George Loughgren was a large man with a genial look about him, but as soon as I walked into his hall, it was plain to me that he was also a powerful figure, an impression he must have been keen to project. He was the sort of man who would wish to create an air of imposing authority on any visitor.
The house was modern, with fresh golden oak panels on the walls, and light oak beams at the ceiling. All the gleaming plaster was freshly limewashed, and the light from the diamond-paned windows glinted from silver plates and goblets at the sideboard. Yes, he was wealthy. But it was not only the proof of money and authority: he was built like a strongman. He had the arms of a wrestler, and a short, bull-like neck, so he appeared to lean forward aggressively, as if about to grab and grapple an opponent. Yet when he saw me enter, he rose politely, grasping my hand in his and welcoming me effusively.
‘Master Blount, I believe? I am glad to welcome you here to my house. This is my wife, Judith.’
His wife was a tiny, fine-figured lady with the bright, alert eyes of a shrew. She was the opposite of her husband, with delicate bones and features. I was left with the feeling that Loughgren could crush her in the marital bed, were he to be careless.
‘How may I serve you?’ he asked when we were all seated, and his steward had passed around glasses of wine.
‘I have heard that a maidservant of yours has died,’ I said. ‘Could you tell me more about the incident?’
‘You mean little Alice? That was a terrible, sad matter,’ Loughgren said. He threw a sharp look at his wife, and I had thought he might ask her to give me more information, but he continued without giving her an opportunity to speak. ‘She was a sweet woman. Some eighteen years, I suppose, wasn’t she, Judith? Yes, I thought so. A little inexperienced in the ways of the world, and perhaps too friendly to strangers.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘She had gone out that afternoon. I thought she was shopping, but we heard later that she had a romantic entanglement with some fellow called Blackjack. He is from St Helen’s, a trader or some such. No doubt he is the sort of man who has a finger in several pies. He certainly doesn’t appear to have a trade or a business of importance.’
‘How did you hear of her meeting him?’
‘The constable told us when he came to let us know that the miscreant had been captured and was being held. Poor Alice was captured not far from our door, it would seem. She was tortured, from her appearance. She was not raped, but she had been beaten, and her body thrown into a midden near the city gate.’
‘Why should Blackjack do that, I wonder?’
‘Who can tell? These felons are ruled by their passions. There is evil in their hearts: whether it’s there from birth, or inspired by the Devil, who can tell? You would need to ask the priest what leads men to such horrible violence. Why murder your lover? Yet many men will slay their own wives. Perhaps he thought Alice was too demanding, that she wanted too much of his time – or maybe she was not compliant enough for his tastes? Perhaps he will confess the reasons before he hangs.’
‘Did she have other swains? You mentioned that she was overly friendly.’
‘She was no whore, if that’s what you mean!’ Loughgren snapped, a sudden anger darkening his face.
‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘I was taking your words. If not, what did you mean?’
‘My apologies. I have been under some strain of late,’ Loughgren said as his wife put her hand on his arm to calm him. He took some deep breaths. ‘My business keeps me heavily occupied, and now I am involved in the City’s administration.’
‘I see,’ I said. ‘What is your business?’
He fixed a gimlet eye on me. ‘I buy and sell. I buy from Holland and elsewhere, and bring goods to England. Recently I have been much involved with some large trades. They have been troublesome. It is difficult. You see, we are a happy household here, and we treat our servants as our family. No, she was a young woman, and enjoyed the usual, natural pleasures: singing, dancing, drinking. And she was friendly, yes, but I mean no more than that. She had no other lovers that I know of. Only this black-hearted devil, Blackjack.’
I have often found, over my many years of working as intelligencer for Lady Elizabeth, that it is best not to listen to one account only, but to ensure that as many opinions as possible are gathered. Only then can a full picture be obtained.
The area was quiet when I left Loughgren’s house. A short way along the same street was a baker’s shop, and I walked to it, selecting a small cake that was still hot, fresh from the oven. While chatting to the baker, I ate half, and could compliment him on his skill. By degrees I managed to bring the subject away from cakes and to his neighbours in the street.
‘I am sure you must sell a lot of cakes here, with so many wealthy families in the area. They will all have a taste for such delicacies,’ I said.
‘Some do, yes. There’s Master Gilbert along there, with five children. He has his maid come every day – I reckon, if he di’n’t come fetch them, he’d start a riot to beat all the ’prentice nonsense, the stink them brats could start. And his missus – God’s pain, but there’s little peace for the poor soul when ’e’s ’ome.’
‘Ah, it’s a terrible thing, to marry a termagant,’ I said knowingly.
