A Murder on London Bridge (44 page)

‘Thank God I have found you! Someone sent me this, and I need your help.’

He shoved a letter in Chaloner’s hand. Chaloner walked towards the nearest house, to read it in the faint light that filtered through the window. It warned the surgeon that Warden Scarlet and his wife were in imminent danger, and should be removed from Wych Street immediately.

‘Do you know who sent this?’ asked Chaloner warily. ‘The writer has left it unsigned.’

‘Of course,’ snapped Wiseman. ‘I would recognise Brother Pascal’s writing anywhere. He is a good man, despite his unfortunate choice of religion.’

‘Tell Leigh,’ suggested Chaloner, handing the letter back. ‘He can send soldiers to protect Jane.’

‘Leigh is no good,’ snapped Wiseman. ‘He is too preoccupied with the Bishops’ Dinner. But poor Jane has suffered enough, and while I am more than a match for most men, I am not skilled in the kind of dirty, sly warfare employed by ruffians. You are, though.’

It was hardly a remark destined to win friends. ‘I have work to do.’

‘Then it will have to wait,’ snapped Wiseman, waving frantically at an approaching carriage. ‘Jane is far more important than week-dead iconoclasts.’

‘You refused to let me talk to her earlier,’ mused Chaloner. ‘But if you had, she might have provided clues to show that week-dead iconoclasts and the attack on her are connected. And she would be safe already.’

Wiseman gaped at him, and the hackney thundered past without stopping. ‘What?’

‘Scarlet and Jane live in Chapel House,’ explained Chaloner. ‘Where the Dowager hopes to locate the relics of St Thomas Becket. The Dowager is a determined lady, and when she did not find what she wanted, she dispatched henchmen to question the Scarlets.’

‘Are you saying the
Dowager
is responsible for what happened to Jane?’ Wiseman was appalled and disbelieving. ‘She would never stoop so low, not even for saintly bones.’

‘No,’ agreed Chaloner. ‘And I suspect she was as shocked by the assault as anyone. But she employs ruthless men, and they are not always easy to control once they have been given free rein.’

Wiseman turned his attention to the road again. ‘We shall discuss this later, when Jane is safe. I think the best place to take her is Chyrurgeons’ Hall. She can have my rooms.’

‘Where will you stay?’

Wiseman blushed a little. ‘Temperance will find me a corner.’

Chaloner cringed when the surgeon leapt in front of a carriage, forcing the driver to rein in sharply. It already had a passenger, but Wiseman hauled the fellow out by the scruff of the neck, simultaneously promising the astonished hackneyman a fabulously generous reward for driving to Wych Street with all possible speed. The driver accepted with alacrity, leaving his previous customer waving his fist in impotent fury as the coach rattled away.

The journey was a wild one, with Wiseman yelling for more speed, and the driver determined to oblige. They tore along The Strand like the wind. Chaloner hung on grimly, expecting at every moment for the vehicle to overturn. When they arrived at Wych Street, the horse’s flanks were slippery with sweat, and it was gasping for breath. Wiseman shoved a heavy purse at the driver.

‘We must hurry,’ he said, grabbing Chaloner’s arm and hauling him towards the Scarlets’ lodgings. ‘Pascal’s note did not specify a time for the attack, but the sooner we have Jane safely ensconced in Chyrurgeons’ Hall, the happier I will be.’

He rapped on a downstairs window. Next door, the Shakespeare’s Head rang with acrimonious voices. They were discussing the late king’s ghost, and someone was braying that His Majesty was attempting to warn his loyal subjects about the sinister increase of Catholics in the city. After all, a Capuchin had been seen lurking in Wych Street that very night!

‘Brother Pascal,’ explained Wiseman to Chaloner. ‘He agreed to sit with the Scarlets until I had fetched you. I thought the villains might hold off if they saw a religious habit.’

‘I imagine that depends on who is doing the attacking,’ said Chaloner, suspecting the garb of a Catholic priest might have the opposite effect on some people.

The door opened, and Pascal ushered them inside.

‘I cannot stay here any longer,’ he said urgently. ‘A situation is brewing at Somerset House, and I am needed to cool hot heads.’ He called the next words over his shoulder as he hurried away. ‘I sense foul mischief, and it must be stopped.’

