Saturday, 17 October
Jack looked up with a solemn face toward John Tremayne. He longed to tell his master that all would be well, but even with the information he wished to impart, he knew there were still too many unanswered questions.
And that coroner had done them no favors.
‘My lord,’ Jack began, clearing his throat and fitting his thumbs in his belt. ‘According to the information I obtained in my capacity as the Tracker’s apprentice, I have discovered that Elizabeth le Porter was once employed as a lady’s maid to Helewise Peverel, widow on Trinity Street, and had recently left her employ. And further, that Walter and John Noreys, brothers, living in the family household on Lombard Street, did hire Mistress le Porter to steal a certain relic owned by the Peverel household, the Tears of the Virgin Mary.’
The crowd gasped. Jack took courage from it.
‘The Noreys brothers were unsuccessful with this enterprise,’ Jack continued, ‘as Mistress le Porter failed – or refused – to do as requested. My lord, I submit to you that more witnesses be called. That of Walter Noreys and Madam Peverel, and that the Tears of the Virgin be brought forth as evidence. And I further submit to you that there have been two other murders of women in London, strangled, all too similar to that of the murdered Elizabeth le Porter on Friday last. Murders my master couldn’t possibly have committed.’
Tremayne clutched his knees. ‘And so we have heard.’ He angled toward the sheriff. ‘Though you, Lord Sheriff, have accused this man here,’ and he gestured toward Jack.
Jack took a step back, mouth open in shock.
‘Perhaps it is time to talk of these murders,’ said Tremayne.
The door burst open and Sheriff Walcote pushed his way through. He scoured the crowd and spotted Jack. He raised his arm and pointed a finger. ‘There you are, you murdering miscreant!’
‘Oh! Time to go!’ said Jack, and he threw himself into the crowd opposite the sheriff, and amid screams and shouts, scrambled toward a window.
‘Stop him!’ cried Walcote.
‘God’s teeth!’ shouted Tremayne. ‘Stop! Stop all of you! Tucker! You there!’
Jack was halfway out the window when he turned sharply.
‘This is all madness,’ grumbled Tremayne when the room quieted from the uproar. Jack was still hanging halfway to freedom, but there was something in Tremayne’s tone that halted his progress. The sheriff’s men, with pikes and swords drawn, had entered the chamber, and Tremayne motioned for them to stand down. ‘We will get to the bottom of this. But for now, we will adjourn this trial for the day. There is more here than meets the eye. I want Tucker, Guest, and the sheriffs in that chamber. Now!’
The crowd didn’t like that they were being pushed out by the sheriff’s men, but Tremayne stomped off the dais and entered through a door to a smaller chamber just behind the raised area.
Nigellus looked up at Jack with a grateful smile and a nod, and Jack slowly pulled himself down from the sill. Well, that’s done it, he mused. He looked toward his master, and Master Crispin was giving him a sly grin. Jack felt better about it then, but when he glanced at Walcote he shrank again. The sheriff was staring at him with murderous eyes. That didn’t bode well. But at least he would offer enough doubt all around, just as Nigellus said he needed.
When they assembled in the chamber and the door was closed, Tremayne turned on all of them. ‘Just what the hell is going on? I have never presided over a trial as mad as this.’
They all tried to talk at once. Tremayne silenced them with a wave of his hand. ‘Sheriff Walcote. You begin. Why are you after Jack Tucker here?’
‘Because he’s a murderer!’
‘No I’m not! And you know it … my lord.’
‘Then what were you doing at the scene of the murder of that woman?’
‘You mean like all them other people crammed into that room off Watling Street?’
The sheriff puffed and said nothing.
Jack gestured to his master. ‘Master Crispin and I investigate crimes. My lord, you know we do. It’s what pays our fees. It’s how we make our living, one honest and true. If you had only asked me instead of sending your men after me …’
‘I can do what I like with my men,’ countered the sheriff, face growing red.
