Revelation (55 page)

'No, sir. We didn't know them well.' He looked at the body again. 'She was decent enough, Ethel, though Francis could be a grump. Even if they did live in sin.'

'We would like to go to the funeral,' his wife said.

The old man looked at us. 'Please, sir, what do you think happened? We only ask because we wonder if we are safe. If there are robbers about.'

'You are not in any danger,' Harsnet said. 'But that is all I can tell you till we investigate further. In the meantime, this is to be kept quiet. You tell no one Mrs Bunce is dead. It could hamper our investigation.'

'But how—'

'You
will
keep quiet. I order it in the King's name. A guard will remain here for now. Thank you for your help,' he concluded in a tone of dismissal.

H
arsnet shook
his head after the old man led his wife away. 'Poor old creatures,' he said. 'Come then, Matthew, if we are to go to Westminster now. I want to know what you have puzzled out. Janley, stay here, secure that door and keep enquirers away. I will arrange for the body to be removed.' 'Can I go home?' Guy asked.

'Yes,' Harsnet answered shortly. He still did not like or trust Guy, it was clear. With most folk it would have been his colour, but with Harsnet I was sure it was his religion.

W
e all stepped
outside, relieved to be out of that dreadful place. We stood on the step, looking out at the wide square. On the other side, in the distance, we saw a coach surrounded by four riders pull into Catherine Parr's courtyard.

'A visitor for Lady Catherine,' I said. 'Perhaps it is the Archbishop.'

'If it is, God speed him. True religion needs her help,' Harsnet answered. He walked down the step, and unhitched his horse from the rail. I made to follow, but Barak touched me on the arm.

'What is next?' he asked. 'What happens when the sixth vial is poured?'

Guy answered. 'Revelation talks of great waters being dried up. The Euphrates.'

'How's the arsehole going to make a killing that symbolizes
that
’l
l
Dry up the Thames?'

'He'll find a way.' I answered grimly. 'Whatever it is, it will be some other method of torturing another poor soul to death. Jesu knows what.'

Chapter
Thirty
-
two

G
uy rode back
to Smithfield with us. There he turned left into town, bidding us farewell. 'Shall I see you at the Bedlam tomorrow morning, Matthew? I am going at nine o'clock.'

I agreed to the rendezvous, then watched him for a few moments, a lonely figure in the country road, his stoop noticeable as he rode away.

'Now, Matthew,' Harsnet asked. 'What is it that you have worked out? What are in those little boxes that Barak is carrying?'

I told them what I believed. Lockley had been keeping secrets, the dean too, and perhaps Cantrell.

'Maybe we should talk to Cantrell first,' Barak suggested. 'See if he can confirm it.'

'We can talk to him afterwards,' Harsnet answered grimly. 'I want to confront the dean directly.'

'You could go home, Jack,' I said. 'See Tamasin.'

He shook his head. 'No, I want to see the end of this.' He looked at me, and I saw that like Harsnet and me, he had been deeply shocked by what had been done to Mrs Bunce. 'I wish we could have saved her,' he said.

W
e rode down
to Westminster. It was a Saturday; Parliament and the courts were shut, there were fewer people around. Shopkeepers and pedlars eyed us as we passed, and one or two called out, but we ignored them. In the Sanctuary we passed a big cart loaded with planks of newly cut wood, the resin smell sweet in the foul town air.

The cathedral doors were closed but we heard the sound of hymn-singing from inside, the choir no doubt preparing for service.

'I wonder where the dean is,' I said.

'We will go to his house.'

We rode on to Dean's Yard, passed under the wall into the abbey courtyard and once again tied up the horses outside the pretty old house standing amidst the chaos of building works. Enquiries of the steward revealed that Dean Benson would be occupied in the cathedral all day. Harsnet sent a message asking him to attend us on a matter of urgency which might involve his personal safety. 'That'll bring him,' he said as the steward hurried away, leaving us sitting in the entrance hall.

In a short time we heard footsteps approaching up the garden path. The dean entered. He was breathing heavily; he must have hurried over as soon as he got the message. He looked at us angrily. 'What in the name of Heaven has happened now?' he demanded. 'Why do you say I am in danger?'

'May we speak in your office?' Harsnet asked.

'Very well.' The dean sighed and led us down the corridor, his cassock rustling. After a few steps he turned, staring at Barak, who had followed us, carrying Lockley's boxes. 'And you propose to bring your servant to an interview with me?' he asked me haughtily.

'Barak comes too this time,' Harsnet said, looking the dean hard in the eye. We had agreed this beforehand. 'He has something to show you.'

The dean looked at the boxes Barak carried, shrugged and walked

on.

Once in his office, Harsnet told the dean of Ethel Bunce's murder, Lockley's disappearance, and the attack on Cantrell. 'So you see, dean,' he said. 'The killer seems to be focusing his attention now on those associated with the infirmary.'

'Why should that endanger me?' The dean looked at the boxes on Barak's lap and took a sudden deep breath. I saw that he guessed what they might be.

'There was a connection between you and them,' I said. 'More, I think, than the mere fact that you had overall authority over the monks' infirmary and the lay hospital. I think that is what you have been hiding.'

Barak opened the boxes, revealing the dentures. From the way the dean's eyes widened and he sat back in his chair I knew my suspicions were right.

'Let me tell you what I think happened,' I said quietly. 'Goddard used to administer dwale, a powerful and dangerous soporific, to render people unconscious for operations. Meanwhile a fashion came in among the rich for wearing false teeth set in wood. The teeth are usually obtained from healthy young people, preferably as a complete set. Master Barak's wife recently had to have a tooth removed, and the tooth
-
drawer suggested he pull out the lot, offering to pay her well for them.'

