Rags of Time

by Michael Ward

  Even in his distracted state, Tom sensed a tension in Petty’s voice.

  Nathaniel Franklin stepped forward. ‘The Merchant Adventurers are, of course, entitled to investigate the murder of one of their members, but first and foremost Sir Joseph was an Alderman of the City of London. I have been called in because the Court is concerned the investigation is making little progress after so much time. It is essential the culprit is caught and made an example of.’

  The scorn in Franklin’s voice made it clear he had little time for Petty’s methods.

  ‘There is still no proof this was an act of murder,’ Petty replied. ‘I think it more likely that—’

  ‘Proof? What more proof do we need?’ Franklin exploded. ‘One of the most venerable figures in the city is attacked in daylight on his own estate, grievously and fatally assaulted. You’ve seen the wounds, Petty. Do you think Sir Joseph did that to himself?’

  Tom was in shock. Two minutes ago he had been sinking into the depths of Elizabeth Seymour’s eyes. Now he was confronted by a snarling reptile. And what was he saying about murder? He needed to recover his wits.

  Franklin turned to Tom. ‘Petty told me his cock and bull theory about killer falcons, I considered it complete nonsense. Too clever by half. But then I saw that perhaps birds could have been used to distract Sir Joseph, to allow his killer to approach secretly and bludgeon him… particularly as Petty has finally done something useful and found a person linked to a bird attack.’

  ‘You have? Who is that?’

  ‘Why, you of course, Mr Tallant,’ Franklin grinned, his cold eyes glinting.

  It felt to Tom as if the floor had collapsed beneath him. He looked at Petty open-mouthed. Petty’s face showed no expression but, as ever, his eyes were fixed on Tom as he spoke.

  ‘As Mr Franklin said, it has been several months since you and I visited the scene of Sir Joseph’s death but I have not been idle. Despite your reservations about a falcon attack, Mr Tallant, I believed it was the most likely cause given the evidence I was presented with. I accepted your view that falcons were unlikely to launch an assault of their own volition. But what if they could be trained to do so? I began to investigate who might have the skills to undertake such training and after many weeks, I made an interesting discovery.’

  Petty paused. His gaze did not waver.

  ‘Have you heard of a place called Valkenswaard, Mr Tallant?’

  Tom knew at once what was coming, and that he had been a bloody, stupid fool. Petty did not give him the opportunity to reply.

  ‘Valkenswaard is a town in the Duchy of Brabant in the United Provinces. More importantly, it lies on a route taken by peregrine falcons flying south through the continent. The people of Valkenswaard have become adept at capturing these birds—and training them. As a result, Valkenswaard falcons have become famous across the courts of Europe for their skill and responsiveness to instruction.’

  Petty paused again. The silence filled the room. Franklin opened his mouth to speak but stopped when Petty levelled his unblinking, hard oak eyes on him. He turned back to Tom.

  ‘I decided to journey to Valkenswaard to see for myself. It was a very fruitful visit. I spoke to the falcon trainers and learned two important things. First, falcons can be trained to take prey while not in full diving stoop, making a ground level attack possible. And second, they know all about you in Valkenswaard, Mr Tallant. They remember you well from visits with your Uncle Jonas when you were learning your hawk craft.’

  Franklin could contain himself no longer. ‘So you see, Tallant. Being half Dutch,’ he sneered, ‘you had the connections. You could have hired someone with a pair of birds to do your dirty work.’

  Tom’s mind returned to his father’s warning at Clerkenwell.

  ‘Let’s see one of those spice merchants get their comeuppance, especially one who is not truly English.’

  How had Father described the City? A snake pit? He looked again at Franklin’s triumphant face and, for the first time, understood the trouble he was in. He had to fight back.

  ‘How in God’s name could I have hired anyone?’ he snapped. ‘My ship only berthed in London two days before Sir Joseph was attacked.’

  ‘Yes, I wondered about that as well,’ Petty replied calmly. ‘But did you land with your ship?’