‘But that don’t help no one—’
‘Jack.’ Master Crispin’s soft voice interjected. He shook his head. ‘That’s enough.’ It was his master who turned to both sheriffs. He spread out his hands. ‘The both of you know me. You have been told – or warned – by the previous sheriffs. And the sheriffs before that knew what we do to fill our tables. And the ones before that. And before that. It is no secret what I do … what we do for a living, my lords. And if Jack is found – among the company of others – examining a corpse, then you should know that he does so with the authority of the Tracker. We find thieves, criminals, and murderers. It’s what we do, for good or ill. I’d like to think it’s for the good of London. Now. There is no question that I am guilty as the First Finder for failing to call the hue and cry, for allowing someone else to find the corpse. I have given my reasons for not doing so. We are now standing in the midst of my reasons.’
Tremayne examined his nails. ‘Sheriff Walcote, do you wish to make charges against Jack Tucker for murder?’
Jack’s breath caught. His eyes fastened on the sheriff, scowling as if his supper had been snatched from his plate. After a long pause the sheriff finally shook his head, mouth clamped tightly.
Tremayne cracked his neck. ‘Right. And so. This other matter of women strangled. My lords?’ He looked at each sheriff in turn.
‘We have no information on them yet, Lord Recorder,’ said Loveney.
‘Do you think it may have to do with the murder of which Master Guest is accused?’
Loveney, again, shook his head. ‘We do not know, my lord.’
Tremayne paced, hands pressed behind his back. Master Crispin watched him mildly. ‘I tell you, gentlemen, I am not pleased by this. All the evidence must be presented to the jury prior to coming to court. It is the custom since King Henry III’s day. Yet now we have new witnesses, new information. It’s what comes of holding the trial at a breakneck pace, gentlemen.’ He stopped and speared Jack with his sharp eyes. ‘And you! You came into my court most impolitely, Master Tucker.’
‘I am heartily sorry for that, my lord, and I beg your mercy. My only thought was for the deliverance of my master.’
Tremayne’s narrowed gaze did not leave Jack. ‘Such a loyal apprentice,’ he muttered. He elbowed Master Crispin. ‘I hope you are properly humbled.’
‘You have no idea,’ said Master Crispin, gazing at Jack fondly.
Jack’s face flushed.
‘Very well,’ said Tremayne with a deep sigh. ‘We will call in new witnesses – that Peverel woman and those Noreys brothers—’
Sheriff Loveney cleared his throat.
‘You have something to say, my lord?’
‘Yes. It’s just that … one of the brothers recently died by misadventure.’
‘By Saint Cuthbert! What is happening to this city? Deaths everywhere you look!’
‘He was attempting to assail … er … the prisoner, when the prisoner threw … him out the window.’
Tremayne glared, mouth agape, at Master Crispin. Jack’s master stared at his own shuffling feet. ‘It was self-defense,’ he said quietly.
‘My God. There is no respite from this, is there? Was Master Guest charged with this murder, too?’
‘It was a clear case of self-defense, my lord,’ said Loveney.
‘Thank Christ for that,’ he muttered. He blinked and then looked up at the assembly. ‘Well. What are you standing around here for? Get that relic as evidence, send this prisoner back to Newgate, and gather your new witnesses. Court will convene again on Monday. Thank God for Sunday.’
The sheriffs moved toward Master Crispin, but he raised a hand and asked if he could speak to Jack for a moment. Seeing Tremayne of a mind to let him, they backed off, talking quietly together.
Jack hastened to his master’s side since those heavy irons still encircled the man’s ankles.
‘You’ve been busy, Jack.’
‘Aye, master. I’ve been trying me best.’
‘And a good job, too. What else have you learned?’
‘I went to the Widow Peverel and something about that curse or gift or whatever you’d call what that relic does …’
‘Yes?’
‘Whatever Madam Peverel said, it don’t seem to do it.’
‘Explain.’
‘I talked to the steward. He said he’d been there since the relic came to the household and he never felt naught for no one because of it.’
