Revelation

  ‘What . . .’ I asked.

  ‘It is her tongue. He gagged her with this cloth while he tortured her. Then at the end he removed it. To fulfil the part of the verse that talks of gnawing tongues. He pulled out the tongue and snapped her jaw shut on it.’ He touched the slack face. ‘Yes, he broke her jaw doing it. At some point after that she died; her heart probably gave out.’

  ‘What sort of creature could do this to a woman?’ Harsnet asked, incredulous.

  ‘She’s not the first person he’s tortured to death,’ Barak said. ‘The cottar was cut up and left to die. But this is even worse.’

  ‘When the Bible talks of the seat of the beast,’ Harsnet said, ‘it means the place ruled by the devil, not a human - a human rear. This is like some hideous blasphemous joke. A devil’s jest.’

  We all turned as Janley returned through the inner door. ‘There’s nothing,’ he said. ‘The rest of the house looks normal.’

  ‘Did Lockley do this?’ Harsnet asked.

  Barak looked at me. ‘Begins to seem like he’s the killer after all.’

  ‘I still can’t see it. I could see him having knowledge of dwale, but what about the legal knowledge that letter to Roger demonstrated? I wouldn’t have said Lockley was someone who could write a proper letter.’

  ‘Then where is he?’ Harsnet burst out. The terrible scene had unnerved him deeply.

  ‘Lockley vanished and Mrs Bunce dead,’ I said quietly. ‘Goddard vanished and Cantrell attacked. The three who worked at the Westminster infirmary.’

  ‘Surely Goddard attacked the other two,’ Harsnet said.

  ‘It could equally be that Lockley attacked Goddard and Cantrell. Goddard’s body could be hidden somewhere.’ I shook my head.

  ‘That woman didn’t work at the infirmary,’ Harsnet said. ‘She wasn’t even a religious woman, from what you told me.’ He glanced at the terrible corpse, then turned to Janley. ‘For God’s sake, cover her up!’ The young man took his handkerchief and laid it over Ethel Bunce’s ruined face. He looked green. The awful wounds below still lay exposed. Guy stood, fetched the undershirt from where it had been thrown by the killer and covered them.

  ‘You are from Thomas Seymour’s household?’ I asked Janley.

  ‘Yes. I am his Master of Horse.’

  ‘I’ll warrant you didn’t expect a horror like this.’

  ‘No, sir. I was sent to guard a tavern.’ He laughed then, a little hysterically.

  I turned to Barak. ‘I think we should give this house a full search. Come on, let’s start with the living quarters.’

  We Walked up the narrow wooden staircase. There were two bedrooms. The one where Lockley and Mrs Bunce slept together had a cheap truckle bed. There was no other furniture save a large chest full of women’s clothes. ‘Poor bloody bitch,’ Barak said as he searched through them. ‘I think Lockley killed her. It can’t have been Goddard.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because he would have had to reconnoitre the tavern, find out their routines and whether anyone else lived here. I can’t think of any way to do that other than coming in as a customer. If it was Goddard, Lockley would have recognized him and told us, surely.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ I said. I looked at the cheap, worn dresses and large underclothes that Barak had laid on the bed. The violation of the last privacy of the poor woman downstairs felt like a further humiliation of her. ‘Come, put those back. Let’s see what’s in the other room.’

  The second bedroom contained broken chairs and other odds and ends, and another chest, locked with a padlock. I set Barak to picking it, a skill he had learned in his days working for Cromwell. After a couple of minutes, he heaved the lid open, to reveal men’s clothes this time, but at the bottom there were a number of small wooden boxes.

  Barak took out the boxes and began opening them. One contained two pounds in assorted coins, another some cheap jewellery. But the next contained something very different, a wooden block with a hinge, in the shape of a human jaw. There were holes where teeth could be placed.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ Barak asked.

  ‘A block to set dentures in,’ I said quietly. I took it from him. ‘Remember Tamasin told us the tooth-drawer showed her one. They set teeth in those sockets and fix them in people’s mouths. There’s an old barrister’s wife at Lincoln’s Inn who has dentures, but she can’t get a block to fit properly, they keep falling out.’

