2 A Season of Knives: A Sir Robert Carey Mystery (24 page)

It smelled bad, and the floor was slimy although Barnabus had been careful to do his business as near to the drain as he could get. Carey frowned.

‘Who chained you?’ he demanded.

Barnabus looked dolefully at the chain from his ankles to the wall.

‘Sir Richard Lowther.’

‘I might have guessed. When did he do it?’

‘Yesterday, after they moved me from the ‘ole.’

Just after I had that argument with him, Carey thought, biting down hard on his anger; damn him. Barnabus was sitting on the wooden bench bolted to the wall which was the only other furniture of the cell, with his arms wrapped around his body.

‘I’m working on getting you out but you must tell me everything you can. For a start, can you think of any reason why Andy Nixon might hate you enough to try and get you hanged for a murder he did?’

‘I dunno, sir. Never met him.’

‘All right, what about Sunday night.’

‘Sunday night, sir?’

‘Yes. Where were you at midnight on Sunday when you should have been lighting me home?’

‘Oh well…er…’ Barnabus looked shifty.

‘How did you manage to get so stinking drunk you passed out by the gate until morning?’

‘I…er…’

‘You didn’t rob someone, did you?’

Barnabus coughed and looked very shifty. Carey stared at him until he shrugged. ‘In a manner of speaking, sir.’

‘All right, what happened?’

‘Well, I was coming back to you when I tripped on a…well, somebody who’d bin in a fight and got the worst of it, I’d say.’

‘Where?’

‘Down the alley between Scotch street and Fisher street.’

‘And so you robbed him?’

‘No, sir. First I helped him in his door, then I robbed him.’

Carey put his hands to his head. ‘Barnabus, I have
told
you about footpadding…’

‘I didn’t footpad ‘im, sir; ‘e was already done over. I just…’

‘You just bloody robbed a man who was lying there helpless. For God’s sake, Barnabus, where’s your Christian charity?’

‘I was drunk, sir. It seemed like a good idea…’

‘How much did you get?’

‘Half a crown sir, and some pennies.’

‘Well, you could hang for that half a crown, you silly bugger. You robbed Andy Nixon and I would imagine that’s the reason why he went to the trouble of incriminating you.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Which has indirectly caused me an immense amount of aggravation.’

‘Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.’

‘You damn well deserve to be in here, and that’s the truth.’

Barnabus looked about him and evidently found this a bit hard, but he decided to say nothing, which was wise of him, Dodd thought, considering Carey’s expression of disgust. At that moment there was a complicated rattle of keys and the gaoler let Lady Scrope into the cell. She looked around, sniffed and shouted over her shoulder. ‘Mr Barker, bring a bucket and spade in here.’

Dodd helpfully moved out of the cell so there was room for Barker who came in eventually with a bucket and spade borrowed from the stables.

‘Pick that up and take it out of here,’ said Lady Scrope, pointing imperiously at the turds by the drain.

‘That, my lady?’ said the youth unhappily.

‘Yes, that. It’s causing bad airs. Quickest way to get gaol fever in a place, which you could catch as well, William Barker, and die of, what’s more. So clean it up.’

‘Me, my lady?’

Lady Scrope put her basket down on the wooden bench next to Barnabus and her hands on the bumroll padding out her hips.

‘I’m not going to do it and nor is my brother. Barnabus can’t because he’s been chained. So that leaves you or Sergeant Dodd to fight it out between you, and personally, I’m backing Dodd.’

Dodd put his head round the door and fixed Barker with a glare that settled the matter. Mumbling that it wasnae his job and an insult forbye, Barker used the spade and bucket and slumped out of the door.

‘I’ll stand guard while you put that on the midden heap,’ said Dodd, wondering briefly if this were some complex way of breaking Barnabus out of jail. No, why be so elaborate about it? If he was going to defy all of Scrope’s authority and the law of the land into the bargain, the Deputy Warden could simply unlock the doors.

Philadelphia turned to Barnabus and briskly examined his eyes, mouth and ears, felt his forehead and wrist and demanded that he undo his doublet buttons and lift his shirt so she could inspect the bruises on his body.

