'Who else lives here?'
The servant hesitated then, eyes darting rapidly between me and Harsnet. 'Only the boy, and he's abed in the stable.'
'I am afraid I have bad news, Goodman White,' Harsnet said. 'Your master died this evening.'
The old man's eyes widened. 'Died? I didn't know where he was, I was starting to worry, but — dead?' He stared at us incredulously.
'He was murdered,' Harsnet said. The steward's eyes widened. 'When did you last see him?'
'He had a message late yesterday afternoon. A letter. He said he had to go and see a fellow cleric. He didn't say where. I thought he must have stayed overnight.'
'What happened to the letter?'
'Master took it with him.'
Harsnet looked at me. 'Like Dr Gurney and your friend.' He turned back to the trembling servant. 'You knew he was going to the reopening of the church tonight?'
'Yes, sir. I thought perhaps he'd gone straight there.'
Harsnet stood silent a moment, thinking. I saw the servant glance quickly at the staircase, then away again.
'Perhaps we should look over the house,' I said.
'There's nobody here,' the servant said, too quickly. 'Just me.' 'If your master had forbidden books,' I said, 'we do not care about that.' 'No, but—'
Harsnet looked at him suspiciously. 'Give me that candle,' he said firmly. The old man hesitated, then handed it over. 'Stay here,' Harsnet told him. 'Barak, keep an eye on him.' The coroner inclined his head to me, and I followed him up the stairs.
THE FIRST ROOM we looked into was a study, well-thumbed books lying among papers and quills on a big desk. I picked one up, peering at it to try to make out the title. Institutes of the Christian Religion, by John Calvin. I had heard of him: one of the most radical and uncompromising of the new generation of continental reformers.
Harsnet held up a hand. 'I heard something,' he whispered. He pointed across the corridor to another door, then marched across and threw it open. A shrill scream came from within.
It was a bedroom, dominated by a comfortable feather bed. A woman lay there, naked; a girl, rather, for she was still in her teens, smooth-skinned and blonde-haired. She grabbed the blankets and pulled them up to her neck. 'Help!' she shouted. 'Robbers!'
'Quiet!' Harsnet snapped. 'I am the King's assistant coroner. Who are you?'
She stared at us with wide eyes, but did not reply.
'Are you Yarington's whore?' There was anger in his voice.
'What is your name, girl,' I asked quietly.
'Abigail, sir, Abigail Day.'
'And are you the minister's woman? There is no point in lying.'
She reddened and nodded. Harsnet's face twisted in disgust. 'You seduced a man of God.'
A look of defiance came into the girl's face. 'It wasn't me did the seducing.'
'Don't you bandy words with me! A creature like you in a minister's bed. Do you not fear for your soul? And his?' Harsnet was shouting now, his face filled with anger. I had grown to respect and almost like the coroner these last few days but the terrible events of the evening were bringing out another side of him: the hard, implacable man of faith.
The girl made a spirited reply, her own fear turning to anger. 'Keeping body and soul together's been all I've worried about since my father was hanged,' she answered fiercely. 'For stealing a gentleman 's purse.' There was bitter contempt in her voice. 'It killed my mother.'
Harsnet was unaffected. 'How long have you been here?' he snapped.
'Four months.'
'Where did Yarington pick you up?'
She hesitated before answering. 'I was in a house down in Southwark where he used to come. We get many ministers down there,' she added boldly.
'They are weak men, and you tempt them to fall.' Harsnet's voice shook with anger and contempt.
This was wasting time. 'Did you ever hear of a whore called Welsh Elizabeth?' I asked her.
'No, sir.' She looked from one to the other of us, frightened again. 'Why, sir, why?'
'Your master is dead,' Harsnet said bluntly. 'He was murdered, earlier tonight.'
Abigail's mouth opened wide. 'Murdered?'
He nodded. 'Get some clothes on. I'm taking you to the Archbishop's prison. There'll be some more questions. Nobody will miss you,' he added brutally. 'And after this you'll find yourself whipped at the cart's tail as a whore, if I have anything to do with it.'
