The Gallows Murders (18 page)

What have we established?' Benjamin asked impatiently.

Well, we know there are two people, partners in villainy,' I replied. 'One is here in the Tower. He sent the first letter and tried to kill me by throwing me into the wolf-pit. However, on the latter occasion, Kemble and his officers were not involved. When I was screaming for my life in the wolf-pit, you were with them. The same is true when Horehound's murder happened. All three were with us. So, Master, it must be Mallow or one of his hangmen.'

I stopped as the people I was talking about came out of the Beauchamp Tower bearing Horehound's corpse, neatly wrapped and hidden by a canvas sheet which was lashed by cords at top and bottom. They took it over to a cart. Mallow climbed into the seat, cracked his whip and, with his three apprentices walking beside, made his way down to the Lion Gate.

Wormwood stopped, shading his eyes against the sun, and called out to us, We are going to bury him in the cemetery of the Crutched Friars. Say a prayer for the poor bugger,' he added.

Benjamin and I nodded and watched the miserable procession continue.

‘I am sure of it,' I whispered. 'One of them is the killer, but God knows who their accomplice is!'

'Mistress Undershaft!' Benjamin replied. We must speak to her again about her mysterious legacy. First, let's study Spurge's map.'

We walked round the Tower. As we did so, I became more heavy-hearted. Kemble was true to his word. Men-at-arms and archers guarded every entrance, water-gate and postern-door marked on the map.

‘You couldn't smuggle a rat in here,' I grumbled. 'Do you believe the underground tunnel is sealed off?'

'Of course,' Benjamin replied. 'If Spurge and Vetch were lying, they'd lose their heads.'

We did the full length of the Tower, coming back to where we started, then walked down to where the builders and masons were working on scaffolding up against a wall. They seemed a cheerful bunch of rogues, covered in dust, swearing and cursing as they scrambled about like monkeys. Benjamin called the master mason down.

'What do you want?' the fellow asked, shaking water from a pannikin over his face and wiping the dust from his wrists and arms.

'How long have you been working here?' Benjamin asked.

'Oh, must be a week now, sir.' He looked up. 'Martin!' he shouted.

A crop-haired, cheery-faced fellow came to the edge of the scaffolding and smiled down at us.

"We've been here a week haven't we?' The master mason shouted.

'Aye, it's about that.' The fellow's rustic accent seemed out of place, warm and friendly.

"Why?' the builder continued. 'Don't say we've got to stay another bloody night here?'

Benjamin shook his head. 'And you've seen nothing untoward?' he asked the master mason.

'Sir, we have come in to do the walls, and the walls we will do. Master Spurge has given us directions. We work from dawn till dusk, then —' he raised his voice — ‘We are supposed to go back to our homes. Last night we found the gates sealed and Sir Edward said none of us could leave and so here we stayed.'

Benjamin thanked him and moved off as the mason, cursing under his breath, climbed the ladder back on to the scaffolding. We returned to the royal quarters, gave Spurge his map back and left the Tower. Kemble had already ordered the main gates to be opened. We went along winding streets to Petty Wales and into the Monkshood tavern.

If Marisa had been Hellbane's doxy, she had soon forgotten him. We found her in a corner, sitting in the lap of a chapman who was plying her with drink. At first the ruffian was going to object, but when my hand fell to the hilt of my sword, he scampered off muttering that we were welcome to her. Marisa was one of those young women with an old face; hair as black as night falling down to her shoulders, a thin white face, a narrow slit for a mouth and the green eyes of a nasty-tempered cat. She wore a stained blue dress with the bodice cut low; it was rather dirty, but revealed all her charms. When Benjamin put a coin on the table, she leaned a little closer and became much friendlier.

‘I very rarely take two at a time.'

'Shut up!' I snarled. 'It's not your body we are after!'

Then what?' she snapped and, before I could intervene, her fingers had grasped the silver coin. ‘I am a good girl.' Her voice rose to a screech in an attempt to gain the attention of the landlord who had been standing watching us. I turned and glared at him: he moved to wipe the top of a beer-barrel as if his very life depended on it.

