Chapter Five

 

“You’ve lost the body?” I couldn’t believe it. “How could anyone lose a body?”

My first instinct was to rush and tell the king, or at least his staff, about the missing body. I started to bolt from the room, but I remembered the king saying he couldn’t trust his staff at Hampton Court Palace. And so, I questioned the physician and conducted a thorough search of the room, but I could find no clues. It appeared my investigation was over before it had even begun. I decided to leave the physician and question other eyewitnesses to the murder. While opening the door to leave, however, a young woman surprised me, her hand raised to knock on the door.

“Oh!” she said, startled by the sudden opening of the door. “Pardon me, my lord,” she curtsied. She looked to be in her early twenties and wore a plain white cotton dress covered by a grey woolen cloak. The hood of her cloak hung down her back unused, revealing her long honey-blond hair tied with a strap of tan leather.

“Please forgive me,” I said. “I was on my way out.”

“I’m just bringing a few herbs that the doctor ordered,” she said. “Please don’t leave on my account.”

“I’m not,” I said, wanting to get on with my investigation. “But thank you. Please take your time.”

“William Shakespeare,” said Doctor Butler. “Please allow me to introduce Violet Lewis, a local herbalist.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said. “I’m sorry, I must be going.”

“William is an actor with the King’s Men,” said the physician.

“Oh, I love theater,” said the young woman, her green eyes shining with excitement. “Your acting company is building a set in the Great Hall.”

“Your name is Lewis?” I asked. “Are you Myles Lewis’ daughter?”

“Yes, my lord,” she smiled. “My father was kind enough to help me gain employment at the palace. He found work here for my sisters, Elspet and Janet, too. Family is very important to us.”

“Jolly good,” I said, not wanting to waste time with pleasantries. “I must go, goodbye.”

As I left the room, my conscience nagged me for being so rude. Time was of the essence, however; I could make apologies for my curtness later. I decided to go back to the Chapel Royal and look for clues. Walking towards the chapel, I thought about all the events leading up to the murder. One question haunted me. Who were the two men who insisted that the king drink first?

I showed my letter to the guard at the chapel door. He scanned the letter and then waved for me to enter. I stepped into the opulent chapel, and memories of the murder flooded over me.

“May I help you?” came the voice of the young priest who was preparing the chapel for the Evening Prayer service.

“Sir,” I said, remembering him as the assisting priest from earlier. “I’m William Shakespeare. I’m here on the king’s business.”

He met me at the chancel steps, and I showed him my letter.

“I’m glad someone is looking into this ghastly business.” The priest took off his Tudor bonnet and ran his fingers through his thin brown hair. “Who do you believe was the murderer?”

“I hoped that you could help me answer that question,” I replied. “I’m sorry, but what is your name?”

“I’m Father Jeremiah Talbot.”

“I wish we could have met under more pleasant circumstances,” I shook his hand. “Did Father Page have any enemies?”

“Only every Puritan in this palace.”

“I understand your point,” I said. “But did he have any personal enemies that may want him killed?”

“Not that I know of,” Father Talbot answered.

“Did he have any bad habits that may have drawn him into trouble?” I asked, hoping I didn’t offend the young priest. “Gambling, for instance?”

“No, nothing like that,” said Talbot. “At least, not to the best of my knowledge.”

“May I look around the scene of the crime?”

“Of course,” he said, and he opened the chancel gate.

I explored the area surrounding the altar, but it was spotless.

“Have you swept this area recently?” I asked.

Father Talbot called over an elderly man who had apparently been working in the sacristy. He introduced him as Alban Braunstone, the sexton. After introductions, Talbot asked Alban if he had swept the chancel area since the murder.

“Yes,” said the old man, his long white hair flowing down to his shoulders. “I sweep the area after every service.”

“Did you notice anything unusual?”

“Not especially.” Alban scratched his beard. “While we were setting up for the service, there was a ghost sighting in the hall. That’s not unusual, but we went to investigate, anyway.”

Father Talbot shook his head. “And after one ghost sighting, others always happen in rapid succession. It’s a wonder we ever get any work done.”

“The palace is that haunted?”

Talbot shrugged. “People see what they expect to see.”

