The Medieval Murderers - King Arthur's Bones

It was the first time Malinferno had seen Doll looking anything less than ebullient. He suddenly saw in her hunted expression what a hard life she must have led. He took her arm gently as if she truly was a lady of quality.

‘Come. I think we are both in need of some refreshment. We will find a coffee house.’

Doll grinned mischievously. ‘I know one. It’s called the Russian Coffee House.’

The man lurking in the shadows watched as a canvas sack was carried out of the lodging house in Creechurch Lane. At first he was confused as to what it might be, but then he saw the shape and obvious weight. It had to be a body. Especially as it made a soft thud as the two men carrying the sack tossed it casually into the back of the shabby black carriage that waited in the street. The horse in the shafts tossed its head but stood still, unperturbed by the load it was now going to pull. He eagerly opened his notebook and scribbled in it. One man went back inside and came back with a rolled-up rug that also went into the back of the conveyance. Then the two men mounted the driving seat, the horse was whipped up and the carriage slowly rumbled away with the mortal remains of Kitten in the back.

A large woman, with a mob cap on her head and dressed in an unfashionably heavy white gown, stood for a while at the door of the house. She watched the carriage with a sharp gaze until it had disappeared around the corner into Leadenhall Street. Satisfied that the messy problem had been cleared up, she turned and went back inside. A few minutes later a Bow Street Runner and a fancily dressed gentleman who had to be the magistrate also emerged. The magistrate, a little worse for drink apparently, almost fell down the steps. He was supported by the constable, and they both went off in the same direction as the hearse. The fat old woman closed the street door on the unedifying scene. The man decided he had done well to linger a while at Malinferno’s residence. Besides, his fall off the railings outside the bawdy house had damaged his ankle and severely bruised his head. He had been in no mood to be dashing around London. He now had useful news to relate to his masters, and their goal may be in sight. But now the time had come to hunt Malinferno down. He decided to pick up his trail at the Frenchman’s residence.

Having laid low for a few hours in the Brown Bear public house, Bow Street, better known to the low life of London as the Russian Coffee House, Joe Malinferno and Doll Pocket decided it was safe to return to his house. Joe was a little worse for wear, so Doll, who had imbibed as much but could hold her liquor better, insisted on going up to his bedroom on her own.

‘You’ll only wake the old harridan up, Joe. Whereas I can sneak up without disturbing a floorboard.’

Joe considered her voluptuousness, and would have disagreed about who would make the stairs creak the more. In fact he considered her voluptuousness deeply for so long that by the time he came to object, Doll had left him in the street and had gone. He shrugged his shoulders and leaned against the gaslamp. It was indeed only minutes before he saw Doll scuttling down the front steps of Mrs Stanhope’s house. As she hurried over to him, he was surprised to see that she didn’t have the canvas bag with her.

‘Where are the bones, Doll?’

‘They wasn’t there, was they?’

Doll Pocket’s Essex accent was always more pronounced when she was excited or otherwise disturbed. And now she was very disturbed.

‘Nonsense. Did you look under the bed where I told you to look?’

Doll hissed in annoyance. She was not used to being characterized as being deficient in common sense or guile.

‘Of course I looked under the bed. And I looked inside and behind the chest of drawers, and under the only chair in the room. Gawd, your furnishings are so sparse, Joe, I was ’ardly likely to miss a big bag of bones, was I?’

Malinferno groaned and slid down the gaslamp post until he was sitting on the pavement.

‘It’s all up, then. Thomas Dale and the rest of the Avalon Club will want their money back. Which I have spent mostly on you, may I say. And what are we to do about Bonaparte and his invasion? There’ll be no calling on King Arthur now.’

Doll gave a derisive snort. ‘You don’t believe all that rubbish, do you?’

‘Well, you cannot be sure if he…’

Doll cut into Malinferno’s admonishing with a peculiar, sing-song tone:

‘ For when he fell, an elfin queen,

All in secret, and unseen,

O’er the fainting hero threw

Her mantle of ambrosial blue;

And bade her spirits bear him far,

In Merlin’s agate-axled car,

To her green isle’s enamel’d steep,

In the navel of the deep. ’

Malinferno was astonished. ‘How do you know that? That’s a poem by Warton, the old Poet Laureate.’

Doll sniffed. ‘Don’t you think a prostitute has any brains, then? I told you I wanted to be an actress. I learned the poem off by heart. Listen, the bit you would like is near the end.’

She began to rattle off the lines again as though they were some child’s rhyme:

‘ Thence to Britain shall return,

(If right prophetic rolls I learn)

Borne on Victory’s spreading plume,

His ancient scepter to resume. ’

She snorted. ‘What a load of old boll-’

‘Yes, Doll. I think that’s enough, don’t you?’

He was glad she had not pursued her ambitions as an actress. Though she could con an accent and fool a simple policeman, her understanding of the beauty of Warton’s lines was sadly lacking in Malinferno’s opinion. And she somehow made the solemn and prophetic nature of Arthur’s return sound quite foolish. So much so that suddenly he could not hold back, and a great gust of laughter rose up from his belly. This set Doll off, and soon they were both collapsed on the ground hooting at the madness of Thomas Dale’s quest. But despite the hilarity, Malinferno knew he would have to have something to report to Dale. Then it occurred to him. Casteix, the French savant, still had the thigh-bone. He turned to Doll, who was still red-faced from all the hilarity. Solemnly he asked her the question uppermost in his mind.

‘Do you think we can resurrect King Arthur from just his thigh-bone?’

Doll’s face turned purple and crumpled as she tried to hold back another gust of laughter. She failed miserably. When she did manage to control herself, she tried to answer Joe’s question as though it had been asked seriously. ‘Maybe. I suppose he would at least be able to hop it when things get bad.’

It was Joe’s turn to break into fits of laughter. Even so, he still reckoned it was worth retrieving the bone.

It was early evening but quite dark when they reached the home of Monsieur Casteix, and all the high, fashionable windows looking out on to the street showed no lights in them – save for one high on the second floor, where the bedrooms were likely to be located. Undeterred, Malinferno hastily mounted the steps leading to the front door, on which he hammered with his fist. Hearing the echo of his assault in the long hallway behind the door, he was not optimistic of gaining entry. But he felt tomorrow would be too late. A second attack with his fist brought a result. He heard the sound of bolts being drawn back, and eventually the door creaked open and a sour face peered out.

‘The master is abed and may not be disturbed.’

As the door swung closed again, Malinferno inserted his sturdy Hessian boot in the gap.

‘This is a matter of urgency. And a scientific one that Monsieur Casteix will want to know about.’

The sour face screwed up even further. ‘Damn you scientists! And I would wager that it all has something to do with old Boney being on the loose again.’ The servant stared at Malinferno suspiciously. ‘You’re not a Frenchy, are you?’