Rising to my feet, I looked about me. I had returned to a scene of horror.
The walls had been bashed and broken, the dried plaster and whitewash submitting a fine white powder like chalk that lay over everything, including my backside from sitting down. The bannister rail was chipped and rough where someone had taken a hatchet or sword to it. In the parlour, my chair was smashed to pieces, and my favourite table had been savaged as though with a maul.
‘I couldn’t stop them, Master,’ Raphe said.
This was curious. In the past, I have grown accustomed to a sneering, sarcastic servant of the worst form. Today, he appeared quiet and submissive. Naturally, I was immediately suspicious. ‘You don’t appear to have been injured while trying to defend my property.’
‘When I heard them at the front door, I took Hector and we fled, sir. They were using heavy mauls at the timbers. I knew the door couldn’t hold them, and I knew that I couldn’t keep them at bay on my own.’
I narrowed my eyes and he paled. ‘Fetch me wine, if there is some left in the house, and if there isn’t, go and get some!’
‘Yes,’ he said, and scampered away. A rat seeing a cat give chase couldn’t have been more fleet of foot.
Well, that explained his manner. He was still petrified of me and what I could do to a man. That gave rise to a fresh thought. When he had returned after only a few moments, my favourite goblet in his hand, I took it from him and then fixed him with a stern look. ‘How is the rest of the house?’
‘No better than this, Master.’
I glanced about me. ‘How about my strongroom?’
‘That’s secure. They couldn’t break down the door.’
I breathed a sigh of relief. Only recently I had been taken in by a pretty, Godless heathen, who used her man to try to blackmail me and, when that failed, to rob me. It had taken quite some ingenuity to get all my money back, but it had been a good warning, and I had made sure that the door and walls were reinforced.
‘Very well. You will need to speak to old Thatcher about the walls, have him replaster all the damage and whitewash the lot. Go to James the carpenter and tell him I want another seat like the one he made before. See if he can mend my table and look at the handrail on the staircase … and anything else that needs mending.’
‘Yes, Master.’
‘Have the woman come and help you clean up in here. This is a mess, and I cannot live in a sty like this. I will remain with Mark while the work continues. You may contact me there. But I will come and drop in every day to see how matters progress.’
‘Yes, Master.’ This more sullen, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to visit the tavern, or sit drinking my best wine and ale. He took my orders and meandered back into the kitchen, and my whim returned to me. I walked in and took up the knife which had killed Anthony. Feeling the blade, I managed to nick my thumb. ‘By the Saints! This knife is sharp as a razor!’
Raphe glanced at me, then at the knife. ‘Oh, a man came the other day and offered to sharpen all the blades in the house. I had him do all the kitchen knives. They were blunt. He wasn’t expensive,’ he added quickly, fearing a clout about the head for wasting money.
I put the knife back on the table, sucking my thumb, and swaggered from the room. As soon as I was out of his sight, I tottered to the stairs and sat on the bottom step. So that explained why the damn knife had slipped into Anthony’s leg so quickly and easily. I could remember that slippery movement all too well – how the knife slid into him as if he were as unsubstantial as butter, and then the smell of blood and … mostly just vomit, really.
It was no good. I had to escape the house. The memory of Anthony Seymour’s death was too close. I went out, banging the door behind me. It tried to catch, but then bounced open again. I stared at it, feeling deflated.
It was good to see Mark again. I had not sought room at Master Blount’s, because just now I wasn’t feeling too certain of my welcome, and, with Lady Elizabeth’s household and friends being arrested, it was perfectly likely and probable that Master Blount’s house would be under observation, even if he had not been taken yet himself. The men who devised clever, clever plots were all too often less clever than they thought, and usually their ending was painful, whether they attempted deviousness against a man like King Henry or a woman like the Queen.
