Dark Fire

  ‘Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll get a couple more girls to join us, we’ll make a merry lunch.’

  ‘Only a girl for my master,’ Barak said. ‘He’s a shy fellow, wants a girl to gentle him, treat him softly. We’ve heard of a girl called Sheba, or Bathsheba, who works here.’

  Her eyes narrowed at once. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Someone at the Guildhall,’ I replied.

  ‘Which company?’

  ‘I can’t remember, it was at one of the dinners.’ I forced a smile. ‘Only I like a gentle girl and he said Bathsheba was kindly. I’d pay more for a gentle girl.’

  ‘I’ll see.’ She disappeared through an inner door.

  ‘My one’s sweet and plump enough,’ the fat shopkeeper said. ‘Eh, Mary?’ The woman winked at me and laughed, her large, veined breasts wobbling as she put an arm around his neck.

  I heard the madam calling from somewhere within the house. ‘Daniel, here!’ The boy ran out of the room. I heard a muted whisper and a minute later the madam returned. She smiled again.

  ‘Bathsheba will see you in her room, sir. Bring your drink if you like.’

  ‘Thank you, I’ll leave it.’ I rose from the table, trying to look enthusiastic.

  ‘You don’t want to waste time in there drinking, eh?’ The fat shopkeeper chuckled.

  The madam led me down a dark corridor with several closed doors, her heavy feet stumping on the uneven floorboards. I was suddenly afraid, very conscious that I was alone. I jumped as a door opened, but it was only a faded whore who looked out quickly, then slammed the door shut. The madam knocked at another. ‘Here’s Bathsheba,’ she said, smiling her horrible smile as she ushered me inside. She closed the door behind her, but I heard no retreating footsteps and realized she was standing outside, listening.

  The room was small and mean, the only furniture a cheap trunk and a large old truckle bed. The shutters were half-open, but the room still had a sweaty stink. A girl lay on the bed. For some reason I had expected Bathsheba to be pretty, but although young she had pasty, heavy features and a swarthy complexion. There was something familiar about her face, though I could not place it. She had made no effort to pretty herself and lay there in a stained old dress, without rouge, her black hair disordered on the greyish pillow. Her best feature was her large, intelligent brown eyes but they stared at me not in welcome but, I saw, with fear. She had a large bruise and a half-healed cut on one cheekbone.

  ‘Well, Bathsheba,’ I said quietly, ‘I am told you are a gentle girl.’

  ‘Who told you that, sir?’ Her voice was scared, faltering.

  ‘Someone I met at the Guildhall.’

  ‘I’ve only had one customer of your class,’ she said. ‘And he is dead.’ To my surprise I saw tears in the corners of her eyes. It seemed Michael Gristwood’s feelings for her had not been one-sided. She continued to look at me fearfully. How had they realized so quickly I was not an ordinary customer? I studied her scared face a moment, then laid my satchel on the edge of the bed and sat down carefully.

  ‘I swear I mean you no harm,’ I said soothingly, ‘but I am here to enquire into the death of Master Gristwood. I am a lawyer.’

  ‘I know nothing of his death,’ she said quickly.

  ‘I didn’t think you did. I only want to know what he talked about with you. Did he mention his work?’

  I saw her glance at the door and lowered my voice.

  ‘You will be paid, I’ll see to that.’ I paused, then said, ‘You cared for each other?’

  ‘Yes.’ Defiance entered her face. ‘We both needed kindness and we gave it to each other. Madam Neller didn’t like me getting close to a client but it happens.’

  ‘How did you meet?’ I felt pleased with my quick progress.

  ‘He came here one day with some Augmentations clerks. They’d come on a roist south of the river and ended up here. Michael pleasured me, he made me laugh and he visited again on his own. He had a hard time with his wife. He said she had no laughter in her.’

  ‘I’ve met her. Not a merry soul.’

  ‘But he told me nothing of his work.’ She looked at the door again, her bruise showing livid. I wondered if the madam had given it to her.

  ‘He didn’t say anything about some papers he had, or anything he was working on with his brother?’ I asked gently.

  ‘I know nothing,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘I told the others—’

  ‘What others?’ I asked quickly.

  Bathsheba pointed to her cheek. ‘The ones who gave me this.’