‘So the story that Elizabeth le Porter left because of this relic … is false?’
‘That’s my thinking.’
‘Then why did she leave? I’ve been doing my own thinking, Jack. I’m thinking that it was me that the mysterious stranger intended to hire after all. He wanted me to go to Elizabeth. He knew I would relay the message but do her no harm. And, further, she knew it, too. She knew who it was that had sent her that warning. And that it was merely a threat. And it might have been a threat from those Noreys boys. They hired her to steal the Tears, she didn’t, and now they wanted to force her hand.’
‘Did they kill her after all, master?’
‘I don’t think so. Especially in light of these other murders.’
‘When I questioned Master Noreys and his son …’
‘God’s blood, Jack! You didn’t! How on earth did you? They’re a house in mourning.’
Jack adjusted his coat. ‘Took a page out of your book, sir. I told them I was a clerk from the sheriff’s office.’
He laughed. ‘Well done!’
It felt good to see his master smile, see him cheered. Jack smiled back. But he sobered again on relating his information. ‘Master William Noreys said that they are in dire straits. Poverty is creeping upon them. They wanted the relic to sell. And I don’t think he approved of his sons’ plan. It was a surprise to him as well as the murder.’
‘And what of Walter Noreys?’
‘Oh, he hired her right enough. But he seemed surprised at her death. And he still thinks you got the relic.’
‘Hmm.’ Master Crispin folded his arms over his chest. ‘This all may be coincidence. It seems as if we are looking at a killer of many women. Perhaps now that the sheriff is not after you, you might enquire as to the details. Find out also if there have been more women in the past that were strangled, the killer unfound.’
‘Aye, master. I’m … I’m sorry you must spend another two nights in gaol. It’s not right, sir. They know you’re not guilty.’
‘All the better for me, for now there is doubt. But it doesn’t mean you have time to rest.’
‘I shall never rest, sir, until I find the knave what done it.’
‘That’s the spirit.’ He slapped Jack’s back. ‘The sheriffs are eyeing us most carefully. Confer with Cobmartin. And … thank you for finding him.’
‘Aye, sir. I didn’t think we could do this alone.’
‘I’m not alone. I have you.’
Jack beamed. ‘Right, sir … Blind me, here they come.’
Sheriff Walcote approached and sneered at Jack. ‘Time to return to your cell, Guest.’
‘Very well, Lord Sheriff. I would thank you for your hospitality but … well …’
He shoved Master Crispin forward. ‘Be still or be struck.’ His master turned back once to offer a nod before he was ushered out of the chamber, manacles clanking.
‘You’re free to go, Tucker,’ said Loveney down the length of his nose. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest.
‘Yes, my lord. Thank you, sir.’ Jack straightened his coat again and hurried out.
Nigellus was waiting for him.
‘Master Tucker, we must talk.’
‘I will meet you outside, Master Nigellus. Staying within …’ he looked back and caught Loveney eyeing him again, ‘isn’t good for me health.’
Jack breathed deep as he left the confines of the Guildhall. He hated such places, especially crowds that meant to hang his master. He shook out his cloak as if shaking the gloom of the proceedings from his heart. He already felt lighter.
‘You’re the Tracker’s apprentice,’ said a gruff voice behind him. He turned and saw the eel monger’s round face. Hugh Buckton was his name, he recalled.
‘Aye.’
He thumbed back toward the Guildhall. ‘I didn’t know the man I saw was the Tracker. I never would have said naught had I known.’
‘You saw what you saw. It’s the truth, isn’t it?’
‘Aye. I saw him go in. Didn’t see him go out.’
Jack smiled, nodded, then turned away.
Buckton seemed reluctant to leave him. He fidgeted with the hem of his coat. ‘I wouldn’t have said naught. The Tracker’s done a lot of good in London.’
‘Aye,’ said Jack, keeping a polite expression on his face.
‘I’d like to help make it right.’
‘How could you do that?’
‘I dunno. You tell me.’