For all his faults, and no doubt he had one or two, Henry at least tended not to burn heretics very often. Life under Mary was one long sequence of bonfires with a poor fellow on top whose main crime was only ever that he had prayed to God wearing different vestments, as far as I could see. Now she was upsetting all the landowners with her decision to return all the abbeys and priories to the Church, which meant that they would have to do the same, and confusing the poor with her new ideas about priests giving up their wives and children and becoming celibate (in many cases for the first time in their lives). Not to mention that quite a lot of fellows rather liked hearing the Bible read in English. Returning to the low droning of the Catholic mass was making many get itchy feet. Not that their feelings would sway Queen Mary in any way. I met her once, and while she didn’t seem to me to be the vicious harpy so many spoke of now, she did seem remarkably set in her thinking.
In any case, Blount’s house seemed less appealing than Mark’s with Alice inside. I strode to the door and rapped loudly. Before long I heard Jonah’s shambling gait, and his wizened, sneering face was peering at me with every appearance of dislike. ‘You again?’
‘I must speak to your master,’ I said, and stepped in before he could close the door. He never gave any indication that he disliked me more than anyone else, but that was generally a sign that he would have closed the door in my face as a matter of course.
Walking through to Mark’s chamber, I found him engaged in sprightly conversation with Alice, who sat in one of his seats before the fire like a lady born to nobility. It was clear from her look when I entered that she was less than delighted to see me again. ‘Oh,’ she said.
‘You will be glad to know that Moll is safe,’ I said, taking my seat on a pile of papers resting on a stool. ‘She and Ben are with her husband. I saved them from Hal, who tried to ambush them, and then managed to convince her husband that Hal was the true culprit. He was trying to take her and the boy to the Queen, in order—’
I didn’t have their attention, I could see. Mark was trying to tidy a sheaf of papers, while Alice watched with the indulgent smile of a mother watching her firstborn torturing a musical instrument. Mark, for his part, was clearly besotted with her. He chuckled as she made some witticism, and both seemed keen to ignore me completely. Even Peterkin lay on his side beside Alice as though she had always been his mistress.
‘My house has been greatly damaged,’ I said eventually. ‘And I have been stabbed again. I would be very keen on a chamber for the night?’
‘There is an excellent inn at the bottom of Ludgate,’ Mark said. ‘I will send Jonah to show you the way.’
‘What of a room here?’
‘Here? Oh, no. That wouldn’t do,’ he said smiling. ‘What would happen if you were found here by the Queen’s officers? That could implicate me, and I wouldn’t want that. No, you will have to go to the inn. You will be safe enough there, I am sure.’
It was, I think you will agree, a grim end to a harsh day. I was disconsolate, and Mark had not so much as offered me a cup or two of wine. I waited hopefully, in case my presence reminded him of his manners, but I had no such fortune. Instead, with a grunt of pain, I stood, and was about to walk from the room in high dudgeon when Mark gave a cry. Looking down, I saw that the papers on which I had been seated, had fallen to the floor. I bent to pick them up, but Mark flapped at me with his hands. ‘You have done enough damage! Look at them! All disordered, and a most interesting thesis, too …’
I think I can safely assert that I know when I am not wanted. I took a deep breath and was about to leave the chamber when there came another knock on the door.
Now, a
fellow can never tell from a knock whether it is that of a friendly face or a dangerous officer of the law. Both will often ring loudly through a house, and while one may herald good cheer and happiness, the other is likely to bring terror and despair. There is one lesson which I have learned well through life, and that is that it pays a man not to take risks. If a man is walking into a house, it is best not to encounter him in a narrow passageway. Better by far to wait in a larger space, which offers a possible means of escape by, say, the large window opening on to the street, or the second door that leads out to the kitchen and yard. If these were officers, it would be too easy for them to overcome me in the hallway from the front door.
So I stood and waited, while Mark muttered rudely about incompetents and knaves with little respect for learning and no brains to be spoken of, until Jonah opened the door and announced Master Geoffrey.
He smiled on seeing me. ‘Master Blackjack. I hope I see you well, sir?’
‘I was just leaving, I’m afraid.’
‘No, I wouldn’t want that,’ he said. ‘Please, remain here. We have much to talk about, after all.’
‘I have to find a room for the evening,’ I said. I was feeling grumpy still.
‘Well, wait a little,’ he said, and walked in. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I asked your man to fetch me a jug and some wine. I think we have much to celebrate.’
‘You do?’ I said.