'Is there some meaning to this story?' the dean asked angrily. But his eyes kept going back to the boxes.

'I do not know how often you visit the abandoned parts of the old monastery now, but I have twice encountered a beggar who keeps sneaking into the premises, asking anyone who will listen if they know where his teeth are — he has not a tooth in his head. He is mad, of course, but I wonder what drove him so. Something that was done to him here? Perhaps his teeth were removed, under dwale? Perhaps they were checked for size against one of these boxes we found in Lockley's chest. One of the reasons the tootlvdrawers find it hard to get people to volunteer their teeth, even for high sums, is the pain involved. But destitute folk who came here to have their illnesses treated could be offered a dose of dwale to make the process itself painless.'

There was silence in the room. A loud hammering began somewhere outside, making the dean jump. He took a deep breath. 'If Goddard and Lockley, and Cantrell for all I know, had some scheme going in the infirmary, I knew nothing of it. And what has that to do with your hunt for the killer?'

'We need to know all, dean. And from the way you looked at those boxes it is clear this is not news to you.'

A second hammer joined the first. The dean closed his eyes. 'That noise,' he said quietly. 'That endless noise. How am I supposed to be able to think?' He opened his eyes again. He looked between the three of us, then took a deep breath.

'I congratulate you, Serjeant Shardlake. Yes, you are right. Back in
1539
,
four years ago, I learned Goddard was inviting patients in the lay hospital to sell their teeth. The fashion for false teeth was coming in then, and he had made an arrangement with a local barber
-
surgeon in Westminster. A man called Snethe, at the sign of the Bloody Growth. He buys teeth, and other things as well from what I hear.' He took another deep breath and then continued. 'Lockley worked with Goddard. By then, everyone knew the monasteries had no future and many of the monks tried to protect their financial security in various ways. That was the way Goddard chose, so he could preserve his status if the monastery closed. Lockley, I imagine, spent his share on drink.'

'How did you learn about this?'

'Young Cantrell told me. He worked in the monks' infirmary and had little to do with the lay hospital, but he learned what was going on, he heard Goddard and Lockley talking one day. Goddard told him to keep it quiet or he would suffer for it, but Cantrell suspected that one or two of the people Goddard and Lockley renderd unconscious for their teeth never woke up.'

'Cantrell,' I said. 'He was terrified at the mention of Goddard's name.'

Benson continued: 'I had been told by Lord Cromwell to seek out any scandals that might be going on, for use if we needed to put pressure on the monks to surrender.' He looked at us again. 'Yes, and all of you worked for him too, so you have no cause to be righteous with me. He told me to let what they were doing continue, so that we could spring a trap if need be, make a scandal of it. But his preference was for the monastery to be closed quietly and peacefully,
without
scandal, because that is what the King wanted. And that is what I achieved.'

'Did Goddard know Cantrell had informed on him?'

'No. I never told him I knew.'

'So more people could have died?' Harsnet said.

'Perhaps. I was under the Lord Cromwell's orders. As all of you know, one did not defy those lightly.' He leaned forward, regaining confidence now. 'And the King would not like to hear a scandal about Westminster, even now. I obeyed Lord Cromwell because he had all the power then, though I had no sympathy for his extreme radicalism in religion. But I knew he would go too far and his enemies on the Council would bring him down. Which is what happened. And now we are going back to more sensible ways.'

'So you swung with the wind,' Harsnet said.

'Better swinging with the wind than swinging in the wind, as many have.' Benson pointed a stubby finger at the coroner. 'The King knows nothing of this, does he? This killer you are seeking? I have been making soundings — oh, very discreetly, do not worry. The King would not be glad to hear Archbishop Cranmer had been keeping things from him, not at this time when there are so many voices raised against him.' He turned to me. 'Your search does not go well, does it? You seem to be caught up in a nasty tangle, master crookback. You would not want to annoy the King a second time.'

Harsnet turned to me, ignoring Benson. 'Where does this leave us? Is the killer some demented ex
-
patient of theirs?'

'I doubt it,' I said. 'They were poor, helpless folk. Yet there is some link, there has to be.'

'It's Goddard,' Harsnet said. 'He is choosing victims he knows.' He looked at the dean. 'You've told us everything?'

'All, now. On my oath as Dean of Westminster.'

'I know how much that is worth, sir,' Harsnet replied, his voice full of contempt.

Benson glared at him, then turned to me 'Am I safe?' he asked.

'I do not think you are at risk,' I replied. 'All five victims so far were associated with radical religion and moved away from it. But you, I think, were always a time
-
server,' I dared to say.

'A practical man, as I told you before, master crookback.'

O
utside the house
Harsnet shook his head. 'We are no further forward,' I said.

'At least we know how ruthless, and indeed cruel, both Lockley and Goddard could be. Why could Benson not tell us earlier about that scheme? He knows he is safe,' he added bitterly.

I did not reply. It occurred to me that the aggressive way Harsnet had tackled the dean from the beginning had not helped. He had been ruled by his dislike of the man. Sometimes dealing with political creatures one must dissemble and pretend friendship, as they do.

'And why didn't Cantrell tell us about this either?' he asked.

'Too afraid, I should think. It didn't do him much good telling Benson. We had better go and see what he says now. We can leave the horses here.' I pointed to the door in the wall, leading to Dean's Yard. 'There, that is where he lives. Though "exists" might be a better word.'