‘I won’t have you lie. Even for my master’s life. He would forbid it.’
‘But suppose I help you. With something else.’
‘Well then, let me ask you this. Did you ever see them Noreys men come to le Porter’s rooms?’
‘I … I don’t know the men by name.’
‘But you said you seen men come and go.’
‘Aye. She was a friendly thing. She borrowed money from me. To keep her till she found another situation. I don’t suppose there is any getting that back?’
‘Er … no. Why did she entertain so many men, Master Buckton?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s not what you think. At least, I don’t think it is. She had women visitors, too.’
Jack considered. ‘Master Buckton, if you’d truly like to help, may I call upon you to bring you around to identify various people? There may be some that are useful to prove my master innocent.’
He smiled. ‘I’d be happy to do that, Master Apprentice.’
‘It’s Tucker. Jack Tucker. And I’ll be by on Sunday, if that will suit.’
‘Oh. Is that proper on a Sunday?’
‘I don’t think the Lord will mind our clearing my master’s name on His day.’
‘Oh. Right then.’ He saluted and lumbered away.
Jack watched him go, curious about what Buckton might be able to tell him.
Once Nigellus joined him, Jack and the lawyer reached Gutter Lane and wove their way through the townsfolk with their burdens and their carts until they reached the Boar’s Tusk. They settled in, and Jack found himself absently searching for Isabel. He hoped she had gotten back all right without Gilbert knowing. She was a clever girl. He was certain she could do it.
‘Master Jack, you have given new life to this case,’ said the lawyer. ‘Only a few brief hours ago it looked mighty bad.’
‘What that coroner said.’ Jack shook his head. ‘And to think about all the help my master gave him.’
‘Well, men of position don’t like to lose it. And I’m afraid Master Guest is a constant reminder of just how much a man can lose.’
Jack couldn’t disagree. He took a sip of ale and set his horn cup down.
‘What are your plans now, Jack?’ asked the lawyer, taking his own sip.
‘Well, Nigellus, I don’t mind saying it is an uphill battle. I must find this third witness who seems to have eluded everyone. Either the man gave a false name or the clerk misheard. Either is possible. But I worry over the former. And then there is this knave who is out there, strangling women.’
‘Yes. A horrible crime. And yet, I am of two minds on it. One, I cringe as any good Christian must. But on the other, to find him is to free my client.’
‘Just so, Nigellus. That man is the key to opening my master’s cell door. I am also seeking the help of Hugh Buckton, the eel monger. He has promised to help identify some of the men who visited Elizabeth le Porter. I suspect he will identify Walter Noreys.’
‘Ah yes. Quite an interesting turn, there. You and your master, magnis animis similiter cogitent.’
‘Well, I’ve been taught to think like my master, certainly.’ Jack drummed his fingers against his cup. He stood and ran his hand over his face. ‘I need to clean m’self up. Time to get home and make sure all is well before I head out again.’
‘I will go with you. I have property on the Shambles that I must look over.’ They walked out together. ‘Indeed. Property my father owned. A poulterer’s shop that now lies empty. I am afraid I am not the business man my father was.’
Jack never had cause to think on it. Business was business. It always looked thriving in London. At least it seemed so in the Boar’s Tusk. But hadn’t he and his master encountered many a man whose business seemed to dwindle? Like the Noreys household. Ill-management and over-spending all contributed. ‘Was your father a poulterer?’
Nigellus looked at him aghast. ‘Oh no, no, no! He certainly could not have sent me to study law if he were. No, my father was a trader in property. He was not a wealthy man, but he died enjoying his trade. He did not see me fulfill my ambitions as a lawyer and that I regret.’
‘I’m sorry. My parents died a long time ago.’
‘And I am sorry, too. But it is the way of it. The old make way for the young. And on and on. Here it is. And a disreputable place, as you see.’
Jack looked up at the two-story structure, a building he passed every day but seldom noticed. Its shutters had always been boarded up as long as he could remember. Its lime-washed daub was gray and dingy from smoke and mud.