‘Yes, of course. You have been so successful with the discovery of Moll and Ben. I am very impressed.’
‘Good,’ I said, and if I allowed a sardonic tone in my voice, it was deserved. He sounded as though he was mocking me. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I wanted to visit you before you left. Because it will be good to end things once and for all,’ he said. Just then Jonah entered, walking bent over with a tray on which he had placed cups and a flagon of wine. It was all he could do to carry the weight. He placed it on a narrow gap between a helmet and a pile of paperwork, turned and made to leave the room. Before he could, Geoffrey lazily swung his fist. There was a quiet thud, and Jonah was suddenly sprawled on the floor.
‘What the devil do you mean by coming into my house and disciplining my servant?’ Mark roared, as loudly as he could.
‘He’s not disciplining anyone,’ I said. ‘He’s going to kill us.’
Geoffrey smiled at me, pulling out a pistol and aiming it at me. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’
‘I did wonder how you kept turning up, no matter where I was going,’ I said. ‘You always knew where I was.’
‘Yes. You were quite easy to follow. You never seemed to take any care. Foolish in one so steeped in villainy and subterfuge.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, your innocent look is almost convincing. However, I must apologize and leave you shortly.’
‘Why, though? I did all I could to help you find the man who prolonged your brother’s suffering?’
‘My brother? I have none. No, I am afraid, that was my doing. I met your friend, who called himself Hal Westmecott. Actually, his real name is Pug: Jonathan Pug. A rather unpleasant name for a very unpleasant man. He was in the tavern after buying powder from you, and I enticed him to share a barrel of ale with me. In the process, I made sure that the powder sat in a deep puddle of ale while he chatted. It guaranteed that the powder got sodden, and couldn’t fire the next day.’
‘Why? I don’t understand why you’d want to see the poor priest die in such a horrible way.’
Suddenly, Geoffrey’s eyes were as cold as – well, very cold ice. I could imagine them hurling icicles like spears when he was angry. ‘He did not help me. I asked him politely to tell me where he had been taken by the Seymours, and why, because I thought he might be able to help, but he refused. Not that it mattered. The man Hal was searching for Moll, and the priest only knew about her. Not the real boy, nor the real midwife and wet-nurse.’
‘But Hal wasn’t the real executioner; he wasn’t Hal Westmecott,’ I said.
‘No, he had killed the real Hal Westmecott because he wanted to find Moll and Ben. He thought that Ben was the son of Lady Elizabeth, so he thought to hire you to find them. He managed to meet you, and purchased some powder on a pretext, hoping you would find Moll and Ben. Since he had killed the executioner, he donned the hood and took over executions as Hal Westmecott. Whereas, all along, he should have been looking to another woman. A woman called Alice, who was sent to Sir Anthony Denny and his wife Joan Champernowne in Hertfordshire.’
‘What has that to do with—’
‘Joan Champernowne was always a loyal, supportive sister to Kat Ashley, Lady Elizabeth’s most trusted servant. When Lady Elizabeth had to leave her stepfather, Thomas Seymour, Kat Ashley knew a quiet, safe place where she could go. And when a child-nurse was needed, Joan Champernowne sought an anonymous woman from London. A woman who wished to leave London for her own reasons, a woman who wanted to leave her husband behind and find a new home: Alice.’
‘You are talking nonsense,’ I said. ‘You think Alice could be … could be …’
I looked at her. She had that air of ownership still, a haughtiness. It was not the demeanour of a wretched street-walker. This was more the appearance of a woman who had been valued by the rich and powerful. I’ve seen it in courtesans before, but never to the same extent. Alice had learned her manners from a very high-born woman indeed.
‘Oh, ballocks,’ I said quietly.
‘It is not true,’ Alice said.
‘Oh, it is, I think. And you will have time to reflect on truth and justice while the Queen’s interrogators ask you their questions. I have no doubt that you will soon be singing like a lark to them,’ Geoffrey said.
‘Oh, ballocks,’ I said again.
‘Well done, Master Blackjack,’ Geoffrey said. He waved the gun airily. ‘And now, I fear, I have to remove Alice from this happy company. Please bear me no malice, my friend. After all, you are responsible for plenty of other deaths, and I wouldn’t want you to appear behind me with a pistol one dark evening.’
