The Medieval Murderers - House of Shadows

Hannah was staring at the ashes in the grate, grief and worry etched into her face. She was an attractive lady in her forties, with brown hair and pale blue eyes. Her flowing skirts and bodice – black, to indicate mourning – were patched and darned, albeit neatly, which was unusual for the wife of a successful and prosperous sea captain. Chaloner wondered why she was willing to be seen in garments that would normally have been passed on to the servants. Did she think she had donned some sort of disguise? If so, then the ruse had failed, because she held herself in a way that would tell anyone that she hailed from a wealthy home. She did not notice Chaloner until he was next to her.

‘Thomas!’ she exclaimed, resting a hand over her heart to indicate he had made her jump. ‘I thought working in England, instead of hostile foreign countries, might have cured you of your penchant for stealth.’

Although stealth was a talent Chaloner had honed during his decade employed as a spy, he had certainly not practised it on Hannah that day. He had approached her table openly, and it had been her own preoccupation that had led to her being startled. He was sorry she still mourned Browne so deeply, but not surprised. She had been devoted to her husband, despite his many shortcomings – the spy thought Browne gruff, impatient and opinionated, and he had not liked him at all.

‘Your letter sounded urgent,’ he said as he sat next to her. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘You were John’s friend,’ she replied quietly. ‘He told me many tales that involved him ferrying you to enemy countries and landing you under cover of darkness for the purpose of spying.’

‘Did he?’ Chaloner was unimpressed. The close relationship between the captain and his lady should not have included him sharing information about government affairs – information that even now might be dangerous for Chaloner and the other intelligence officers who had used Rosebush for their work. And Chaloner would not have called Browne a friend, either, though their adventures together had made him a colleague of sorts. It was that fact which had prompted Chaloner to respond to Hannah’s summons – espionage was dangerous, and there was an unspoken agreement among spies that they would look after each other’s families in the event of a mishap.

‘John saved your life once,’ Hannah went on. ‘You were charged to steal some valuable documents in Lisbon, and he lingered offshore longer than was safe, waiting for you to return. He was obliged to use his cannons to help you escape in the end.’

Chaloner refrained from pointing out that Browne had been paid handsomely for the risks he had taken. ‘You do not need to remind me of his courage to make me help you,’ he said reproachfully. ‘I would have done it anyway – assuming it is within my power.’

Hannah looked sheepish. ‘I apologize, but I am at my wits’ end, and you are my last hope. You see, John was murdered by someone who hurled a stone at him. He lay insensible for two days, and then he died without ever waking.’

‘I heard,’ said Chaloner gently. ‘It must have been hard for you.’

Hannah regarded him oddly. ‘What did you hear exactly?’

Chaloner tried, unsuccessfully, to determine what she wanted to know. ‘Just what you said – that a drunken seaman threw a rock and knocked him out of his senses.’ He did not add that he had been sceptical of the story, because he knew from experience that it was difficult to lob such missiles with sufficient force and accuracy to kill.

‘The man alleged to be responsible was Rosebush ’s cooper, Walduck. The jury was told that he killed John when in his cups, so did not know what he was doing. At the trial it emerged that John was not a popular captain and his crew disliked him.’

‘He was a strict master,’ acknowledged Chaloner carefully. This was an understatement – Browne had been a martinet who had terrorized his people, and the spy was not surprised that one had decided to exact revenge in a moment of ale-fuelled madness. Then he frowned, puzzled. ‘I have met Walduck. He is a violent lout and might well strike a superior. However, I also recall that he – unusually for a seaman – never touches strong drink. Are you sure they have the right culprit?’

Hannah slapped her hands on the table, hard. ‘At last! Someone who questions what is being passed off as the truth! No, I am not sure they have the right culprit. In fact, I am certain they have the wrong one. Walduck was hanged the same day that he was found guilty, and, as far as the authorities are concerned, that marked the end of the matter.’

‘The same day?’ echoed Chaloner, startled. It was very fast, even for London.

‘With what I considered unseemly haste. And there is a second inconsistency in what the jury was told – namely that John was murdered here , at Jamaica House. However, I know for a fact that he was going to meet a man called William Hay at Bermondsey House that fateful night.’

Chaloner found this evidence less compelling. ‘Perhaps Hay changed the venue at the last minute, and your husband never had the chance to tell you.’

‘Not so. The taverner is certain John was not here that night. He is an observant man, and I trust his memory. However, when he offered to testify at Walduck’s trial, he was told it was unnecessary.’

Chaloner was beginning to be unsettled. ‘Do you think your husband’s death had something to do with his involvement in intelligence work? Someone wanted his silence about a voyage he made, and murder was the best way to ensure it?’

But Hannah shook her head firmly. ‘I think it relates to his assignation with Hay. Hay does not live in Bermondsey House – it is the home of a destitute gambler called Castell. I asked around and learned that Castell will do anything for money. He often lends out his mansion for shady purposes.’

‘Your husband was meeting Hay for shady purposes?’

‘In a manner of speaking. Like many Londoners, Hay objects to the way in which the government squanders money on itself while the country is neglected. Did you know the navy has not been paid in three years ? Hay thinks England would be better served by a different government.’

Chaloner regarded her in alarm, appalled that she should be confiding such matters in a crowded tavern. ‘Lower your voice! If your husband did meet Hay with the intention of joining some treasonous plot, you would be wise to pretend you knew nothing about it. The government is terrified of rebellion, and you may find yourself stripped of everything you own in retaliation-’

Hannah interrupted him with a brittle bark of laughter. ‘If only there was something for them to seize! John invested our entire fortune in a cargo he was going to transport to Jamaica, and his untimely death means we have lost everything.’

Chaloner supposed that explained her shabby clothes. ‘You think his murder is connected to this investment? Someone killed him to prevent him from profiting from it? Do you suspect Hay?’

‘Hay had nothing to do with our cargo. And before you ask, John was no rebel, either. He swore an oath of allegiance to king and country when he joined the navy, and he was a loyal servant. He went to Hay’s meeting to expose the traitors, not to join their ranks.’

Chaloner was not sure whether to believe her. ‘I see.’

‘It should have been easy – attend a gathering, learn the names of the malcontents and turn the whole lot over to the government. But John was killed before he could act.’

‘He was murdered because someone suspected his motives? One of the plotters?’

‘It seems likely: Hay is a rebel, so perhaps he killed John when he realized John was not of a like mind – and Walduck was made a scapegoat for the crime so no awkward questions would be asked.’