Elizabeth spoke in a high, pleasant voice. ‘I hardly see Gregory these days, and when I do he looks tired out. I hope you are not responsible for all the work he is doing, sir.’
‘Indeed not, madam. I am only his fellow-toiler.’
‘Gregory speaks well of you.’ I looked at Harsnet, a little surprised for I had thought he would have scant respect for someone not of his rigid faith. He smiled uncomfortably, and I realized again that he was a shy man.
‘I have not thanked you properly for sending your man to my house,’ I said. ‘He is a good fellow, and gives the women a sense of security.’
Harsnet looked pleased. ‘I knew he would give good service, he is a member of my church.’
Elizabeth invited me to sit at a table covered with a bright embroidered cloth. ‘I hope you like roast mutton, sir,’ she said.
‘It is one of my favourite dishes,’ I answered truthfully.
She rang a little bell, and servants brought in a large dish of mutton and bowls of vegetables. I realized this was the first time I had been out to dinner since that last night at Roger and Dorothy’s. Samuel would be gone by now, she would be alone again. I would visit her tomorrow.
The door opened again and a maid ushered in four children, two boys and two girls, ranging in age from perhaps four to ten, hair combed tidily, the younger two in nightshirts. ‘Come, children,’ Harsnet said. ‘Meet Master Shardlake.’ The children went and stood obediently beside their father; the two boys bowed to me, the girls curtsied. Harsnet smiled. ‘The boys are Absalom and Zealous, the girls Rachel and Beulah.’ All Old Testament names, except for Zealous; one of the strange names the radical reformers gave their children now, such as Fear-God, Perseverance, Salvation. The two little girls stared with scarce-concealed interest at my back; the younger boy had his head cast down, but the elder, Zealous, had a surly, angry look. His father laid a hand on his head.
‘I hope you have learned well from your beating,’ he said seriously. ‘To take Our Saviour’s name in vain is a great sin.’
‘Yes, Father,’ the boy said, quietly enough, but his eyes looked angry still. Harsnet dismissed the children, watching as they left the room, then shook his head sadly. ‘I had to strike Zealous with the cane for swearing when I came in,’ he said. ‘An unpleasant part of a father’s duty. But it had to be done. I was unaware he knew such words.’ He was silent again for a moment, that preoccupied look on his face again.
‘Children can be a trial,’ Elizabeth said, ‘but they are a great comfort, and they are the future.’ She smiled at me. ‘My husband tells me you are not married.’
‘No,’ I answered briefly, reaching for another slice of mutton with my knife.
‘Marriage is a state to which man is called by God,’ she said, keeping her eyes fixed on me.
‘So your husband has said,’ I answered mildly. ‘Well, God has not called me.’ I turned to Harsnet. ‘You said you had been assistant coroner six years. Where did you read law, sir?’
‘At the Middle Temple. Then I worked in Lincolnshire, where my parents came from, for some years. Then the Northern rebellion came six years ago. I raised a troop of men against those papists. Though we had no fighting. They surrendered to us immediately.’
‘In Yorkshire it was a different story,’ I said.
‘By God’s grace the rebellion was put down there too. But afterwards I had a message to see Thomas Cromwell. You knew him too, I think.’ Harsnet fixed me with that penetrating stare of his.
‘Yes, from his early days as a young radical.’
‘He was in the days of his great power then. He said he had marked me as a man of ability, asked me to take the post of the King’s assistant coroner, the old one having just died.’ Harsnet sighed. ‘We were happy in Lincolnshire, we did not wish to move, and although the post carries a good salary, like all royal appointments, money has never been our main concern in life.’
‘Lord Cromwell was not a man who could be easily refused.’
‘Oh, I did not wish to refuse. He told me the post meant one more man of faith at court.’
‘He works himself to death, Master Shardlake,’ Elizabeth said. ‘But we must all play our part as God wills.’ She smiled, and I wondered if that was an oblique reference to my single state.
‘You said you are thinking of starting a hospital for the poor,’ Harsnet said.
