A Plague of Sinners (15 page)

At which point I leant over and stabbed him in the thigh.

He yelled, staring at me indignantly, then scrabbled at his slashed trouser searching furiously for blood, of which there was but a small round puddle. Then he jabbed a finger at me and made shrill noises.

‘Quiet!’ I commanded, calmer than I felt.

He panted soundlessly.

‘You told me your deal was guaranteed by a nobleman. Who?’

Burke peeled the cloth from his thigh to inspect the damage. ‘You will not find that out from me,’ he cried, hoarse. ‘Stab me again if you must.’

‘I will if I have to.’ I wiped the blade upon a cloth I brought for the purpose. ‘Nor would your friends Forman and Withypoll object, for as I told you, word is you killed Wharton. I think they are the ones spreading that word.’

‘That cannot be,’ he muttered. Yet his eyes sunk deep into his head and his lips quivered.

‘The Master-of-the-Box says Forman and Withypoll act on behalf of Lord Chelwood,’ I remembered. ‘Who is Lord Chelwood? Are you working for him?’

‘I can tell you nothing of Lord Chelwood. I don’t know him and never met him. You must ask the Master-of-the-Box.’ Blood began to seep from the small round hole in his leg. He eyed my knife. ‘Ask me something else!’ he urged me, face pale.

‘Who was involved in your wine deal?’

‘I could not involve others, the contract forbade it,’ Burke protested. His eyes said he deceived me.

I tapped the blade upon my chin. ‘Yet you didn’t have enough money of your own.’

‘Aye, then,’ he let out a mighty breath. ‘So I did invite a few others to invest what I could not afford. But why would you ask me that? None of them invested what I invested, and were I to reveal to you their names then I would not be able to do business in this city again.’

I bent towards him. ‘You must tell me their names, Burke, for they are as likely candidates as you. I have no interest in betraying your confidences. I will watch from afar and monitor.’

‘I cannot.’ He clenched his fists and hissed through his teeth. Then he lay back limp, water in his eyes. ‘I wish I never heard of Thomas Wharton,’ he whispered. ‘I had no need of that deal. I supplied a quarter of the City with wine.’

‘Tell me who else invested,’ I insisted. ‘You would protect their identities when one of them may be the killer? You would die for one of them?’

‘None of them killed Wharton.’ He wiped away the clotting blood from his thigh, gently, so not to cause it to bleed once more. ‘I thought if I impressed the King I might win new business at court. Instead I lost it all. I owe more than I will ever be able to repay.’

I began to resent his lachrymose self-pity. He lost his business because he was greedy. ‘Tell me who invested with you else I will stab you in the other leg.’

He rubbed a hand across his forehead, perspiration dripping in rivulets between the folds of his fleshy face. ‘I have
lost my business, now you would have me lose my dignity?’

‘What dignity?’ I snorted. ‘First you hide yourself away in a slum by the river. Now you lie here ensconced in a debtors’ prison accused of murder. How dignified will you feel when the whole of London watches you swing by the neck with your guts hanging about your knees?’

‘I have only your word I am accused of murder!’ He stood up and started shouting. ‘I have only your word I am to be tried for that! They told me this was a safe place! Somewhere I would not be disturbed!’

‘They lied.’

He leant forward, arms hanging loose, gulping deep breaths.

‘Tell me who invested with you.’

‘One other invested with me.’ A tear rolled down his cheek, so perfectly round I put away my blade, ashamed. ‘No others would. He said he could afford it easily, for he contributed less than five per cent, but I think he deceived me. I think he may have lost more than he could afford besides.’

‘Who is he?’

He stared from beneath a black bushy brow. ‘A local merchant named Willis.’ He sat down heavy on the bench. ‘Oliver Willis.’

I forgot to breathe. ‘Oliver Willis of Seething Lane?’

‘The same,’ Burke confirmed miserably. ‘And now I must trust you to be discreet.’

He looked to me for assurance, moist-eyed and anxious, yet I could see little in my mind beyond Liz’s pale face, anguished and sorrowful, a prisoner to her father’s desperate plight. I focussed again on Burke’s pathetic aspect and saw for a moment Oliver Willis. Just as greedy, just as careless.

‘I will be discreet, Burke,’ I said, slowly. ‘But what will you do?’

