К Сэнсом - Dissolution

‘Dr Goodhaps said he was investigating the accounts books the day he was killed.’

I nodded. ‘Yes, that’s why I want to see them. But I come back to the manner of his death. If someone wanted to silence him, a knife in the ribs would have been so much easier. And why desecrate the church?’

Mark shook his head. ‘I wonder where the murderer hid the sword, if it was a sword. And the relic. And his clothes, they would have been bloody.’

‘There must be a thousand hiding places in this great warren.’ I thought a moment. ‘On the other hand, most of the buildings are in constant use.’

‘The outhouses we saw? The stonemason’s and brewery and so on?’

‘Them most of all. We must keep our eyes open as we get to know this place, look out for likely spots.’

Mark sighed. ‘The killer might have buried his clothes and the sword. But we won’t be able to go looking for mounds of fresh earth if this snow lasts.’

‘No. Well, I shall start tomorrow by questioning the sacrist and the bursar, those two brotherly foes. And I would like you to talk to the girl Alice.’

‘Brother Guy warned me from her.’

‘I said talk to her. Do no more than talk, I don’t want trouble with Brother Guy. You’ve a way with the women. She seems intelligent and probably knows as many secrets about this place as anybody.’

He stirred uneasily. ‘I would not wish her to think I – liked her – if it was only to wring information from her.’

‘Getting information is our duty here. There’s no need to give her wrong ideas. If she reveals anything that helps us I’ll see she’s rewarded. She should be found another place. A woman like that shouldn’t be mouldering away among these monks.’

Mark smiled at me. ‘I think you like her too, sir. Did you note her bright eyes?’

‘She is out of the common run of women,’ I said non-committally.

‘It still seems a shame to be cozening information from her.’

‘You must get used to cozening things from people, Mark, if you are to work in the service of the law or the State.’

‘Yes, sir.’ He sounded unconvinced. ‘It’s just – I would not like to place her in any danger.’

‘Nor would I. But we could all be in danger.’

He was silent a moment. ‘Could the abbot be right about witchcraft? That would fit with the desecration of the church.’

I shook my head. ‘The more I consider it, the more I think this killing was planned. The desecration may even have been carried out to throw enquirers off the scent. The abbot, of course, would much prefer for it to have been done by an outsider.’

‘No Christian would desecrate a church in such a way, papist or reformer.’

‘No. The whole thing is an abomination.’ I sighed and closed my eyes, feeling my face sag with tiredness. I could think no more today. I opened them again to find Mark looking at me keenly.

‘You said Commissioner Singleton’s body reminded you of Queen Anne Boleyn’s beheading.’

I nodded. ‘That memory still sickens me.’

‘Everyone was surprised how suddenly she fell last year. Though she was much disliked.’

‘Yes. The Midnight Crow.’

‘They say the head tried to speak after it was cut off.’

I held up a hand. ‘I can’t talk about it, Mark. I was there as an official of state. Come, you are right. We should sleep.’

He looked disappointed, but said nothing more, banking up the fire with logs. We clambered into bed. From where I lay I could see through the window that the snow still fell, the flakes outlined against a lit window some way off. Some of the monks were up late, but then the days when the brethren retired before dark in winter, to be up for prayer again at midnight, were long gone.

Despite my tiredness I tossed and turned, my mind still active. I thought especially of the girl Alice. Everyone was potentially in danger in this place, but a woman alone was always more at risk than most. I liked the spark of character I had seen in her. It reminded me of Kate.

DESPITE MY WILL to sleep, I found my tired mind going back three years. Kate Wyndham was the daughter of a London cloth merchant accused of false accounting by his partner, in a case brought in the Church court on the basis that a contract was equivalent to an oath before God. In fact his partner was related to an archdeacon who had influence with the judge, and I managed to get the case transferred to King’s Bench, where it was thrown out. The grateful merchant, a widower, invited me to dinner and there I met his only daughter.

Kate was lucky; her father believed in educating women beyond what they needed for the kitchen accounts, and she had a lively mind. She had a sweet, heart-shaped face, too, and rich brown hair falling round her shoulders. She was the first woman I had ever met with whom I could talk as an equal. She liked nothing better than to discuss the doings of the law, the court, even the Church – for her father’s experience had turned them both into ardent reformers. Those evenings talking with her and her father at their house, and later the afternoons with Kate alone when she accompanied me on long walks into the countryside, were the best times of my life.

I knew she saw me as only a friend – it became a joke between us that I conversed with her as freely as with another man – yet I began to wonder if it might not blossom into something more. I had been in love before but always held from pressing my suit, fearing my twisted form could only bring rejection and I would be better waiting till I had built a fortune that I could offer as a compensating attraction. But I could give Kate other things she would value: good conversation, companionship, a circle of congenial friends.

I wonder to this day what might have happened had I shown my real feelings earlier, but I left it too late. One evening I called at her house unannounced and found her sitting with Piers Stackville, the son of a business associate of her father’s. I was unworried at first, for although handsome as Satan, Stackville was a young man of few accomplishments beyond a laboriously mannered chivalrousness. But I saw her blush and simper at his crass remarks; my Kate transformed into a silly girl. From then on she could talk of nothing but what Piers had said or done, with sighs and smiles that cut me to the heart.

In the end I told her of my feelings. It was clumsily and stupidly done, I fumbled and faltered at my words. The worst thing was her utter surprise.

‘Matthew, I thought you wanted only to befriend me, I have never heard one word of love from you. You appear to have kept much hidden.’

I asked her if it was too late.

‘If you had asked me even six months before – perhaps,’ she said sadly.

‘I know my form is not such as to stir passion.’

‘You do yourself disservice!’ she said with unexpected heat. ‘You have a fine manly face and good courtesy, you make too much of your bent back, as though you were the only man that had one. You have too much self-pity, Matthew, too much pride.’

‘Then –’

She shook her head, tears in her eyes. ‘It is too late. I love Piers. He is to ask Father for my hand.’

I said roughly that he was not good enough, she would pine away from boredom, but she replied hotly that soon she would have children and a good house to look after and was that not a woman’s proper role, appointed by God? I was crushed and took my leave.

I never saw her again. A week later the sweating sickness hit the City like a hurricane. Hundreds began shivering and sweating, took to their beds and died within two days. It struck high and low and it took both Kate and her father. I remember their funeral, which I had arranged as the old man’s executor, the wooden boxes slowly lowered into the earth. Looking at Piers Stackville over the coffin, his ravaged face told me he had loved Kate no less than I. He nodded to me in silent acknowledgement and I nodded back with a small, sad smile. I thanked God that at least I had released myself from the false doctrine of purgatory, which would have had Kate enduring its pains. I knew that her pure soul must be saved, at rest with Christ.