A Plague of Sinners (7 page)

The butcher watched him depart with great curiosity. ‘I think that man took a bath this morning and got dressed before drying himself.’

‘I told you,’ I reminded him. ‘He is an astrologer.’

‘Astrology is foolery and those that practise it are cunning, irreligious and self-deluding.’ Dowling snorted. ‘Now will you sit here all day?’

Jane placed herself afore me. ‘What did Owen Price say to you before I came into the room?’

‘It was difficult to fathom,’ I replied. ‘Something about Mercury being in opposition to Saturn, I think. Though it might have been Jupiter. Evidently I did not understand him well. Now I must fetch my jacket.’

She folded her arms and tossed her fiery red hair back off her forehead. ‘What did he say to you?’

‘He spoke with great prescience,’ I assured her. ‘He said that every man should beware the plague, wherever he be and wherever he goes.’

‘Good advice,’ Dowling muttered.

‘What?’ Jane exclaimed, furious. ‘He told you that? And what did you say to him?’

‘I said little,’ I answered. ‘For I was not paying him, and I did not wish to be rude.’

Jane narrowed her green eyes and peered like she would see inside my head. ‘What did he say?’

‘Little that made sense.’ I tried to squeeze past her delicate frame.

She let me leave, mouth hanging open, still trying to work out how Price had failed her so completely. I would not be wearing Owen Price’s shoes. Jane knew where he lived.

Dowling followed me out, sombre. ‘She will not rest until you take her north.’

‘Aye,’ I whispered. ‘But I am not sure I want to go just yet.’

‘Then you have my deepest sympathy and I pray to God He guides you wisely.’ Dowling waved a mighty paw. ‘Now let’s get to Burke’s house. I have the address.’

Henry Burke lived upon Leadenhall Street, not a sniff from Aldgate. I tried knocking on the door while Dowling hid inside the graveyard of St Katherine Cree, watching. Yet the servant wouldn’t admit me entry, nor give me any clue as to Burke’s whereabouts. I returned to the graveyard frustrated.

‘Keep walking,’ Dowling hissed as I approached. ‘I’ll swear he watches you from the house.’

I continued round the perimeter of the church and back to where Dowling crouched, walking stooped so none might see me over the wall.

‘You saw him?’ I whispered.

‘Aye,’ Dowling growled from beneath the shadow of a yew tree, peering across the street. ‘I saw someone with nose pressed to the window, someone with a periwig and a bright white collar. Not a servant.’

‘So he sits in his house and refuses guests.’ I leant with my back to the wall and plucked a sprig of wormwood. ‘We wait for him to leave, follow him, and confront him in some public place where he cannot escape us.’

‘He will not linger long,’ Dowling predicted. ‘He dashes about like a wormy dog.’

He lingered nearly two hours, as afternoon became evening. It wasn’t until six that the front door opened and Burke’s fleshy head appeared. He looked both ways up the street afore emerging into the humidity, pulling the door closed behind, and hurrying off up the street, short legs pumping hard. He wore a jacket and overcoat over a stiff, black waistcoat, a ridiculous outfit for such a warm night. Wet hair stuck like plaster to his sweaty pate. At least he left the periwig behind.

We followed his bouncing buttocks west along Leadenhall before they turned right up King Street towards the south gate of the Guildhall, the very same place I toiled for Thomas Player. It was easy to follow from a distance, for every second house was closed and the streets were almost empty.

Burke marched beneath the south porch, across the marbled hall, and out into the courtyard. He stopped for a moment before heading towards the chapel of St Mary Magdalen, where these days they held the Court of Requests. Here apprentices sought their release, else otherwise made complaint against their masters. We gave him a few moments afore following him through the entrance and into the old church.

The main proceedings all happened at one end of the hall. A weary-looking official stood upon a wooden lectern fielding the complaints of several men at once. Burke stood deep in conversation with another important-looking fellow, speaking
quick, arms and hands working hard. The official let him talk, nodding unhappily, then beckoned him towards a desk where he took a quill and wrote on a piece of paper. Burke waved the paper in the air, folded it carefully and slipped it into his coat. He drew a breath, scanned the room, then froze, staring in our direction. I looked away, bewildered that he seemed to recognise us, barely noticing the swish of a velvet jacket against my thigh. When I glanced again, Burke stood stiff between two tall fellows, one fair, one dark.

The fair man swaggered, tall and strong, beaver-fur hat cocked at an angle. A powder-blue mouchoir billowed from his breast pocket, draped against the deeper blue of his smooth velvet jacket, same jacket that rubbed against me. He picked at his nose like he cared not who saw him. The older man wore a beautiful red silk suit and strutted, arrogant. His hair was black as coal, eyelashes long as a woman’s. A small brown mole nestled beneath his left nostril.

