A Murderous Affair Page 5

  Occasionally the tasks were more exciting. At one time he had even sent me to witness an execution – that of Mary, Queen of Scots. That death was legitimate, however. The trip down the Thames was the first time I had been asked to investigate a freshly murdered body and the escalation of my duties did not appeal to me.

  * * *

  Stone steps from the Thames ran up to the house’s manicured garden and it was here that our boat finally docked, after a further half-an-hour’s journey up river. The remainder of our passage had been uneventful, despite a discrepancy in the tide at London Bridge, which had been skilfully negotiated by the oarsmen, eager to prove that their earlier carelessness had been an aberration. As the arches of the great bridge receded behind us, I looked back wistfully at the room of my lodgings high up on the west side of the bridge, longing to be still there curled up comfortably in my bed.

  I told the men to take the body into the cellar of the house, and Nesbitt and I went on through the garden to the house. We skirted round a tight pattern of box hedges forming a complicated knot, designed to amuse guests who could contemplate it from the upper rooms of the house. There were also a number of exotic plants from foreign lands placed at conspicuous vantage points, that my brother was often to be heard boasting about.

  A servant informed us that my brother was expecting us in the hall overlooking the garden. Ascending the carved oak staircase, we were accosted by a grossly overweight man coming down, with a red face and a mop of brown hair on his head – Marmaduke Drummond, my brother’s protégée and resident poet. Typical of the breed, he spent his days idling about the house composing flowery odes, all unctuously dedicated to my brother. Blocking my path, he addressed me in the usual contemptuous tones he reserved for me.

  ‘My dear J-Jackie boy, always the centre of fashion,’ he said, with his usual stutter, which always seemed to me to be an affectation. ‘I must remember to take you to B-Bankside with me one night – what a sensation you will p-prove to be.’ His fat cheeks wobbled as he spoke, allowing the rouge, which only heightened his grotesqueness, to glitter under the candlelight.

  ‘I’m perfectly well aware of the establishments you frequent, Drummond, and frankly I would rather visit a leper colony. Would you mind stepping aside? I need to see my brother urgently.’

  Drummond stiffened slightly and refused to budge. ‘Urgently, you say? What little errand could the d-dogsbody be sent on that required any urgency?’ His eyes narrowed in his head and he stared at me unnervingly for a second before looking back towards the garden, through the door we had entered. ‘Some little task on the river, perhaps?’ He looked at me shrewdly expecting a reply, eyes sunken behind balloons of fat. I declined to answer.

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind, Master Drummond, we are in rather a hurry.’ Nesbitt, always the diplomat, began to edge forward. Drummond reluctantly moved sideways to let us pass but I felt the noxious heat of his gaze on my back the whole way up the stairs.

  * * *

  The hall was a long, oblong room running the length of the house on the riverside. It had three sides of warm timber wainscoting, set-off by two wide bay windows, which jutted out over the garden and gave a breathtaking view of the bend in the river, now all sparkles of light in the darkness. Covering the oak panelling were a number of broad arrases depicting scenes from Greek myths, as well as one or two paintings, which were said to be good likenesses of the Italian School.

  Robert stood with his back to the stone fireplace that stood at one end of the room, with two large mastiffs lying by his feet. Behind him a vibrant fire crackled in the grate. As ever he was immaculately dressed in a black doublet and hose, set off by an elegant ruff, silk tights and velvet shoes with lace bows. His hair was neatly cropped but his beard was long and straight, in the manner of other courtiers. In all outward appearances he portrayed the comfortable peer of the realm. However, his manner was impatient, and an uncharacteristic nervousness punctured his usual haughty confidence. However, this soon turned to anger as he sized up my rather contrasting appearance.

  ‘My God, Lovat, what the hell do you look like?’ His handsome face was a picture of long-suffering exasperation. ‘Even if I didn’t receive constant reports of your excessive behaviour, I could see the evidence for myself right here.’

