The Medieval Murderers - King Arthur's Bones

‘To talk to someone who might know who else is interested in Arthur’s bones. Perhaps this Welshman of Crouch’s knew about them from the start. Perhaps it’s him who has been following me.’

Doll clutched Malinferno’s arm and hung on tight. ‘Well, I may be mistaken, but someone is following us right now. No, don’t look around!’ She pinched Malinferno’s arm hard to stop him giving the game away. ‘Ever since we left the Frenchy’s place and in the Borough there’s been a large cove with a big hat on right behind us.’

‘Probably the same one as tried to peer in at the window of Madam De Trou’s before he fell off the railings.’

‘Well, that may explain why this one has a stick, and is walking with a limp.’

After a description like that, Malinferno could not resist it. He turned to look behind him. Suddenly Doll grabbed his face in both hands and planted a kiss full on his mouth. Her lips were wet, and she tasted of strawberries. Malinferno felt quite hot, and his hand sneaked up to Doll’s bosom. She stopped his groping fist with one firm hand.

‘Don’t get the wrong idea, Joe Malinferno,’ she hissed into his ear. ‘That was just to stop you giving the game away. Though I must say it wasn’t all that bad. Now, just look out the corner of your eye. It’s the big man in the black coachman’s coat and hat. You can’t miss him.’

Indeed, Malinferno couldn’t miss him. Not only was their pursuer supporting himself on a heavy wooden stick, but a bandage circumnavigated his skull underneath the hat. It seemed he had more than twisted his ankle when he fell from outside the window of Madam De Trou’s house.

‘Don’t linger on him too long. And give me another of them kisses. I suppose I owe you from last night.’ Malinferno needed no further invitation from Doll Pocket, and he tasted the sweet strawberry lips again. After a while they resumed their stroll, sure that the man was following again.

‘Where are we going, Joe?’

‘Why, to Thomas Dale, of course. We may not yet have the bones, but he may give us some idea of who might be interested in them besides us.’

Bloomsbury Square, once called Southampton Square because the fashionable area had been developed by the earl of that name, was lined with noble residences of the well-to-do. Malinferno guessed that Thomas Dale must have made a lot of money out of cabinetmaking. It boded well for his pockets if they could string him along until they found Arthur’s bones. Or any bones, when it came down to it. The evil thought of substitution had more than once crossed Malinferno’s mind, only for it to be put aside. If Arthur could be resurrected from his bones, then the bones of some utter nobody yanked summarily from his grave by the sack-’em-up men would give the game away. Of course, if Doll Pocket were to be believed, the whole idea was nonsense. But Malinferno, for all his love of science and engineering, could not discard the rags of a belief in the once and future king. After all, his English mother had told him all the tales. And like a foreigner who eagerly adopts the customs and ways of another country, Malinferno had become more English than a full-blooded Englishman. He realized Doll was saying something to him, and came out of his reverie.

‘What did you say, Doll?’

‘Here we are, Joe. Are you all right?’

Malinferno nodded and stared up at the fine brass plate on the grand house before which they stood. He mounted the steps, Doll on his arm. Pulling on the ivory handle of the bell-pull, he hissed in her ear. ‘Put on that posh accent of yours. We don’t want our employer thinking I consort with… with…’

Doll smiled sweetly. ‘With bawds and grubbers?’

Malinferno blushed and was about to apologize when the door was opened and a liveried manservant stood before them.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Is Mr Dale at home? He is not expecting us, but he will see us. My name is Malinferno.’

The servant sneered, though whether it was because of his name or Doll’s presence on his master’s pristine doorstep, Malinferno was not quite sure. But he did offer some information.

‘Master is not at home.’ He sniffed haughtily. ‘He is still at his place of business.’

‘And where might this place of… business… be?’

The servant named a street in a run-down area on the other side of the Euston Road and abruptly closed the door.

‘Gawd, I didn’t need my posh accent after all,’ muttered Doll.

The place where Dale carried out his business was the very opposite of his residence. At first they couldn’t find the address the snooty manservant had given them. But finally they located it down a narrow alley whence came a strange metallic stench. Three sets of sliding doors gave on to the alley, and one of them was open. Doll peered into the darkness, while Malinferno walked on to the last door behind which there was the sound of activity. She could only just make out the shape of strange cabinets piled high one on the other. Or that is what she thought they were at first, based on knowing Dale had introduced himself to Joe as a cabinetmaker. It was an easy mistake to make, until her eyes adjusted to the dark.

‘Arrrgh, Joe!’

‘What is it?’

Malinferno came scurrying back up the alley, worried by Doll’s cry of alarm. She pointed into the warehouse.

‘Look! It’s coffins. Hundreds of them.’

Malinferno smiled knowingly.

‘So it is. No wonder Dale stumbled on the word “cabinet” when he introduced himself. He was just about to say coffin-maker. A very lucrative business too, judging by the house in Bloomsbury Square.’

Just then, the end door in the alley slid open, revealing an unearthly red glow. A tall, lanky figure emerged from the smoke that billowed out of the open door. Doll clutched Joe’s arm in fear. She hated anything to do with death, and this looked like the very devil himself come to fetch her to his lair. The voice of the apparition, however, was mild and well modulated.

‘Who’s that? Oh, Mr Malinferno, it’s you. Have you any news for me?’

Thomas Dale came over to where Joe and Doll stood, and he took Malinferno by the hand. His face looked a little flushed, but that could be explained by the heat emanating from the end door of the narrow lane. He leaned across and slid the door closed next to where they stood, hiding the wooden coffins from view. He coughed nervously.

‘I like to keep my business private, as it is not to everyone’s taste in good society. However, that is all to change soon.’ He rubbed his hands together with evident pleasure. ‘I have just finished drafting an advertisement that will soon appear in all the best newspapers.’

He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket with a flourish and gave it to Malinferno. ‘Go on, read it.’

Malinferno did so. ‘The violation of the grave is said to be needful for the instruction of medical pupils, but ask that of one who has interred a mother, husband, child or friend. Shall he devote this object of his affection to such a foul purpose? If not, THE ONLY SAFE COFFIN IS A DALE’S PATENT WROUGHT-IRON ONE.Thomas Dale performs funerals in any part of the kingdom, and those undertakers who have IRON COFFINSmust divide the profits with THOMAS DALE.’

Dale positively beamed as Malinferno’s inflection naturally highlighted those words written in bold uppercase letters by Dale’s own hand. He indicated the red, glowing factory behind him.

‘That is what we are embarked on now. And God help the bodysnatcher who encounters a Dale Patent Coffin.’

From behind Malinferno, Doll was heard to gasp. ‘Gawd help us. What is the world come to, when we must lock our nearest and dearest away in a safe when they die?’