'Sit down, Marisa,' Benjamin ordered quietly. Another silver coin appeared between his fingers; this time it was held well away from her. 'You knew one of the hangmen at the Tower? A gentleman called Hellbane?'

Marisa's face softened. 'His real name was Crispin,' she whispered.
‘He
was a printer. Did you know that? He came from Southampton where he had killed two men. He fled abroad but he said it was better to starve to death in England than do so in some foreign city, so he came back.'

'Did he enjoy his work?' I asked.

'Sometimes.' Marisa crossed her arms and sat back, blinking furiously at the tears welling in her eyes. 'He did love me,' she whispered hoarsely. 'He even said he'd marry me. He talked of earning enough, then we'd leave London and the Tower, travel north, go somewhere where no one would know us. Start up his old trade again.'

'Did he have friends?' Benjamin asked. He leaned across and gently caught her hand. Tell us, Marisa, please. We want to catch his killer.'

She forced a smile. 'I thought a gentleman always brought a lady a drink?'

Benjamin called the landlord across and, at Marisa's request, ordered three cups of white wine.

'And your best!' Marisa screeched. 'None of that bucket-swill! We are going to toast Hellbane's soul!' She turned to Benjamin. 'You asked if Hellbane liked his job, and the truth is no. He hated it. He said when he turned people off the ladder, he always closed his eyes. However, he thought being a hangman was the best protection against the sheriff's warrant. As for friends ...? People like Hellbane don't have friends. Sometimes he'd go with that ridiculous guild, but he spent most of his time with me.'

'And the day he was killed?' I asked.

'We were to meet here one evening. He never came. The next morning they fished his body from the Thames. Someone had knocked him on the head but had not bothered to steal a penny from his purse or the rings from his fingers. He'd been put into a sack with weights and tossed into the Thames.' She paused as the landlord brought across the wine which she grasped and drank greedily. 'All I could think was that someone had wanted revenge. What does the Bible say, sir? Eye for eye, tooth for tooth?'

'I don't think so,' Benjamin retorted. 'I think Hellbane was killed because of what he knew.'

My master grasped her hand. 'Marisa, did he ever remark on anything strange happening in the Tower?’

'He hated the place,' she whispered, turning her cup. 'He claimed that, at night, ghosts walked. He heard strange sounds and cries... But no, he didn't mention anything in particular.'

'And he drank with the rest of the hangmen?' Benjamin asked.

'Oh yes, and sometimes they drank deeply. I joined them. The last occasion was the sixth of June, the King's birthday. It's the ancient custom for the constable to host a banquet for the Guild of Hangmen in the royal apartments.' She smiled thinly. 'A macabre affair, Masters. Mallow, Hellbane and the rest, all dressed in their hangmen's costumes, black leather jerkins, belts, swords; they even wore their masks and hoods. I and the other girls were quite frightened.

'And what happened?' I asked, curious at the thought of hangmen sitting at a table, masked and cowled, feasting and drinking.

Well, Sir Edward's a good man and the wine flowed. Afterwards, well, we played Hangmen's Bluff The men hid and their girl friends, we had to search for them.' She sipped from the cup. ‘You can imagine, sirs, the squealing, the kissing, the slapping and tickling! The galleries and corridors were dark, and each of the men masked!'

Was Undershaft there? Mallow's lieutenant?' I asked.

'Oh yes, but he was by himself. The others called him a spoilsport so he took part for a while and then went home.' She smiled to herself. We did drink deeply that night.'

'Did Hellbane say anything?' I asked, an idea forming in my mind. 'Did anything untoward happen during those festivities?'

Marisa tossed her head and rubbed her face. 'I can't remember much. Sir Edward Kemble and his officers were there. The wine flowed like water. Undershaft left early, I remember that. Others were lying in corridors or galleries, drunk as sots. That's all I know'

Benjamin handed the silver over and we made to leave.

'Sirs!' she called.

We went back to the table. She stared up at us and said, 'Hellbane thought Undershaft's death was curious: the man didn't have an enemy in the world. He kept to his woman and children.' She paused. ‘You might be right, for all I know; both he and poor Hellbane could have been party to some dreadful secret but what it was, I don't know'

I leaned across the table, kissed her cheek, and pressed a coin of my own into her hands. ‘I am sorry I was rude,' I whispered.