  Tom stared at Petty blankly. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Mr Tallant, is it not true that, on your way back to England, your vessel had to dock at Porto for extensive repairs after you were hit by a storm south of the Bay of Biscay?’

  Tom recalled the mountainous seas and the sound all sailors dread, the rending crack of his ship’s main mast splitting under the strain of a tumultuous wind. It had been a miracle the holds had not been swamped and the cargo lost.

  ‘Er, yes, gentlemen. We were berthed in the shipyards of Porto for almost three weeks while they replaced the main mast. But what has this to do with me?’

  Robert Petty’s speech was slow and methodical.

  ‘One thing is clear about the attack on Sir Joseph. It took a great deal of planning. The perpetrator would have prepared everything thoroughly, particularly their escape from detection. No one would consider you responsible if you’d just returned from India. And in a crime like this, such a convenient excuse simply draws my attention, rather than deflects it.’

  ‘So you see, Tallant,’ Franklin jumped in, ‘you could have hopped on another vessel from Porto and arrived in London weeks earlier to plan the deed while your ship was being repaired.’

  ‘But people would have seen me here,’ Tom shouted in exasperation. ‘Ask anyone. I arrived on my ship when we berthed from India.’

  ‘Do you take me for a fool, Tallant?’ Franklin spat back. ‘You landed from Porto in secret, organised the attack and then rejoined your ship as she stood in the queue in the Thames estuary, waiting to enter the Pool of London. And if that meant your family was in on it, that would not surprise me!’

  Once again there was silence in the room. Tom felt desperate. Petty clearly would not rest until he believed he’d found the truth and Franklin would feed on any discovery along the way to prove Tom’s guilt. Robert Petty was the first to speak again.

  ‘Mr Tallant, it is my job to consider all possibilities when investigating a crime. It is one thing to discover that something is possible, quite another to prove that it did happen, and I will not move against someone without proof.’

  Franklin opened his mouth to speak but again stopped when Petty stared at him before returning to look at Tom.

  ‘But when my investigations unearth connections, like Valkenswaard, that you have kept from us, it arouses my suspicions.’

  Tom knew he should have volunteered the information about the Dutch connection to Petty when they first met. But he hadn’t thought it important. That was the problem, he hadn’t thought.

  He tried to keep his voice steady.

  ‘Gentleman. Of course I know Valkenswaard and I did visit there with my uncle Jonas. I apologise for overlooking this information but many other Englishmen have also been there, I suspect, and that does not make them guilty of anything. And where is my motive? I seek good terms with all fellow merchants and had no dispute with Sir Joseph. Indeed, I hardly knew him. So, Mr Franklin, until you can provide firm evidence linking me with his death, which you will not as I had nothing to do with it, I suggest you take your wild accusations elsewhere.’

  Franklin coloured and sprang to his feet. Petty kept Tom in his steady gaze, but was that a faint nod of approval? If Tom didn’t know better, Petty appeared to be signalling some support for his stinging rebuke of Franklin and his methods. Tom was now in a complete daze, not knowing what to believe.

  Franklin launched one final splenetic attack as he headed for the door. ‘We will keep checking, Tallant, have no doubt. And when we find someone in Porto or Valkenswaard who will point the finger at you, we will be back with a warrant for your arrest.’

  Franklin marched out of the house fo
llowed by an expressionless Petty. Had Tom imagined the nod? He carefully watched Petty for another sign of support as he left, but the Merchants’ agent simply turned his back and followed Franklin out.

  Tom slumped back in his chair breathing deeply, staring at the ceiling. He noticed Isaac had quietly entered the room and was standing discreetly in the background.

  ‘Yes, Isaac?’ Tom said wearily.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, Master Thomas. Miss Ellen and her party have left but she asked me to leave these with you.’

  Isaac handed over two sheets of paper, each carefully handwritten and folded in two. Tom broke the seal of the one carrying his name. It was an invitation to a post-party entertainment in Piccadilly at the end of the week, to mark the occasion of one of the Royal masque performances.

  ‘Miss Ellen said one is for you and the other for Master Dalloway. She also told me to specially mention that Miss Seymour will be attending.’

