.

  If Blount chose to question my integrity, or demand to see the body of Seymour, I would reply coolly that he only need question my servant, his spy, about whether I was responsible for executing those who displeased me, and learn that Anthony Seymour’s body had been thrown into the Thames. If he wished to go hunting from London’s wharves all the way to the coast in search of a body, he was welcome to do so, but he could not expect me to go with him. I had better things to do with my time.

  For now, I was left with the delightful prospect of meeting Humfrie and letting him know what was planned. In fact, I was surprised that he had not been back yet. I had expected him to return before now. No doubt Blount was interrogating Raphe with enthusiasm about the last days.

  Now, admittedly, my next action was perhaps not the wisest, but my mind was running on two parallel roads. One was all about Humfrie and my protection, while the second was fixed rather more firmly on the woman in the house opposite. I was wondering whether her husband was at home, and whether she would welcome an invitation to sup wine or a little strong ale. Not that I was going to knock on her door. After all, her husband might be at home. Besides, I have always tried to have a golden rule in my philandering: never to enjoy the affections of those living nearest to me. If I were to go and introduce myself, and anything were to happen, and we engaged in a happy coupling, her husband knew where I lived. But even golden rules are made to be broken occasionally.

  I moved my foot nervously at the thought of an enraged cuckold banging on the door. My boot’s sole caught, and I glanced down at the dampness where Anthony Seymour’s blood had been washed away by Raphe. The moisture had dissipated somewhat, and that was a relief. If Edward were to come here, it would be hard to see that a man had died in my house. And then I realized. Suddenly, I felt my spirit quail.

  He knew where I lived!

  ‘Oh, dear heavens! God’s wounds!’

  I dare wager you have already spotted this, but I assure you that it had not occurred to me until that moment: Westmecott had taken the body away from here. He knew that I had slain Anthony, and he had taken the body away. And then he had gone straight to the Seymours’ house at Whitehall. He must have told them! They must know that I had killed Anthony! I looked about me at the floor.

  Edward must be on his way here to see me!

  Westmecott and Seymour both knew perfectly well where I lived.

  Yes, that was when I began to panic.

  There was only one thing to do. I hurried upstairs, but the woman opposite (what was her name?) was no longer in her bedchamber. The drapery had been withdrawn, but she was nowhere to be seen. I stared over the gap wistfully. It would have been good to see her, to discover if she would do more than raise an eyebrow. And then I heard steps in the street. I craned my neck close to the glass to peer down, but it was only a man with a great bale of goods on his back. When I looked back over the way, she was there.

  She wore a tunic with an apron bound about her waist. Her bosoms strained against the thin material, and her hair was demurely locked away under her coif. She looked the perfect embodiment of serenity and femininity, I thought, gazing at her. There were more steps below, but I could see no one under the overhang of my jetty. I held my breath. They were right under me now. When I listened, the steps continued along the way, and I could breathe again. Looking over, I gestured to indicate I could go over to join her. Her face stiffened, and she glanced behind her. I guessed she was thinking about her servants, but then she looked back at me and nodded.

  I cast a glance down into the street again. No sign of Westmecott or Seymour to left or right up the lane, and soon I was hurtling down the stairs, rushing to the door and drawing the bolts. There was only the lock remaining, and I turned the key and opened the door, and as I did so, I stopped.

  The woman who had knocked me down and scarred my jaw was in the doorway, her knife at my face, and she stepped into the house, pushing me back while I whimpered, staring at the horribly shiny blade.

  I do not think it was unreasonable for me to be alarmed. This maddened harpy had appeared several times, and never had she heralded anything to my benefit. My jaw still stung where that damned knife had marked me, and my head was still feeling battered from her blow when she had stunned me, and now the knife was back in her hand and threatening me.

  No, it was perfectly reasonable to be anxious at the sight of her crazed features.

  There are men, such as Blount or Humfrie, who would take this kind of event in their stride. They would dart back, perhaps slam the door in her face, knock her knife hand aside, deliver a blow to the side of her head, or something similar, and wrestle the knife from her feeble, womanly grasp.

  I confess, I am not cast from that mould. Instead, I gave a sharp cry and tripped over Hector, who had chosen that moment to come and see what I was doing. He yelped, I gave a loud cry of ‘Ballocks!’ and the woman slid in and closed the door quietly behind her. I heard the key turn in the lock.

  At that moment I had other matters to occupy me. One was the benighted mongrel. I was on the ground again, and my arse had hit it heavily; I was forced to sit there rubbing my backside while glaring at the bitch with baleful anger and fear. All I could think right then was, if I’d left a minute or two earlier, I could even now be resting my head between the bounteous bubbies of the woman over the road, but no, as usual Fate had stepped in with a mallet and bludgeoned my potentially beautiful future.