‘You must come back to the Monkshood some time,' she smiled. And, for a while, her eyes softened as her soul reappeared.

We left the tavern and walked back through the streets towards the Tower.

'What do you think this secret is?' Benjamin asked.

'I disagree with Marisa,' I replied. 'But what happens, . Master, if, during those festivities on the King's birthday, the hangmen did see or learn something mysterious? Perhaps they don't even realise it?'

'And?' Benjamin asked.

"Well, they were all masked and hooded,' I replied. 'Perhaps one of them stumbled on something. In their disguise and the poor light, the holder of this mystery decided it was best if they all die, just to ensure he kills the right one.'

'But, if that's the case, my dear Roger, the hangmen who did stumble on that secret would realise they were being pursued and act accordingly.'

I couldn't answer that.

"Let's visit Mistress Undershaft,' Benjamin declared.

We found the good widow woman sitting in a parlour embroidering a piece of linen. In the rooms above, we could hear the maid shooing the children into bed. Mistress Undershaft was welcoming enough, offering us ale and bread, but Benjamin refused. We sat opposite, watching as she continued to thread the needle for the cloth.

"You have great skill, Mistress,' Benjamin remarked.

"My mother taught me,' she replied smilingly. 'But you are not here to praise my needlework, sirs.'

'No,
Mistress, we are still puzzled by the strange bequest to you.'

'As I am,' she replied. She lay the piece of cloth in her lap and stretched one hand out towards the fire, half listening to the sounds above. 'I have told you, sirs, the bequest was made to goldsmith Thurgood. Who am I to object? There's no crime in that.'

I caught the lilt in her voice and asked if she was born in London. She shook her head.

'No, my family are from Lincoln, they're clothmakers. I met Andrew there some years ago, before we came to London.'

'Was he always a hangman?' I asked.

She blushed and her hands shook. ‘He was a priest,' she replied quietly. "Yes, sir, a defrocked priest. He killed a man in his own church and fled. I came with him to London. For a while he did some labouring before taking up his post as an apprentice hangman and joining the guild.' She shrugged. The rest you know.'

'But the children?' I remarked.

'Andrew was one of those priests who did not follow canon law,' she answered. 'He had his woman, she gave birth to children. Go round the churches of England, Master Shallot. It's none too strange. That's how he killed a man,' she continued. 'Andrew was a good priest. He worked hard for his parishioners. He was a carpenter by trade and sold what he made so his children were not a burden on the parish. His wife died. Two years later he met me. One day, a parishioner accosted him in the nave of the church and called Andrew filthy names. Knives were drawn. For a while Andrew took sanctuary. I gathered up his possessions and children and fled south’

'And you know of no reason why someone should kill your husband so barbarously?' Benjamin asked.

'I have told you, sir. Andrew was a private man. He kept to himself. He did not talk much about his trade. Sometimes he drank with the guild.'

'And the festivities on the night of the King's birthday?' I asked. ‘Your husband attended?'

‘Yes, but he left early.'

'Did he remark on anything untoward?'

She shook her head. ‘Nothing, except to say that his comrades were as drunk as pigs and were lewd with their women.' She picked up the embroidery and jabbed at it with her needle. 'I tell you, sirs, I have nothing to say. I cannot help you. If I...' She stopped speaking as a little girl burst into the room chased by a boy, his fingers covered in ash.

'Simon! Judith!' Mistress Undershaft stared down at the children. 'What on earth are you doing?' She grabbed the little girl, and her nightdress came loose exposing one thin white shoulder.

'It's Simon,' the girl squeaked, pointing at her brother. "He's trying to draw on my shoulder.' She pointed to the dirty charcoal mark in the shape of a ‘W. The boy stood, hands by his side, looking fearfully at his mother.

'Simon, you should not have done that!' Mistress Undershaft, highly agitated, began pushing him towards the door.

'But Simon says you've got one,' the little girl replied. ‘You have a letter on your shoulder.'

Mistress Undershaft fairly pushed them out of the room into the arms of the waiting maid. She slammed the door behind them, leaning against it, her face white as chalk, eyes closed, that lovely bosom heaving as if she had run a mile. I got up and walked towards her.