  At the sound of his master’s raised voice, one of the mastiffs raised its head to eye me in a bored manner, before its jowls slumped back onto its paws. I could only imagine how I must look with my crumpled boots, damp clothes, and unshaven chin, but feeling that the day’s task had already been enough of a penance for the enjoyment of the previous day, and embarrassed by his outburst, I allowed my own anger to rise despite my better judgement.

  ‘Naturally I would be delighted to attend on you dressed as the rest of the perfumed fops that hang about this place, like refugees from Bohemia, but sadly the meagre pittance you pay me doesn’t allow the wardrobe. Rather than berating me,’ I added for good measure, ‘perhaps you would be kind enough to offer me a bath.’

  My brother chose to ignore this outburst, and instead turned pointedly to Nesbitt who was standing by my side with his head bowed submissively.

  ‘Well? Did you find the body?’

  ‘Yes, your Lordship, it was where the boy indicated. We’ve examined the body and brought it back here. We have placed it in the cellar, awaiting your further instructions.’

  ‘It can stay there for now. Where exactly was it?’

  As Nesbitt began to explain with his customary Latin flourishes exactly where the body had been located, I edged as close as possible to the fire to relieve some of the cold that had saturated my body. My attempts were thwarted, though, by the two hostile dogs, who eyed me coldly as if they were quite aware of my place in the pecking order, and were fully prepared to assert their rights to warmth above mine. One of the slavering mutts even sparked up a low growl, warning me I had got too close. Averting my gaze from their unfriendly interest, I chose instead to study the gilded plaster patterns on the ceiling, something I knew my brother was extremely proud of, as he had only had the work done in the previous year by Flemish craftsmen.

  Having described our journey down river in needless detail, Nesbitt started to describe the rabble we had met on the Thames shore that morning. However, before he got very far my brother, evidently losing patience, cut him short and turned instead to me.

  ‘Anything to add?’

  ‘Nesbitt failed to mention that we found the body under an ancient monument dedicated to the age-old pastime of cuckolding.’

  ‘What has that to do with anything?’

  ‘Oh nothing. As a student of the city I thought you might be interested that’s all.’

  ‘Don’t be frivolous. This is a serious matter. What about these men who found the body?’

  ‘The Rotherhithe Watch?’ I replied as nonchalantly as possible, ‘What can I say? Fishermen, rough types, pretty ignorant though far from stupid – I tried to impress upon them the need for secrecy in these dangerous times, so I suspect that the story will be all over Kent by now. I did make them promise of a reward,’ I beamed broadly at my brother, ‘which may stay their tongues for a short while at least. However, if they do talk I think they’ll only be spreading rumours of a tragic accident befalling a rich foreigner. It’s hardly an unknown occurrence after all. I don’t think any of them saw the tell-tale marks around the man’s neck.’

  ‘What marks?’ My brother asked, the words sticking in his throat.

  ‘The man was clearly strangled. Although I am assuming you suspected something like that or you wouldn’t have sent me.’ As I spoke I took the seal attached to the chain out of my pocket and held it out to my brother. ‘This item would seem to point to you as the prime suspect,’ I added breezily, still annoyed at the way he had spoken to me earlier. I expected an angry reaction but instead Robert looked at the weighty chain with an expression of shock. I tried to hand it to him but he recoiled as if it might bite him. The colour drained from his chee
ks and he sat down heavily in one of the chairs close to the fireplace, bidding me to take a second chair with a limp flick of his hand. Sensing his mood, I decided to change tack and simply give him the facts just as they were. As I did so, my brother listened intently, breaking the flow only once to invite Nesbitt, who had been hovering awkwardly above us, to take a stool. I described the man’s Mediterranean appearance, his rich clothing and the mangled state of the body, trying to picture it all clearly.

  Finally I said: ‘There is no doubt in my mind that the death was caused by strangulation and that the other injuries were caused later, possibly in the water itself.’ I paused, before asking the question that had been on my mind ever since I had seen the seal. ‘Can you tell me the man’s name?’

  Robert ignored the question. Instead he asked ‘Why do you think the injuries were sustained after death?’

