D. Wilson - The Traitor’s Mark

‘I’d as soon spend my time searching for hobgoblins. There were no four men, Your Worship. This is just a tale to confuse the issue. Here’s your murderer!’ He thrust Bart forward. ‘Just give me an hour with him and I’ll get him to confess the truth.’

‘I have told the truth, Your Honour,’ Bart shouted, his face creasing with pain at the effort. ‘This fellow only wants to beat a confession out of me because he’s too lazy to do his job properly.’

With a roar, Pett swung his right fist at Bart’s face and caught him a glancing blow.

‘That will do, Constable!’ Corridge asserted himself, not before time. ‘We will conduct this investigation in the proper manner. There will be a full inquest in seven days’ time. And I will expect you to present there anyone who may have seen or heard anything that might be relevant. Until then, keep this man in custody – and make sure he has a physician to tend his wounds. If I hear that he has been ill-treated in your care …’ He left the sentence unfinished as Pett, muttering under his breath, pushed his prisoner towards the street door.

Corridge looked distinctly relieved. ‘There’s little more to be done here, Master Treviot,’ he said. ‘I must await the doctor to examine the body – though there can be no doubt how the poor fellow met his end.’

‘Well, I can assure you that my man had nothing to do with it. By all the saints, Master Corridge, you’ve seen him. Could a one-armed man really have been responsible for the violent chaos of that room? The girl here will tell you she heard several men shouting and arguing.’ I turned to Adie. ‘Is that not so?’

The coroner allowed himself a wistful smile. ‘Constable Pett is, perhaps, a mite over-zealous.’

I thought, That is not how I would describe him. I said, ‘If you will release Bart into my care, I will answer for his appearance at the inquest. I give you my word-’

At that moment the street door burst open. Peter Pett stumbled in, his face red with fury.

‘Gone, Your Honour! Fled!’

‘What do you mean?’ Corridge responded. ‘Calm yourself. Explain …’

‘’Tis the prisoner. We were at the gate. I took my eyes off the knave for no more than a moment. He loosed Master Treviot’s horse. Before I could grab him he was in the saddle and off down Fenchurch Street at the gallop. Did I not say he wasn’t to be trusted?’

We had scarcely begun our return journey when the threat-ened storm broke. Heavy rain cascaded upon us. The donkey cart was crowded. I could not leave Adie and the two small boys in the house of violence or entrust them to the ‘protection’ of Constable Pett so I had decided to take them back to Goldsmith’s Row. Quite what arrangements I would make for them there I could not think. Deciding that would have to wait, I had a more pressing problem to solve. Walt whipped the donkey into a fast trot while the rest of us huddled together against the .downpour. By the time I jumped down at the corner of Milk Street, I was soaked to the skin and ready to tell Bart exactly what I thought of his irresponsible behaviour. Any sympathy I felt was – temporarily, at least – obliterated by the humiliation his sudden departure had caused me. I ordered Walt to get the others back to my home as quickly as possible and show them where they could dry their clothes and await my arrival. I ran the few yards along Milk Street to the narrow house where Bart and Lizzie lived. It was a timber structure wedged in-between two substantial merchants’ residences.

I hammered on the door and stood back to avoid the water gushing down from the eaves. There was no immediate answer. Though the rain had eased, I had no desire to be kept waiting in the street. I knocked again and began to wonder whether Bart had collected his family and taken them into hiding with him. Then the door opened and Lizzie stood there with little Annie, her two-year-old, in her arms.

‘Jesu Mary! Thomas, you do look a sight! Come in the dry.’

There was an intimacy between Bart’s wife and me that onlookers found strange. The adventures we had been through together six years before had removed any formalities that differences of social status would otherwise have demanded. Lizzie was handsome, rather than pretty. A stiffened band of white linen bordered in scarlet, covered the crown of her head and her dark hair was drawn back and hung down to her shoulders. Her figure was still slim, despite her two pregnancies. She stood aside for me to pass, a faintly mocking smile about her lips, her brown eyes smiling but appraising.

‘Get that wet doublet off,’ she ordered. ‘I’ll put it by the fire.’

As soon as she set Annie down, the child toddled straight to me, arms upraised. I took hold of her hand, smiling despite myself. ‘Not now, Annie. I’m all wet.’

When Lizzie returned from the inner room, she handed me a cloth to dry my head and face. Then she scooped up her daughter. ‘Is she being a nuisance? You’ve only yourself to blame. You spoil her. Wait till you marry again and have little brothers and sisters for Raffy; you’ll soon realise …’

‘Still determined to find me a wife?’

She laughed. ‘Oh, you don’t deserve a wife but Raffy needs a mother.’

‘Lizzie, enough of this nonsense. I must see Bart. It’s serious.’ I stood in the middle of the small living room, feeling slightly less bedraggled. ‘Where is he?’ I demanded.

‘Who?’

‘Bart, of course. Is he here?’

‘Well, I suppose he might be.’ She giggled. ‘We’d better look. You search downstairs and I’ll go through the upper chambers. Oh!’ She put a hand to her mouth as though she had been struck by a sudden thought. ‘Perhaps he’s hiding in the coffer over there by the stairs.’

‘This is no laughing matter, Lizzie,’ I said sharply. ‘I must find him urgently.’

She frowned, suddenly serious. ‘Isn’t he at the shop?’

‘No, he’s-’

‘Then, where in the name of all the saints is he? If you don’t know he must have had an accident.’

‘Not exactly,’ I said. ‘I’m afraid he managed to get himself into a fight.’

‘He’s hurt!’ she said quickly, sitting on a stool and setting Annie on the rushes beside her.

‘Not badly.’ I tried to sound reassuring. ‘But I do need to speak with him.’

‘I don’t understand. If you know he’s been in a fight, why don’t you know where he is?’

I had long since learned that it was impossible to conceal anything from this clever young woman. I pulled another stool to the table and sat facing her. Then I gave her a brief account of the events at Aldgate, leaving out as many as possible of the more vivid details.

Many young wives would have gone into tearful panic at the news. Not Lizzie. She had grown up in a hard school in which survival meant relying on her wits and not letting practicality get stifled by sentiment. ‘Well, if he’s decided to disappear you’ll not find him. He obviously thinks he’s got to go huggering to escape the law.’

‘But he’s wrong!’ I almost shouted. ‘He can only make things worse for himself by running away.’

‘Oh, Thomas, Thomas, are you still so innocent?’ Lizzie looked at me with a grim smile. ‘If this poxy constable has marked my Bart for the gallows he’ll be hell-set on making him swing. I know his sort. There were many of that scelerous, lying breed always sniffing round the brothel when I was there. They passed themselves off as public servants, keeping the streets fit for respectable citizens, but they only wanted one thing – and they wanted it free.’

‘But …’

‘There are ho buts, Thomas. Suppose you found Bart and took him back to face the coroner’s court, do you think any of the jurymen would turn down their local constable’s version of events? Those who weren’t scared of him would support him out of loyalty. No, Bart’s done the right thing.’