The fair man wrapped an arm about Burke’s shoulders and spoke into his ear, toying with the lapels of his coat. Burke slumped, shrank back into his jacket and dropped his gaze to the floor. Then suddenly, too fast for me to anticipate, the man with the hat caught my eye. I looked away quick, pretending a fascination with the proceedings afore us. A twitchy young man, with surly expression upon his spotty face, stood lonely at the bench.

Dowling tugged at my forearm. All three were gone. By the time we reached the courtyard they were out the gate, cutting the corner in front of St Lawrence Jewry. We gave them thirty yards’ lead before trailing them down the hill at a distance until they stepped into The Mermaid.

Dowling stopped behind The Standard and I poked him in
the ribs. ‘Ye cannot stop here, Davy, what if they pass through onto Friday Street?’

‘There is more than one door?’ He looked surprised. ‘You go then. I’ll run round to Friday Street and watch they don’t leave. If they do, I will fetch you.’ It was a scheme that appealed, for Dowling would stand out in The Mermaid like a duchess in a brothel. He detested taverns, and disdained those that frequented such establishments, myself included.

I bumped into the hostess afore I finished opening the door. Though it was evening, most of the tables were empty and quiet; no sweet smell of tobacco, no singing, no laughter, nor any sign of Burke and friends. The hostess clutched her apron to her lap and led me through a thin cloud of acrid smoke towards the fireplace.

I spoke low into her ear. ‘Do you know Henry Burke? He came in with two other men.’

Her hand alighted on my arm like a little bird. ‘He is in conference, sir, and with men who will not countenance disturbance. You might wait.’

I allowed her to seat me at a small table of my own, next to the slow fire burning in the grate, a heady brew of tar pitch and frankincense. My eyes watered, but I stayed for the protection it offered from the plague.

She fetched a mug of ale, before drifting off, distracted.

No more than a dozen of us sat there in the wide open space and I was the only one to drink alone. I felt like the word ‘spy’ was writ upon my forehead. Time passed slowly. Nerves stretched tight inside my chest, taut and fine-tuned. I stared towards the corridor to my left, the passage that led to the private rooms. The hostess passed in and out two times, both times with a tray of three ales, each time smiling all airy and innocent.

I drank as slow as I could, yet my pot was long empty
afore they finally appeared. Burke slouched, trudging slowly, anguish painted in thick red strokes upon his ruddy cheeks. I slumped into my chair, shy of being seen. I thought I watched discreetly until the one with the beaver hat stopped and stared straight at me. My heart tripped a beat. Not a muscle of his hard face moved. I pretended he wasn’t there, but my skin burnt hotter than the embers in the grate.

He kicked at the leg of my table. ‘Who are you?’

I tried feigning injured innocence. ‘No one.’

He smiled, a humourless expression of contempt. He rested his hands upon the table and lowered his young, hard face into mine. ‘You are a spy. Who do you work for?’

I signalled to the hostess and avoided his eye. ‘I work at the Guildhall for Sir Thomas Player, and I live close by.’

‘What is your name?’ He spoke each word with great deliberation.

‘What is
your
name?’ I replied, indignant.

He breathed long and hard out of his nose then looked around as if he weighed up whether to punch me. I wondered where Dowling was. Was he not curious why we stayed so long? Instead the hostess came to my rescue, pecking at our sleeves and twittering in our ears.

The fair-headed brute stood straight and stared down his nose like he would pick me up by the scruff of the neck and throw me out the door. The dark-haired man placed a hand upon his shoulder and whispered into his ear, glancing at me long enough to ensure he remembered my face, then the two of them headed to the door. Before he disappeared, the fair-haired man tapped his temple and pointed his finger at me, straight to the pit of my bowels. I breathed steadily in an attempt to calm my beating heart.

Burke sat alone, slumped forward onto his elbows, raking at the back of head with his fingers. I asked the hostess for another ale and watched him dig his nails into his scalp while I waited. He nursed his beer like it was his last.

Time to screw my courage to the sticking place. I sank another half a pot afore dragging myself to his table and falling into a chair at his side. ‘Who is that coarse lout, talking to me like I be some common criminal?’ I slammed my palm upon the table. ‘Have I offended him?’

Though Burke’s flesh was soft his eyes were callous. ‘How should I know if you have offended him? I don’t know who you are.’

‘I am Harry Baker,’ I lied. ‘Who is he then? I saw you with him.’

Burke shook his head. The corners of his mouth sloped downwards and the lines about his eyes wrinkled in abject loneliness. He supped at his ale, saying nothing.

I pressed on. ‘I worked as a clerk at the Tower, before the plague. Now the Tower is commandeered and I cannot work there until the sickness is lifted, and how long might that be? Every week the bills show more dead and the pest grows stronger.’ All true, though I toiled at the Tower a long time afore the plague started and harboured no intention of ever seeking employment there again, sickness or not.

Burke grunted.

