C.J. Sansom - Revelation

The footprints went up to the wall, then turned sharply right. They ended at a heavy wooden door. 'He got through here,' Barak said.

'He came over the wall last time. If it was him the other night.'

'He wasn't carrying a body then.' Barak tried the gate. 'It's locked,' he said.

'Only the barristers have keys. The orchard is on the other side, then Lincoln's Inn Fields. I've got a key, but it's in chambers.'

'Help me up,' Barak said. I made a stirrup of my hands and Barak climbed up, resting his elbows on top of the wall. 'The footsteps go on into the orchard,' he said. He jumped down. 'He carried poor Master Elliard in from the orchard? Jesu, he must be strong. Tell me which drawer the key's in and I'll run and get it.'

I hesitated. 'I should go back. It should be me that tells Dorothy. The fountain is visible from her window—'

'I'll go by myself. But I must go now, before the footprints melt.'

'You don't know what you may find at the other end,' I cautioned.

'He's long gone. But I'll follow the footsteps as far as they go. We need to find out all we can. You know as well as I that if a murderer is not taken quickly, he is often never found.' He took a deep breath. 'And this is no normal killing, done for money or lust. The killer knocked him unconscious then carried him into Lincoln's Inn and put him in the fountain. He was still alive when his throat was cut or he wouldn't have bled. He must have knocked him out hard enough to keep him unconscious for a good time but not hard enough to kill him. That's very chancy. What if he had woken and started struggling? It looks like some sort of awful vengeance.'

'Roger hadn't an enemy in the world. Was it another barrister? Only a member of Lincoln's Inn would have a key to that door.'

'We should go now, sir.' Barak looked at me seriously. 'If you are to tell the lady.'

I nodded, biting my lip. Barak squeezed my arm, an unexpected gesture, then began running back to Gatehouse Court. I followed more slowly. As I rounded the corner I heard a woman's scream. I felt a violent shiver down my spine as I started to run.

I was too late. In the middle of the growing crowd around the fountain, Dorothy, dressed in a nightgown, was kneeling on the wet ground by her husband's body, wailing piteously, a howl of utter desolation. My coat had been removed from Roger's head; she had seen that awful face. She wailed again.

I RAN TO HER, knelt and grasped her by the shoulders. Under the thin material her skin was cold. She lifted her face to me; she looked utterly stricken, her eyes wide, mouth hanging open, her brown hair wildly disordered.

'Matthew:' she choked.

'Yes. Dorothy — oh, you should not have come out, they should not have let you see. . .' I glared accusingly at the crowd. People shuffled their feet, looking embarrassed.

'I could not stop her,' Treasurer Rowland said stiffly.

'You could have tried!'

'That is no way to talk to me—'

'Shut up,' I snapped, anger bursting out again. The Treasurer's mouth fell open. I lifted Dorothy up. As soon as she stood she began trembling. 'Come inside, Dorothy, come—'

'No!' She fought me, trying to break loose. 'I cannot leave Roger lying there.' Her voice rose again.

'We must,' I said soothingly. 'For the coroner.'

'Who - killed him?' She stared at me, as though trying to seize hold of something to make sense of the horror around her.

'We will find out. Now come inside. Treasurer Rowland will ensure no one does anything disrespectful. Will you not, sir?'

'Yes, of course.' The old man actually looked sheepish. Dorothy allowed me to lead her inside, where Roger's clerk, Bartlett, stood in his office doorway, looking shocked. He was a conscientious middle-aged man who had come with Roger from Bristol.

'Sir?' he asked in a whisper. 'What - what has happened? They say the master is murdered.'

'I fear so. Listen, I will come down to you later and see what should be done with his work.'

'Yes, sir.'

Dorothy was staring at Bartlett as though she had never seen him before. Again I took hold of her arms, leading her gently up the wide staircase to their rooms. Old Elias stood in the open doorway, half dressed, his white hair standing on end. A young maid in a white apron and coif stood beside him.

'Oh, my lady,' the maid said in an Irish accent. She turned her tearful face to me. 'She had just got up, sir, she must have gone through to the front and looked from the window. She screamed and ran out and—'

'All right.' I studied the girl. She was plump and dark-haired. She seemed sensible, and genuinely upset for her mistress. Dorothy would have to rely on her much in the days to come. 'What is your name?' I asked.

'Margaret, sir.'

'Do you have some strong wine, Margaret?'

'I've some aqua vitae sir. I'll get it. Sir — out there — is it truly the master?'

'Yes, I am afraid it is. Now please, get the aqua vitae. And fetch your mistress a thicker gown. She must not get cold.'

I led Dorothy into the parlour and sat her in a chair before the fire. I looked round, remembering my pleasant evening there a week before. Dorothy sat trembling. She had passed, I realized, from horror to shock.

The maid returned, draped a warm gown round Dorothy's shoulders and passed her a glass of spirits, but Dorothy's hand trembled so much I took it from her fingers.

'Stay,' I said to Margaret. 'In case she needs anything.'

'The poor master . . .' Margaret brought a stool to her mistress's side and sat on it heavily, herself shocked.

'Come,' I said gently to Dorothy. 'Drink this, it will help you.' She did not resist as I held the glass to her lips, helping her drink as though she was a child. Her face was pale, her plump cheeks sagging. I had told her at the banquet that she looked years younger than her age. Now she was suddenly haggard and old. I wondered with sorrow if her warm, impish smile would ever return.

Her face grew pink from the spirit and she seemed to come slowly back to herself, though she still trembled.

'Matthew,' she said quietly. 'They said you found Roger.'

'Some students did. I came on them, helped them lift the body out.'

'I came into the parlour and heard a noise outside.' She frowned, as though remembering something from a long time ago. 'I saw the fountain all red, the people standing there, and I thought, what on earth has happened; Then I saw the body on the ground. I knew it was Roger. I recognized his boots. His old leather boots.' She gulped and I thought she would start crying but instead she looked at me with eyes full of anger.

'Who did this;' she asked. 'Who did this cruel wicked thing; And why;'

'I do not know. Dorothy, where was Roger yesterday evening;'

'He - he was out. His new pro bono client.'

'The same client he went to see on Thursday; When I left him after we had visited Dr Malton he said he was going to see a pro bono client. He said he had had a letter about the case.'

'Yes, yes.' She gulped. 'It came on Tuesday, from some solicitor. Yes. I remember. A man called Nantwich.'

'Did Roger say where he was writing from;'

'Somewhere by Newgate, I think. You know those jobbing solicitors, half of them haven't even got proper offices. He had heard Roger did free work for poor people. He asked if Roger could meet his client at a tavern in Wych Street on Thursday evening, as the man worked during the day.'

'Did you see the letter;'

'I did not ask to. I thought it odd, asking to meet in a tavern, but Roger was curious about it, and you know how good-natured he is.' She stopped dead and gave a sobbing gasp. For a second, talking, she had forgotten Roger was dead and the horror hit her with renewed force. She stared at me wildly. I clutched her hand. It felt cold.