The Medieval Murderers - House of Shadows

Chaloner studied the pair with interest. Parr was a clergyman, whose thin, dour face and drab Puritan dress indicated a fanatic – and thus a man prepared to go to any lengths to do what he felt was right. Strutt wore clothes that were too small for him – an old-fashioned doublet and loose knee-length breeches that did nothing to flatter his portly frame. His plump face was surrounded by sweaty jowls, and his oily smile was impossible to read. Chaloner distrusted both men instinctively.

‘Preacher Parr is Rector of Bermondsey,’ elaborated York. ‘His sermons are…’ He flailed an expressive hand, trying to find the right word.

‘Colourful,’ supplied Margaret helpfully. She began to back away. ‘Not that I attend church, you understand. Waste of time in my opinion. But I shall leave you gentlemen to gossip. Your friends will be arriving soon, and I do not want to lose their shillings by letting my grandson answer the door.’

York grinned nervously at Hay when she had gone. ‘Garsfield is master of a brig that conveys gunpowder to Jamaica. Quite often the supplies clerks make mistakes on their inventories.’

‘I often end up with unwanted powder,’ added Chaloner, taking the cue. ‘And I never know how to dispose of it. However, York says you might be able to give me some ideas.’

‘Well, he should not have done,’ said Hay, casting York an admonishing glare, while Parr and Strutt exchanged uncomfortable glances. ‘Not until we know you better.’

‘You can trust him,’ said York. Unease was making him gabble. ‘He hates the government, because the Duke of Buckingham despoiled his favourite sister.’

‘Apparently you have vowed to run him through for the outrage,’ said Preacher Parr to Chaloner. ‘Is it true?’

‘ I dislike the government because I fought for Cromwell during the wars,’ York went on before Chaloner could reply. ‘And I am still a Parliamentarian, despite the fact that I serve in the new Royalist navy. But Hay’s grievance is financial. He owns most of the wharves along the river in Bermondsey, and he objects to the high taxes that the government imposes on him.’

‘A vast quantity of imported goods passes through my hands,’ conceded Hay cagily. Then a note of pride crept into his voice. ‘More, in fact, than any other merchant in the capital.’

‘The location of his wharves – on the south bank – means he is obliged to pay an additional tariff for sending goods to the north,’ York continued. ‘ Two taxes – one to unload at Bermondsey, and a second to ferry these goods across the river to the city.’

‘That seems unfair,’ said Chaloner. ‘The government is ever greedy for its subjects’ money.’

Hay’s stiff manner yielded slightly at this remark. ‘That is certainly true.’

‘York says you have two cannon on your ship, Garsfield,’ said Preacher Parr rather eagerly. ‘And the current trouble with Holland means you keep them loaded.’

‘Not always,’ said Chaloner, suspecting it would be illegal or impractical in certain situations. Was Parr trying to catch him out? ‘It depends.’

‘How much powder can you lay your hands on at any given time?’ asked Strutt.

‘Strutt was a navy purser until an argument with his captain drove him to other business,’ said Hay to Chaloner, to explain the man’s question. ‘He works for me now. He and Parr both know a lot about ships and armaments.’

Thus warned, Chaloner was reluctant to embark on specifics lest he make a mistake that would arouse their suspicions. ‘Is it safe to talk here?’ he asked pointedly. ‘Only Margaret said you normally use a cellar, because of the danger of eavesdroppers.’

‘True,’ said Strutt, glancing around quickly. The gesture was fast and furtive, and made him look like a ferret. ‘This is no place for a discussion of fire-power. We should wait until later, when our trusted colleagues will be with us.’

‘There are about thirty of us – all like-minded men,’ said Preacher Parr to Chaloner, lowering his voice conspiratorially. ‘When we gather in the cellar, we wear hoods to maintain our anonymity. It is a simple system – you will not recognize anyone, but neither will anyone recognize you.’

‘As you wish,’ said Chaloner, wondering how he was going to learn the names – or even obtain descriptions – of the conspirators under such circumstances. ‘But I have nothing to hide.’

‘Everyone has something to hide,’ said Strutt. ‘No one is perfect.’

‘ You certainly are not,’ said York unpleasantly. ‘Browne could never prove you stole the provisions that were supposed to go on his ship, but it was obvious that you were guilty.’

Strutt’s greasy obsequiousness turned into something harder and more nasty. ‘The Navy Board would not agree – they reviewed my case and deemed me innocent, although I resigned from Rosebush anyway. Browne was a brute, little better than the louts who served under him, and I am glad I am no longer obliged to deal with him.’

‘He was my friend,’ said York coldly.

Strutt shot him an ambiguous look. ‘I know.’

Hay and his deputies had arranged a light supper of bread and pies before the meeting, and they invited York and Chaloner to share it with them. Chaloner hesitated, suspecting he would be quizzed about his mythical ship and knowing it would be only a matter of time before he was tripped up in a maritime inconsistency. However, he had already used the excuse of fatigue, and felt he had no choice but to join them in the dilapidated chamber that passed as Bermondsey House’s main hall. Margaret also graced them with her presence, reluctantly setting aside her pipe in order to eat. Halfway through the meal, a foppish man slouched into the room and flung himself on a bench.

‘This weather!’ he drawled, reaching for the wine jug. ‘You could fry an egg on me, I am so hot!’

‘My grandson,’ said Margaret, eyeing him with disapproval. ‘You can thank him for your being here today, because I would never have sunk this low if he had not gambled away our fortune.’

‘You spent a fair bit of it yourself,’ retorted Castell, draining his cup and filling it again. ‘You had an eye for fine clothes, handsome beaux and gay balls, so do not blame it all on me.’

Margaret cackled. ‘Well, it was good while it lasted. Who has some tobacco? I am out again.’

‘Tobacco is an agent of the devil,’ declared Rector Parr grimly. His black clothes hung loosely on his skeletal frame, adding to the overall impression of dour self-denial and austerity. Chaloner noted that even his friends seemed to find his unsmiling piety a bit of a trial, and concluded that Parr was not a man who would be invited to many parties. ‘And those who partake of it risk their immortal souls.’

‘The devil had my immortal soul years ago,’ retorted Margaret. ‘And good luck to him.’

‘He will need it,’ murmured York, passing her a pouch. Although he had shown restraint with the wine over his dinner, he was still far from sober, and Chaloner sincerely hoped he would not lose control of himself and say or do something to give them away.

‘I saw Widow Browne today,’ said Strutt. He shot York a spiteful glance, to ensure the captain knew he was about to be baited. ‘Her husband must have left her badly off, because she would never have donned such tatty clothes when he was alive. You should have seen the state of her gorget!’

‘I heard his death came at an unfortunate time,’ said Hay, speaking before York could reply. ‘Apparently he had invested everything in a special cargo he was to transport on Rosebush and his demise meant his family lost everything.’

‘Shame,’ said Strutt with a gleeful smile. ‘However, Browne damaged me with his false accusations, so I cannot find it in my heart to feel sorry for him.’