'Master coroner:'
'Yes.'
'Sergeant Keeble, sir.'
'Are your men ready to ride:'
'Yes, sir. We're to go to Charterhouse Square, I'm told.'
'Yes. Come, I will explain on the way to the landing-stage.'
'Cantrell's had a full day to get into Lady Parr's house,' Barak said to me quietly. And what's the betting he spied out the place carefully before?'
'Surely Lady Catherine is well guarded. Given her importance now.'
THE ARCHBISHOP'S secretary had done his work; when we reached the river the barge was waiting, and on the London side we found a group of horses ready.
We then rode fast and hard to the Charterhouse as dusk deepened to darkness. The jolting movement set my back on fire; the muddy country road made riding all the more difficult. In the fields on either side of us startled cows blundered away. We rode on through Smithfield, into Charterhouse Square. On the corner stood the Green Man, now boarded up. We rode across the grass of the square and stopped outside the Charterhouse Gate. A little way off a group of beggars stood in the open doorway of the old abandoned chapel. They stayed where they were, watching; they were not going to approach a group of armed men. Sir Thomas drew his horse to a halt. 'We should make a search of the area first, I think,' he said. 'If we rush the place and he is near by, he might escape. I want him caught this time.' He ended with a hard look at me, and spurred his horse towards the gate of the Charterhouse. The gate was opened and we rode into the Charterhouse precinct.
Sir Thomas' steward Russell emerged from the conduit-house. Seymour told him what had happened. 'I suggest sending three or four of the Archbishop's men on foot to search the area,' Sir Thomas said. 'If he is hanging around and we send everyone looking round the square, we could alarm him and he might run. Shardlake, Barak, you should stay out of the way for now. He knows you.'
Again his strategy made good sense. Three of Cranmer's men were sent to reconnoitre; the rest of us stayed in the courtyard. A man in a stained smock emerged from the conduit-house and came over to us, wiping his hands on a rag. 'I've done all I can, Sir Thomas,' he said. 'I sent a man over to Islington Fields. The streams up there have overflowed, there is quite a lake of water. It is backed up behind the lock gates down there.'
'We cannot leave things as they are, master engineer,' Harsnet said.
'If we have no more rain the water up at Islington will start to drain slowly into the ground and the pressure on the gates will subside. Then we could open the gates in a few days. Let us hope the wet spell is over.'
Sir Thomas grunted. 'I want to leave this place. What if some- one from Augmentations makes one of their unannounced visits and finds the Charterhouse full of my men, just across the road from Catherine Parr's house? It will get back to Richard Rich and he will tell the King. Come, master engineer, show me.' He marched off to the conduit-house, the engineer and Russell following. I smiled sardonically at Harsnet. 'Sir Thomas is going to tell the expert how to do his job,' I said.
The coroner sighed. 'He's right. We don't want Rich finding things amiss here, learning that the gates were blocked up by the body of a crucified potman.'
'No.' I looked over at the conduit-house, candlelight outlining the half-open door. 'I have come up against Rich before. He would do anything for his own advancement. Like most of those at court.'
'The Archbishop at least is different,' Harsnet said. 'He is a man of principle, a good man. The hope of all of us who wish to see reform preserved.'
I looked at him curiously. 'Yet he believes God has chosen the King to be his representative on earth. Your school of thought allows for no intermediary between man and God.'
'He is all we have. And Lord Hertford, of course.' Harsnet smiled to himself. 'If Lord Hertford ever came to rule this land . . . but for now the Archbishop is our rod and staff. I would do anything to protect him, anything.' He spoke with fierce emphasis.
We turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. The three Archbishop's men had returned. They went into the conduit-house, and a moment later Sir Thomas and Russell emerged and hurried over to us.
'Master Shardlake,' Sir Thomas said. 'You said Cantrell's horse had a distinctive white mark on its face. Shaped like a triangle.'
'Yes. So the old woman said. Otherwise it is all brown.'
'There is a horse answering that description tied up on the common behind the houses. No sign of an owner.'