‘Don’t taunt me, King’s agent. You say you work for the King. Why do you not release me?’

‘I can if you wish it,’ I replied.

‘And what then?’ He pursed his lips and regarded me with fury. ‘I have nothing against you, King’s man, even though you stuck me in the leg with that short blade of yours. I will trust your intent, for what it is worth. So trust mine. You have already overstepped your mark. If you would avoid the same plight as Wharton, then leave London while you can.’ He contemplated the grim, bare cell. ‘Else you will find yourself here with me.’

‘Very well, Burke.’ I bid my muddled mind be still. ‘But when you realise Forman and Withypoll plan to hang you, send for me.’

‘Send for you?’

‘Aye, Harry Lytle.’

‘And what will you do for me, Harry Lytle?’ he asked quietly. ‘You and your little knife?’

It was a good question. Yet not the one foremost on my mind.

I thought of visiting Alderman Fuller first, to see if a new nurse was appointed, but was wary. Too many people looking for me. So I donned the moist medic robes and went direct to my house.

I recalled the look of suspicion upon Hearsey’s face the last time I visited, yet it might have been but a distortion of the lens. When I arrived though, he had a companion. No time to hesitate. I strode to the door like the King himself.

Hearsey hopped to his feet and stuck his thumbs in his belt. ‘You are the medic?’

‘Aye,’ I replied pointing at the door. ‘And busy besides.’

Hearsey tried to peer through the glass of my eyes, while his partner hovered, curious. ‘There are two of you then?’

‘There are a dozen of us,’ I snapped. ‘Now will you kindly open the door.’

‘Very well.’ He fetched my key again from his pocket and stood aside while the second man wandered away. I watched, nervous, wondering if he went to alert someone. Once inside the house I heard Hearsey lock the door behind me. He hadn’t done that this morning. I considered climbing straight out of the window and making my escape back to Newgate, but not without knowing how Jane fared.

First I checked the front room to make certain the drunkard nurse was not returned. Instead I found Jane, sat upright on my chair, faced towards the door, as though expecting a visitor. She stared full ahead, unblinking, the skin of her face grey, the crescents beneath her eyes almost black. Bedraggled hair tangled about her nose and ears like dead river weed, fiery orange faded to dry brown. Her body was thin and twiggy, bones pushing out through soft de-fleshed skin. The eyes didn’t move.

Grief weighed so heavy on my heart I fell to my knees, staring up at her still face. I took one of her hands and held it in my glove, cursing myself my pig-headed stubbornness. This was my work, my fault.

She coughed sharply and a piece of green sputum landed upon the lens of my mask. My heart jumped so high it crashed against the back of my teeth and got stuck in my throat. Queer to think phlegm could make a man so happy. I wiped my sleeve across my eyes that I might see better and took medicine from my bag, babbling to myself in hysteric relief.

I bought a new concoction on the street, a mixture of wormwood, mint and balm. I held little faith in it, but something was better than nothing, though it would be difficult to administer with these thick gloves on.

I hurried to the kitchen to fetch a spoon. A fire burnt fierce
in the grate. A chafing dish rested on the coal, vitriol or vinegar bubbling into the air. A broth bubbled gently in a pot.

I returned to Jane and fed her the medicine. To my great joy she swallowed. I put the glove back on and left the bottle on the table in full view. The happiness evaporated fast. She was alive, but barely. I poked about her neck and chest, searching for tokens or sign of swelling, praying I would not find them. Though clammy and pale, her skin was clear.

Where was the nurse? Or had Jane done all this herself?

I headed upstairs, progress arrested by a piercing wail sounding from my room, a noise like you’d hear in Bedlam, full of pain and fear. I approached the room with trepidation, cautious of the aunt leaping out, mad-eyed and dangerous.

Another fire blazed in the fireplace, twice the size of the one in the kitchen. Inside burnt like an oven. Jane’s aunt lay stiff upon my bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. She held her arms rigid at her side, body gleaming, soaked in sweat. Her nightdress was pushed up, gathered about her chest. It was not a place I would normally look, but I couldn’t help but inspect the things that grew on her groin, enormous black grapes pushing out of her skin.

A nurse perched next to the bed, slight and contained. She watched me, expectant, bowl upon her knee, holding a thin cloth to wipe the patient’s brow. The suffocating heat left her as drenched as the lady on the bed.