Carey whistled with sympathy and muttered something about bringing a suit for assault against Lowther on Barnabus’s behalf.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Robin,’ said Philadelphia tartly. ‘It was perfectly normal interrogation of a murder suspect. Besides, Lowther owns or can terrorise almost any jury you could put together in these parts; it’s one of our main problems with him.’

That made Carey look depressed and thoughtful for a moment. His sister took the cloth off her basket and brought out a couple of black leather bottles. Barnabus rolled his eyes as she poured two horn cupfuls of what looked like bogwater.

‘Don’t look so worried, Barnabus,’ Philadelphia added. ‘My lord Warden has already refused Lowther permission to put you to the question so nothing else is going to happen to you.’ Barnabus swallowed stickily. ‘Now what else is wrong with you?’ she demanded, putting her hand on his forehead again. ‘You’re running a fever. Have you got a headache?’

‘No, my lady,’ croaked Barnabus. ‘I’m sore, but…’

‘Stick your tongue out.’

Barnabus did and Philadelphia squinted at it critically. ‘Hm,’ she said. ‘Have you been vomiting or purging, or passing blood in your water?’

Barnabus hesitated and looked at Carey.

‘Not blood, my lady.’

Philadelphia frowned. ‘What then?’

‘Er…nothing.’

‘Barnabus,’ growled Carey. ‘If you’ve…’

‘Shut up, please, Robin,’ said Philadelphia to her brother. ‘Now please don’t play me for a fool, Barnabus. You’re not well and you have to tell me everything that ails you. I’m worried you might be coming down with a gaol fever.’

Remembering the gaol fever he had caught on board ship after he had gone to fight the Armada in 1588, which had almost killed him, Carey looked carefully at Barnabus again, then shook his head.

‘No. You see, Philly, he’s been in gaol before.’

‘Born there,’ said Barnabus with some satisfaction. ‘It can’t be gaol fever, my lady. I’ve had both kinds and it’s like the smallpox; you don’t get it twice.’

‘Well then, what’s the matter with your water?’

‘Er…’ Barnabus looked at the ground. ‘I’m pissing green, my lady. And…er…it hurts.’

There was a penetrating silence. ‘I expect it’s because of Lowther…’ Carey began.

‘Unless Lowther’s a worse man than I take him for, that’s not Lowther. That’s the clap.’

Neither Carey nor Barnabus knew where to look, while Dodd by the door listened in fascination.

‘It’s that bawdy house, isn’t it? Madam Hetherington’s? The one Scrope sneaks off to occasionally?’

Both Barnabus and Carey made an extraordinary strangulated noise.

‘And I suppose you’ve got a dose too, have you, Robin?’ demanded Philadelphia in withering tones.

‘No, I haven’t,’ said Carey with great emphasis. ‘For God’s sake, Philly…’

‘Don’t swear. Well, Barnabus, there is nothing whatever anybody can do for the clap, no matter what they say, except let nature take its course. You should drink as much mild beer as you can and eat plenty of garlic to clean your blood. You’ll have to give him lighter duties until he’s better, Robin. Anyway, he should rest for today and I think his nose may need resetting eventually. Drink this.’

Barnabus meekly drank down one cup of bogwater and looked relieved when the other cup turned out to be a lotion to put on his nose and face. Carey recognised the smell as the same stuff Philadelphia had been painting him with all the previous week. As far as he could tell it had done him no harm.

Baker came back from the midden and at Philadelphia’s bidding, put the bucket inside the cell where Barnabus could reach it and use it. Carey snapped his fingers for the bunch of keys he carried, took it and unlocked the chains around Barnabus’s ankles.

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Barnabus, rubbing his legs and stretching. ‘I hate to scour the cramp-rings.’

‘Nobody chains my servant,’ said Carey ominously, ‘except me. So watch it, Barnabus.’

They came out, Carey still carefully not meeting Philadelphia’s eyes. Dodd was as straight faced as he knew how, though he thought that Barnabus was getting undeserved soft treatment.

