G
uy attended to
Tamasin. She had suffered bad bruising to her face, a broken tooth and a cracked rib. She would not be fit to go out of doors for a week, but I was relieved to hear that there would be no permanent damage apart from the tooth which had been broken off, fortunately at the side rather than the front of her mouth. Guy said he would send her to a toodvdrawer to have the remnants of the broken tooth extracted.
'I will fetch some stuff from the Barge,' Barak said, as Guy applied some soothing oils to Tamasin's face. 'Could you take Tammy to your house, sir?'
'I will.' I followed him out to the out
er offi
ce. There I took his arm. 'If you do not comfort her,' I said in an angry whisper, 'accept your part in what has gone wrong between you, you will lose her.'
He shook off my arm and glared at me. 'Leave my wife's affairs to me,' he said thickly. 'What do you know of married life?'
'Enough to know you have a rare pearl in Tamasin.'
'I'll keep her safe,' he said. 'We'd best turn our minds to catching this man. Either he is someone we know, who knew we would be on the marshes that day and has found out where we live, or . . .'
'Or what?'
'Or maybe the devil's in it after all.' He turned away, threw open the door and went out.
I
t was long before
any of us went to bed that night. When Guy left I held a whispered conversation with him on the doorstep, telling him about the Strodyr case. He nodded sadly. 'It is what I expected,' he said.
I led Tamasin home. Barak arrived with baggage from the Barge, and I installed him and Tamasin in the room Tamasin had occupied when she helped look after me during my illness the previous year. My housekeeper Joan, who was fond of her, was horrified to see her face. When they were settled upstairs she took me aside.
'That poor girl,' she said.
'I know. I am sorry to involve you in my troubles again.' I had told Joan that Tamasin had been attacked by someone we were investigating, and that I had sent the gatekeeper to find some protection from Harsnet.
'Tamasin and Master Jack, they seem to be hardly speaking. After what she's been through . . .'
'I know, Joan. Between her anger and Jack's pride they have fallen out. We must try to bring them together.'
'But should we interfere, sir? Between man and wife;'
'I think if something is not done they may not be man and wife much longer.' I looked at Joan. She looked frightened and tired, and suddenly old. I remembered thinking she needed more help around the house, yet I had done nothing. I laid my hand on her arm. 'It will be all right.' I spoke with a confidence I did not feel.
H
arsnet responded
to my messages with commendable speed. Not long after first light next morning a man arrived from him, a muscular
fellow of around thirty, craggy-
faced with keen eyes. He told me he was Philip Orr, one of the Westminster constables, and had agreed to take on the job of watching the house out of respect for the coroner, 'a good man and a godly one,' as he put it. Another hot
-
gospeller, I thought, but was nonetheless grateful to Harsnet for providing someone capable so quickly. The coroner had also sent a message by Orr; he wished to question Dean Benson of Westminster Cathedral at once about his former infirmarian and his assistants. He asked Barak and I to accompany him, saying he would meet us by the abbey gatehouse at eight thirty. The letter noted that I should have time to go on to Westminster Palace for that morning's hearings in Requests. I was grateful to him for considering that.
'He works fast,' I said to Barak as we walked down to the river to catch a boat. It was still mild, but drizzly, a light rain driven into our faces by the wind. The look Barak had given me when he came down to breakfast that morning left me in no doubt he did not want to hear any more about his marriage; Tamasin, still suffering from her injuries, had stayed in bed.
'Lord Cromwell trained his men well.'
'He is a religious radical. I hope that doesn't cloud his investigative skills.'
'He seemed sharp enough to me,' Barak replied. I did not pursue the point; he was in a mood to turn discussion into argument.
We walked from Whitehall Stairs to Westminster again, through more squally rain; I was glad the day's court papers were secure in the leather panniers Barak carried. Instead of turning left into New Palace Yard as usual, we went under the gatehouse of the former abbot's prison into Thieving Lane. The rain had stopped, and patches of white clouds moved across a blue sky, sending shadows chasing each other across the ground below.
The Westminster streets teemed with people. Well
-
dressed MPs were walking to Parliament from their lodgings, harried unmercifully by beggars and pedlars. Some of the Members had been here long enough to develop the trick of waving a hand in dismissal without looking if someone approached, but one man in a fine red cloak and jewelled cap was being mobbed by a group of pedlars. He had made the mistake of trying to argue with one, and seeing an opening the whole group had flocked round him like starlings round a dropped cake. 'No, no, I said I don't want any of that stuff!' he called plaintively as someone grasped his sleeve. He lost his temper and began shouting, 'No! No! Go away, damn you, and take your rubbish!' A pedlar thrust a copper necklace in his face.
Barak laughed. 'Some country gruff. They'll eat him alive.'
I jumped back as a long iron knife was thrust in my face. It was another pedlar, a tray of ironware tied round his neck. A tall grey
-
bearded man, smelling mightily.
'Have a care!' I snapped.
'Fine steel knives, the very best, sir!'
I shouldered him aside and we went on. Harsnet was already standing by the ancient gatehouse, wearing a lawyer's robe embossed over the heart with the royal arms, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked up Thieving Lane. He nodded as we approached. I began by thanking him for sending Orr to my house.
'The women must be protected. And if the rogue does try to gain entry we have a chance to catch him. Orr is a good man. I hope your wife is not too badly hurt, Goodman Barak.' His face softened with genuine concern.
'A bit of rest and she'll be all right.'