  Heavy footsteps sounded outside. I heard someone whispering to the madam, then started back as the door was flung open. Two men stepped into the room. One was a bald, hulking fellow carrying a club and the other a stocky young man whose features were so like Bathsheba’s he could only be her brother. I recognized him at once: he was the man I had seen in the Gristwoods’ yard. He held a long dagger, which he pointed at my throat as I jumped up from the bed. I caught a glimpse of the madam’s worried face before the big man shut the door and stood against it.

  ‘He hasn’t hurt you, Sheba?’ the young man asked, never taking his eyes from my face.

  ‘No, George, but I was afraid the boy wouldn’t find you in time.’

  ‘Has he hurt you?’

  ‘No. I kept him talking. About Michael again.’

  ‘Pox on Madam Neller, letting these shits in at all.’ He turned to me. ‘We’ve got you this time, matey. You won’t get away with hitting a defenceless woman.’

  I lifted my hands. ‘There’s a mistake, I swear. I never met this girl before today.’

  ‘No, but your pock-faced mate did that came and beat her last week. He’d have killed her if one of the other girls hadn’t run for me.’ He turned to his sister, clenching his fists. ‘Is it him in the other room? The pock-faced man? Or that lump of a confederate of his, with the wens on his nose?’

  ‘Madam Neller says no. She’s keeping him occupied.’

  ‘A pock-faced man?’ I asked. ‘Tall and very pale? Asking about Michael Gristwood?’

  ‘Ay, your confederate.’

  I considered shouting for Barak, but Bathsheba’s brother had a desperate look and could slit my throat in a moment. I forced myself to speak calmly. ‘Please listen. That man is after me as well - he tried to kill me yesterday. I mean no harm, I wished only to ask Bathsheba about Master Gristwood—’

  ‘He was asking the same questions,’ Bathsheba said. ‘About Michael’s papers, his brother’s work. He says he’s a lawyer.’

  The young man’s eyes flashed angrily. ‘I didn’t know they allowed hunchbacks to be lawyers.’ He stepped closer and held the dagger to my neck. ‘If you’re a lawyer, you’re working for somebody. Who is it?’

  ‘Lord Cromwell,’ I replied. ‘My assistant has his seal.’

  Bathsheba’s brother and the big man at the door exchanged a look. ‘Oh, George,’ Bathsheba groaned, ‘what have we done?’

  The brother grabbed my arm and slammed me against the far wall, the knifepoint pressed against my throat. ‘Why? God’s death, how is he involved in this?’

  ‘George,’ Bathsheba cried out then, wringing her hands, ‘we have to tell them everything, we have to throw ourselves on their mercy—’

  George turned to her angrily. ‘Mercy? Cromwell? No, we’ll kill the crookback and his mate and dump their bodies in the Thames, there’ll be nothing to show they were ever here—’

  There was a yell from the madam standing outside, then a loud crash. The man with the club staggered across the room as the door was flung open. He landed on the bed and Bathsheba screamed. Barak lunged in; he had unsheathed his sword and now he brought it down on George Green’s knife arm as he turned. Green yelled, dropping the dagger.

  ‘You all right?’ Barak asked me.

  I gasped. ‘Yes—’

  ‘I heard these fellows in the hallway, though they tried to muffle the noise they made.’ He turned to George, who was gripping his
arm, blood running through his fingers. ‘You’ll be all right, matey, I just cut you. I could’ve had your arm off, but I didn’t. In return you can do some talking—’

  ‘Look out!’ I shouted. The big man had jumped up from the bed and raised his club, ready to smash it down on Barak’s head. I threw myself at him and managed to throw him off balance. He staggered against the wall. Barak turned and in that moment George grabbed his shocked-looking sister by the hand, threw open the shutters and jumped from the window, Bathsheba screaming as she followed. The big man steadied himself, dropped his club and fled through the open doorway.

  Barak ran to the window. ‘Stay here!’ he shouted as he jumped after Bathsheba and her brother, whom I could just see disappearing round a corner. I sat on the bed, trying to gather my wits. After a few moments I realized the house was totally silent. Had everyone fled? I wondered. I lifted myself from the greasy bed and, picking up George’s dagger, walked back to the dining chamber. The girls and their customers had gone. The madam sat alone at the table, her head in her hands. Her shock of red hair, evidently a wig, lay among overturned tankards. Her own hair was thin and grey.