I was glad of the change of subject. ‘Yes, it was Roger Elliard’s idea. To take subscriptions from the members of Lincoln’s Inn, perhaps from all the Inns of Court, to fund a hospital for the poor and sick. When I have enough time I intend to start work on the matter.’
He nodded agreement. ‘That would be a fine thing. Between these four walls, the King has no interest in spending any of the money gained from the monasteries on replacing their hospitals with something better.’
‘No,’ I agreed. ‘Building palaces is all that interests him, and war with France now the Scots are beaten.’
Harsnet nodded in agreement. ‘Ay, and all for vainglory.’
‘Gregory . . .’ his wife said uneasily.
‘I know, my love, we must be careful. But to return to the hospital, Serjeant Shardlake. I would like to help you when your project gets going. I still have contacts at Middle Temple. Where would you build it?’
‘I confess I have not thought. Though there is no shortage of land in London since the monasteries went down.’
He nodded. ‘Somewhere central. That is where they all gather to beg. We see how they suffer every day. And suffering and uneducated as they are, they lie under a great temptation to doubt God’s providence and care.’
‘They could be taught the Bible in the hospital,’ Elizabeth added.
‘Yes.’ Harsnet nodded thoughtfully. ‘After their bodies have been mended.’
We had finished the meal now. Harsnet caught my eye. ‘If you will excuse us, my dear,’ he said to his wife. ‘Serjeant Shardlake and I need to talk. Shall we go to my study, sir?’
I stood up and bowed to Mrs Harsnet. ‘Thank you for that excellent repast, madam.’
She inclined her head in acknowledgement. ‘I am glad you enjoyed it. Think, sir, if you were to take a good wife for yourself, you could have such a table every night.’
HARSNET LED ME to his study, a small room whose main item of furniture was a paper-strewn desk. On one wall was a large fragment of stained glass enclosed within a frame, a design of red and white roses with golden leaves on a dark background in between. It had a pleasing effect, lightening the room. ‘That came from the old nunnery at Bishopsgate,’ he said. ‘I thought it a pretty design, and there are no idolatrous representations of saints to spoil it.’
‘It is pretty indeed. But, sir - what of Lockley?’
His whole neat, erect posture seemed to sag as he sat down, waving me to a chair opposite him. My heart sank as I realized there was more bad news to come.
‘He’s gone,’ Harsnet said bleakly. ‘Made a run for it. When my men arrived at the tavern they found the Bunce woman in a great state. Lockley had gone out to make an order at the brewer’s three hours before and never come back. She said he’d been on edge ever since you came.’
‘Well, that proves he was hiding something.’
He had laid a hand on the table, and he suddenly clenched it into a fist. ‘Lockley gone. He could be the killer.’
‘I don’t think so. I don’t think he is clever enough, apart from anything else. No, it’s some secret to do with those connected with the abbey infirmaries. Barak speculated that there might have been some sodomites there, but I doubt that too.’
‘I would bring Dean Benson into custody here and now, but that is not so easy. I have an appointment with Lord Hertford tomorrow, I will see what he can do. He will not be pleased,’ he added.
‘We do not have much luck.’
‘And the killer does. Perhaps that should not be a surprise. With the devil inside him, everything he does succeeds. He seems invisible, untouchable.?
?? He looked at me with an intense, haunted gaze.
‘He failed with Cantrell,’ I said. ‘Would the devil have allowed that?’
Harsnet stared at me, suddenly stronger and harder again. ‘I know you do not believe the killer is possessed, sir. But how else can you explain someone doing such wicked, evil things? For no possible personal gain.’
‘He must gain something. In his disordered mind. I think he has an insane compulsion to kill. He would not be the first.’
‘Madness? If you are to justify that definition, sir, if it is to be more than just a word, you must tell me in what ways his mind is disordered, how and why he is mad.’
‘I cannot,’ I admitted. ‘I can only tell you that there have been similar cases in the past.’
‘When?’ he asked, surprised.
I told him about Strodyr and De Rais. When I had finished he spread his hands, gave me a sad smile.
