C.J. Sansom - Revelation

There were a couple of other horses at the rail where we tied Sukey and Genesis up, and the tavern doors were open. Inside it was busy, a group who looked like Smithfield drovers sitting together. Three ragged, weatherbeaten men whom I took to be from the community of beggars sat at one table quaffing ale. Mrs Bunce and Lockley were busy, the latter moving among the tables and the former serving behind the bar hatch.

The clientele looked up curiously as we entered. Lockley caught sight of us, and exchanged a glance with the widow. 'We would like another word, sir,' I said loudly.

'Come into the back.' His tone was low and angry. The clientele looked on with interest as I followed Lockley into a back room, where a moment later Mrs Bunce joined us. It was a cheerless place, with a scored table and some stools the only furniture.

I decided it would do no harm to let Mrs Bunce remain; she might let something slip.

'What is it?' Lockley asked us. His manner today was one of angry hostility. He stood with his fists bunched and glared at us with those sharp, deep-set eyes.

'How now, potman,' Barak said sharply. 'That's no way to talk to a man on business for His Majesty's coroner.'

Lockley sighed, shrugged and sat down at the table. Mrs Bunce stood beside him. 'What do you want?' Lockley asked, more quietly.

'We have not found Infirmarian Goddard yet.'

'Pox on him.'

'Are you sure you know nothing about him that could help us?'

'I told you all I knew last time. Goddard wasn't interested in the lay infirmary. He sneered at me for my ignorance but let me get on with treating the patients. I had to do everything myself. So far as he was concerned the patients in the lay infirmary were just a nuisance.'

'And those in the monks' infirmary? The ones the young Cantrell dealt with?'

'Goddard had to take better care of them, or he would have had to answer to the community. He kept a close eye on young Cantrell. Made him get glasses when it was clear he couldn't see properly.'

'I told you before that we are investigating a death. We think it possible that Goddard may have murdered someone.'

'How?'

'I may not say. Only that it was a violent attack.'

I would swear that Lockley seemed relieved. He laughed contemptuously. 'Goddard would never attack anyone. He was a cold man, and a lazy devil, never there when you wanted him. And he had plenty of money, I know that. Why should he kill someone?'

I nodded slowly. 'Yes, I can see you believe that,' I said quietly. Then I looked him in the eye. 'But I think you are hiding some- thing. Something else to do with Goddard. I advise you to tell me what it is.'

Lockley clenched his fists harder on the table. Strong, solid fists, callused with years of hard work. His face grew red.

'Will you leave me alone!' His sudden exclamation startled me, and I saw Barak's hand go to the hilt of his sword. 'I know nothing — nothing! Leave me alone! All my life it's been nothing but pester, pester, pester. The patients, Goddard, that wretched barber-surgeon and that church of his, saying I was damned. And you!' He turned round to Mrs Bunce and glared at her. Then he put his head in his hands and groaned. 'I don't know whether I'm coming or going.'

I looked at Barak, astonished by this childish outburst. Ethel Bunce's mouth set in a tight line, but I saw tears in her eyes.

'What are you hiding, Master Lockley;' I asked quietly. 'Tell us, and perhaps that will resolve your confusion.'

'He knows nothing, sir, I'm sure,' Mrs Bunce said. 'You should have seen the state he was in when I met him, given over to drink, spending the last of the money he had. Francis is not as strong as he looks—' Lockley jumped up suddenly, the chair banging on the floor behind him. 'Get out, both of you, get out!'

'You could find yourself arrested, and questioned in a hard place if you will not answer me,' I said quietly.

'Then do it, do it! I'm past caring! To hell with you all! I'm going back to my customers!' He started walking to the door. Barak made to step in front of him, but I shook my head. Lockley left, moving quickly for a fat man. Mrs Bunce hesitated, then looked at us beseechingly.

'Francis is not strong in his mind, sir,' she said. 'What he says is right, all his life he has been pestered by people who think they are better than he is.'

'So have most people,' Barak answered unsympathetically.

'But Francis can't take it, it affects him. I have tried to help him, but I think it has ended by him seeing me as another — persecutor. Though I'm not, I love him.' She looked at us bleakly.

'All right, madam, leave us,' I said.

When she had gone Barak said, 'We should arrest him.'

'We don't have the authority.' I sighed. 'We'll tell Harsnet what's happened. My guess is he'll send some men up tonight, when the tavern is closed.'

'Could he be our man?' Barak asked. 'Most people would be terrified at the prospect of arrest, but he seemed hardly to care. His own woman said he is not quite right in himself.'

I shook my head. 'Running a tavern is a full-time job. He couldn't possibly have done what the killer has done without Mrs Bunce knowing. And I can't see him killing Roger or the others, I just can't see it.'

'You don't know.'

I looked at him seriously. 'If the killer was Lockley, do you think he would let us take him alive? No, let Harsnet deal with him.'

WE DECIDED TO ride back down to Westminster from Smithfield; it would take less time than riding the horses back home and catching a wherry. We rode along Holborn, right out into the countryside, taking a short cut over the fields to Drury Lane. A pair of hares were boxing in the field, jumping wildly about. 'Spring is truly here,' Barak said.

'Ay, yet I seem to feel cold all the time these days, as though winter has lingered on in me.'

I FELT ANXIOUS as we rode down into Westminster, with all its noise and smells and danger. Under the old bell-tower in the Sanctuary we saw a group of gypsies had set up a stall, a piece of brightly coloured canvas showing the moon and stars with a table in front. Two were playing flutes to attract attention, while at the table an old woman was telling fortunes from the cards. Barak stopped to look, and indeed with their faces almost as dark as Guy's and their fantastic costumes of embroidered turbans and bright, trailing scarves, the gypsies were an arresting sight. These colourful newcomers to our shores were expelled by the King some years ago, but many had escaped and some had gravitated to the Sanctuary. They seemed to be doing a good trade, though a black-clothed man stood on the fringes of the crowd, waving a Testament and denouncing them for heathenish practices. The crowd ignored him; the Sanctuary was not a godly place.

'Come on,' I said, looking nervously over the crowds. 'I don't want to stop here, make a target.'

Barak nodded and pulled on Sukey's reins. We rode past the railing preacher. 'Woe to those who follow the ways of the devil!' he cried.

We rode down into the southern precinct. We had seen from the clock tower in Palace Yard that we were a good hour and a half early for our meeting with Harsnet. We turned towards Cantrell's house. Nearby a pack of wolfish dogs nosed and picked at a pile of rubbish on the corner. I knocked loudly on the door under the faded carpenter's sign while Barak tied the horses to the rail. I was unhappy at leaving them there but we had no choice and Sukey at least would neigh and kick if a stranger tried to untie her. Once again footsteps approached slowly from within, but this time they stopped before reaching the door and Cantrell's voice called out in timorous, cracked tones.

'Who's there? I am armed!'

'It is Master Shardlake,' I called out. 'The lawyer who was here before. What is the matter?'