‘You’d best trust to it, master.’ He chuckled indulgently. He was a man who clearly enjoyed his own produce as much as the five horrors from Master Gilbert’s house, from the way that his belly rippled, and the enormous chin wobbled.
It was some little while before I could run my mind along the street, speaking of each house in turn until I reached the Loughgren’s.
‘’E’s an odd ’un, ’im,’ the baker said, shaking his head, ‘’ardly ever see ’im or ’is folks.’
He expanded, informing me, between customers, that the family had no children, so there was little in the way of business to be had from them. Most houses where business was conducted would often drop by and pick up dainties for clients, but not Loughgren. No, he had many deliveries, and there were regularly men with heavy carts arriving throughout the day, delivering items, but only rarely did anyone buy cakes.
‘I heard that a maid from the house was murdered,’ I said tentatively, biting into the cooling cake.
‘Aye. Poor chit! I knew ’er, moderate well. Pretty little thing, ’er was. And a wicked sense o’ ’umour. Oh, ’er could tempt the birds from the trees, ’er could. And tempt a lot else,’ he added darkly.
‘What is Master Loughgren’s business? Does he run a wine shop?’ I asked innocently.
‘Not ’im, no! ’E’s more in the arms business, ’e is. Buys and sells all sorts of weaponry, so I heard. Certainly ’as a lot delivered, day and night. Enough to arm a small host, I’d reckon.’
He had given me much to mull over. In those troubling times, there was always a need for caution. After all, there was no law against buying and selling of weapons. Weapons don’t hurt people, it’s people that do that, and it doesn’t matter what is to hand – if a man is filled with the Devil’s hatred, he’ll commit murder with whatever is to hand, whether it’s a sword, spear, cudgel, dagger, or even his bare – well, hands.
However, just then, while the queen was unwell, there were many men angling for position. It was like watching masters of defence in the arena, swords glittering as they sought the best position. With the queen rumoured to be suffering from some illness, many lords, barons and knights were looking to take advantage. One method of winning advantage involved storing stocks of weapons and gathering servants and retainers to use them. Few would dare to try to begin a rebellion – the events of the Wyatt attempt to wrest the throne from Queen Mary were still in many people’s minds, as were the bodies which had hanged from gibbets for months afterwards – but were the queen to grow much more weak, or even die, then all the gamblers would be considering who to bet on. Some wealthy men, like Loughgren, may well decide to arm their retainers and ensure that their houses and warehouses were secure. Others might think to arm rather more men and attempt to take over the city – or the kingdom. Sir Edmund de Vere was one more of that ilk, which was why Sir Thomas Parry had instructed me to ensure his removal from the board, in the hope that his destruction might persuade others to halt their plotting.
Of course the alternative possibility was that removing one knight from the board might simply embolden three others.
I proceeded to Newgate to enquire of the prison guards as to whether they held a prisoner called Jack Blackjack, but there was no one there who could help me – not that I was surprised. I knew that London had at least fourteen prisons, with various buildings set aside for debtors, vice-related criminals, state prisoners, ecclesiastical offenders and others. So, with a sigh, I turned away from Newgate and chose to make my way to Jack’s old haunts in the east of the city.
It would appear, from the letter I had received, that Jack was being held under suspicion of the murder of a man who had been his tenant as well as the maid Alice. This fellow was known to have several debts – but that was common with a certain type of merchant. They would invest all their possessions in a ship, intending to see the cargo sold for a rich profit. This man, Vanderstilt, was apparently one of that kind, who had put a large sum of money into one cargo going to Holland, and then all the rest of his money into a second, which he had anticipated paying off with the proceeds from the first. However, the first ship was held up for some reason, and now Vanderstilt was dead, and certain men had heard him threatened by Jack. That led to immediate suspicion, and he was apprehended outside his new home in St Helen’s.
His old haunts were nearer Aldgate, I knew, so I went there next. Perhaps if he was captured and taken to that parish, he would still be held there. Of course, all the various parts of London had their own prisons, usually little more than single-cell gaols. They were not needed for long, since they were merely for holding suspects until they could be tried, and then released or hanged. Aldgate had a small chamber in which I discovered five men squatting on the damp packed earth of the floor, gloomily awaiting their fate. None was Blackjack.
‘I seek a fellow who was arrested last week,’ I told the turnkey.
