D. Wilson - The Traitor’s Mark

‘Friends in high places.’

‘Thank you, Master Thomas, thank you. I don’t know how you did it, but thank you.’

‘You’d better give it to me for safe keeping,’ I said. ‘Did Lizzie not say anything about how I might come by it?’

He returned the confession, with a last, lingering look. ‘Lizzie? No. What does she know of it?’

‘Nothing,’ I lied, as I carefully folded it and replaced it in my purse. ‘I simply mentioned that I was going to try to get Black Harry to write this without any more delay. I told her not to raise your hopes, just in case.’

‘Is that why we’re heading for London?’ he asked.

‘I thought you’d want to deliver this to the magistrate without delay.’

‘Most certainly.’ Bart uttered a long sigh. ‘No more hiding!’

‘It’s been a long time. I’m delighted it’s all over.’

‘Not quite all over, is it, Master Thomas?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, that meeting back there at the palace. All those important people. There’s something big in the air, isn’t there?’

‘I’m not in a position to say. I’ve been sworn to secrecy.’

‘Ah, then it is something big. Everyone I spoke to was guessing about it; Some reckoned they knew what was afoot.’

‘Oh, and what did these well-informed experts say?’

‘There’s much talk of plots and conspiracies.’

‘What sort of plots and conspiracies?’

‘Some say the pope and the Emperor want to drag England into war with France and some of the king’s council want a league with the Lutheran princes to prevent it. There’s murmuring about a revolt of the bishops against religious change. I even heard someone claim he had it on good authority that the Earl of Hertford was planning to depose the king and take over the government in the name of Prince Edward, his nephew.’

‘Well,’ I responded, ‘I’m happy to tell you that you can ignore all those alarming ideas. They say more about common fears and anxieties than about the real state of political affairs.’

‘But there must be some reason for all these bishops and councillors and courtiers meeting in secret well away from the royal court.’

‘There are certainly matters of concern that some of his majesty’s closest advisers want to discuss.’

‘Why weren’t the Duke of Norfolk and the Bishop of Winchester at the meeting? Is there a plot against them?’

I laughed. ‘Oh, Bart, you do love intrigues! Cranmer is an archbishop, not an arch-rebel. And if such revolutionary ideas were being discussed at Croydon Palace, I certainly would not have been invited to share in them.’

Bart was obviously not convinced. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘something’s going on – or, if it isn’t, people think it is, and that’s just as bad.’

With that I could not disagree.

We rode straight through the City to Aldgate and asked our way to the house of James Corridge, the magistrate.

‘’Ere, I know you! Stop! Hold, I say!’ We had almost reached our destination, when a bulky figure lurched out of a doorway and stood in our path. Constable Pett.

‘You’ve led me a merry dance, Bart Miller. Come now to give yourself up, have you?’ He took hold of the bridle of Bart’s horse.

‘Unhand my mare,’ Bart shouted, ‘or you’ll feel my whipstock across your face.’

Pett leered up at him, ‘Oh, no, my fine fellow. You’ll not get out of my clutches a second time.’

Bart raised his crop and I said hurriedly, ‘If I were you, I’d do as he says. We are peacefully on our way to the coroner’s house with a confession.’

Pett released his grip. ‘Brought him to his senses have you, Master? Well, it’s not before time. Hand me the confession.’

‘Get out of the way, oaf,’ I said. ‘Our business is with Master Corridge and no one else.’

Pett grunted. ‘Follow me, then, but if there’s any trickery …’

I spurred my gelding into a trot and the fat constable had to run to keep up. When we reached the house he knocked loudly as Bart and I dismounted. To the servant who opened the door he said, ‘Tell your master I’ve brought in the murderer, Miller.’

The magistrate received us in the small room he used as his office. ‘Master Treviot, I’m right glad to see you again. Is it true what the constable says; have you brought your man to confess the crime of murder?’

‘I very much doubt whether Constable Pett can ever be relied on to speak the truth,’ I said. ‘Here is a document that will explain all.’ I handed him Black Harry’s confession.

Corridge read it with raised eyebrows. ‘This certainly changes things, Master Treviot. May I ask how you came by this confession?’

‘It was written in the Archbishop of Canterbury’s jail and passed on to me by his grace himself. The assassin now awaits his trial for several crimes in the court of King’s Bench, which, as I’m sure you know, will be in session at St Albans in a couple of weeks’ time.’

‘Then the matter is out of my hands,’ Corridge said, ‘and I’m not sorry for it.’

Pett thrust himself forward. ‘What’s all this, then? What knavery is here, Master Corridge?’

The magistrate scowled at him. ‘Only the knavery you bring with you! Had you done your job and set up the hue and cry when the crime was committed we might have apprehended the real murderer long since.’

‘Aye,’ I added, ‘and prevented other killings, too.’ To Corridge I said, ‘’Tis not for me to tell you your business but in my opinion your ward is ill served by this bragging tosspot. I have evidence that he abuses his office. If you choose to look into his conduct I will happily fell you what I know.’

Pett mumbled and muttered his protest but no one was listening.

Corridge said, ‘I am obliged to you, Master Treviot. I have purposed for some time to set in hand just such an investigation. If I need any information I will certainly call upon you.’

‘Please do. Now, before I go, may I ask you to make a copy of this confession for your records? We will need to keep the original in case it is required in a higher court.’

‘Of course. I will do it myself. Unfortunately, I have recently lost my clerk to the pestilence.’

When he had written a duplicate and I had endorsed it, Bart and I took our leave. As we closed the door behind us, we heard the sound of angry raised voices within.

We spent the night at Goldsmith’s Row and set off back to Hemmings the next morning.

A heartening sight met us as we entered the hall. Lizzie was seated by the fire busily knitting and Adie squatted close by, sewing a patch on one of the children’s items of clothing. But what was a relief to see was that the women were chatting and laughing together.

‘What is amusing you two?’ I asked as I warmed my hands at the heat from the burning logs.

‘Women talk,’ Lizzie replied. ‘You’re excluded.’

‘That’s a pity,’ I said. ‘We have news that might be of interest to you.’

‘Really? And what’s that?’

‘Bart has something to show you.’

Without a word, Lizzie’s husband handed her Black Harry’s confession. She read it through quickly, then jumped up from her stool, letting wool and needles fall to the floor. She threw her arms round Bart and the two hugged ecstatically.

After several moments Lizzie disentangled herself. ‘Come upstairs and tell me all about it and I’ll give you a better welcome,’ she said to her husband.

When they had left I took my place on Lizzie’s stool.

‘What was all that about?’ Adie asked.

I explained how Morice had extracted a confession from Black Harry.

‘What marvellous news,’ she responded. ‘It is good to see them so happy.’