English Tea Murder (5 page)

“Only very important prisoners were executed here,” Dr. Cope was saying. “Or more controversial ones. It was more private since the public wasn’t allowed in.”

Lucy was reading the names embedded in a circle around the plaque: “Margaret Pole—Lady Salisbury; Catherine Howard; Anne Boleyn; Lady Jane Grey—”

“That poor girl was only seventeen . . . ,” said Rachel, who devoured historical novels.

“Whatever did she do?” asked Jennifer.

“Nothing really,” said Rachel. “She was the victim of an ambitious family. They managed to get her on the throne, but in the end they lost a battle and somebody else got the job—Mary Tudor, fondly known as Bloody Mary.”

“They didn’t have to kill her!” exclaimed Jennifer, looking pale.

Autumn had spotted one of the ravens, perched on a nearby fencepost, and waved her sweater at it, causing it to flap its wings and rise a few feet into the air, only to brush Jennifer’s shoulder with its wing. Startled and frightened, Jennifer shrieked as the bird made a clumsy landing on the memorial plaque, where it stood like a grim reminder of the gruesome beheadings that had taken place there.

“Get it away!” she begged as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Make it go away.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to interfere with the ravens,” said Lucy, reproving Autumn. “Let’s check out the Medieval Palace and see what life was like back then.”

“Yeah,” said Autumn cynically. “If you managed to keep your head.”

Chapter Five

“N
ow this is better,” declared Sue as they wandered through the sparsely furnished but brightly decorated rooms of the Medieval Palace. A scratchy recording of lute music provided atmosphere.

Sue’s interest was caught by a display case containing jewels and perfume bottles. “These things are pretty, but we can’t really know what life was like back then, can we?”

“Not very pleasant, even at the best of times,” speculated Rachel as they passed through the room where Sir Walter Raleigh wrote
History of the World
during his long imprisonment. “Imagine what this place was like in winter, with only a small fireplace to heat it.”

Indeed, even though it was sunny and warm outside, it was chilly inside, where the stone walls held the cold and where sun couldn’t penetrate the small windows. And these accommodations were deemed comfortable, a great improvement over those provided for less illustrious prisoners.

“I once read somewhere that life was so painful in the Middle Ages that tortures had to be really drastic to make an impression. Remember, this was before antibiotics and modern dentistry. There were no painkillers or anesthetics like we have now,” said Dr. Cope. “Childbirth and infancy were perilous for women and children, and the men were fighting and riding horses and generally living dangerously. There was plague, I don’t imagine the food was terribly wholesome, and the water wasn’t fit to drink. People didn’t bathe much. Their lives were short and painful. It’s no wonder they put so much faith in religion and hoped for a better afterlife.”

“It still seems terrible, the way those kings treated people. Poor Sir Walter was kept here for ten years.” Jennifer had paused to read the explanatory placards.

“He committed treason,” said Autumn. “It seems like everybody was committing treason.”

Pam nodded. “They didn’t have government like we do now, with an orderly transfer of power. Whoever was strongest and had the best army got to be king. There were plenty of people with a drop or two of royal blood, and they didn’t have any trouble finding ambitious backers to support their claims.”

“And if you backed the wrong guy, you lost your head,” said Autumn as they paused inside a chilly tower with whitewashed walls whose signs pointed out inscriptions carved by prisoners.

They all fell silent as their eyes wandered over the carvings. It was too easy to imagine the prisoners’ despair as they waited day after day to learn their fates, and their desire to leave some little scrawl proclaiming that they once lived and suffered for their beliefs.

It was a relief to emerge into the warm sunshine of the Wall Walk, which ran along the top section of the fortifications.

“Have we had enough of the Tower?” asked Rachel. “I believe there’s a café down by the river.”

Lucy was thoughtful as they made their way through the complex toward the river exit. Pam and Rachel were leading the way. Dr. Cope had fallen into step with Sue, and they were having a lively discussion. Autumn and Jennifer followed. Autumn was striding along in her thick-soled shoes, but Jennifer kept glancing at her companion anxiously, almost as if expecting a blow.

Maybe she was reading too much into Jennifer’s body language, thought Lucy. Maybe she had bad posture from scoliosis or something, or maybe she was simply nervous and high-strung or had a blood-sugar problem. There could be lots of explanations for her extreme thinness, she told herself. Nevertheless, the way Autumn was dressed all in black with her spiky hair reminded Lucy of the Tower’s nasty ravens, while Jennifer was like one of the little brown sparrows that flitted about nervously after crumbs, always keeping an eye out for the predatory ravens.