'It's only some questions about your master,' I said as the wretched girl began to cry. 'Come, pull yourself together and get dressed. We shall be downstairs.' I took Harsnet's arm and led him out.
Outside, he shook his head sorrowfully. 'The snares the devil sets to pull us down,' he said.
'Men are men,' I answered impatiently. 'And always will be.'
'You are a cynic, Master Shardlake. A man of weak faith. A Laodicean.'
I raised my eyebrows. 'That phrase comes from Revelation.'
Harsnet blinked, frowned, then raised a hand. 'I am sorry. I am — affected by what we saw tonight. But do you realize, if Yarington hadn't been keeping that whore he wouldn't have died tonight? He was killed for his hypocrisy, wasn't he?'
'Yes. I think he was.'
Harsnet closed his eyes wearily, then looked at me. 'Why did you ask about Welsh Elizabeth?'
'That was what the cottar Tupholme's woman was called. I wondered if the killer might have got his information through a whorehouse. About the two carnal sinners punished with death,' I added. 'It's clear now that Yarington did fit the pattern.'
'Yes he did.' Harsnet's face set hard. 'I'll find out what house she was at.'
'Be gentle with her, please. Nothing will be served by harshness here.'
He grunted. 'We'll see.'
THE STEWARD TOBY was sitting in the kitchen, together with a scared-looking boy of around ten, ragged and smelling of the stables, with dirty brown feet. He stared at us, wide-eyed, from under a mop of brown hair.
'Who is this?' Harsnet asked.
'Timothy, sir, the stable boy,' Toby said. 'Stand up for your betters, you silly little shit.' The boy stood, his legs trembling.
'Leave us, boy,' Harsnet said. The child turned and scurried out.
'Well,' Harsnet said sarcastically. 'So much for there being nobody at home.'
'He paid me well for keeping her presence quiet,' Toby said, his voice surly.
'You connived at sin.'
'Everyone sins.'
'Who else knew?' I asked.
'No one.'
'People must have seen the girl coming in and out,' I said.
Toby shook his head. 'He only let her go abroad after dark. It was easy enough in the winter, she didn't want to go out anyway in the snow and ice. I wondered how he'd keep her secret now the days were getting longer, and spring coming. He'd probably have kicked her out soon.' He smiled sardonically, showing yellow stumps of teeth. 'He had a good excuse to keep folk away, his precious copies of Luther and that new one, Calvin.'
'How long were you with your master?' Barak asked.
'Five years.' His eyes narrowed. 'I was paid to be a loyal servant, not question my master's deeds. That's what I did.' He paused. 'How did he die? Was he robbed? You can't move in London for sturdy beggars these days.'
'No,' Harsnet answered noncommittally. 'You can't.'
Toby shook his head sadly. Yet I sensed he had had no great affection for his master.
'So he found the girl in the stews?' I asked.
Toby shrugged. 'I think he went there often. Funny thing, since he brought Abigail here you'd think he'd be happier, but he only ranted against sin more and more. Bad conscience, I suppose. Religious folk are mighty strange, I say. I just go to services as the King commands.'
'What about the boy? He must have known she was here.'
'I told him to keep his mouth shut or he'd lose his place. He wouldn't dare do anything — he's an orphan and he'd end on the streets if he was kicked out of here. Master kept her well hidden. If the churchwarden
s had found out he'd have been defrocked.'
'We have reason to believe whoever killed him knew he had the girl here,' I said.
Toby sat up, alarmed. 'I told you, I said nothing to anybody—' 'Then who else could have known?' Harsnet asked. 'Who came
here?'
'If he had business to conduct he met people in the church. No one came into the house but me, I had all the cleaning of it. If I went out I left Timothy with instructions to tell callers to come back later. He's bright enough, he knew what to do.'
Harsnet got to his feet. 'You are coming with me, Goodman White. You and the girl can spend a night in the Lollards' Tower, see if you remember any more. Jacobs!' he called. One of the guards came in. Toby looked at him in fear.
