К Сэнсом - Revelation

‘Is there a problem?’ I asked quietly. ‘You must be Keeper Shawms,’ I added as the fat man turned. ‘I am Master Shardlake, the Kites’ lawyer.’

Shawms looked between me and the Kites. ‘How come you can afford a lawyer, when you say you can’t afford my fees?’ he asked them in a bullying voice.

‘I have been appointed by the Court of Requests,’ I said.

‘Oh,’ he sneered. ‘Poor man’s lawyer, then, for all your fancy rig.’

‘Who can apply to the court to have your fees waived, and any question of mistreatment considered,’ I replied sharply. ‘Tomorrow, if I am unsatisfied with what I see today.’

Shawms looked at me from deep-set piggy eyes. ‘That boy’s hard to take care of …’

‘He only needs feeding,’ Minnie said. ‘And someone to put a blanket round his shoulders when it slips off.’ She turned to me. ‘It’s so cold in there, and this wretch won’t lay a fire –’

‘Fires cost money!’

I turned back to the Kites. ‘Perhaps I could see Adam.’

‘We were about to go in.’

‘See him if you want to,’ Shawms said. ‘You’ll get no sense from him.’ He glared at me. I realized that for him Adam was a troublesome nuisance; he would not be sorry if he died. Nor would the Council; for them it would be a problem solved.

‘And afterwards, Master Shawms,’ I said, ‘I would like a word.’

‘All right. Come on then. I’ve no time to waste.’

We were led to another of the green doors. It was locked; Shawms unlocked it and glanced in. ‘He’s all yours,’ he said, and walked away.

I followed Daniel Kite into the room. It was light, whitewashed, the shutters partly open. As Minnie had said, it was bitterly cold. There was a dreadful stench, a mixture of ordure and unwashed skin. The place was furnished only with a truckle bed and a stool.

A tall teenage boy with filthy black hair knelt in a corner, his face to the wall, whispering to himself, the words coming so fast they were hard to follow. ‘I repent my sins I repent please listen please listen in Jesu’s name …’

He was dressed in a food-stained shirt and leather jerkin. A large dark stain on his hose showed he had soiled himself. There was a fetter round his ankle, a chain running from there to an iron ring in the floor. Minnie approached and knelt by her son, putting an arm round his shoulders. He took no notice at all.

‘The chain’s to stop him running out to the churchyards,’ Daniel Kite said quietly. He did not approach Adam, merely stood beside him with his head bowed.

I took a deep breath and went over to the boy, noticing he was a broad-shouldered lad, though reduced now to skin and bone. I bent to look at Adam’s face. It was a pitiful sight. The boy might once have been handsome, but now his features showed such misery as I had never seen. His brows were contorted into an agonized frown, his wide terrified eyes stared unseeingly at the wall, and his mouth worked frantically, strings of spittle dripping on his chin. ‘Tell me I am saved,’ he went on. ‘Let me feel Your grace.’ He stopped for a moment, as though listening for something, then went on, more desperately than ever. ‘Jesu! Please!’

‘Adam,’ his mother said in a pleading voice. ‘You are dirty. I have brought you new clothes.’ She tried to pull him to his feet, but he resisted, squeezing himself into the corner. ‘Leave me!’ he said, not even looking at her. ‘I must pray!’

‘Is he like this all the time?’ I asked Minnie.

‘Always, now.’ She relinquished her hold, and we both stood up. ‘He never wants to rise. His sighs of despair when he is forced to stand are piteous.’

‘I will get my physician friend to call,’ I said quietly. ‘Though – in truth, while he is like this, if I can make sure he is cared for he may be better off here.’

‘He must be cared for,’ she said. ‘Or he will die.’

‘I can see that. I will talk to Keeper Shawms.’

‘If you would leave us, sir, I will try and clean him a little. Come, Daniel, help me lift him.’

Her husband moved to join her.

‘I will speak to the keeper now,’ I said. ‘I will meet you in the parlour when you are finished.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Minnie gave me a trembling smile. Her husband was still avoiding my eye. I left them and went in search of Shawms, full of anger at the way Adam had been left to wallow in his own shit. The horror of what his broken mind was experiencing was beyond my understanding, but lazy, venal officials I could deal with.

SHAWMS WAS in a little room of his own, sitting drinking beer and looking into a large fire. He stared at me truculently.

‘I want that boy fed,’ I snapped. ‘By force if need be. His mother is changing his clothes and I want to see he is kept clean. I shall be applying to the court for an order that his welfare is properly attended to, and that the Council be responsible for his fees.’

‘And till then who’s to pay for all this work my keepers will be put to with him, to say nothing of calming the patients who fear they have a possessed man in their midst?’

‘The Bedlam’s own funds. By the way, do you have a doctor in attendance?’

‘Ay. Dr Frith comes once a fortnight. He’s a great one for his own potions, but they do no good. There was a herb-woman used to call, some of the patients liked her but Dr Frith sent her away. I don’t appoint the doctors, that’s for Warden Metwys.’

‘Does a priest come?’

‘The post is vacant since the old priest died. The warden hasn’t got round to dealing with it.’

I looked into his fat red face, angry at the thought of the helpless mad being left to such as he and the lazy warden.

‘I want a fire made up in that room,’ I said.

‘You go too far now, sir.’ Shawms protested. ‘Fires are extra, I won’t pay for those out of the Bedlam funds. Warden Metwys would have my job.’

‘Then I’ll apply for the fees to be waived, not for the Council to pay them.’

Shawms glowered at me. ‘You take liberties, crouchback.’

‘Fewer than you. Well?’

‘I’ll order a fire set.’

‘See you do.’ I turned and left him without another word.

I RETURNED to the parlour, and sat there, deep in thought. Adam Kite had shaken me; whatever ailed him so terribly, there was no question of applying to the court for a declaration he was compos mentis. My only hope was that Guy could help him in some way.

I looked up as the door opened. A white-haired woman was led in by a younger woman in a keeper’s grey smock. I was surprised to see a woman keeper, but guessed they would be needed if the female patients were to preserve any modesty. The white-haired woman’s head was cast down, and she walked with a leaden tread as the keeper guided her to a chair by the window. She slumped there, heavy and lifeless as a sack of cabbages. Seeing me, the woman keeper curtsied. She had an arresting face, too long-featured to be pretty but full of character and with keen, dark blue eyes. The hair round the sides of her white coif was dark brown. She looked to be somewhere in her thirties.

‘I would like Cissy to sit here for a while, sir,’ she said.

‘Of course.’

‘She’s very mopish today and I want her out of her room. I’ve brought you some sewing, Cissy, you like making the smocks whole again.’ It was strange to see her speak to the much older woman as though she were a child. Cissy raised dull eyes as the keeper took a sewing bag and a torn smock she had been carrying in the crook of her elbow. She laid the smock on Cissy’s knees and placed a threaded needle in her plump hand. ‘Come on, Cissy, you’re a wonderful needlewoman. Show me what you can do.’ Reluctantly, Cissy took the needle.