Harsnet took a long, shuddering breath. 'So you were right,' he said. 'I am sorry I doubted you.' He turned to Sir Thomas. 'We should get the Archbishop's men together. The time for concealment is past. We must get to Catherine Parr's house now.'
'I will lead them,' Sir Thomas said.
'I do not think that is wise, sir,' Harsnet said. 'You should not be seen there.'
'The coroner is right, sir,' Russell said quietly.
Sir Thomas hesitated, then nodded. He glared at Harsnet and me. 'You had better not make a mess of this,' he said coldly. 'If anything happens to Lady Catherine, I will see you pay with your heads.' He turned and stalked off.
'Arsehole,' Barak muttered when he was out of earshot.
'It's just bluster, sirs,' Russell said quietly. 'He can't do anything without his brother's permission.'
WE WALKED FAST through the wooded square, emerging in front of the large houses on the eastern side. Lord Latimer's mansion was large, three storeys high, set back from the road in its own grounds. Lights shone at several of the large, diamond-paned windows. As we walked down the gravel path, the front door opened and a man emerged carrying a lantern; he approached Harsnet. He was middle- aged, full-bearded, with an anxious expression. Lord Latimer's arms, a grey shield with a red diagonal cross, were stitched prominently on his doublet.
'Master coroner?' he asked.
'Yes. Is all safe?'
He nodded. 'We've searched the house. There's no one here. We've told Lady Catherine there are robbers about, tried to get her to stay in her room, but she wants to take charge.'
'She doesn't know what she's facing,' I said.
'He's around somewhere. I can feel it,' Barak muttered. He looked into the deep shadows cast by the house. There were trees and bushes against the inner wall; plenty of space for Cantrell to hide.
'What do you mean?' The steward looked at me sharply. 'I thought it was a gang of burglars?'
'It's one man we're after.' Harsnet looked into the steward's eyes. 'An assassin, a madman. Lady Catherine must be told she is in real danger.' The man's eyes widened. 'How many entrances are there to this house?'
'Two. This one and the one for tradesmen at the back.' 'Have you had any visitors today?' I asked.
'A messenger from the King came with a note for Lady Catherine.' The steward hesitated. 'She's been rather agitated since.' 'Where is she?' Harsnet asked him quietly. 'In her rooms on the first floor.'
'All right,' he said. 'Now go, tell her she must stay there. Two of you men, accompany him, guard her.' Two men joined the steward and they ran back inside. Harsnet turned to the others. 'I want six men patrolling the outside. Everyone else, inside with me.' As the men moved to his orders I had to admire his ability to command, his decisiveness. He led the other four, and Barak and me, into the house.
We entered a large hall, the walls covered with expensive tapestries of Greek and Roman gods in woodland settings. Before us, a wide staircase led upstairs, the Latimer arms held by a pair of brightly painted wooden lions at the foot. Several doors led off the hall. One at the back was open, a couple of frightened-looking pages looking out. 'Get back in there,' Harsnet ordered. They hastily disappeared. We looked up as the steward clattered down the stairs. I was pleased to see he looked calmer now, his face intent.
'Lady Catherine has said she will remain in her rooms. But she would like to see you, master coroner.'
Harsnet took a deep breath. 'Very well.'
'What will you tell her?' I asked.
'That we have word of an assas
sin, no more.' He turned to the steward. 'Make sure all the servants are accounted for.'
The man nodded and disappeared towards the servants' quarters. Harsnet took a deep breath and mounted the stairs. Barak and I were left with the four remaining men, who fingered their sword-hilts uneasily.
'Is it true then, sir,' one asked. 'There is a madman after Lady Catherine?' 'It seems so.'
After a few minutes Harsnet returned looking sombre. 'Lady Catherine will stay in her rooms,' he said quietly. 'She is a fine lady, she received me most courteously and calmly. But I could see she was afraid.'
The servants' door opened and the steward reappeared. 'All the servants are present, sir. They are in the kitchen, all save Lady Catherine's waiting-women, who are with her. They've been told there are burglars. They're scared, sir.'
'Have you had any deliveries today?' Barak asked him.