  ‘Well, lady?’ I said.

  She looked up at me, her expression despairing. ‘Is this the end of my house?’

  I sat down. ‘Not necessarily. I want to know about Bathsheba’s doings with Michael Gristwood, and the attack on her. Was that attack the reason you were worried when we came asking after her?’

  She nodded, then looked at me fearfully. ‘I heard you mention Lord Cromwell’s name,’ she whispered.

  ‘Ay. I work for him. But he doesn’t care what trugging houses there are in Southwark so long as the owners don’t cross him.’

  She shook her head. ‘The girls shouldn’t get involved with the customers. It happens sometimes when a girl isn’t pretty or getting past her prime, and Bathsheba’s past twenty-five. Sometimes they fancy themselves in love. Not that I’d anything against Michael Gristwood, he’d a merry way with him for a man of law. Some afternoons we all sat round this table together laughing. But when he was alone with Bathsheba he’d start crying and bewailing his woes.’ Her mouth twisted bitterly. ‘He should have my troubles, have a mark like this.’ She pointed to her cheek. The ‘W’ stood out clearly in the dim light; ashes would have been rubbed into the burn to ensure the mark never faded.

  ‘So you discouraged Bathsheba.’

  ‘When I saw she was getting in too deep. These things always end in trouble.’ She looked at me with hard blue eyes. ‘There were things Gristwood told Bathsheba that worried her, I knew that. He was in trouble of some sort.’

  ‘Did you learn what trouble?’

  ‘No, Bathsheba turned close as an oyster. Then Michael stopped coming. Bathsheba thought he’d left her. She went across to Queenhithe to make enquiries and came back here crying and wailing that he was dead. I told her she should get away, go back to Hertford where she came from. But she didn’t want to leave her brother. He’s a wherryman on the river.’

  ‘They’re close?’

  ‘Close as can be. Then three men came to the house. They weren’t cunning like you, they just barged in with drawn swords, told the girls to get out and demanded Bathsheba.’

  ‘And one of them was a tall man with the marks of smallpox.’

  ‘Ay. Face as scored as a butcher’s block, and another ugly ruffian with him.’

  ‘Do you know who sent them?’

  ‘No.’ She crossed herself. ‘The devil perhaps, they had killing looks on them. The girls ran. I sent the boy for George, same as I did today. He came back with a dozen of his mates. By the time they arrived they had Bathsheba in her room and the pock-faced one was beating her. But the wherrymen were too many for them and they ran.’

  ‘Did they get any information from Bathsheba?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I ordered her out of the house. If this place gets a reputation for fighting it’ll be the end of it. Some of the girls have already left. Bathsheba came back this morning, asking me to take her on again.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m short of girls, so I let her. More fool me.’

  The door opened and Barak came in, breathless. ‘They’ve got away,’ he said. ‘Run to some rat hole!’ He glared at Madam Neller. ‘What’s the old troll got to say?’

  ‘I’ll tell you outside.’ I got to my feet. I took out my purse and laid a gold half angel on the table. ‘There’s two more if you let me know if Bathsheba returns, or if you find where she is. I mean her no harm, mind.’

  The beldame grabbed up the coins. ‘And there’ll be no trouble from Lord Cromwell?’

  ‘Not if you do as I ask. You will find me at Chancery Lane.’

  She pocketed the coins. ‘Very well,’ she said and nodded briefly.

  Barak and I left the place and walked rapidly back to the river stairs, watchful for danger though all was quiet. The Thames was still thronged and there were no boats waiting. Barak sat down on the top step and I followed, removing my satchel, which was making my shoulder ache. I told him what the madam had said. ‘By the way,’ I added, ‘thank you for saving my life back there.’

  Barak smiled ruefully. ‘And to you for saving mine. That knave would have had my brains out. What about that well? D’you want to go there tonight?’

  ‘No, I have to go to Lincoln’s Inn to prepare for tomorrow’s case. And I want to find some books on Greek Fire too.’

  He looked over the river. The sun was getting low, turning the water silver. ‘Tomorrow’s the first of June. Nine days left then.’ He smiled wryly. ‘You do need me, you see?’