When Lucy joined her three friends at one of the riverside café’s green-painted picnic tables, she realized she’d been on her feet for more than four hours. It felt good to sit with the sun warming her back and the River Thames sparkling in front of her. The view was splendid, featuring Tower Bridge with two tall stanchionss that mimicked the nearby Tower of London. “It’s hard to believe I’m really here,” she said, feeling a sudden sense of dislocation. “I’m really in London.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” agreed Sue, taking a tiny bite of her panini. “I remember the first time I went to Paris. Sid and I were taking a taxi from the airport, and we drove right past the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre and Notre Dame, and I could hardly believe my eyes. I’d seen those things in books and movies, but it’s quite different to see them in real life.”

“I feel really lucky to be here,” said Lucy, finding her thoughts turning to George Temple. “To be alive to see this, I mean.”

“I wonder if George Temple had been to London before,” said Rachel, echoing her thoughts.

“Oh, yes, I’m sure he had,” said Pam. “He was quite a traveler. He led a trip like this every spring break, to different places, but quite often to London.”

“That makes me feel a bit better, knowing he had a rich life,” said Lucy.

Dr. Cope, who was seated at the next table, let out a harsh, barking laugh, and Lucy’s eyes met Pam’s. It seemed an odd reaction if he’d overheard them, but they had no reason to think he had. Maybe he was laughing at something his granddaughter said.

Lucy was so tired when they finally reached St. Paul’s Cathedral that she headed straight for one of the chairs that filled the nave. Sue had assured them it wasn’t worth taking the Tube, since St. Paul’s was only one stop away from Tower Hill, but she had been deceived by the distortions of the Underground map. It was a different story aboveground, where they had to make their way through what seemed like miles of confusing streets, albeit with charming names like Fish Street Hill and Ironmonger Lane. This was the oldest part of London and still reflected the haphazard layout of the medieval town.

“We got quite a tour of the city,” said Dr. Cope, lowering himself stiffly onto the seat next to her. He was breathing heavily as he cast his eyes around him, taking in the huge cathedral with its immense dome. His hands, holding the plan of the building, were resting on his thighs. “My goodness,” he finally said.

“It’s very grand,” agreed Lucy, taking in the immense white and gold cathedral. “The dome is magnetic—you have to keep staring at it.”

“I imagine that’s the idea: to draw your eyes and your mind heavenward.” He opened the brochure and began reading. “Well it’s quite a climb to the top of the dome. I don’t think I can do that.”

“Me neither,” said Lucy. “Not yet anyway. Shall we explore a bit around here?”

“Sure,” said the doctor, rising with a grunt. “There are supposed to be carvings by Grinling Gibbons in the choir.”

Looking around as they crossed the transept beneath the dome, Lucy saw the other members of the group dotted here and there in the cathedral. Autumn and Jennifer were also in the transept, staring up at the paintings in the dome. Rachel and Pam were admiring the elaborate carvings on the pulpit, and Sue was marching purposefully toward an aisle; Lucy suspected she was looking for a ladies’ room.

Lucy found the choir a cozy contrast to the immense emptiness of the cathedral. Here in the enclosure behind the organ, there were wooden pews and carvings of fruit, flowers, and cherubs. Unlike the cathedral proper, which inspired awe, the choir encouraged reflection. Here your thoughts turned inward and you could assess the state of your soul.

“Are you a man of faith?” asked Lucy, turning to Dr. Cope.

“Not really. Medicine is a science, after all.” He paused. “I guess I believe in the scientific method of hypothesis, tests, and conclusions based on evidence. I haven’t seen any evidence of God. Quite the contrary, in fact.”

Lucy was studying the adorable face of a Grinling Gibbons cherub puffing away on a trumpet. Though carved of wood, it seemed plump and soft enough to stroke. “Some scientists believe in God.”

“Yes. They see the natural order of the universe as evidence of a master plan and conclude there must be a master inventor somewhere.”

“Where is the question, I suppose,” said Lucy with a smile.

“Exactly,” agreed Dr. Cope. “It seems that you are also a doubter.”

“I am. I don’t believe in a higher power who judges what we do on earth. I think we must each make of our lives what we can. We must do the very best we can.”

“In that case, we must each answer to our own personal conscience,” said Dr. Cope. “That’s quite radical, isn’t it?”

“I guess it depends on each conscience,” said Lucy. “Mine is actually rather conservative. I believe in the Golden Rule: Treat others as you wish to be treated.”

“I used to think I had a clear understanding of right and wrong, but now I’m not so sure.” Dr. Cope was staring at a faceted golden cross, whose trident-shaped rays caught the light and made it look like a radiant sun. His brow was furrowed and his expression troubled.