'I've done nothing,' he said, his voice rising.
'Then you've naught to fear,' Harsnet replied, as the guard lifted the old man to his feet.
I rose. 'I think I'll question the stable boy,' I said.
Harsnet nodded. 'Good idea.'
I went out to a little yard at the side of the house. Candlelight winking through an open door led me to the stable. The boy sat there on an upturned bucket beside a straw mattress, leaning against the side of a big grey mare and stroking it. I saw a crude straw bed in one corner. He looked up, terrified, his dirty face stained with tear-tracks. I felt the softening I always did when faced with lonely, unhappy children.
'Are you Timothy?' I asked gently.
'Yes, sir,' he whispered. 'Sir, Toby says Master is dead. Did a bad man kill him?' 'I am afraid so.'
'What is happening to Master Toby?'
'He is going with the coroner. I would like to ask you some questions.'
'Yes, sir?' Soothingly as I had spoken, he still looked frightened.
Hardly surprising, a group of strangers clattering in at near mid- night.
'You know about Abigail, the woman who lives here?' I asked. He did not reply.
'Were you told to keep it secret? It does not matter now.'
'Toby said Master would beat me if I ever mentioned her name. Master did hit me once, for swearing. But I wouldn't have told, sir, she was kind to me for all Toby said she was a great sinner. Sir, what will happen to Abby? Will she be all right?'
Not if Harsnet has his way, I thought. I took a deep breath. 'You told no one about her? You will not be punished for telling the truth.'
'No. No, I swear I didn't. On the Bible, sir, on the Bible if you wish. I told no one about her. I liked her being here. She was kind, sometimes this last winter she would give me pennies, let me sit by the fire indoors if Master and Toby were out, She said she knew what it was to be cold and hungry.' His eyes filled with tears again. I guessed he had had no kindness from Yarington nor from the steward. Only from the whore.
I sensed there was something more, something he was keeping back in his fear. But if I told Harsnet of my opinion, the boy would be dragged with the others to the Archbishop's prison. And some- thing within me rebelled at that, I could not do it.
'Master Shardlake!' Harsnet's voice called from outside, making the boy jump.
'I must go now, Timothy,' I said. 'But I will come and see you tomorrow. You will be without a place now your master is dead. Toby said you have no family.'
'No, sir.' He sniffed. 'I will have to go a-begging.'
'Well, I will try to find you a place. I promise I will come again tomorrow, and we will talk more, eh? For now, close the stable door and go to sleep.'
'I told the truth, sir,' he said. 'I told nobody about Abigail.'
'Yes, I believe you.'
'Did the constables catch the man who killed Master?' 'No. Not yet. But they will.'
I left the stable. Outside, I bit my lip. What if he ran away? But he would not, not with the prospect of another place. He knew something, and it would be easier to find out what it was once he had got over his initial shock.
'Master Shardlake!' Harsnet called again impatiently from the open doorway.
'Yes, I am coming!' Suffer the little children, I thought bitterly.
I JOINED HARSNET, who had gone down the street and stood looking at the church with Barak.
'How did the killer know about Yarington's whore?' He sighed. 'I'll have the girl and that servant questioned hard, but I don't think they know anything. What about the boy?'
'He told no one about Abigail. I said I'd come and see him again tomorrow, when he's calmer. He will be without a place now. I told him I'd try and find him one.'
He looked at me curiously. 'Where?'
'I don't know yet.'
'I hope you can. Or if he lives he'll grow to be another beggar starving in the streets and threatening the peace.' He shook his head. 'I would they could be cared for, and brought to God.' His anger seemed to have passed.
'My friend Roger was starting up a subscription among the lawyers for a poor men's hospital.'
'Good,' he said. 'That is needed. Preachers too. The beggars are utterly devoid of the fear of God. I've seen that in my work.'
'They are outcasts.'
'So were our Lord and his disciples. But they had faith.' 'They thought a better world was about to come.' 'It will,' he said quietly. He smiled at me. 'I am sorry for my anger earlier. You will still come to dinner tomorrow?'