  Tom looked up smartly and searched for a smirk on Isaac’s face, but it was impassive.

  ‘Thank you, Isaac. Please take Master Edmund’s invitation to his house.’

  Isaac nodded and paused.

  ‘Yes, Isaac. Is there anything else?’

  Tom was completely spent. He needed time to himself, to take in the day’s events.

  ‘Forgive me asking, Master Thomas, but is everything all right? Try as I might I could not avoid hearing that wretch of a magistrate railing at you in your own home.’

  Isaac moved his weight from one foot to the other as a flicker of pain crossed his grey features.

  ‘I wouldn’t be too worried about that runty little weasel, Master Thomas. I have met his type before. All piss and wind. But the big fellow with him? I don’t like the look of him one bit. I’d watch my step with him, if I was you, Master Thomas. He’s a hard bastard, and no mistake.’

  Chapter 5

  Four days later

  London Bridge

  Tom twisted his neck to look up.

  ‘This is why I love London,’ he murmured to himself, entranced by the building that rose above him, a house four storeys high, covered from top to bottom in decorated panels. Square towers stood proud at each corner, crowned with onion domes and gilded weather vanes. They sparkled in the afternoon sunlight which, as he watched, transformed the leaded window glass into a myriad of glittering diamonds. Best of all, this glorious confection had been created not in a country park or a smart city street, but on London Bridge.

  Tom loved everything about the building. He loved its name, Nonsuch House, and the effrontery of its ambition, taking its title from King Henry’s royal palace in Surrey. He loved the swagger of its design and that all who entered London from the south had to pass through an archway running through its middle. For Tom, Nonsuch House gave each visitor a clear message: Welcome to the city of wonder.

  But most of all, he loved Nonsuch because it was Dutch. According to his mother, the wooden structure was designed and built in the United Provinces, then taken apart and reassembled on its current site. He knew his mother secretly loathed the house’s extravagant design but whenever she entertained visitors to London, Lady Beatrix insisted they visited Nonsuch to marvel at the Dutch workmanship. She never tired of telling people, ‘There is not a single nail in the building. It is all held together with dowelled joints.’ Ellen would get a terrible fit of the giggles whenever her father mouthed these exact words silently behind Lady Beatrix, as she was holding forth to her visitors. Tom had never dared ask his mother if she knew what a dowelled joint was. He rather suspected she did.

  In truth, Tom was also proud of the house’s Dutch origins. But what he liked more was that Nonsuch House had been imported and shipped to the city. To him, this represented what London had become—the merchant centre of the world.

  He looked again at its south wall and read the motto on a sundial: “Time and tide stay for no man”.

  ‘True enough. I am going to be late,’ Tom muttered and, pausing to pat the wall affectionately, he strode along the bridge, looking for Edmund Dalloway’s new home.

  Dozens of houses had been built on London Bridge at prices well beyond Tom’s pocket. This was clearly not an obstacle for Edmund who purchased a two-storey home above a silversmith shop several months ago. Alterations had been made to suit Edmund’s tastes but he was now finally in residence.

  As he walked along the narrow road, Tom considered recent events. He had decided to accept Sir Ralph’s offer of his seat in Parliament and would soon visit the constituency for his election. He had been jolted by the visit of Petty and the magistrate. He might need all the influence he could muster in the coming months and being in Parliament could be advantageous. However, tonight he hoped to forget his troubles in the company of Elizabeth Seymour.

  Buildings lined the road on either side of the bridge and the ground floors of many had been made into shops. In places, grand houses like Nonsuch straddled the entire width of the bridge, with a passageway in the middle for the road to pass through. Occasionally buildings were missing due to fire or collapse. Here the vast majesty of the Thames suddenly appeared, and with it the prevailing weather, be it glorious sun or stinging rain, before the houses returned and the outside world was lost once more. At times it was almost possible to forget you were above water, if not for the constant rumble of the tidal river as it roared past the bridge supports beneath.