Chaloner had a bad feeling it was too late, and that the ‘foul mischief’ was already underway. While Wiseman disappeared up the stairs to prepare Jane for the journey, Chaloner drew his sword and took up position by the door, peering out into the street and willing the surgeon to hurry. Scarlet came to stand next to him, lost and frightened.

‘Pack what you need,’ Chaloner ordered, to give him something to do. ‘Hurry.’

Numbly, Scarlet began dropping articles into a sack, but there was no rationale to his selection, and Chaloner saw he would be useless in the event of trouble. The Junior Warden abandoned the bag and ran towards the stairs when footsteps heralded the arrival of Jane.

She was a small, dark-haired woman who might have been pretty, but her ghastly experiences had turned her gaunt and hollow-eyed. She could barely stand, and Wiseman was carrying her. She looked past terror, and Chaloner wondered whether she would ever recover.

‘Sit down while I wrap you in these blankets,’ ordered Wiseman. ‘And then we shall be ready.’

‘Do not take long,’ warned Chaloner. He did not like the fact that the racket from the Shakespeare’s Head meant it was difficult to hear anything else outside, nor the fact that Wych Street was poorly lit. Combined, they conferred a significant advantage on an attacker.

‘There is no point whisking her to safety if she catches a chill on the journey,’ said Wiseman, turning to scowl at him. ‘I will not be a moment.’

‘I hate them,’ said Scarlet, watching dully. ‘Them and their silence.’

Chaloner frowned. ‘Their silence?’ he asked, wondering what the man was talking about.

‘They said nothing the whole time they were here,’ whispered Jane. ‘Not one word.’

‘Do not dwell on it,’ advised Wiseman, taking another blanket. ‘I shall give you both a sleeping draft when we arrive at Chyrurgeons’ Hall, and my apprentices will be outside all night, guarding you. Do not worry, you will soon be safe.’

‘We will never be safe,’ gulped Scarlet. ‘They said they would be back and they will, even though we have kept our end of the bargain and said nothing to anyone. They are evil!’

‘You just said they did not speak,’ said Chaloner suspiciously. ‘So how did you make a bargain with them?’

Scarlet and Jane exchanged a brief glance. ‘They made gestures,’ she said weakly.

But Chaloner understood why they felt the need to lie. ‘I imagine they said that if you breathed a word about them, they would come back for you,’ he surmised. ‘And when you say you hate their silence, you mean you have been
sworn
to silence, not that
they
were silent. In other words, you know – or suspect you know – who they are.’

‘No!’ cried Scarlet, alarmed. ‘We do not! They did not ask us any questions. Please believe us!’

And there was another slip, thought Chaloner: their attackers
did not ask questions
. But that was exactly what they had done, of course.

‘They came because they wanted information,’ Chaloner went on. ‘You were ordered out of Chapel House, so it could be torn apart in the hunt for Becket’s bones. Phillippes and Kaltoff could not find them, so someone came to question you, to see if
you
knew where they were hidden.’

‘The dial-makers?’ asked Wiseman, jaw dropping in shock. Chaloner gestured that he was to hurry; the wrapping process was taking far too long. ‘They are responsible for this outrage?’

Chaloner shook his head. ‘It was two of the Dowager’s other minions.’

‘But we do not know where these bones lie!’ cried Scarlet, no longer bothering to contest Chaloner’s conclusions. ‘We did not even know they still existed, until those men accused us of choosing to live in Chapel House
because
Becket was there. We are Catholic, you see, and they thought . . .’

‘We told them all Junior Wardens live in Chapel House,’ added Jane. ‘But they did not listen.’

‘In the end, I made something up, just to make them go away,’ said Scarlet miserably. ‘I said they were buried in the vault beneath the cellar.’

‘And we have been expecting them to come back ever since,’ finished Jane. ‘Because we lied.’

Chaloner felt sorry for them, but he also knew that expressing sympathy would probably see the vestiges of their resolve crumble, and he could not afford Scarlet to go to pieces yet.

‘Your assailants had French accents,’ he said, keeping his voice businesslike and professional. ‘That is why you said they never spoke – lest investigators asked for details of their speech.’

‘Doucett and Martin!’ exclaimed Wiseman. ‘I should have known, because I have seen the results of their handiwork before – hushed up, of course, with reparation to the victims; the Dowager is loyal to her people. But they have never done anything this bad before.’

‘We should go,’ said Chaloner. ‘They may not come alone, and we cannot fend off an army.’

