К Сэнсом - Revelation

‘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.

‘Dorothy. I am so sorry. But I must ask. What happened at the meeting?’

‘Nothing. The man never turned up. But then another letter arrived, pushed through the door on Good Friday, apologizing that the client had not been able to get to the tavern and asking Roger to meet him yesterday night, at the same place. I did not see that letter either,’ she added in a small voice.

‘And Roger went, of course.’ I smiled sadly. ‘I would not have done.’ Something struck me. ‘It was cold last night. He would have worn a coat.’

‘Yes. He did.’

‘Then where is it?’ I frowned.

‘I do not know.’ Dorothy was silent for a moment, then went on. ‘I was surprised when it got to ten o’clock and he had not returned. But you know how he would get caught up in something and stay talking for hours.’ Would, not will. It had sunk in properly now. ‘I was tired, I went to bed early. I expected him to come in. But I drifted off to sleep. I woke in the small hours, and when he wasn’t beside me I thought he had bedded down in the other bedroom. He does that if he comes in late, so as not to disturb me. And all the time –’ She broke down then, burying her head in her hands and sobbing loudly. I tried to think. The client had asked to meet Roger at Wych Street, on the other side of Lincoln’s Inn Fields. The easiest way to get there was to go through the orchard. So he would have taken his key to the orchard door. But why had the man not turned up on Thursday? My heart sank at the thought that Roger, like any barrister, would have taken his letter of instruction with him. There was little chance it would have been left on the body, and the coat he would have worn was gone. But at least we had the name, Nantwich. An uncommon one.

I looked at Dorothy, my heart full of pity. Her sobs ceased. She glanced at me and I saw an anger in her eyes that reflected my own.

‘Who has done this?’ she asked quietly. ‘Roger did not have an enemy in the world. Who is this devil?’

‘I will see him caught, Dorothy. I promise you.’

‘You will make sure?’

‘I will. On my oath.’

She scrabbled for my hand, gripped it fiercely. ‘You must help me with things now, Matthew. Please. I am alone.’

‘I will.’

Her face crumpled suddenly. ‘Oh, Roger!’ And then the tears came again, great racking sobs. Margaret put an arm round her mistress, while I held her hand. We were still there, like some pitiful tableau, when Elias came in to say the coroner was below, and must see me at once.

ARCHIBALD BROWNE, the Middlesex coroner, was an old man and a sour one. He was one of the old corrupt breed, who would leave a body lying stinking in the street for days till someone paid them to hold an inquest, not one of the more competent paid officials the Tudors had brought in. Small, bald and squat, his round face was pitted with smallpox scars. When I came out he was standing beside the Treasurer, arms in the pockets of his thick coat, looking down at Roger’s body. Passers-by stopping to stare were being moved on with curt gestures from Treasurer Rowland. I saw the sun had melted most of the snow now. I wondered wearily where Barak was.