P. Chisholm - A Murder of Crows

From the way Carey was avoiding Dodd’s eye, he assumed Carey had either dabbled in this system or his father had. More likely his father; Dodd didn’t see Carey having the sense or the ready funds.

“Ay,” he said, “it’s like when the Grahams first came south to the Border Country.”

“Is it?”

“Ay, in King Henry’s time. The brothers-that’d be Richie of Brackenhill’s grandad, Richie and his great-uncles, Jock and Hutchin Graham. They decided they liked the look o’ the place and they had some men with them. So they took the land for theirselves and kicked the Storeys off it and naebody did nothing about it for the King of Scotland had just hanged Johnny Johnstone.”

“It’s not like that at all.”

“Ay, it is, but wi’ warrants not torches and fists and swords,” said Dodd firmly.

“You’re not seriously suggesting that Papists should be allowed to simply…be Papists.”

Dodd shrugged. “I dinna care one way or the other,” he said, “so they dinna bring in the King o’ Spain-now that’s not right. Nor try to harm the Queen. That’s terrible treason, and who wants to end up like the Scots, forever killing their kings?”

“Quite.”

“Still, when ye take a man’s land wi’oot paying him fairly for it, I dinna see the difference whether ye come in wi’ your kith and kin and boot him off to lie in a ditch and greet, or do it all nice and tidy wi’ bits o’ paper.”

Unusually, Carey said nothing.

They came to the Temple and climbed up the stairs to the top of the rickety building where James Enys had his chambers.

Carey knocked on the new door. “Hello? Anyone there?” he called.

There was a pause and Mrs. Morgan’s face looked out. Just for a moment in the semi-darkness at the top of the staircase, Dodd thought it was Enys himself, so close was the resemblance, but the polite matron’s white linen cap and small ruff disabused him.

Her brother was not there and had gone out. No, she did not know where. No, she didn’t know why. She had spent all day clearing the mess left by the pursuivants and had had to buy a new door which she could ill-afford, even if her brother was about to be paid by Lord Hunsdon.

“It’s your other brother’s papers I came for?” said Carey. “The one who disappeared?”

There was a long pause. Then, “Yes?”

“The lands he was selling in Cornwall. Does Mr. Enys still have any papers connected to that?”

“I don’t know, sir, you must ask him when he returns.”

She shut the door on them. Carey stood there a while with his head cocked as if listening and Dodd thought he could hear a stealthy sniffle.

Finally Carey banged his hand on the wall with frustration and led the way back down the stairs and into the courtyard where two lawyers in their black robes stood conferring together. Carey went straight up to them with a shallow bow. “Your pardon, sirs, do you know a man called James Enys?”

One looked at the other and smiled. “Oh yes,” he said, “a fine lawyer when he pleases, but I think Mr. Heneage doesn’t like him.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

The other shrugged. “In his chambers…There he is coming out of the door.”

Carey spun on his heel to see Enys coming towards them looking tired and anxious.

“Can I help you sirs?” he asked, nodding to his brother lawyers who tactfully moved away, one of them suppressing a laugh.

“I need to see the documents about the land sales in Cornwall, Mr. Enys,” said Carey, his eyes narrowed. “I think they were not taken by the pursuivants though I’m sure that’s what they were after. I think you have them somewhere safe.”

Enys swallowed convulsively and seemed to be thinking. “Very well, Sir Robert,” he said. “I have them in a safe place and I can fetch them for you, but you cannot go into it. Can you not ask me what you want to know about them?”

Carey hooked his thumbs in his swordbelt. “I want to know who bought them, Mr. Enys.”

Enys paused. “Ah,” he said. “Worshipful gentlemen at the Queen’s Court…”

“No sir, I want the names.”

“Of the sellers?”

“No, of the buyers. Was my father among them?”

Enys looked at the ground. “Er…no.”

“The sales were secret, yes? But at high prices?”

“Yes.”

“Who bought them?”

“I…I cannot say, sir.”

“Cannot? Will not?”

“Dare not, sir. They were mainly proxies for a very…noble gentleman who would be…offended if his name were linked with the matter.”

“Hm. Burghley?”

“I really cannot say, sir.”

Carey showed his teeth in a grimace of frustration. “If you should change your mind, Mr. Enys,” he said evenly, “please let me know.”

They both turned to go but Enys called after them, “Sergeant Dodd.”

Dodd turned. “Ay?”

“Would you like me to continue the civil suit?”

Carey’s father was paying for it after all and it would likely annoy Heneage even if nothing came of it. “Ay,” said Dodd, “see what ye can get.”

Enys nodded. “You may be surprised, Sergeant.”

“I will be if aught comes of it,” said Dodd, and continued with Carey out onto Fleet Street.

Naturally the Cock Tavern was beckoning and they were soon sitting in one of the booths inside, drinking ale. Dodd crushed the impulse to reach for his pipe.

“Well for what it’s worth, here’s what I think,” said Carey. “Last year the magistrates changed in Cornwall and the recusants started getting squeezed. A couple of them had to sell some land and whoever bought the land went to look at it. He found some interesting looking rocks and had an assayer who happened to be in the area-Fr. Jackson-check it for gold.”

“D’ye think they found it?”

Carey paused significantly. “I think they did. Perhaps quite a lot. Everyone knows that gold comes from base metals which are forced to change and change again until the true principal metal emerges. There’s tin in Cornwall, and where there’s tin there’s lead usually, and sometimes silver. It would be strange if there weren’t gold, in fact.”

Dodd nodded. “Ay.”

“Of course they didn’t want to let out that there was gold, because then it would belong to the Crown, and in any case the price of the land would go up. So they kept it quiet and started buying more and more land, probably using Richard Tregian as their agent. They want to start getting the gold out of the ground-probably covered by tin mining so they get the Papist priest Jackson to come up to London to talk to him and for some reason he turns difficult, he threatens to spread the word or perhaps just demands more money for his silence. They don’t need him any more as there are plenty of mining engineers in Cornwall, so they kill him and dump him in the Thames. Who does it is difficult to say, but I would suspect Mr. Enys’s mysterious brother who has so conveniently disappeared. Or, more likely, there is no brother and Mr. Enys did it himself.” Carey leaned back looking triumphant. “Which is why he keeps following us around and also won’t tell us who was buying the land.”

Dodd didn’t think Enys would be able to kill anyone, but knew there was no point arguing with Carey in the grip of a pretty idea. “And Richard Tregian?”

“Heneage or Topcliffe are after Fr. Jackson and instead of catching him, they catch his friend Tregian. They need to produce a priest and so they use him.”

“Ay well then,” said Dodd, thinking this was distinctly thin and far-fetched, puffing on the pipe he had just lit, “all we need to do is grab Enys and get him to tell us he did it. Ah dinna think he would take much thumping.”

Carey gazed wearily on him. “Dodd, that’s simply not the way I do things.”