‘What have you been giving her?’ I asked, loudly so she might hear from beneath the mask.

‘The other medic said to keep her hot,’ she replied, wary. ‘He said he would return this evening to bleed her.’

And lance those buboes too, I wagered. I doubted it would save her. Beneath her arms and all about her chest the flesh was
swollen, puffed and tight. Too much poison ran beneath her skin. The old woman let forth another moan, face contorted in agonised grimace, before screaming again.

‘She asked if I might kill her,’ the nurse said quietly, eyes brimming with hot tears.

‘They often do,’ I replied. ‘It will end soon, one way or the other.’

She nodded.

‘What of the one below?’ I asked. ‘When did she get out of bed?’

‘She sat there when I arrived,’ the nurse said, timid. ‘The other medic said it was all right to leave her there so long as she wished it. I have lit the fire and tend to her regular.’

‘Aye, then.’ I left her alone, somewhat comfitted.

Downstairs Jane still sat like stone. I knelt, removed my gloves and took her hands in my hands, felt how cold they were. How so cold? I worried anxiously. Did it signify she neared death? As I crouched there holding those frail fingers, her eyes moved and settled upon mine. I thought I saw a question there, afore they closed and she emitted a deep sigh.

I could think of little else to do. The nurse seemed able and she spoke of a medic. My mind turned again to escape.

Who did Hearsey’s colleague leave to fetch? I banged upon the door to be released. The key turned in the lock.

‘That was quick,’ Hearsey remarked, stepping aside to let me out. Then someone seized my elbows and pulled them back and Hearsey punched me hard in the stomach. I was allowed to fall upon the ground where I focussed on breathing.

‘You will come with us,’ he exclaimed. ‘Medic!’

He gripped one arm, while another man took the other, the same that waited my arrival. They dragged me along the street,
laughing and kicking at my ankles to keep me unbalanced. Passers-by stood horrified, hands upon their mouths, that a medic could be treated thus. But Hearsey marched oblivious, while the second man walked with a small man’s pride, like a kitten with its first mouse.

Who did they work for? Though Hearsey punched me hard, neither possessed the vicious menace of Forman and Withypoll, nor Wharton’s Four Horsemen. They tugged me into Bow Lane and afore I knew it, with great surprise, the front room of Alderman Fuller.

Fuller eased his arthritic frame up from behind the desk. ‘The mysterious medic.’ He shambled towards me and reached out with bony fingers to lift off the mask. He shook his head, stern. ‘I thought it was you.’

He breathed silently through his nose, chest heaving, reminding me at last of the man who terrorised me years before. ‘I understand the anxiety for your servant’s welfare, but this is not the way to discharge it.’

The old goat would not talk to me as though I was a child again. ‘Had I done it any other way I would not have discovered the lazy villain you first appointed as nurse.’

‘So say you,’ Fuller retorted. ‘She says she slept exhausted from having worked all the night.’

‘Malicious deceit!’ I exclaimed. ‘The fire was cold, there was no food upon the table, and neither Jane nor her aunt had been treated.’ I jerked my arm free and pointed a finger at his rickety chest. ‘She sat there in my front room, snoring, while the two of them lay dying upstairs. Is that the kind of nurse you have been appointing?’ I turned to Hearsey and his friend. ‘You might as well appoint one of these great oafs!’

Fuller gathered his coat about his shoulders. ‘Did the nurse you met today satisfy your high standards?’

‘Aye,’ I nodded, ‘so she did, and my standards are no higher than yours ought to be.’

Fuller considered my hands and looked me in the eye. ‘Did you take off your mask or your gloves while ye were in there?’

‘No,’ I lied.

‘Good,’ he said at last. ‘Else I would have to lock you up in there with them.’ He shook his head again and returned to his desk. ‘If you seek further news of them, Harry, please come talk to me and I will oblige.’

I could think of little else to say. Was that it? With a final stare at Hearsey and his ugly friend, I departed, half expecting to be called back.

I hurried on to Newgate, mask back upon my face. I was getting angry.

‘Mr Willis and Mrs Willis are dining, sir,’ the servant told me at the door.

‘Dining alone?’

‘No, sir.’ She shook her head firmly. ‘They have guests.’

‘What guests?’ I demanded. Odd they would invite guests to dine so soon after Hedges’ death.