“What about after the service?” I asked Alban. “Was there anything out of the ordinary?”

“Yes,” said the man, stroking his long beard. “He had coughed up a little blood before he died. Other than that, it seemed typical.”

“I’m sorry, but I have business to attend to,” said Father Talbot. “If I can be of further help, please come by later. I will be happy to assist your investigation in any way I can. Until then, Alban will be happy to answer any questions you may have.”

The young priest left, and I asked the sexton if he would show me the sacristy. He led me to the small room used to store items needed for the service. There were brass candle holders, liturgical books, vestments, chalices, and patens. Everything I would have expected to find in a sacristy.

“Why are there two sinks?” I asked Alban.

“One is for general use,” he answered. “The other is a piscina, a sink that goes directly into the earth.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, puzzled.

“It’s for cleaning chalices so that the Sacrament returns directly to the earth,” said Alban. “Rather than into the common sewer, that is.”

“And that’s where you cleaned the chalice after today’s service?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Alban. “Is something wrong?”

“Pouring the wine down the piscina was unfortunate,” I said. “We lost an important clue.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Alban replied. “I should have thought of that.”

I nodded my head. “Can you think of anything else that may be helpful?”

“Not really,” said the old man. “I wonder why someone would want to murder one of God’s children.”

“Some would say original sin,” I shrugged. “We inherit Adam’s iniquity, I suppose.”

“Nonsense,” said Alban. “God has given us freewill. The only thing that we can inherit from Adam is his bad example; it’s up to us if we follow it.”

“Then what do we gain from our Lord’s sacrifice?” I asked, surprised at his candor.

“We gain his good example,” said the old man. “He inspires us to make better choices. God has given us the strength to follow his teachings if we choose to do so.”

“Sir,” I whispered. “I would not speak so openly if I were you.”

“Oh, rubbish,” said Alban. “I’m eighty-seven years old. I’ve survived many waves of persecution. What do I have to fear now?”

Alban crossed the room and sat in a chair against the north wall. I followed him and sat in a chair opposite him. He picked up a brass candle holder and began polishing it with a clean white towel.

“How long have you worked here?” I asked.

“Twelve years,” he said, concentrating on his work. “I came during the reign of Queen Elizabeth.”

I picked up a candle holder and towel and began helping him polish the brass.

“When I was a young man, I was a monk,” said Alban as he worked. “It was a wonderful life. I studied Hebrew and Greek, and read ancient writings, some of which are now lost. When King Henry dissolved the monasteries, however, I had to find a way of making a living. I only knew the religious life. So, I spent the last sixty years working for churches in various capacities.”

He held up the brass he had been polishing and inspected it as it gleamed in the light. He seemed satisfied, set it aside, and took up another and began polishing it.

“I’ve served in Catholic, Reformed, and Church of England parishes,” he smiled. “Depending on who was in power at the time. I have polished brass, tended cemeteries, archived manuscripts, and sewn vestments. And all the while, I listened and I thought.”

“And what have you learned?” I asked, intrigued by his story.

“God more often intervenes from within than from without,” he said. “God works within our hearts and within our heads. He inspires us to cooperate with him to change the world for the better. He calls us to use our physical hands to do the work that a spirit doesn’t have the hands to do.”

“How you escaped arrest all those years is beyond me,” I said, setting down the brass I had been polishing. It was time for me to leave and to continue my search for answers elsewhere. I reached out, shook Alban’s hand, and smiled. “Please do us both a favor and be careful with whom you share your religious views.”

“William,” he smiled back, shaking my hand. “When investigating this murder, be sure to listen to your heart as much as your head. Follow your intuitions. Trust your feelings.”

“I will,” I said, and turned to leave.

As I paused at the door to say a final goodbye, I noticed something lying on the floor. It was barely visible from under the edge of the piscina. I picked it up; it was a small glass vile. I showed it to Alban.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“I have no idea, sir,” said Alban. “I’ve never seen it before.”

I sniffed the bottle, and the stench seemed familiar. I thought for a moment, sure that I had smelled its scent before. I sniffed the bottle again, and then I remembered.

“The smell from the hallway,” I said aloud, and I sniffed the odor one more time. “And from the physicians’ room.”