  ‘Maybe she could try some of these,’ Barak said. He had opened the remaining four boxes and all contained denture blocks in different sizes. ‘What’s he got these for?’ he asked incredulously. ‘Lockley wasn’t a barber-surgeon, was he? He worked for one, and left.’

  I turned the ugly wooden things over in my hands. The blocks had never been used to house teeth, there were no traces of glue in the tooth-holes. Pictures in my mind came together, some pieces of the puzzle fitting together at last. ‘No,’ I said quietly. ‘He wasn’t. I think he was something quite different. Now I understand, now I see what they were being so secretive about. Come, we have to go to Dean Benson, now. Bring those boxes.’

  I led the way downstairs. Guy and Harsnet had both sat down at a table marked with the round rings from a hundred goblets of beer. Harsnet looked agitated, Guy drawn and sad. Janley stood by the window, staring out on the tavern yard. Harsnet looked up. ‘Anything? ’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘We need to go to the dean—’

  I broke off as there was a sudden loud rumbling noise and the flagstones trembled beneath our feet. Harsnet’s eyes widened. ‘What in God’s name is that?’

  ‘This place is connected to the old Charterhouse sewer system,’ I said. ‘They must have opened the sluice gate over there. It happened when we came here before. We ought to investigate that cellar. There’ll be a way down somewhere.’

  ‘I’ll help Goodman Janley look,’ Barak said. He laid the boxes of teeth on the counter.

  I glanced over at the body. ‘What will you do with it?’ I asked Harsnet.

  ‘Store it in my cellars at Whitehall. With Yarington.’ He gave me an anguished look. ‘And keep quiet.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Why did you say we must go to the dean?’

  ‘I think I know what he has been holding back.’

  ‘We’ve found the cellar.’ Barak called from inside the house. ‘There’s a metal hatch in the hallway.’

  ‘We ought to see what’s down there,’ I said. I went into the stone-flagged hallway, Harsnet following.

  Barak had raised the hatchway and stood looking down. There was a ladder. Cold air came from below. Janley appeared with a lamp, a lighted candle inside. Barak took a deep breath. ‘Right, let’s have a look.’

  ‘Be careful,’ I said.

  But there was nothing to see in the cellar. The candlelight showed only bare stone flags, barrels stacked against the walls. Barak and Janley found another hatch there, leading down to the sewers. Janley opened it and we caught a whiff of sewer smells.

  ‘Should we go on down?’ Janley asked, peering nervously into the darkness.

  ‘No,’ Barak said. ‘Listen.’ There was a sound of rushing water, faint then suddenly loud as someone up at the Charterhouse opened the sluice gates to flush more excess water through. The building shook again, and a rush of vile-smelling air was pushed upwards into the cellar and out through the hatchway to where we stood.

  ‘That’s a lot of water,’ Barak called up.

  ‘With all the rain the ponds at Islington are probably full to overflowing,’ Harsnet said.

  Barak and Janley climbed back up and we returned to the main room. Guy rose from his knees by the body, rushes and dust clinging to his robe. He had been praying.

  ‘What is Benson holding back?’ Harsnet asked.

  ‘I’ll tell you on the way. We—’

  There was a knock at the door, faint and hesitant. We looked at each other. Harsnet called, ‘Come in!’ and the door opened. An elderly couple stepped nervo
usly inside. Both were small and thin, grey-haired, poor folk. They looked at us and then at the thing on the floor. The woman let out a little scream and ran back outside. The man turned to follow but Harsnet called him back. Through the open door we saw his wife standing trembling on the steps.

  ‘Who are you?’ Harsnet asked him roughly.

  ‘We lodge next door,’ the man said in a thin voice. He rubbed his hands together nervously. ‘We heard all the noise, we wondered what was happening.’

  ‘Mistress Bunce has been murdered. Master Lockley has disappeared. I am Master Harsnet, the king’s assistant coroner.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Please bring your wife inside. We wish to question you.’