  ‘What in God’s name are you doing? Who on earth are you?’ I demanded.

  Now I could see her more distinctly, I was much less alarmed than the last time she had me at her mercy.

  ‘As if you don’t know,’ she sneered.

  ‘No. I don’t.’

  ‘I am the wife of Hal Westmecott.’

  It was obvious to me that she must be mad. After all, I knew what Moll looked like, and the last time I saw this woman, she had told me to leave Alice alone. I goggled at her on hearing that. ‘What is your name?’

  ‘I am Alice.’

  Now I could smile. ‘Then you aren’t the wife of Hal Westmecott. His wife is called Moll. He told me so.’

  ‘Are you really so stupid?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You thought you could take poor Molly and her charge and sell their lives! I ought to kill you right now!’

  She took a step forward as if persuaded, and I scrabbled my way back. Hector thought this enormous fun and started to leap up at me. I had to batter the foolish creature away while trying to keep an eye on the mad tramp before me. ‘No! Wait! Look! Westmecott came to me and asked me to find his wife and son for him. It was only later I heard that he wasn’t married, and that she had been a wet-nurse. I had no idea. I thought I was bringing a family back together, that was all.’

  ‘You think me as stupid as you?’ she demanded
, the knife giving off nasty blue/grey flashes as she swept it from side to side, approaching me.

  ‘No!’ I squeaked as the knife came closer. ‘I was hired by Westmecott to find his wife, or so he said. When I learned the boy wasn’t his, I wasn’t going to take the lad to him.’

  ‘You were at Whitehall today with the Seymours.’

  ‘Yes, and they chased me all the way to Temple Bar, almost. I was trying to persuade Moll to come with me, so I could release her. The boy isn’t there – I sent him away for safekeeping.’

  ‘And Westmecott told you to find them for him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘He’s your man! Why do you ask me?’ I demanded, not unreasonably, I think.

  She looked at me coolly. There was that calm serenity in her eyes that spoke of either large quantities of alcohol, or a religious conviction that was set several levels above mine. Don’t get me wrong, I am not a heretic, but there are some people whom you meet who can plainly see heaven before them. All too often they are keen to help others to see their vision, aiding them on their way with a rope or a knife or a fire. Thankfully, I have never had that vision. My life has always been too chaotic.

  ‘So this woman is called Moll, yet your man asked me to find her, saying she was you?’

  She nodded.

  I absorbed this with a puzzled frown. ‘Why did he ask me to find Moll, then, and not you?’

  She rolled her eyes. Speaking with the patience of a woman answering a child’s repeated questions, she said, ‘Because he knew Moll had the boy with her. He didn’t want me! He got you to search for Moll, pretending she was me. He wanted the boy. It worked, didn’t it? Anyway, did Moll say where her son is? Is he safe?’

  ‘Yes, he’s safe enough. As I said, I have placed him with a friend,’ I said warily. ‘It’s me who is in danger. Westmecott will likely be here at any time, and when he arrives—’

  ‘He knows you live here?’

  ‘Well, yes. He came here to buy powder for the execution of the priest, and then—’

  She interrupted again. I have no objection to people having their say, but this constant interjection was annoying.

  ‘When did you last see him?’

  ‘I don’t know – in the time it took for me to get here from Whitehall and change my clothes.’

  She turned and went to the door, slamming the bolts into place. ‘Can we escape from the rear?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ I said. ‘There is a gate to the alley. But wait! Why are you concerned? Surely he would be glad to find you?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He was looking for his wife, and you are his wife.’

  ‘No. He was looking for Moll, pretending she was his wife, so that he can sell her and the boy to whoever will pay him the most money for them.’

  I rubbed my temples. ‘Say that again?’

  ‘We don’t have time!’ she snapped. ‘Come, show me this gate!’

  I took her through the kitchen and out to the little yard behind. There was a gate in the wall which had three bolts. A man cannot be too aware of security. I drew them all, and she opened the gate and peered up and down the alley, quietly stepping out and walking on to the alley’s entrance.

  I left Hector behind. The stupid animal would only have been a distraction on our way, and, besides, Raphe would have been distraught if the creature had disappeared. He could easily bear my absence, but not that of his beast.

  We made our way along the narrow way, her in front and me sheltering behind her. It was when we were almost at the south-western entrance that I heard the tramp of heavy boots. When I snatched a glance from behind her, I saw that there were four men, with Westmecott and Seymour in the lead. Two large, rough brutes followed on behind. They passed by the entrance to the alleyway, and thankfully did not so much as glance in our direction.

  ‘They’ll be on the way to my house,’ I said sadly. I could all too easily imagine the damage the four could do to my home.

  ‘Those men?’ she said.

  And suddenly I realized she didn’t know any of them.