I dangled some bait. ‘My maidservant would have me leave because she is afraid to stay, yet I cannot persuade her that to leave would be doubly dangerous.’

Burke scowled at me. ‘Your maidservant.’

I waved a hand. ‘She is insistent.’

‘Hah!’ Burke exclaimed. ‘You have problems with your maidservant.’

‘Every man has his problems.’ I did my best to act offended. ‘What great problems do you have?’

Burke snorted and sat sullen.

‘I have enough money to live a few years, if I live so long,’ I taunted him again. ‘And I am not sure I want to be a clerk again, for I find little fulfilment in it.’

Burke’s lip curled in filthy disdain. ‘You lack fulfilment?’

I did my best to appear as miserable and self-distracted as he. ‘Aye, I am not fulfilled.’

‘Sir, I don’t know who you are, but look about you.’ His small, red mouth pouted angrily amidst the abundance of his face. ‘Death is in all parts, and you complain you are not fulfilled?’

I waggled a finger as Dowling often did at me. ‘Verily I say unto you, this generation shall not pass away, till all be fulfilled.’

‘What nonsense!’ Burke sneered. ‘You have sufficient funds to last a few years? I once had prospect of becoming the wealthiest merchant in London, until cheated by nobility.’

‘Nobility?’ I laced my words with doubt.

‘Aye, nobility.’ Burke gripped his pot so tight the veins on the back of his hand stood out like roots from a tree. ‘Now I have more debt than cash and will likely lose my business, my house and all else that I own.’

I patted his sleeve. ‘Well, let me buy you another ale and a pipe.’

‘Aye, well, thanks,’ he ceded reluctantly.

We both shuffled upon our chairs and worked out where best to put our elbows. He blinked slowly while staring at the
table. The wench appeared quickly with fresh mugs and full pipes.

‘You say nobility cheated you.’ I sucked at the pipe and blew smoke out upon my own arms. ‘That would make the nobility most ignoble.’

Burke glared at me. ‘You worked at the Tower, you say?’

‘Aye,’ I nodded keenly, ‘and in my role enjoyed insights into the machinations of the court. The dignity and wisdom of our noble lords never ceased to impress.’

Burke’s head bobbed up and down, incredulous. ‘How so?’

How so indeed? All I learnt was that our noble lords maintained their status and fortune by means of ruthless self-interest. So I shrugged and tried to look smug.

‘Are you really such a fool?’ Burke asked.

I smiled. ‘You say I am a fool, yet you are the one cheated by nobility.’

‘You say
I
am a fool?’

I puffed again at the pipe. ‘It was you said it, not I.’

‘You listen to me.’ He jabbed a short stubby finger at my chest. ‘One lord cheated me, guaranteed by another!’ His face turned bright red.

‘So you say.’

He growled and shook his wobbly head. ‘He said he planned a great party for the King and invited me to supply the wine. Every vintner in the City coveted the contract.’

‘Guaranteed by a lord,’ I prompted.

‘Aye!’ Burke crashed his fist upon the table.

‘What lord?’

He wiped a sleeve across his mouth. ‘It is no business of yours.’

‘Then you should reclaim your money,’ I said.

‘I have tried every avenue to reclaim it,’ he snarled.

‘Those men you were with,’ I realised. ‘They represent this lord.’

‘Enough!’ Burke slammed the palm of his hand upon the table.

‘No business of mine,’ I remembered. ‘Why did you not simply take back the wine once this nobleman didn’t pay for it?’

Burke rumbled, a deep guttural noise speaking of wretched pain. ‘He is a devil and guards himself with four black dogs. Black beasts no man dare cross, for they will rip you with their teeth and tear you with their claws.’

‘Dogs or men? I am confused.’

‘Violent men with no fortune to lose, kennelled at Winchester’s Palace on the south side of the river.’

‘Men are men, and dogs are dogs,’ I said. ‘Who feeds them anyway?’ I laughed heartily and cuffed him about the shoulder.

Burke grabbed my wrist and held it tight. ‘Don’t mock me!’

‘I do not mock you,’ I protested, pulling back my hand. ‘Yet you must concede it is an unlikely tale.’

He sighed, anger exhausted. ‘You are a clerk and live a closeted life. I should not rile at your ignorance.’

I pretended to take offence. ‘You call me ignorant? So I tell you I doubt your tale, for it reads like fiction. Four men you call black dogs. Four men are four men, and you let four men stand between you and your prospects.’ I clicked my tongue.

Burke beheld me keenly. The dark clouds of ale and anger lifted, revealing sharp clear eyes. ‘Who are you?’

‘Harry Baker is my name, formerly a clerk at the Records Office, now poor and unfulfilled.’ I lifted my pot.

‘You came here to find me.’

‘I came here to escape my maidservant.’

‘No,’ he snapped. ‘You ask too many questions about Wharton and his colleagues. No idle curiosity, methinks.’