‘It isn’t much, is it?’ Jack admitted. ‘Still, you can rent it out to … well. Another poulterer?’
‘It needs fixing and my income as a lawyer has yet to meet that expectation.’
They both looked up at it silently for a moment. ‘Well, Nigellus. This is where I leave you. I must see to my master’s well-being.’
‘Fare you well, Master Jack. He is in good hands.’
They bowed to one another and moved off in their separate ways.
Jack hurried to his lodgings. It smelled musty and unused within, but he scanned the room with its two beds, coffer, table, chair, and stool. It wasn’t much, he supposed, but it was home. More home than he had had in a long time. There was water in the bucket, and he poured some into the basin, rolled up his sleeves, and did his best to wash.
Feeling better, he closed and barred the shutters, locked the door, and tromped down the stairs. Almost immediately he spotted a man selling roasted meat on sticks. He exchanged a ha’penny for two skewers and wolfed them down as he walked toward Watling, tossing the sticks into the mud and wiping his hands on the thighs of his stockings.
Fortified, he felt a new purpose swell in his heart. He was close. Close to saving his master. A sense of pride overwhelmed him for a moment before he tamped it down. He had a job ahead of him and he needed to get to it.
But after more wasted time trying to find Thomas Tateham, Jack considered. Perhaps he was going about this in the wrong way. Perhaps instead of the name of Thomas Tateham – which Hamo Eckington might have gotten wrong – he should go by a description of him.
It was back to Newgate.
He slid his glance toward the shadows and slanted light of the sun peeking through the clouds. It was getting late. The business day was drawing to a close. It must be around six of the clock. He hurried his steps and arrived at the prison in no time, slipped by the gruff serjeants on the watch, and made his way up the stairs. He supposed it might be easier to break into Newgate than out of it.
He spared a thought for his master sitting alone in a cell and sent up a prayer for him.
When he got to the sheriffs’ chamber, he peered around the corner. ‘Psst!’
Eckington was bent over his never-ending pile of parchments. He raised his head, looked about, but then turned back to them.
‘Psst!’ said Jack louder. This time the man turned around.
‘Why do you make that sound at me, Tucker? What do you want?’
‘Master Eckington. I am having the devil’s own time finding that third witness, that Thomas Tateham on Mercery Lane. Might you be able to give me a description of the man instead?’
Eckington’s brows converged over his eyes. ‘Well then … he … he was a man of some middling height – shorter than you, Master Tucker, but I must say, you are exceptionally tall. He wore a hood and kept it close – bless me. Do you suppose he was trying to conceal who he was?’
‘I have no doubt of it, Master Hamo. Why do you suppose he would be doing that? Why would he even stay to give testimony to the sheriffs?’
‘If he were trying to hide himself, then running away would draw attention to him. Better to send the sheriffs on the well-worn path than to offer them an opportunity to give chase.’
‘Then which is more likely wrong? His name, his address … or both?’
‘His name is most certainly false. It takes a man most devious to think of another address on the spot as well.’
‘I’ll have to hope that he does live on Mercery, for if he does not, there is no hope of my finding him. Please, Master Hamo. Go on with your description.’
Eckington seemed of a better humor to comply. Their mutual curiosity was surely their united cause. ‘He wore a beard, brown, close-cropped to his face. His nose was hawk-like – hooked so.’ He demonstrated with a gesture. ‘With brown eyes, brown hair to his shoulders that I could see in his hood. His teeth are small. His accent is like the sheriffs’, so I must conclude he is a merchant of higher trade. I know that is not much to go on, Master Tucker …’
‘It is a great deal more than I had before, Master Hamo. I thank you.’ After bowing, he turned hastily to go when Eckington stopped him.
‘Tucker, I … I wish you God’s blessing. Master Guest … everyone knows he is not guilty. Let us hope your evidence will prove it so.’
Jack hurried out. ‘I hope so, too,’ he muttered.