  ‘Wait!’ I cried, and took her by the shoulder, thrusting her against the nearest wall. When I think back to my action now, a cold stream of water runs down my back and makes me shiver. I wasn’t thinking at the time, but her knife was at my belly. ‘Do you mean you didn’t recognize them?’

  ‘I know Edward Seymour,’ she said. ‘The others were surely his henchmen?’

  ‘The man in front on the left – didn’t you recognize him?’

  ‘No. Should I?’

  ‘That is the man who called himself Westmecott,’ I said.

  She chuckled briefly, but then she saw my seriousness. ‘You mean this? That was not my man.’

  ‘It was he who told me to find you!’

  She gave me an entirely puzzled look. ‘But I’ve never seen that man before.’

  ‘He isn’t Westmecott?’

  She made no reply to that, but gave me a look of such contempt that I guessed the answer.

  ‘You were living with Westmecott?’ I said doubtfully. ‘You couldn’t have mistaken him?’

  ‘Yes, but that was not him.’

  ‘What did your man look like?’

  ‘About your height, but broader of shoulder. He wasn’t a bad-looking fellow. He had a scar, here,’ she added, touching her left cheek.

  I frowned. A man with no scar was a rarity, of course, but this sounded familiar. ‘What hair?’

  She shrugged. ‘Fair – sort of dirty fair. Not yellow like some. He wasn’t a bad man. He was good enough by his own lights, but I could not bear to have him pawing at me, knowing what his hands had done that day.’ She pulled a face. ‘It was horrible. So I decided I had to leave him.’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘I was able to find a job at the Cardinal’s Hat.’

  ‘So you knew Peggy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Her tone indicated that there was little love between them.

  ‘How did you meet Moll and Ben?’

  ‘They were often down that way. Moll had been at the Hat before she was hired as a wet-nurse. As soon as that happened, she was taken away, but she returned to London some months ago, with the child in tow. I saw her in the street with the boy.’

  ‘Did she tell you what had happened to her?’

  ‘Who, Moll? Of course. She was … well, she needed help when she started out. I took her under my wing, as you might say.’ She gave me a quizzical look. ‘Do you want to stand here for long? If those men are looking for you …’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I said. I had no wish to be discovered by Westmecott or the others. We set off at a fast pace.

  ‘Moll told me that they took her to a big hall in Hertfordshire, and from all she said, she was treated like a princess there. She’d lost her own child, which was why she was needed there as wet-nurse, but she enjoyed it so much that when they offered the post of nursemaid to the boy, she took it like a shot.’

  ‘Why is she back here now?’

  We had reached the end of the alley. I motioned to her, and Alice peered round the opening. She gasped and snatched her head back, panting, leaning against the wall, her eyes wide with terror – and then began to laugh. ‘Your face!’ she managed between gurgles. ‘You should see yourself!’

  ‘What, is there …’ I took a peep myself. There was no sign of anyone in the street. ‘You stupid—’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so pathetic,’ she said, and took my hand before leading us up the road away from my house.

  As she went, she said, ‘The Seymours wanted to come here, and they brought her with them.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  I nodded, frowning. ‘So why did you attack me?’

  ‘Moll was trying to keep away from her old life. I thought you were working for a pimp and trying to get her back on the game. I wasn’t going to let you do that to her.’

  I felt the
scab at my jaw. The wound was still sore, and I disliked the idea that I might in any way look like a pimp. ‘Next time, perhaps you could ask questions first, before attacking a fellow,’ I said. I almost pointed out that I had a much more honourable profession – but that could have led to difficult explanations.

  ‘Moll is with the Seymours now, you say?’

  I nodded again. ‘They seem to be treating her well.’

  She frowned. ‘The last time we spoke, she said she was terrified of the man Seymour. He was violent, she said, and she didn’t think he had the boy’s best interests at heart.’

  ‘If that was Anthony Seymour, I can only agree with her,’ I said. ‘He was a horrible man.’

  ‘Was? Has something happened to him?’

  I smiled with some bemusement. I didn’t know how to answer. ‘I only met him a couple of times,’ I said at last.

  ‘I felt sure that he was trying to use Moll to get at the boy.’

  ‘I see,’ I said. I didn’t want to mention the Seymours selling Moll and Ben to the Queen.

  ‘After all, the lad was worth a lot of money.’

  ‘Really?’ I said suavely, and was about to question her about this aspect of the matter when we reached the house of Master Blount. I knocked, only to be told that the master was not at home. It was enough to make me swear, but I informed his servant that we would be found in the Golden Cockerel, a tavern only a short distance away, and to send his master to me as soon as he appeared.

  At the tavern, after buying us drinks, I took her to a table in the front room where I had a good view of the entranceway. I wanted to see as soon as John Blount – or Westmecott – appeared.