I heard a rippling laugh, loud like a badly hung bell. Marjory Henslowe.

‘I know the Henslowes,’ I assured the servant. ‘They will not mind if I join them.’

‘Sir!’ she protested, but I ignored her.

Oliver Willis stood as I entered the room. ‘Harry.’ He held his arms out, welcoming. I noticed anew how lined was his face, how less certain his demeanour.

Liz sat like Lady Castlemayne herself, dress shining like a silver-blue night sea, face white as the moon above it. She greeted me politely, but her eyes were hard, bankrupt of feeling.

‘Oliver,’ I replied, unsure what to say. ‘I felt compelled to visit.’

He saw me stare at Liz. ‘Please join us then.’

Edward stood forward, uncertain, fetched a chair and a laid a plate afront of me. Phillip Henslowe watched with warm curiosity. I liked Henslowe in an inn or a tavern. Not so in the company of his wife, when he just sat quiet and observed. Marjory greeted me quite perfunctorily, which was not unusual. She did not like me.

‘I hear you are appointed to investigate the murder of Thomas Wharton,’ Henslowe said, eyeing me with new respect.

‘In a manner,’ I agreed, watching Oliver.

Marjory Henslowe sat with head cocked to one side, eyes stony as Liz’s. ‘I heard this afternoon the merchant Henry Burke killed the Earl of St Albans and sits now at Ludgate awaiting trial.’

Willis whipped a napkin to his mouth and bent over in a bout of choked coughing. A piece of chicken shot across the room and landed on the floor. An embarrassed silence ensued. Marjory twitched and fidgeted, her mouth dried up into a thin, prim curl, contemplating me like I was an unwelcome nuisance.

‘Is it true, Harry?’ Henslowe regarded me quizzically. ‘Tell us the story.’

‘Aye,’ I replied, watching Willis dab at his eyes. ‘They say he killed Wharton because the Earl cheated him.’

Willis blew his nose and frowned.

‘Yet I doubt he was the killer,’ I continued. ‘I saw him on Tuesday when one man was killed, and again yesterday when another was killed. He could not have killed them all.’

‘Godamercy!’ Henslowe exclaimed. ‘How many men have been killed?’

‘Three,’ I answered. ‘All in brutal fashion, all with some reference to wine.’

‘Then Burke is the killer,’ Marjory Henslowe shrilled. ‘For he is a wine merchant. If he were not the killer he would not be at Ludgate waiting trial.’ She drew her head back upon her chins and wrinkled her nose at me. ‘Perhaps you are not so important as you think.’

Oliver Willis’ shoulders slumped like he wished he could go upstairs to bed.

‘I don’t know why they would appoint you,’ Marjory Henslowe continued, eyeing her husband as though the appointment was a slight on him. ‘I understand you were here
that
night too, Mr Lytle, that it was your idea to leave Dr Hedges outside the door?’ She eyed her plate with renewed appetite now she found words that satisfied.

‘Hardly a reasonable account,’ Henslowe admonished his wife nervously.

‘Indeed,’ Liz snapped. Anger brought new life into her dull eyes. ‘I would call it a malicious account.’ She stared at Marjory Henslowe so hard, the older woman was compelled to turn away.

‘If you would prefer I leave, Elizabeth, then I will leave,’ Marjory Henslowe replied in self-righteous whine. ‘I merely repeated what you said to us. I didn’t know it was a secret.’ She caught her husband’s baleful eye. ‘I was just remarking.’

‘True enough, Mrs Henslowe, it was my idea,’ I ceded.
‘Surely his body was best buried quickly, and by his family. Yet we could not have taken the body to his house, for we might have infected the entire household.’ I looked around to see how my words landed. All gazed at the table except Marjory. ‘Were it not that James died as a consequence, then I would still say now it was the right thing to do.’

Marjory drew her arms to her side in straight-backed indignation. ‘The
right
thing to do, you say?’ She pursed her lips tight like a little dog’s arse. ‘Have you not read the Plague Orders?’

‘Aye,’ I replied. ‘The day they were issued. But this is not the abode of Nathaniel Hedges, so it cannot be said the infection stemmed from this house. Surely the sensible course was to remove him from the house as quickly as we could? Every moment the body stayed inside this house was to put at risk the life of each and every person who lives here.’