  ‘She’s upset,’ he said, but Harsnet’s look was unyielding. The old man went outside and brought his wife back. She clung to him, avoiding looking at the body.

  ‘We think this happened last night,’ I said. ‘After the tavern closed. Did either of you hear anything?’

  The old man stared at Guy, his dark face and long physician’s robe, as though wondering how he had appeared there.

  ‘Last night?’ Harsnet repeated impatiently.

  ‘There was a lot of noise at closing time.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘They shut at twelve. We were in bed, the noise woke us. It sounded like tables going over. But you get rough people in this tavern now, beggars from the chapel when they have any money. We knew Francis had gone. Ethel has been in a frantic state, asking everyone round the square if they had seen him. She liked to rule the roost, poor Ethel.’ He looked around the room, then down at the covered body. ‘Did some drunkard kill her?’

  ‘Yes. You heard nothing later on in the night?’

  ‘No’

  The woman began to cry. ‘Oh please, let us out of here—’

  ‘In a minute. How well did you know Mistress Bunce and Goodman Lockley?’

  ‘We’ve lived next to the tavern for ten years. We knew Master Bunce before he died, he kept a quiet house. He was a godly man.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  The neighbour looked between us nervously. ‘Only that he belonged to one of the radical congregations. If you talked to him for any length of time he would always bring the Bible and salvation into it.’

  ‘Yet he kept a tavern?’ Harsnet sounded incredulous.

  The old man shrugged. ‘I think he was converted after he bought it. It was his living. And as I say, he kept it very orderly. No swearing or fighting.’

  ‘And he kept it closed Sundays,’ his wife added. She looked at the covered body and crossed herself. ‘Ethel had a hard time of it, a woman trying to run a tavern alone.’

  ‘When did she take up with Lockley?’

  ‘Francis? He came about two years ago. First as a potman, then they got together.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve sometimes thought Eddie Bunce must be turning in his grave, Ethel taking up with an ex-monk.’

  ‘She didn’t try to bring Master Lockley into her husband’s congregation? ’

  She shook her head again. ‘No, we never heard any more about Bible truth after Eddie died, and the tavern began opening on Sundays. She must have left the church.’

  ‘Got a noisier type of customer in,’ her husband added gloomily.

  Harsnet and I exchanged glances. So Mistress Bunce was an apostate from a radical congregation, like the others.

  ‘Which church did Master Bunce go to?’ Harsnet asked.

  ‘Clerkenwell. Those radicals had better watch out, with Bishop Bonner after them.’

  ‘Did Mistress Bunce have any living relatives that you know of?’

  ‘No, sir. We didn’t know them well.’ He looked at the body again. ‘She was decent enough, Ethel, though Francis could be a grump. Even if they did live in sin.’

  ‘We would like to go to the funeral,’ his wife said.

  The old man looked at us. ‘Please, sir, what do you think happened? We only ask because we wonder if we are safe. If there are robbers about.’

  ‘You are not in any danger,’ Harsnet said. ‘But that is all I can tell you till we investigate further. In the meantime, this is to be kept quiet. You tell no one Mrs Bunce is dead. It could hamper our investigation.’

  ‘But how—’

  ‘You will keep quiet. I order it in the King’s name. A guard will remain here for now. Thank you for your help,’ he concluded in a tone of dismissal.

  HARSNET SHOOK his head after the old man led his wife away. ‘Poor old creatures,’ he said. ‘Come then, Matthew, if we are to go to Westminster now. I want to know what you have puzzled out. Janley, stay here, secure that door and keep enquirers away. I will arrange for the body to be removed.’

  ‘Can I go home?’ Guy asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Harsnet answered shortly. He still did not like or trust Guy, it was clear. With most folk it would have been his colour, but with Harsnet I was sure it was his religion.

  We all STEPPED outside, relieved to be out of that dreadful place. We stood on the step, looking out at the wide square. On the other side, in the distance, we saw a coach surrounded by four riders pull into Catherine Parr’s courtyard.