So saying, he took up the gun and aimed it at me. The trigger was released, and I saw the sparks fly, and I knew I was going to die. It was one thing for Hal to stab at me, but I knew what a pistol could do at close range. There was a searing flash, a roar, and I felt my legs give way. Instinctively, I turned and crawled away swiftly behind a table as I heard a loud clang. The chamber stank of rotten eggs and burning from the black powder, and I had a horrible feeling that I had been mortally wounded. My shoulder was stinging like the devil, but it was only the place where I had been lashed. My latest stab wound smarted too, and I had a thunderous pounding in my skull, but that was only the residual effect of a number of bruises.
In short, he had missed me.
I sat upright, peering between two piles of papers. One was smouldering where the piece of wadding had been flung, and I could see through the wisps of smoke the cloud of greasy, foul smoke from the gun’s barrel.
It lay about the room like that from a badly smoking chimney, starting to stratify into different layers, which swirled and danced as Geoffrey and Mark coughed and waved their hands. I mean to say, I have fired my pistol many times, but never in an enclosed space like that room, and it was impressive how the smoke filled the space. It was like a thick fog in autumn when the mists roll over from the Thames and smother the city in a filthy, smoke-ridden fug.
But Geoffrey had already realized that he had missed me. I squeaked to see him draw his sword from the scabbard, and scrabbled my way backwards. I would have gone further, were it not for the wall behind me. And then I saw my rescuer.
I have often complained about the brute, but there is no doubt that when a man is in danger of his life, the sight of a great hound coming to his aid is a wonderful thing.
Up until that moment, Peterkin had been lying amiably before the fire, but clearly the thunder of the gun had startled him from a happy dream of chasing wolves or musketeers and devouring them. Now he was fully a
wake and could see that his master was petrified with terror by a man with a weapon in his hand. I credit the hound with recognizing a dangerous weapon when he saw it. He rolled silently to his feet, and stalked Geoffrey even as he stalked me.
There is something quite alarming about the sight of an enormous hound creeping along silently. Peterkin’s eyes were fixed on Geoffrey to the exclusion of all else, while Geoffrey was gazing at me with something like pity. ‘I am sorry about this,’ he said, as he stepped closer, wary of my drawing a weapon of my own.
‘You don’t have to kill me!’ I babbled. ‘I won’t tell anyone! You know me! I’m reliable! I won’t do anything!’
‘No, you won’t. And you needn’t think that you can distract me by staring behind me all the while,’ he said, and then a puzzled look came into his eyes, and he snatched a quick look behind him.
As he did so, with a low and truly terrifying (to me) growl, Peterkin launched himself at my assailant. Geoffrey gave one alarmed scream, and then there was a crunch as jaws like a steel trap clenched on his forearm. He cried in pain, and the sword fell from nerveless fingers, his arm crushed, and then he was on the ground, and Peterkin was at his throat.
I have tried, in these memoirs, to be as frank and open as I can be, but I confess that the scene immediately afterwards was not one I care to call to mind. There was, let us say, a lot of blood, and this time it wasn’t going to be easy to wash away, since so much was scattered with abandon on documents, armour and assorted items of Mark’s specialist interests. And the ceiling. I have to admit, I was quite surprised by the quantity, even when Peterkin desisted and went to have a well-deserved petting from Mark, while Jonah sat up baffled and swore at the job he would have cleaning up the place, and Alice sat back in her chair and looked about her with horror fixing her features into a rictus.
The rest of that day was spent in discussions. To be truthful, I must admit that I took little part in the talking. As far as I was concerned, after this second attempt on my life, I was aware only of a great lassitude and languorousness. I wanted a bed to sleep in, ideally with a companion who would not be too expensive. I left the various people clamouring in the hall: neighbours, the local officer, a soldier who had been passing, two whores and a baker’s boy, all trying to get a good look at the body where it lay savaged on the ground. I stumbled out of the place and walked to a small inn I knew south of St Paul’s, and next morning I knew I had chosen well when I woke with my purse intact.
Death Comes Hot Page 23