‘One more minute.’ Wiseman took the last of his blankets and tied it around Jane’s legs. He had her wrapped like a cocoon, although he had left her arms free.

‘They will kill us when they find out you know,’ said Scarlet tearfully. He slumped on to a bench, as if his legs would no longer hold him up. ‘What have we done to deserve this?’

‘Well, you have engaged in treasonous plots,’ said Chaloner bluntly, aiming to shock him from his paralysing helplessness. ‘In your Turnstile house, there was a message written in a complex form of cipher. It was similar to one found in the clothing of a dead iconoclast.’

But the ploy did not work, and Scarlet put his hands over his face, more dejected than ever. ‘It was from someone at Somerset House,’ he whispered. ‘Not the Dowager, but one of her cronies. Luckin, probably. It told us to be ready to take a stand against religious oppression.’

‘Then why did Blue Dick have one?’ asked Wiseman, indicating he had finished, and Jane was ready to go. ‘He was not Catholic – he was a Puritan who liked smashing popish images.’

‘Because he, like us, disliked being forced to pray in Anglican churches,’ explained Jane. ‘He was Mr Williamson’s spy, but that did not mean he was unwilling to take a stand against tyranny.’

Chaloner felt the rest of the discussion could wait until they reached Chyrurgeons’ Hall, and indicated that Scarlet should help him lift Jane. Wiseman hauled open the door, but then raised his hands above his head, and backed inside again. He was followed by Doucett and Martin, both of whom held swords to his throat. And behind them was Kaltoff, gripping a gun.

Chaloner lowered Jane down again, and stood between her and the invaders. Next to him, Scarlet was shaking so violently that he was obliged to grip the back of a chair to prevent his knees from buckling. He made it rattle, and for a moment, it was the only sound in the room. Kaltoff closed the door, and indicated with an awkward jerk of his dag that Chaloner was to drop his sword.

While Kaltoff took up position in the middle of the room, Chaloner took a moment to assess the situation. The knife he kept in his sleeve was in the palm of his hand, although he could not use it as long as Kaltoff had a gun trained on him. Meanwhile, the Scarlets were too cowed to be of use, and Wiseman was pinned against the wall by the two Frenchmen.

‘I should have risked the fever,’ the surgeon murmured. There was a stricken expression on his face at the notion that his patients should suffer yet more terror. ‘We should not have lingered.’

‘Do not berate yourself,’ said Kaltoff. He did not look comfortable with the situation, unlike Doucett and Martin, who were clearly itching to explode into violence. ‘We have been outside for some time, listening to what you have deduced. More haste would have made no difference.’

Wiseman glowered at him. ‘What do you want? We cannot tell you the whereabouts of these damned bones, because they do not exist!’

‘Oh, they exist,’ said Kaltoff softly, crossing himself. ‘Of course they do.’

‘Where is Phillippes?’ demanded Wiseman coldly. ‘Or does he consider bullying sick women beneath him, and has given you the task, because
he
is a gentleman and you are not?’

Kaltoff blanched and the hand with the gun trembled. ‘We do not do everything together, you know,’ he said stiffly. ‘I am quite capable of acting for myself.’

‘Let Jane and Scarlet go,’ said Chaloner quietly, trying not to flinch as the firearm wobbled about. ‘They kept your secret, and there is no need to terrorise them any longer.’

‘Not
my
secret,’ objected Kaltoff hastily. ‘Doucett and Martin attacked Jane, not me. And I wish I could let you all go, but that is impossible. I overheard what you deduced, and it is too much – the Dowager will not want her good name sullied with this unfortunate business, so I am afraid you must die tonight.’

Scarlet released a muffled sob, although Jane made no sound.

‘It is too late for silencing,’ argued Chaloner. ‘Others have noticed the Dowager’s curious interest in Becket, and it is only a matter of time before the holes you dug in Chapel House are associated with her hunt for his relics. And then everyone will draw the obvious conclusion: that it was
she
who ordered questions to be asked of Scarlet and Jane.’

Kaltoff swallowed hard, and his eyes flicked towards the Frenchmen. ‘It is a pity she was impatient, and involved others in the hunt. Phillippes and I
told
her we would find the bones. And we did. Or
I
did, at least. I discovered them on Friday. They have been in Chapel House all along.’

Scarlet gaped at him. ‘No! I do not believe you. There is nowhere they
can
be!’