‘The Plague Orders make no such provision,’ Marjory said.

‘Some decisions a man must make for himself,’ I answered. ‘Those who have the wit.’

Marjory’s cheeks reddened. ‘So you oppose the practice of locking up the sick?’

‘They have been locking up houses in St Giles these last few weeks yet the sickness is not dissuaded.’

‘You would have the sick walk freely?’

‘The sick
do
walk freely, is what they say,’ I said with studied composure. ‘Some men paint their own doors with a cross, so the constables pay no attention and no watcher is appointed. Then they walk in and out without restraint.’

‘Yes, Mr Lytle.’ Marjory straightened her back. ‘And others remove the sick themselves before the examiners arrive.’

It seemed a futile discourse to me. If Marjory Henslowe
really felt so passionate then she would not have come here to eat. I looked sideways at Liz, who glared at Marjory Henslowe with an intensity that would have sliced a softer woman’s throat.

Henslowe broke the silence, staring across at his wife with appalled anguish in his eyes. ‘Marjory?’

‘I’m sorry.’ She put her hands to her nose and mouth. She was frightened, and we all saw it.

Oliver Willis attempted to play the role of wise conciliator. ‘These are terrible days.’

I sipped a glass of wine and decided to change the subject to something more entertaining. ‘A time of great uncertainty,’ I agreed. ‘Which some men choose to exploit. Let me tell you of Owen Price.’ And so I related my conversation with the uncomfortable astrologist, determining to enjoy myself until able to confront Willis alone.

Marjory Henslowe straightened herself once more, and with hands upon her lap, met my eye severely. Too late I saw she blamed me for her earlier embarrassment and would see me suffer for it.

‘Mr Lytle,’ she began. My heart sank. ‘Astrology is a heathen philosophy, William Lilly is a heathen, and the astrologers should be severely punished for taking advantage of the fears of the weak. So.’ She paused for effect. ‘Why did you invite one of these creatures into your house?’ She said it with such sweet lips and steady eyes, I was pinned like a butterfly.

If Marjory Henslowe was a friend then I would have happily described the unusual circumstances of my household, but I didn’t feel disposed to subject Jane to the contempt of this preening shrew.

‘William Lilly is Orthodox Anglican,’ I answered at last. ‘The Lord is not constrained by astral determinism.’ Words so wise I hardly understood them myself.

‘That Lilly claims to be Orthodox Anglican does not make him so.’ She waggled a long finger in my direction. ‘Astrology is a magic, employing ritual and graven symbols. So it is ungodly and idolatrical.’

‘If God gave us an art, then the use of that art must be lawful,’ I argued, irritated by the finger in my face.

She lifted her chin and sought support from her husband. ‘
I
did not say it was an art.’

‘My dear, astrology is a science, it is an ancient science.’ He realised too late he spoke to her as though to a child.

Marjory Henslowe did not blink, yet the pink upon her ears said Phillip’s patronising tone shocked her. My heart sneezed. Little though I liked her, I would have to rescue her if normal conversation were to resume. Yet I could hardly start agreeing with her now, for that would be even more humiliating. Neither could I change the subject for it would be to same effect. She would have to fight her own corner. Unless they both left. Which would be humiliating for Oliver. He watched me from above the rim of his glass. I wished I had stayed away.

‘It is true many believe the scientific foundations of astrology to be valid and many use it to diagnose illness,’ Willis ventured carefully, eyeing Phillip Henslowe. ‘Yet others see it as a dying art, upheld only by the old and credible. Perhaps we are old, Henslowe, not attuned yet to the new philosophy.’

That wouldn’t work! I could feel Marjory Henslowe sink deeper into her chair without even having to look. ‘Methinks it is a matter of belief, not age,’ I declared impulsively.

Henslowe turned his clear eye upon me. ‘And what do you
believe in?’ A mischievous question, for he well suspected the nature of mine own atheist beliefs.

‘I believe it is strange there is but one God, yet his intent is interpreted so diversely.’

‘Heathen words,’ Marjory declared, much to my relief, for I feared she had withdrawn for the evening. ‘If sinners entice thee, consent thou not!’ she exclaimed. She spoke with such passion I wondered what Henslowe had been telling her.

I was suitably chastised, a state of affairs that suited everyone, including me. The next hour passed cheerfully enough, though Willis appeared tense. I sensed my presence discomfited him, yet I determined not to leave before speaking to him alone.

