A Murder of Crows: A Sir Robert Carey Mystery (35 page)

At the end of it Cecil smiled his shockingly charming smile again.

“I will elucidate a couple of points for you, Sergeant, since it seems you have worked out most of it.”

Dodd tilted his head and prepared to be lied to.

“The Cornish lands that were hawked about London by Fr. Jackson, were of course, nearly worthless. Certainly there was no gold. Unfortunately…Very unfortunately many courtiers were taken in by his plausibility and bought them. Fr. Jackson was a Jesuit in that he had studied briefly at Rheims—long enough to counterfeit a Catholic priest—but his real name was Harry Dowling, as you surmised. He had offered to work for me against the Catholics but I naturally turned him down as he was not to be trusted.”

Lady Hunsdon let out a small sniff of disbelief at this. Long practise allowed Dodd to keep his face completely straight. So did Cecil. By God, Burghley’s second son would be very dangerous at primero.

“Among the spectators was Heneage. Being deeply implicated, he arrested Jackson to find out who he was working for. I engaged James Enys to free him and all did indeed fall out as you said. I heard no more from Enys. Heneage did not know what had happened to Jackson nor his rescuer. Heneage was also desperate to keep the secret of the lands he had bought being worth nothing much so that he could sell them to other innocent barnards. Hence he arrested Richard Tregian and after torture had revealed no information as to the whereabouts of Jackson nor to the source of the lay because of course the whole game was due to Jackson’s greed, substituted him for the priest so that no one would ask questions about the priest.”

Dodd inclined his head. That was more or less true. Except that he was even more sure that Cecil was the one who had set Jackson on to sell the lands. That coded letter had said most of the wheals were owned by Icarus—presumably Cecil’s target. It still made sense that way. God, the man was twisty.

“And then you come into the mix and Heneage begins to panic. He knows he has no defence in law to your suits, and so he resorts to force against you.” Cecil smiled and chuckled. “A very foolish man. He should have made you a respectable offer.”

“Ay,” said Dodd. Perhaps he would have taken it.

“And it ends here, does it not?” Cecil continued. “Unfortunately it seems that some ill-affected Papists have blown up another property owned by Heneage and that there has been a riot here between the rabble and scum Heneage chose to employ. You fortunately happened to be nearby with my Lady Hunsdon’s men and you were able to quell the riot and out the fire—oh, and rescue a young lawyer and Mr. Briscoe’s wife. You have not been able to kill Topcliffe?”

“He wisnae here,” Dodd said. It had been a disappointment, that.

“How unfortunate,” said Cecil with that charming smile again. “So both myself and my worshipful father owe you thanks for preventing worse bloodshed here. I shall be writing a report to him to that end and quite possibly, Her Majesty may choose to reward you as well.”

From Carey’s constant complaints on the subject, Dodd suspected that he would find a nest high in a tree that was full of suckling pigs before that happened, but still it was a nice thought. And it meant he was free to go?

“Ay, sir,” he said, “Ah…I heard Mr. Heneage had a warrant for me on a charge of high treason.”

Cecil tutted. “I am quite sure that is not the case, or if it was, in the heat of the moment, it will no longer be the case after I have spoken to the gentleman. Which I intend to do immediately at his home in Chelsea.”

Dodd stood as Cecil levered himself to his feet and so did Lady Hunsdon. “Ay,” said Dodd, feeling inadequate to the task of taking his leave properly from Carey’s amazing mother. “Yer Cornishmen are fine fighters,” he said lamely. “And…ah…it wis an honour to serve ye, my lady.”

Lady Hunsdon beamed and held out her hand to him. Dodd knew what he was supposed to do, frantically thought back to what Carey normally did, dismissed it as impossibly complicated, and just took her hand and bowed over it.

He found her arms around him in a surprisingly fierce hug. “Sergeant,” she said as she let him go, “like my husband, I’m honoured to have you with me. Give Robin my love when you see him.” She paused and her dimples showed again. “If you can, my handsome.”

Dodd coughed, “Ay. Thank ye yer honour. God speed, my lady.”