  Edmund had told Tom to look for the silversmith’s sign and there it was, jostling with others for attention. Tom approached the shop and viewed the position of Edmund’s new home above, on the first and second floor. It was on the left as Tom travelled south across the river, so its main windows would face east towards the Pool of London and Tom’s warehouse. Edmund could enjoy majestic sun rises and the long, dramatic shadows thrown by the bridge onto the Thames on summer evenings. It was a spectacular location and Tom experienced an unwelcome twinge of envy.

  The silversmith was closing his business for the day as Tom approached. Looking through the leaded and barred windows at the front of the shop, Tom watched the owner carefully removing the display items. Even through the thick glass and poor light, Tom could see they were fine pieces of work made for the well-to-do local clientele. He admired a silver clasp engraved with flowers, picturing it on Elizabeth Seymour’s dark blue cloak, next to her slim neck. It had been hard not to think of Elizabeth as the day of the party arrived. Their brief meeting had left him hungry for more of her presence, to look into her eyes and hear that soft yet husky voice. He had never anticipated seeing someone so keenly. It would not be long now.

  The front door to Edmund’s house was on the street side, to the left of the silversmith’s shop. Tom smiled as he noticed the Dalloway coat of arms above the house entrance. Trust Edmund. He pictured his old friend saying ‘Mind your manners’ to all who entered—Edmund’s loose translation of the family crest. He knocked and the door was opened by Edmund’s manservant, Beesley.

  Tom followed Beesley down a passageway and up a flight of stairs, everywhere the smell of fresh timber and beeswax. They walked down a corridor and stopped at the second door. The servant cleared his throat, knocked, then opened the door, ushering Tom through as he announced his arrival. Edmund leapt from a long padded chair overlooking the river. ‘Tom. At last, I didn’t think you were ever coming.’

  Tom caught his breath. He had never seen such windows before. They took up the length of the room’s eastern wall, providing an unmatched view of the Pool of London, full of anchored ships and, beyond, the menacing grandeur of the Tower. Tom peered through their swaying masts. Was that the pepper store he could see, at the top of his warehouse? It was strange to think Isaac or Andrew could now be in that room. A ragged cormorant flew past the window, yards from the glass.

  ‘Oh Edmund. This is prime,’ Tom exclaimed.

  ‘Yes, it is rather fine, isn’t it?’ Edmund flashed a grin. ‘It’s taken the devil’s own time to build the windows, but I think it was worth the wait, don
’t you? I have had the master builder back twice because they leaked when the wind blew the rain upriver. They finally have them about right, so I moved in. Do forgive the mess, Tom, we still have unpacking to do, haven’t we Beesley?’

  Edmund’s manservant nodded with a weary expression. Tom smiled at the ‘we’. The notion of Edmund Dalloway undertaking any manual labour was comic.

  ‘Tom, I would love to show you around but your delayed arrival has left us with little time if we are not to be horribly late for the ball, and there is nothing more boring than arriving at a social event when the fun has finished. Come, we must leave… but on our way out, allow me to reveal one small surprise.’

  Edmund swept past Tom into the corridor. Instead of turning right for the stairs to the ground floor, he walked left towards another staircase, which led to the second floor. He stopped on the first step and pointed upwards.

  ‘These are the stairs to the top floor, bedrooms and such, but also to a mystery I have discovered. I will show you at another time but guess what I have found behind a panel at the far end of the corridor above? A secret door!’

  His old friend’s excited face reminded Tom of their school days together when Edmund would be forever full of secrets and fantasies. Tom supposed it was their opposites that attracted: Tom, practical and rather earnest in his youth; Edmund, full of imagination and fanciful at times. They filled a need in each other which made them stronger together than apart. They were the unlikeliest, but the closest, of friends.

  ‘Tom, you can imagine how I excited I was when I forced the door yesterday. It led on to an enclosed staircase, with another narrow passageway at the top of the stairs that runs through the roof space of my neighbour’s house on the left. I could see another enclosed staircase descending at the end of the passageway in the roof, but I haven’t explored any further yet. I could hear people talking below me and was fearful my neighbours would detect me walking in their roof. Not the best way to make an introduction.’