Lucy suspected he felt guilty about his failure to save George Temple. “You did everything you could to save him,” she said.

He turned and looked at her, his blue eyes bright in his wrinkled, weathered face. “Did I? Do you really think so?”

“I do,” said Lucy. “I blame myself. I should have realized he was in trouble much sooner and called for help.”

The doctor raised his white, bushy eyebrows. “You do have a conservative conscience, but you shouldn’t blame yourself. If I’ve learned anything at all in thirty-odd years of practice, it’s that you can’t save everybody. Death comes to us all, eventually. And you never know, perhaps his death was actually a blessing. Perhaps he would have developed Alzheimer’s or cancer.” They were walking back toward the transept and paused once again under the dome. “So now we have a choice: Shall we ascend to heaven or descend to the crypt?”

Across the way, Lucy saw a booth where tickets to the dome were sold. “I think I shall pay my money and attempt the ascension,” she said.

“I, on the other hand, shall accept my fate as an unrepentant sinner and descend to the realm of the wicked and the doomed,” said Dr. Cope.

According to the sign, there were 259 steps to the Whispering Gallery; 378 to the Stone Gallery on the outside of the dome; and 192 more steps to the Golden Gallery at the very top, which also offered 360-degree views of London.

“How high do you want to go?” asked Sue, joining her at the ticket window.

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” declared Lucy, wondering how that particular phrase had popped into her head. “Might as well go all the way.”

“Or die trying,” said Sue, counting out the confusing coins that looked so much like American money but had entirely different values.

“People have been climbing these steps for hundreds of years,” gasped Sue when they emerged at the Whispering Gallery. The stone steps were shallow, but they’d still had to pause several times on the way up to rest their legs and catch their breath. Even so, Lucy’s thighs were burning and her left knee felt as if one of the Tower’s torturers had inserted a red-hot skewer or two into it.

“This is it for me,” declared Lucy, feeling a bit dizzy as she looked down at the cathedral’s black-and-white checked floor so very far below.

“Well, I’m going on up,” said Sue. “I want to get my money’s worth.”

“I’ll wait for you here,” said Lucy, eager to study the paintings and mosaics that decorated the dome. The paintings, on the upper portion of the dome, were sepia monochromes, rather like old photographs. She wasn’t exactly sure who or what they portrayed: Moses? Isaiah? St. Paul? Whoever they were about, there was plenty of movement from flowing draperies and pennants, and there was a stirring scene of a shipwreck.

Also above her head, but below the paintings, were a number of white marble statues. From below they had seemed little more than chess pieces, but from up here they were huge. She dreaded to think what would happen if one of them toppled from its lofty perch to land on the cathedral floor below, and hoped they were fastened firmly in place.

From her vantage point in the gallery, she could look across to the opposite side and see the colorful mosaics tucked beneath the gallery. These were labeled, and she made out Ezekiel, apparently laying down the law on a stone tablet, and Jeremiah, consulting with an angel, as she proceeded around the gallery. She was just opposite St. Mark, seated on a lion and accompanied by two beautiful angels, when she heard a female voice, clear as a bell, from the other side of the dome. It was true, she realized—the Whispering Gallery was aptly named. You could hear people talking on the other side.

Curious about this phenomenon, she stood in place, listening intently.

“I saw what you did,” said a voice that sounded a lot like Jennifer’s. The wall blocked her view, so she couldn’t quite make out the people on the other side, but she could see two little heads resembling Jennifer and Autumn.

The reply was hissed, little more than a whisper. “Like you’re Little Miss Innocent! Give me a break!”

This time Lucy was sure the speaker was none other than Autumn, once again taunting Jennifer. The more she thought about it, the less she liked it and she wondered if she ought to have a word with Autumn. Not in a scolding way; maybe in a joking way. “Little birds in their nests agree,” or something like that, a silly phrase that had suddenly popped into her head. From a movie perhaps, she wondered as she walked along the gallery.
Mary Poppins
maybe? But when she reached the other side, the girls were gone and Sue was waiting for her.

“You should have gone up, Lucy! The view was amazing and the guard said it’s the clearest it’s been in months.”

“That’s okay,” said Lucy, whose knee was still bothering her. “Besides, this Whispering Gallery is pretty amazing. You really can hear people whispering on the other side.”

Sue grinned wickedly. “What did you hear? Something naughty?”

“Maybe,” said Lucy as they started down the stairs.

Lucy found herself seated next to Autumn and Jennifer as they took the Underground back to the hotel, but she hesitated to take a nannyish tone with them. Instead she made small talk, asking if they were roommates at college.