'But what exactly happened:'
I told Harsnet about the attack on Tamasin. He set his lips. 'How can that have happened; We must talk further after we have seen the dean.'
'And you, sir?' I asked him. 'Have the neighbouring coroners reported any — any horrific murders like our three?'
'None. And we are still in the dark as to how our killer got to know those men, why he chose them.' He sighed, then essayed a tired smile. 'Well, let us see what Dean Benson has to say. I told him to expect us. He will be at the former prior's house, which he has taken over.' Harsnet frowned; a reformer would disapprove of an ex
-
monk benefiting from the Dissolution.
'One thing,'
I
said. 'Have you thought, this last week, that someone might be following you?'
The coroner shook his head. 'No.'
'I
fear
I
have.
I
think you should take care, sir.'
'I
will. Thank you.' He drew a deep breath as he led the way under the gate into the old monastic precinct.
T
he outer courts
of most Benedictine monasteries had long been places of commerce, but Westminster had been in a class of its own, partly because of its enormous size but also because of its ancient privilege of sanctuary. Those who were wanted by the law could move there and set themselves up beyond the reach of justice. Thus the house of God had been surrounded by villains evading retribution. The precinct was ringed with a mixture of fine houses and poor tenements, home to criminals of all sorts, all paying profitable rents to the monks. Most of the old privileges of sanctuary had been abolished by King Henry — one of his better initiatives — but the Sanctuary itself had survived the Dissolution, and debtors and petty thieves could still find refuge there. Some fugitives had spent a lifetime in Westminster Sanctuary, often living a comfortable life, doing business in London using lawyers like Bealknap as intermediaries, and going each Sunday to St Margaret's church, a fine, recently rebuilt building that dominated the northern part of the precinct.
As we passed the church,
I
noticed a little group standing outside, two of them clerics in white robes. 'Bonner.' Harsnet spat out the name.
I
recognized the feared Bishop of London, a squat, thickset, round-faced figure. He was laughing with the other cleric, perhaps the St Margaret's vicar.
I
studied the bishop who wanted to purge London of radicals.
'He seems cheery enough,'
I
observed.
'Vicar Brown is cut from the same cloth,' Harsnet said grimly. 'St Margaret's is still full of gold and candles and images; it was enough trouble to prise their relic of St Margaret's finger out of them. That porkling of the Pope would have us all back to Rome.'
'Yet Bonner was once Cromwell's man,' I said.
'Now Cromwell is dead the wolves cast off the sheep's clothing they adopted to keep in favour.' He glared at the bishop. 'God forgive me, I wish our killer would aim at Bonner, not good reformers. But the devil looks after his own.'
I looked at Barak. He shrugged. We walked past the huge old bell
-
tower, now converted into ramshackle tenements, then turned east, under the looming shadow of the abbey church, into the southern precinct, bordered by the great monastery walls.
Chapter Eighteen
A
round the south precinct
t
here were more houses, mainly
poor tenements for pedlars and jobbing workers. Men were outside their houses loading carts with produce and otherwise preparing for the day. There was a smell of resin in the air, for there were many carpenters' yards at Westminster servicing the abbey and Westminster Palace. To our left a high wall separated off the inner precinct containing the monastic buildings; the gates that had once sheltered the monks' comfortable lives from the world stood open, though a guard with a pike stood outside. Harsnet told him who he was and we were allowed through the gateway, into a yard full of monastic buildings in the course of demolition or conversion. All around, workmen were sorting hammers and picks from their carts before starting their day's work. We walked to a large attractive house that stood amid the ruination in a little crocus
-
filled garden of its own. Harsnet knocked at the door.
A servant answered and bade us enter. Like Cranmer's secretary he asked Barak to wait in an anteroom, ushering Harsnet and me into an office furnished with rich hangings and dominated by an enormous oak table strewn with papers. I wondered if these things had come from the monastic buildings. The choir stalls covered with cushions standing against one wall certainly had. Outside the sound of hammering began.
The door opened, and a short man in white cleric's robes entered. We exchanged brief bows, and he walked to take a seat behind the table. 'Please, gentlemen, be seated,' he said in mellifluous tones, waving us over to the choir stalls.
I studied William Benson. The last abbot of the monastery, a monk who went over to Cromwell and had been put in the abbot's place to hasten the Dissolution. The deanery of the new cathedral was part of his reward. A stocky man nearing fifty, he had a plump, deceptively sleepy face, an air of contentment, ambition achieved.
'What can I do to aid the Archbishop?' he asked.
Harsnet spoke first. 'It is a most secret matter, sir. The Archbishop charges that nothing be said outside these walls.'
'Nor will it be. My duty is to obey my superior.' Benson smiled, looking between us with his sleepy eyes. 'You intrigue me.'
'I fear it is a very disturbing story,' I added, feeling I should stake some claim to authority.
Benson gave a throaty chuckle. 'I have laboured in God's English vineyard for many years. Nothing disturbs me now. Except that hammering,' he added with a frown. 'They are taking for ever to pull the frater down.'
Part of the house you ran for several years, I thought. I watched to see whether his detached expression would change as Harsnet briefly told the story of the murders and the prophecies in Revelation, but it did not, though Benson began toying with a gold ring on his plump hand, twisting it round and round.
'And you think the man may be a former monk?' Benson shook his head. 'I do not think that can be. Most of the brethren accepted the Dissolution quite happily. Six have become prebendaries here, under me.'