‘But surely, sir, those are further examples of possession rather than madness as we know it. Whatever that ex-monk Dr Malton may say.’
‘Perhaps there will never be an explanation for such men as these.’
‘But surely possession is an explanation,’ Harsnet said. He leaned forward. ‘Acts that make sense only as a wicked mockery of true religion.’
‘True religion?’ I asked quietly. ‘Is that how you would describe the Book of Revelation?’
‘How else?’ Harsnet spread his hands wide. ‘It is a book of the Bible, and all of the Bible is God’s word, telling us how to live and find salvation, how the world began and how it will end. We cannot pick and choose which parts of the Bible to believe.’
‘Many have doubted whether the Book of Revelation is inspired by God. From the early church fathers to Erasmus in our own day.’
‘But the church fathers did accept it. And Erasmus remained a papist. Not a true Bible man. The Book is Holy Writ, and the devil has entered this man to make him blaspheme.’
I did not reply. Harsnet and I would never agree. To my surprise, he smiled suddenly. ‘I see I will not convince you,’ he said.
I smiled back. ‘I fear not. Nor I you.’
He looked at me, not in a hostile way but with compassion. ‘I am sorry my wife was so insistent about the virtues of the married state. Women these days will say what they please. But she has a point. Matthew, I may call you Matthew—’
‘Of course—’
‘I have watched you with interest this last week. Working together gives one a chance to weigh up a man. You are clever, and a moral man.’
‘Thank you.’
He looked at me earnestly. ‘You were a successful lawyer, who was close to Thomas Cromwell in his early days. You could have been one of the commissioners appointed to do away with the monasteries, I think.’
‘I did not want that job. It called for more ruthless men than I.’
Harsnet nodded. ‘Yes, a moral man. But a moral man should surely not lack faith.’
‘I shared my law chambers once with a good man, a man of the new faith. He left to become a preacher on the roads. I think he is still out there somewhere. I often think of him. But then I have known good men who cleaved to the old faith too.’ I looked at him. ‘And evil men of both.’
‘I think you are uncertain, you are indeed what the Bible calls a Laodicean.’
‘Laodicea. One of the churches St John of Patmos criticized in Revelation. Yes, I am uncertain.’ I let a coldness enter my voice. I did not want this conversation, I did not want Harsnet trying to convert me in his patronizing way, but I did not wish to be rude to him. His compassion was sincere, and I had to work with him.
‘Forgive me,’ he went on, ‘but do you not think perhaps the state of your back makes you bitter, resistant to God? I saw how it affected you when Dean Benson mentioned the King’s mockery of you at York. Sadly that is the sort of thing some men will remember, to throw in your face.’
Now I felt anger. He had gone too far. ‘I was a hunchback when I was a man of faith,’ I said firmly. ‘If I am a doubter now, a Laodicean as you say, it is because for ten years I have seen men on both sides who talk of the glory of God yet harry and persecute and kill their fellow men. By their fruits shall you know them, is not that what the Bible says? Look at the fruits of religion in these last ten years. This murderer has many examples of cruelty and violence to inspire him.’
Harsnet frowned. ‘The agents of the Pope show true religion no mercy, and we have to stand fast. You know what Bonner is doing. I do not like hard measures, I hate them, but sometimes they are necessary.’ A tic flickered on his cheek momentarily.
‘What do you believe, Gregory?’ I asked quietly. ‘Like Cranmer, that the King has been appointed by God to supervise the doctrine of the Church, that all should be in accordance with his will?’
‘No. I believe the true Christian church should be self-governing. No bishops, nor ceremonies. As it was in the early church, so it should be at the end. I believe the end-time is coming,’ he concluded.
‘Yes. I thought you might.’
‘I see the signs, the strange things everywhere in the world like those great fish the waters threw up and the persecution of Christians. The Antichrist is here and he is the pope. This is no time for half-measures. ’
‘I believe the Book of Revelation was written by a false prophet,’ I said. ‘Who repeated his dreams and fantasies.’