  ‘A visitor for Lady Catherine,’ I said. ‘Perhaps it is the Archbishop. ’

  ‘If it is, God speed him. True religion needs her help,’ Harsnet answered. He walked down the step, and unhitched his horse from the rail. I made to follow, but Barak touched me on the arm.

  ‘What is next?’ he asked. ‘What happens when the sixth vial is poured?’

  Guy answered. ‘Revelation talks of great waters being dried up. The Euphrates.’

  ‘How’s the arsehole going to make a killing that symbolizes that? Dry up the Thames?’

  ‘He’ll find a way.’ I answered grimly. ‘Whatever it is, it will be some other method of torturing another poor soul to death. Jesu knows what.’

  Chapter Thirty-two

  GUY RODE BACK to Smithfield with us. There he turned left into town, bidding us farewell. ‘Shall I see you at the Bedlam tomorrow morning, Matthew? I am going at nine o’clock.’

  I agreed to the rendezvous, then watched him for a few moments, a lonely figure in the country road, his stoop noticeable as he rode away.

  ‘Now, Matthew,’ Harsnet asked. ‘What is it that you have worked out? What are in those little boxes that Barak is carrying?’

  I told them what I believed. Lockley had been keeping secrets, the dean too, and perhaps Cantrell.

  ‘Maybe we should talk to Cantrell first,’ Barak suggested. ‘See if he can confirm it.’

  ‘We can talk to him afterwards,’ Harsnet answered grimly. ‘I want to confront the dean directly.’

  ‘You could go home, Jack,’ I said. ‘See Tamasin.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, I want to see the end of this.’ He looked at me, and I saw that like Harsnet and me, he had been deeply shocked by what had been done to Mrs Bunce. ‘I wish we could have saved her,’ he said.

  We rode DOWN to Westminster. It was a Saturday; Parliament and the courts were shut, there were fewer people around. Shopkeepers and pedlars eyed us as we passed, and one or two called out, but we ignored them. In the Sanctuary we passed a big cart loaded with planks of newly cut wood, the resin smell sweet in the foul town air. The cathedral doors were closed but we heard the sound of hymn-singing from inside, the choir no doubt preparing for service.

  ‘I wonder where the dean is,’ I said.

  ‘We will go to his house.’

  We rode on to Dean’s Yard, passed under the wall into the abbey courtyard and once again tied up the horses outside the pretty old house standing amidst the chaos of building works. Enquiries of the steward revealed that Dean Benson would be occupied in the cathedral all day. Harsnet sent a message asking him to attend us on a matter of urgency which might involve his personal safety. ‘That’ll bring him,’ he said as the steward hurried away, leaving us sitting in the entrance hall.

  In a short time we heard f
ootsteps approaching up the garden path. The dean entered. He was breathing heavily; he must have hurried over as soon as he got the message. He looked at us angrily. ‘What in the name of Heaven has happened now?’ he demanded. ‘Why do you say I am in danger?’

  ‘May we speak in your office?’ Harsnet asked.

  ‘Very well.’ The dean sighed and led us down the corridor, his cassock rustling. After a few steps he turned, staring at Barak, who had followed us, carrying Lockley’s boxes. ‘And you propose to bring your servant to an interview with me?’ he asked me haughtily.

  ‘Barak comes too this time,’ Harsnet said, looking the dean hard in the eye. We had agreed this beforehand. ‘He has something to show you.’

  The dean looked at the boxes Barak carried, shrugged and walked on.

  Once in his office, Harsnet told the dean of Ethel Bunce’s murder, Lockley’s disappearance, and the attack on Cantrell. ‘So you see, dean,’ he said. ‘The killer seems to be focusing his attention now on those associated with the infirmary.’

  ‘Why should that endanger me?’ The dean looked at the boxes on Barak’s lap and took a sudden deep breath. I saw that he guessed what they might be.

  ‘There was a connection between you and them,’ I said. ‘More, I think, than the mere fact that you had overall authority over the monks’ infirmary and the lay hospital. I think that is what you have been hiding.’

  Barak opened the boxes, revealing the dentures. From the way the dean’s eyes widened and he sat back in his chair I knew my suspicions were right.