‘Have you fed the other two prisoners, Mr Barker?’ he asked.

‘Oh ay, sir. They got garrison food, same as Barnabus.’

Poor bastards, thought Dodd. When Janet turns up I’ll send her in with some proper vittles.

‘Did ye want to talk to ‘em, sir?’ he asked.

Carey thought about it. ‘No, I don’t think so, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘I need more information.’

And where was he proposing to get it if he didn’t even want to talk to his prisoners, Dodd wondered sourly, but didn’t ask. Philadelphia remained quiet as they walked out of the dungeons and into the silky morning sunlight, all washed clean by the rainstorms of the previous day. She looked about and sighed.

‘You called me from checking over the flax harvest, Robin,’ she said. ‘So I’m going back to it.’

Carey nodded, with the expression of a man who wants to say something comforting but doesn’t quite know how. He remembered the report he had written for Scrope and gave it to Philadelphia to pass on to her husband. She tossed her head, took it and marched off across the yard, trying to pull her apron straight as she went. Dodd felt he was not called upon to comment and so he followed Carey silently as he strode down to the Keep gate and past Bessie’s into Carlisle town.

Wednesday 5th July 1592, morning

Dodd was very shocked when he realised Carey was about to go straight into the house with red lattices and the sign of the Rainbow over the door down an alley off Scotch street.

‘Sir,’ he protested. ‘I dinna…’

‘You’ve got a mucky mind, Sergeant,’ said Carey. ‘I’m only making sure Barnabus was telling the truth about where he was.’

‘Oh.’

From the way Madam Hetherington greeted the Deputy Warden with a curtsey and a kiss, it was obvious he had been there before, which further shocked Dodd’s sense of propriety. It wasn’t that he didn’t know the bawdy house—he’d been there a couple of times himself, when drunk, and prayed Janet would never find out about it—only he felt it was a bad thing for an officer of the Crown to be seen entering the place in daylight. Carey didn’t seem to care; no doubt Londoners, courtiers and lunatics had different standards in these things.

‘No, mistress,’ said Carey courteously to the lady’s enquiry. ‘I want to talk to you about my servant Barnabus Cooke.’

They were led into her office and wine was brought for both of them. Dodd sipped his cautiously and then found to his surprise that it tasted quite good.

Carey smacked his lips as he put the goblet down.

‘I now know who has managed to find the only decent wine in Carlisle.’

Madam Hetherington had sat down on a stool beside a table clear of anything except some embroidery and she smiled modestly.

‘I have a special arrangement with my cousin, sir,’ she said.

‘Hm. You’re aware of Barnabus Cooke’s arrest.’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘Can you tell me where he was on Monday night?’

Madam Hetherington took her embroidery and began stitching like any lady of a house. Dodd stared about at her little solar; it was hung with painted cloths and floored with rushmats. When he looked closer at the painted cloths, he stretched his eyes: naked women abounded, were pinkly profuse in all directions. There was a naked woman with a lascivious-looking swan on her lap, and another naked woman riding a bull and a third who seemed to be very happy to receive a lot of gold coins tumbling down a sunbeam. Surely that would hurt, Dodd thought incoherently, all those pennies hitting your bare skin. He was mesmerised by the round pearly shapes and little red touches here and there on lips and nipples…In comparison with Janet’s these were rounder and plumper and…

‘What do you think, Dodd?’ Carey asked.

‘Ah,’ said Dodd, caught out and he knew it. Carey seemed amused.

‘I was saying that Barnabus was certainly here on Monday night after Bessie shut her doors,’ repeated Madam Hetherington kindly. ‘He left early on Tuesday morning in time to go in at the gate to attend Sir Robert.’

‘Oh,’ said Dodd.

‘Madam Hetherington does not think one of her girls will be believed by a jury either.’

‘Er…No, that’s right,’ Dodd said desperately, staring at Madam Hetherington’s embroidery hoop. ‘They wouldna. They’d say she was nae fit person to be in front of them and could be bribed and they couldnae place any confidence in her word.’