  ‘I can’t imagine why anyone would want to strangle a body that had already been beaten to death. The injuries on the body are so severe that no one could have survived them.’

  ‘Is it possible that the beating of the body was an attempt to hide the strangulation?’

  I thought for a moment: ‘It is possible, although the neck is relatively free of damage. The worst injuries are to the head and the torso. I suspect the man was strangled and then pushed into the river. As he floated he might have been struck by a boat.’

  ‘Unlikely. Surely the river is too wide for something like that to happen.’

  ‘You’d be surprised. Nesbitt and I were almost run down by a merchant ship sailing into the city this evening. Your men fell asleep on the job and failed to see it coming.’

  Ignoring this rebuke of his staff my brother continued.

  ‘And the men who found him, they were all fishermen? I find it hard to believe that the men you describe would have the wherewithal to connect the dead man with me.’

  ‘No that’s right.’ I realised that I had forgotten about the obsequious Radclyffe. ‘There was someone else – the verger from the village church. He was the man who recognised your seal. A natural busybody who seemed overjoyed to be part of the macabre proceedings. He fancies himself as a bit of a local historian and guardian of the niceties of society, such as recognising the Over-Marshall of the county’s coat of arms. Incidentally, brother, he seemed keen to make your acquaintance. It was all I could do to keep him from squeezing into the boat.’

  ‘I hope you didn’t insult him.’ My brother returned evenly. ‘We don’t want him making trouble unnecessarily because you put his nose out of joint. One day you might learn to be diplomatic.’

  ‘Perhaps you would like to give him his reward in person then. I promised him the same as the other men, although I fancy the opportunity to kiss your ring would suffice in his case.’

  ‘What exactly did you promise them?’

  ‘Only a few shillings – I gave them the address for my lodgings to spare you the inconvenience. However, if you could advance me the sum?’

  ‘Yes, yes’. My brother waved a hand dismissively and sat thoughtfully, worry still etched on his face. Nesbitt, who had been quiet for some time, sat upright on his stool behind, giving the perfect impression of the alert servant. ‘So,’ my brother said after an interminable pause, ‘all you can tell us is that the man was most likely a stranger of Mediterranean extraction, he was probably strangled and then put in the river and that the only people who know about it are the three of us in this room, and the five gentlemen and one youth of Rotherhithe.’ He let out a huge sigh of pent up breath. ‘Is there anything else you’ve left out?’

  ‘There is one thing.’ I replied. ‘I’ve seen him before not two days ago, and most assuredly alive and kicking.’

  ‘What? Where?’

  I started to explain to him how I had recognised the man from the Queen’s procession, but my brother cut me off sharply.

  ‘Judging from what I’ve heard about you at the procession you were too drunk to even notice your own shadow.’ He stared at me directly as if challenging me to disagree and I felt the colour rising in my cheeks. But something in his manner caused me to check and I said nothing further.

  ‘John, go back to your lodgings for now. I want you to return here at eight and I will send a boat for you. There is someone I want you to meet and in God’s name clean yourself up a bit. This is an important gentleman and I don’t want you looking like the farm hand you aspire to be. That is all for now. Nesbitt stay a moment. I have an errand for you. Till eight then.’

  I walked out of the room, still at a loss as to what the morning’s events were about. It seemed my brother was troubled about the death of the stranger but he seemed to prefer to discuss his concerns with Nesbitt. There was little point feeling slighted.

  Rather than return to the river gate, I went to the Strand entrance, preparing to walk home in the knowledge that I was unlikely to get a free ride in a boat now that my usefulness was temporarily concluded. Walking through the rabbit warren of the house, I passed an open door. Looking in I could see Robert’s wife, Anne, sitting at a sewing table in a bay window surrounded by maids and three young children. Two were playing on the hearthrug and laughing loudly, whilst an older child, sitting next to her mother, read confidently from a large book. I watched as the girl, whose name was Mildred, held the book up for her mother to decipher a word for her.