'Of course.'
'I wonder if Yarington had any family. I will find out from the servants.' He turned as the guards appeared in the doorway. Abigail and Toby slumped between them, looking terrified. 'I must go with them.' Harsnet bowed quickly, and walked away.
'I don't envy them,' Barak said as the two were led away.
Chapter Twenty-five
BARAK AND I walked back to Chancery Lane. I was bone-tired, the stitches in my arm tweaking and pulling.
'We should have a few hours' sleep when we get back,' Barak said. In the moonlight he too looked exhausted. 'There's Adam Kite's case tomorrow, then Smithfield with Harsnet, then the dean.' He groaned at the thought of it all.
We walked on in silence for a while. Then Barak said, 'That poor arsehole Yarington a lecher, eh?' He sounded almost back to his usual mocking self, perhaps glad to be dealing with ordinary human weakness again after the horror at the church.
'Yes. And the killer knew that somehow.'
'How?'
'I don't know. If we can find out, we may have him.' 'What will he do next?'
'It's impossible to say. As Hertford said, the fifth prophecy is vague.'
'What do you think those people are hiding — Lockley and the dean? They're hiding something.'
'Yes, they are. We must find out tomorrow.'
'Do you think they were part of some nest of sodomites? The monasteries were full of those filthy creatures.'
'I don't know. Lockley certainly didn't strike me as being inclined that way.'
'You can't always tell.'
'You sound as fierce against sin as Harsnet.'
He grinned. 'Only sins I don't feel drawn to myself,' he said with a flash of his old humour. "Tis always easy to condemn those.'
We arrived back at Chancery Lane. 'I must go and see that boy Timothy first thing,' I said wearily. Behind a window I saw a lamp raised. Harsnet's man Orr, on watch.
'What if he makes a run for it in the night;'
'He won't run. I told you, he needs a new place.'
'And how are you going to conjure that out of thin air for him?'
'I have an idea. I will not let him down. Now come, I am too tired to talk more. We need a few hours' sleep, or we shall be seeing double tomorrow.'
WHEN WE REACHED home I asked Barak to have me wakened no later than first light, and wearily mounted the stairs to bed. Exhausted as I was, I could not sleep. Lying in bed in the darkness I kept turning Yarington's terrible death over in my mind, trying to fit it into the pattern of the others. At length I got up, threw my coat over my nightshirt and lit a new beeswax candle. The yellow glow spreading from my table over the room was somehow comforting.
I sat at the table, thinki
ng. I was sure the killer had been there when we got Adam down from London Wall. Yarington had been there too. Was that when the killer had decided that Yarington would be his next victim; No, that spectacle had been planned a long time, and Yarington's fornication with that poor girl had been known to the killer. But how, when the cleric had kept it so secret; It had not been a matter of common knowledge like Roger's and Dr Gurney's turning away from radical reform, or poor Tupholme's noisy affair with Welsh Elizabeth.
It was important to see that boy tomorrow, find out if he knew anything. I had not seen nearly enough evidence to be sure that Goddard was the killer. But if not Goddard then who was he, this man who knew about medicine and the law and mixed, or had mixed recently, with the radical sectaries; I wondered uneasily whether Harsnet was pressing the radical reformers enough for information; he would be far gentler with his own people than with Abigail.
The old law book was on my desk. I had borrowed it from the library. I opened it again to the case of Strodyr, smelling dust and ancient ink again. Strodyr too must have planned his killings with care, to go undetected for years. I read again how he refused to say anything at his trial but that he had often raged 'most obscenely' against the wicked trade of whores. Did our killer too somehow believe he was doing God's work, or was it all some terrible game? Or were both the same in his unfathomable mind? I remembered the German Anabaptists, who in overthrowing society in Munster believed that in their violence they were pushing forward God's will, bringing Armageddon about all the faster. Perhaps the killer believed each step was a symbolic fulfilment of the Revelation prophecies, that he would bring about the end of the world. I resolved to talk to Guy again. At last, I fell asleep.