  I sighed heavily and met his gaze. ‘Ay.’

  Barak laughed.

  ‘There’s something you could do for me tonight,’ I said. ‘Ask round the taverns at Lothbury, see if anyone knows anything about the Wentworth family, any tales. Would you do that?’

  ‘All right. Never say no to an evening’s drinking. I can go to the sailors’ taverns too; make some enquiries about that Polish drink.’

  I looked across at the palace. Liveried servants were scurrying to and fro outside, and a great red carpet was being unrolled. ‘It looks like Bishop Gardiner is having visitors. Look, here’s a wherry, let’s get away.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  BARAK AND I SUPPED EARLY at Chancery Lane. We talked little, exhausted by our adventure, but ate in a feeling of better fellowship. Barak left the table early to walk back to the City and spend his evening making enquiries round the taverns. With London as brimful of taverns as churches, I guessed that he had probably trawled them before for information on Cromwell’s behalf. It could be a dangerous occupation, I thought. Meanwhile I had the Bealknap case to prepare and some books to look for in the library at Lincoln’s Inn. I rose reluctantly and donned my robe once more.

  Outside the sun was setting, one of those brilliant red sunsets that can follow a hot summer’s day. I shaded my eyes as I turned into the road, looking round for any sign of strangers. Chancery Lane was empty as I walked quickly to the Inn, glad to pass under the safety of the gate.

  I saw a long blue-painted coach was pulled up in the courtyard, the horses eating placidly from their nosebags while the driver dozed on his seat. A visitor of rank - I hoped it was not Norfolk come again.

  There was a soft glow of candlelight from many windows, barristers working late now the law term had started. A hot dusty smell, not unpleasant, rose from the cobblestones and the setting sun gave the brick walls of Gatehouse Court a warm red glow. A group of laughing students passed on their way to some revel in the City, young lusty-gallants in bright slashed doublets.

  As I turned towards my chambers, I saw two people sitting on a bench outside the hall and to my surprise recognized Marchamount and Lady Honor. Marchamount was half-leaning over her, speaking in a low, urgent voice. I could not see Lady Honor’s face, but her demeanour looked tense. I sidled behind one of the pillars of the undercroft and watched. After a moment Marchamount rose, bowed and walked rapidly of
f. His face was set coldly. I hesitated, then walked across to Lady Honor, removed my cap and bowed deeply. She wore a silk gown with wide puffed sleeves and flowers embroidered on the bodice; I felt conscious of the sweaty stubble that covered my face, for I had still not had time to visit the barber. But maybe she would think I was being fashionable and growing a beard.

  ‘My lady, you are visiting the Inn again.’

  She looked up at me, brushing a wisp of hair under the stylish French hood she wore. ‘Yes. Another consultation with good Serjeant Marchamount.’ She smiled softly. ‘Sit beside me a moment. You are coming to my banquet tomorrow?’

  I took Marchamount’s place on the bench, catching the faint tang of some exotic scent she wore. ‘I am looking forward to it, Lady Honor.’

  She looked around the courtyard. ‘This is a peaceful place,’ she said. ‘My grandfather studied here - oh - seventy years ago. Lord Vaughan of Hartham. He fell at Bosworth.’ There was a burst of raucous laughter as another pair of students crossed the yard. Lady Honor smiled. ‘I fear he must have been like these young fellows, he came to the Inns to gain some law to help in running his estates, but he was probably more interested in the revels of the City.’

  I smiled. ‘Some things never change, even in the topsy-turvy world we have now.’

  ‘Oh, they do,’ she said with sudden emphasis. ‘Nowadays these students will be of mere gentry birth; they will have their fun, but then they will settle down to the business of trying to make a fortune, which is all men care for nowadays.’ She frowned suddenly, making sad dimples at the corners of her mouth. ‘Even those one has time for may turn out not to be the gentlemen one thought.’

  ‘That is sad.’ I realized she probably meant Marchamount. She had not noticed I had seen them together. I felt guilty for my spying.

  ‘Yes, it is.’ She smiled again. ‘But you, I think, are more than a mere money grubber. You have a look of inner care that does not go with such preoccupations.’

  I laughed. ‘Perhaps. You see much, Lady Honor.’