As the sun descended behind the chimneys, Willis stood abruptly.

‘Phillip,’ he announced, smiling unconvincingly. ‘Would you drink a while with me? For I would discuss something of import.’

Henslowe opened his mouth and looked to his wife, reluctant perhaps to align himself once more agin her.

‘What about Harry?’ Liz admonished him, embarrassed by his rudeness.

‘Next time, Oliver.’ Henslowe held up a hand before standing himself. ‘I think we should leave afore it gets dark. Thank you for your hospitality.’

I stayed seated. Willis raised his brows, enquiring. I smiled for the benefit of the Henslowes. ‘I will drink with you, Oliver.’

He blinked. ‘I’ll say goodbye to Phillip and Marjory first.’

Henslowe shook my hand firmly, eyes berating me fondly. I pledged to visit him soon. Then I thanked Marjory Henslowe, who by now was warmly disposed towards me, convinced
both that she bested me intellectually and that I humbly acknowledged it.

Oliver escorted them out.

‘What would you speak to my father about?’ Liz whispered.

I scratched my scalp and avoided her eye. ‘I cannot tell you.’

She crouched down and placed a delicate hand upon my knee. I stared into her bright green eyes and tried not to peek down at her chest. ‘What would you speak to my father about?’ she repeated. Her creamy lips curdled in a sour pout. She clenched her jaw and dug her nails into my thigh. I sensed her father kept a great secret, which she believed I might be privy to.

‘Ask him after we have spoken,’ I answered softly. ‘It is his story to tell, not mine.’

‘He will not be moved,’ she said. ‘I would have left weeks ago, but he will not be moved. If you know the reason why, Harry …’ She shivered.

I placed my hand on hers and attempted to loosen her fingers. ‘Let me talk to him, Liz.’

Oliver Willis entered the room and paused, waiting while Liz stood straight. He frowned, perplexed, while she withdrew, lines etched upon her forehead, eyes wet.

‘What would you drink, Harry?’ he asked, once she closed the door behind her.

‘I spoke to Henry Burke today,’ I said, watching his expression closely.

Willis folded his arms. ‘You saw him?’

‘Aye, at Ludgate.’ I watched his twitching lips. ‘He doesn’t believe he is blamed for Wharton’s death, but I think Marjory Henslowe is right, I think Burke was arrested for his murder.’

Willis nodded slowly. ‘Would you have another cup of wine?’

‘No more wine,’ I replied. ‘Burke spent a lot of money on wine, at the behest of Thomas Wharton. Wharton kept the wine but didn’t pay for it.’

‘I heard,’ Willis whispered.

‘It was a significant transaction, Oliver. Burke needed others to invest, else he could not have afforded it.’

Willis clutched his arms tighter about his chest. ‘So they say.’

‘I heard you were the only one whom Burke could persuade.’

Willis raised his chin. ‘Burke told you?’

‘It matters not who told me,’ I replied. ‘You invested money at Burke’s behest, telling him these were funds you could easily afford, when in fact you could not. When Wharton reneged you must have been devastated. This is why you will not leave London. You prayed Burke might get his money back.’

Willis stared, unflinchingly.

‘Is that the truth of it?’ I asked.

Willis placed his hands on his hips and breathed slowly. ‘Listen to me, Lytle,’ he said. ‘I have treated you as a friend, allowed you to court my daughter. Now you descend upon me uninvited, you are rude to my guests, then pry into my affairs?’ His pale face turned puce. ‘It is too much to bear.’

‘Wharton is hanged in the Vintners’ Hall. One of his colleagues is discovered in a barrel, and another is weighted to the river bottom by another barrel.’ I pointed at his chest. ‘I am charged with discovering who killed them. Of course I ask you questions. Be grateful I come alone and not with a King’s guard.’

‘Grateful?’ he said. ‘Twice now you have dined here, once
uninvited, and both times the evening has ended in disaster.’

Behind the fury I noted desperation and despondency. He was usually a steady fellow, stoic and unflappable. ‘You hoped to borrow funds,’ I realised. ‘That’s why you took such a risk in inviting a medic to your house. You had reason to believe he might help you. Henslowe too. You hoped it would be he who stayed behind afterwards to drink wine.’