'There are deliveries most days. The cook would know.'
'Then let us ask him,' Harsnet said. 'Good thinking, Master Barak. You men, stay here.' He looked at the steward. 'Go to your mistress. She should have you with her.'
We passed through the servants' door, following a stone-flagged passage into a large kitchen. Half a deer was roasting on a range, a boy turning the spit and another ladling juices over it. A large group of frightened-looking servants sat round a large table.
'Where is the cook?' Harsnet asked.
A fat man in a stained apron stepped forward. 'I am, sir. Master Greaves.'
'What deliveries have there been today?'
He nodded at the spit. 'George and Sam brought that deer over from Smithfield. And the coalman came this morning. He brought a new load, we put it in the cellar.'
'Where do you get your coal?' I asked.
'A man up at Smithfield. Goodman Roberts. He's been delivering for years.'
The freckle-faced lad turning the spit looked up. 'He sent his new assistant this week,' he ventured. 'And last week. I let him in.'
I exchanged a glance with Barak. 'What was he like?' I asked the boy.
'I didn't really see his face, sir, it was so black with coal-dust. He looked like he'd been rolling in the stuff.' 'Was he tall or short;'
'Tall, sir, and thin. He took the coal down to the cellar in the hall, as usual. I told him where it was last week.' 'Did you see him come out;'
The boy shook his head. 'Master Greaves sent me to the larder to peel some turnips.'
The cook looked worried. 'I can't be there to receive every delivery—'
'Did anyone see the coalman's boy leave;'
Heads were shaken round the table. 'You should have gone with him to the cellar, James,' the cook chided the boy. 'There are valuable things in this house—'
Harsnet interrupted him. 'Take us to the cellar.' He turned to me. 'Could it be him;'
'From the description, yes.'
'But how could he get hold of the coal—'
'By watching deliveries to this house, then dealing with Goodman Roberts as he dealt with the solicitor,' I answered grimly. I turned to the cook. 'Hurry, now.'
'I'll fetch the men.'
THE COOK LED the way back to the passage outside, halting before a wooden trapdoor set with an iron ring. Harsnet went to collect the men he had left in the hall and returned.
'What is down there exactly;' Harsnet asked.
'Flasks of wine and barrels of vegetables, and the coal. And there's another trapdoor there, leading down to the sewer passage.' 'Part of the Charterhouse system?'
'Yes, sir. We're the last house in the system, after the water runs through our sewer it empties out into a stream that runs past the house. There is a large iron grille set into the wall where the water goes out. No one could get in or out that way.'
'Do you think he could be down there?' Harsnet asked.
'I doubt it. He'd be trapped.' I nodded agreement. 'No, if he is in the house my guess is it will be somewhere with an escape route.'
'We should do a thorough search,' Harsnet said. 'Two of you men search the house. You other two go down there and search the cellar, and the sewer.'
'The sewer is dry,' the cook said. 'There's something wrong with the mechanism up at the Charterhouse.'
'I know.'
Torches were fetched, the hatch was opened and Cranmer's men climbed down to the cellar. I glimpsed a large chamber full of barrels, a big pile of coal. The men looked behind the barrels, thrusting their swords into the coal lest anyone was hidden there. Then they turned to the trapdoor. 'It's bolted on the outside,' one of them called out. 'There can't be anyone down there.'
'Look nonetheless.'
They opened the trapdoor; cold air and a filthy smell wafted up to us. 'Go down,' Harsnet ordered. They descended, and shortly after I heard the sound of booted feet on iron rungs again, and someone called, 'No one!'
One of the men Harsnet had sent to search the house returned. 'There's no one here, sir.'
Harsnet and I looked at each other.
'Perhaps he got out of the house when Cranmer's messenger arrived and the search started,' Barak suggested. 'Knew something was up.'
Harsnet nodded gravely. 'If so, Lady Catherine is going to need to be carefully watched for some while. You four men, search the house once again. Please. Every nook and cranny.'
We returned to the hall. 'I am going to see the steward again,' Harsnet said. He left Barak and me alone in the hallway. Barak headed for the stairs.