***

Dodd wandered out to the grey courtyard where he found a wounded and bleeding pig lying exhausted in its blood while the dog barked hoarsely on the end of his chain. Thoughtfully Dodd stepped up behind the pig and slit its throat quickly to put it out of its pain, then found a bone in the trough which he threw to the dog. In the way of dogs, the animal barked a couple more times and then starting gnawing on the bone.

There was something kicking and pounding at the stable door and neighing in panic, so Dodd went to the stable door and opened it, dodged the wild-eyed head that immediately tried to bite him, then looked hard at the animal. It was the nice one with the white sock he’d noticed at Chelsea, one of the regular dispatch horses no doubt which meant he’d be fast and probably quite strong.

Dodd unbolted the bottom door and slid into the stall quickly, then up close to the horse and speaking to him in his ear, stroking his neck and shoulder, gently fending off the teeth. “It’s all done wi’, ye stupid jade,” he said since it didn’t matter what he said, “And ye’re coming with me,”

The saddle was hanging up and the bridle with it, so Dodd spent a little longer gentling the animal until it snorted and lowered its head for him, and then he brushed the coat down with a whisp of hay and put the bridle on and the saddle. Both were very nice, good leather and not too fierce a bit.

He had forty miles at least and wanted to be able to go quickly, so he checked the other stalls and found another perfectly good horse, not a gelding this time, but a chestnut mare also upset and relieved to see a man who patted her neck and called her a bastard in a soft and friendly voice. He put her bridle on as well and took the reins forward over her head, then led both horses out into the courtyard.

Gabriel was standing there, watching with interest. “Where are you going?”

“Och,” said Dodd, “Mr. Pickering’s a man o’ parts here, but Ah’m not and I dinna wantae be in London when Heneage finds out whit happened.”

“S’all right,” said Gabriel looking offended. “There won’t be any witnesses. Mr. Pickering and his honour said so.”

“My lady Hunsdon said she didnae want killing.”

“No, they just won’t remember. Any of ’em.”

“Ay, well. Ah’m tired o’ London and now Ah’ve had ma satisfaction for the insult Heneage put on me, Ah’ve nae reason to stay.”

“I’d stay for Molly, she likes you.”

“Molly?”

“The mort wiv the big tits wot gave you the eye,” said Gabriel, grinning. “She says her and Nick the Gent tried to tip you the marrying lay a few weeks back but it went wrong. She says you was fun, though.”

Dodd could feel his face prickling with embarassment. So that’s where he’d seen her before. “Ay, but that woman were blonde,” was all he could say.

Gabriel sniggered. “Well, you never know what colour her ‘air’s going to be, so it’s best to look at ‘er tits, innit?”

“Tell her she can find me at Carlisle castle if she wants,” Dodd told Gabriel with dignity. “Ah’m a married man.”

Gabriel spread his hands in mock despair and turned away. “Gi’ my respects to Mr. Pickering,” Dodd shouted after him, “and ma thanks for coming out for me.” He put his hand on the horse’s withers and jumped up into the saddle and immediately felt happy and at home.

“It’s been a pleasure,” said Pickering’s voice from the kitchen door, “’av a good journey norf now, Sar’nt.”

Dodd nodded, took his hat off to Pickering, and was interested to see Pickering lifting his statute cap in return. Gabriel had already opened the courtyard gate.

Dodd came out of the gate with his remount trotting behind him, turned right to head west along Upper Ground to the horse-ferry for Westminster where he could pick up the Edgeware Road that led to Oxford. There was no point trying to cross London Bridge before the dawn broke when they would open the gates on the north side, and there was another hour to go at least.

Behind him he could now hear the outraged bawling of the new baby which was one of the happiest sounds in the world, he thought, even if it wasn’t his. That ball of rage had been cleared from his stomach by arranging for the blowing up one of Heneage’s houses, the burning and raiding of another, and reiving two good horses from him. Who knew what the court case might bring or what Sir Robert Cecil might do? So he laughed out loud, put his heels in, and cantered west along the south bank of the Thames, past the round wooden structure of the bear baiting and the scaffolding around another round building that was going up right next to it. Londoners were always building something new.

Behind him the sun rose.