I thought Harsnet would burst out angrily but the compassionate look remained on his face. He sighed heavily. ‘I see you believe what you say, Matthew. And I can see things from your point of view. Believe me, I do not like the things I sometimes have to do, like the way I had to conduct that inquest.’ The tic fluttered again on his cheek, twice. ‘I prayed hard that day. And I believe that God answered me, confirmed that I must keep the truth of poor Elliard’s death secret. I never act without praying, and God answers, and then I know that I have taken the right path.’ He smiled. ‘And in the end I answer to him, not to mortal men.’ He looked at me with passionate seriousness. ‘I too doubted when I was young, I think we all doubt then. But one day when I was praying for enlightenment I felt God came to me and it was as if I wakened from a dream. God’s love for me was clear, as though my mind had been washed clean.’ He spoke with passion.
‘I thought I felt the same, once,’ I said sadly.
‘But it was not enough?’
‘No.’
Harsnet smiled. ‘Perhaps that time will come again. After this horror is over.’ He hesitated, the shyness showing through again. ‘I would like to be your friend, Matthew,’ he said. ‘I am a loyal friend.’
I smiled. ‘Even to Laodiceans?’
‘Even so.’
I shook his hand. And I wondered whether at the end of this trail of horror, I would regain my faith, or he would lose his.
Chapter Twenty-nine
IT WAS DARK when I rode back along the Strand, weary after the long day, past the houses of the wealthy that lined the road from Westminster to London. Gentle yellow candlelight flickered in their windows, lighting the road dimly. There were few people about after the London curfew, but as always these days I was watchful.
The air was still mild, but damp, and looking up at the sky I saw the stars were hidden by cloud. We were going to have rain. The stitches on my arm pulled painfully. Tomorrow if time allowed I would go and see Guy and ask when I might have them out. I wanted to talk to him again too, about Adam Kite and about what sort of creature the killer might be. The conversation with Harsnet had remained in my mind; I did not believe the killer was possessed, but was unsure that I really had any better idea what he was. And I did not know when he might strike again, or where.
When I entered the house Harsnet’s man Orr was sitting in the hall, reading a Testament.
‘All quiet, Philip?’ I asked him.
‘Yes, sir. I walked up and down the street a few times, made myself seen. Just the normal traffic. A lot of legal men, a pedlar with his cart crying his wares most of th
e morning.’
‘He’s a long way out. I shouldn’t think he’d get much passing trade here.’
‘So many workless men have gone for pedlars these days, they are getting everywhere.’
‘True.’ I passed inside, glad Orr was there. I liked his solid conscientiousness. His presence would be a deterrent if our dreadful visitor thought of doing more damage to us.
Inside, all was quiet. I headed for the stairs, then paused on the bottom step as I heard something faintly from behind the closed kitchen door. A woman crying. I walked quietly across and opened the door.
Tamasin was sitting at the table, weeping. A hard, wrenching sound, full of deep misery. Joan was sitting beside her, an arm round her shoulders. Looking past them to the window I saw the two boys, Peter and Timothy, standing outside in the yard, their noses pressed against the pane. I gestured at them and they turned and fled.
‘What has happened?’ I asked.
Tamasin raised her head and looked at me. Her bruises were almost gone, but her face was red and streaked with tears. I realized it was a long time since I had seen it looking normal.
‘It is nothing,’ she said.
‘Of course it is something.’ I heard the impatience in my voice.
‘Just a disagreement between her and Jack,’ Joan said.
‘He came back drunk an hour ago,’ Tamasin said bleakly.
‘Crashed into our room and gave me foul language for reply when I asked him what was wrong. I will not stand for much more of this,’ she said with sudden fierceness.
I frowned. ‘Then I will see him. I will not have him drunk in this house.’
I left the room and went upstairs, angry with Barak, and myself too. I had offered to help her, yet had achieved nothing.
I found Barak in his room, sitting on a stool by the bed. When he looked up his face was red, too, but with drink. ‘Don’t you start,’ he said.
‘I’ll start where I like in my own house. Is this how you keep your promise to make things up with Tamasin?’