'Where are you going?' I asked.
'Thought I'd join the search.' He smiled sadly. 'Take my mind off other things.' 'I'll join you.'
WE MOUNTED the wide staircase. Above was another broad corridor, and facing us a pair of wide doors, half open, two guards standing just inside. A blonde young woman in a fine dress of red velvet was looking out nervously. One of Lady Catherine's ladies, I guessed.
As we approached I saw a pair of inner doors was open. I glimpsed a bed draped with rich hangings and bright tapestries. Beside it, Harsnet and the steward were talking to a woman. I recognized the tall, shapely form and the striking, slightly severe face of Catherine Parr. Then she turned and stared back at me, and her dark eyes widened with fear. I realized she did not remember me from the day I saw her at Westminster. She thought this strange-looking man might even be the killer.
'You should not be looking in there!' the lady-in-waiting said, scandalized.
'I — I am sorry,' I stuttered. 'I did not mean—' She slammed the door in my face. Barak gave me a look of commiseration.
'You weren't to know—' he began. Then he broke off at a sudden yell from outside the house. 'Fire! Help! Fire!'
Chapter Forty-five
HARSNET RAN OUT of Lady Catherine's rooms. He stared at me for a moment, then we all ran to the nearest window, through which the glow of flames could be seen in the darkness. He shouted at Lady Catherine's steward, hesitating in the doorway to her chambers, to stay with his mistress.
Across the lawn, a large wooden summerhouse was well ablaze, flames at all the windows and smoke drifting across the grass towards the house. Guards and servants ran to and fro, carrying buckets of water. Discipline had vanished in face of the ever-present terror of fire. 'What is he doing?' Harsnet breathed.
'He's trying to distract us,' I said urgently. 'Fetch the sergeant, get those men back in the house!'
The coroner looked at me for a moment, then turned and ran down the stairs. Barak opened the window and leaned out. The summerhouse was blazing from end to end, there was nothing to be done for it and it was far enough from the house for the flames not to spread. As we watched, Harsnet ran outside, calling everyone back. I turned to look at Lady Catherine's closed doors. 'If he is trying to get everyone away from her, he has failed. Come!'
We hurried down the stairs. The movement jarred my back again, and I clamped my mouth shut against the pain. Through the open front door we saw guards running, the sergeant bawling at them to watch the doors and windows. The acrid stink of smoke drifted into the building.
br /> 'This is chaos,' I said. 'There is always panic when there is a fire. As Cantrell knows.'
'Is he still outside;' Barak asked.
'He may have come back in after starting the fire.'
Barak did not answer. I turned to him. He raised a finger to his lips, pointing to the half-open door of a room behind us.
'There's an open window in there,' he whispered. 'I can feel a breeze.'
He drew his sword; I did the same with my dagger. Barak stepped back, waited a second, then kicked the door wide open. We lunged inside.
We were in a storeroom, stacked chairs and tables and a heap of large cushions lying against the walls. The room was empty, but one of the three windows giving on to the lawn was half open. Barak jerked back the door lest anyone be hiding behind it, but there was only the blank wall. He slammed it shut again, then started thrusting with his sword under the stacked chairs and tables. I crossed to the window, coughing in the smoke-filled air. In the moonlight I saw the summerhouse collapse in a great flurry of sparks, the few men still on the lawn jumping back. I remembered the smoke at Goddard's house, that terrible impact on my back. Then I heard, behind me, a metallic clatter and a thud.
I whirled round. Barak was lying on the floor, his forehead red with blood, his sword beside him. Standing over him, the pile of cushions he had been lying under scattered around him, was Cantrell, in one of his old shabby smocks. He was carrying the piece of wood he had shown me at his house. He wore no glasses, and now I realized what the old woman had meant about his strange eyes. They were large, pale blue, with a dark heaviness in them such as I had never seen in human eyes before. It was as though, while he looked at me, he was also looking inward, at a terrible, exhausting vision. But he did not squint or peer; there was little wrong with his vision. He had been exaggerating his short-sightedness to deceive us, and his acting had been good.