  Sitting opposite Anne was a young woman I didn’t recognise. She was elegantly dressed, with dazzling jewellery adorning her hair and neck, and a face to match, although her beauty was somewhat spoiled by an expression of barely concealed scorn as she regarded the domestic scene before her.

  I paused in the doorway, momentarily caught by this contrast between family bliss on the one hand and ill-concealed contempt on the other. Sensing my presence Anne looked up. For a moment our eyes met and a smile of recognition formed on her lips. The other woman turned her head, following Anne’s gaze, and regarded me with direct, honey-coloured eyes. Her look seemed to be challenging me to provide an interesting diversion. I was about to greet both ladies when suddenly an alert maid noticed her mistress’s gaze. Letting out a slight cry of indignation, she walked swiftly to the door and shut it firmly in my face.

  So much for family bliss, I thought, as I walked stiffly out of the house, trying not to let the gate porter discern my embarrassment. The church bells of St Martin’s-in-the-Fields struck six o’clock as I stole into the chaos of the restless city, a place where I felt more at home.

  Chapter 5

  ‘Above our life we love a steadfast friend.’

  (Christopher Marlowe; Hero and Leander)

  Only a few hours had passed when, for the second time that day, I found myself in a boat on the Thames bound for The Chancel House. I had made some effort to smarten myself up and had exchanged my cloth breeches for a velvet doublet and hose – a green and gold combination – set off by a smart pair of leather boots, borrowed from my landlord, and a thick velvet cape. The boots were a size too small for me and pinched my toes painfully, but other than that I felt in comparative comfort and had been relieved to get out of my damp clothes.

  As I left my lodgings, I could hear a Bellman on patrol calling the hour of seven. The city gates would be closed by now but it made little difference to the traffic on the river. At night it became even busier, with a lot of trade passing between the North and South banks.

  Only one oarsman had been sent to fetch me, an old servant by the name of Matthew Jordan. We were well acquainted with one another, as he had been in service to the family for many years, and we chatted amiably as he negotiated our way upstream through the cross traffic.

  Matthew was about fifty years old and physically strong. He had bird-like features with a large, pointed nose and keen, black eyes. His single, bushy eyebrow was permanently set in a slope of inquisitiveness and, when not reciting poems or singing ballads, he was always very quick to pick me up on anything I said and to engage in good humoured debate.

  As he rowed, Matt
hew cheerfully described his recent encounter with a man he had met whilst walking in Holborn fields. Apparently the man had been picking a variety of plants from fields around the law courts. He had explained he was collecting specimens for the College of Physicians physic garden in Chelsea, where he was the chief gardener. During their conversation, the herb collector remarked that he had seen Matthew limping and Matthew explained that this was the result of an old injury to his knee. After some further conversation, he invited Matthew back to his house between Chancery Lane and Fetter Lane, where he promptly made up a poultice of herbs and strapped it to Matthew’s leg. Matthew proudly lifted his leg to show me.

  ‘Highly, Master John, I tell thee this Master Gerard has studied the secret art of physic most surely, he can cure wonderfully with all kinds of materials – vegetives, metals, stones, all the wonders of the orb.’ I took this to mean that the plant collector was some kind of quack.

  ‘Are you sure he didn’t stone you on the head, you old fool?’ I teased.

  ‘Highly, Master John, it isn’t meet that a man as young as you should be so cynical. Mark my words it’ll twist your gut. No doubt Master John Gerard can cure your cynicism as well as he has cured this here knee.’ He waved his leg in the air again, making the boat rock disconcertingly. ‘It an’t felt this good for many a year.’

  ‘I shouldn’t let my brother hear about it if the leg improves too much. He’ll have you replacing me as his errand boy.’ With that we both laughed and Matthew launched into a rousing rendition of Bonny Sweet Robin.

  * * *

  Ever since leaving the Chancel House earlier that day, my mind had been occupied with thoughts of Anne, my brother’s wife. Her affectionate face, glimpsed briefly, had haunted me as I passed over the Fleet and into the crowded city streets. It was hard to believe that she was now the mother of three children; I could still remember clearly the first time I’d met her.