‘Oho? What’s that to me?’ He was a short, thickset man holding a blackthorn cudgel, with one eye and grey stubble for hair. His eye was not that of a man with compassion and kindness, but it would be hard to find any gaoler in the land who had the look of an amiable priest. He was fat with the look of a man who enjoyed his ale but without the amiability normally associated with such a build. His nose was large as a plum, and the same colour; his guts swelled over his belt like grain in a sack. I was speaking to him before the cell, where one man stood mutely, a hand outstretched through the bars in the window of the door, begging for money for something to eat. As I watched, behind him another prisoner tried to catch a large rat that scurried across the floor. The odour from the pail was enough to make a man gag. The gaoler smacked the begging hand almost without looking. It was plain to me how well he treated his inmates. His cudgel looked well-used.
I turned back to the gaoler. ‘He goes by the name Jack Blackjack, although he has used others. He is a little taller than me, perhaps, with clothing of a good quality, and he has a pleasant face, with only one small scar,’ I said, about to point, but before I could the turnkey scowled.
‘Him? Oh, I dare say you’d like him. So would I, master. The lying, conniving, dishonest …’
He was plainly of a mood to continue for some little while, but I cut him off. ‘Where is he?’
‘The Devil’s prickle ’scaped. He knocked down my companion and made for the river, so I heard.’
‘Where then?’
He rubbed his stubbled chin with the sound of a rasp smoothing oak, but remained speechless until I brought a coin from my purse. ‘Thank ’ee, master. I understand he made it south – maybe to the Clink, to claim sanctuary, the bastard! My companion was sorely injured when he was knocked on the pate. He won’t never be the same man again. He deserves compensation for the trouble and his injury.’
The average turnkey makes very little money. He is a man who has no profession or livelihood other than what his prisoners pay him. Some gaol keepers can become wealthy. They charge prisoners what they want for food and drink. The gaoled with families could have money brought for them, while those who had no relatives must starve. From the look of this man’s inmates, he was taking much of the money and not providing them with any sustenance. A gaoler is not there to give comfort and ease to his inmates, it is true. Yet I was struck by the drawn features of the man in the cell’s doorway. His eyes had that hunger which is only held by the horribly malnourished. I have seen that look before.
‘He might be able to tell you more,’ the gaoler added hopefully.
‘Bring him. I will have a coin here if he can help me,’ I said.
The gaoler rolled away as fast as his short legs could bear him, and as soon as he was out of hearing, I dropped a penny into the beggar’s hand. He snatched it away, wide-eyed, as though terrified I might take it back again. Instead I held a second coin for him. ‘You know my friend Jack?’
He nodded, his eyes fixed on the coin.
‘Did you see what happened to him?’
‘He was here. In here with us. Turnkey came, and told him he’d be here till he died, and beat him. Your man was hurt and said he’d pay to be released. They took his money and let him go, then raised hue and cry about his escape and set the constable to catch him back.’
‘Did they bring him back again?’
‘No, I think he got south of the river.’
I passed him two more coins, and as I did so, the turnkey returned with a smaller man, slight of figure, with a shock of tallow-coloured hair. He had the look of a hound that had been beaten too often. When the older man glanced at him, he cringed.
‘Here he is; you question him.’
‘Where did he hit you?’ I asked.
The fellow looked up at the turnkey with obvious fear.
‘Tell him!’
The assistant pointed to his leg. His master snarled and smacked his cheek. ‘Your head, you guffin! He hit you on the head, didn’t he? Knocked you down and scrambled your brains, didn’t he?’
‘Aye, my haid. Hit my haid!’
‘Really,’ I said, and it was obvious that I did not believe him. I walked from the gaol.
‘Oi, what about the money?’
That was when I turned and marched back to the turnkey. He was strong and capable of scaring his associate and prisoners, but I have endured enough bullies in my time. I continued approaching at a fast stride, and he was forced to retreat until his back was to the wall. I pressed forward until my nose was almost on his. His odour was only a little better than the cell’s pail.
‘I have already paid. Be thankful I do not increase my payment to the level your behaviour justifies. And you should be glad. You were holding one of the most dangerous men in all England. Be glad he didn’t kill you both for your insults to him.’
I was angry to have heard of the gaoler’s treatment of Jack. If I was to find Sir Edmund de Vere and ensure that he posed no risk to my Lady Elizabeth, I needed Jack back and working, and that meant fit and well, not beaten and injured.
The gaoler had said that Jack might be at the Clink, over the other side of the Thames. This ecclesiastical prison was a sanctuary for any felon evading the law, but only for forty days. If I was right, Jack had been there since Tuesday or Wednesday – I had not asked the prisoner when exactly Jack had escaped. Clearly sometime between Monday, when he was arrested, and presumably Wednesday or Thursday.
I proceeded quickly to the bridge and passed over into Surrey. The Clink was a liberty originally owned by the Bishop of Winchester, and free from the authorities of London north of the river. I had no need to ask directions. The sanctuary was famous. To be so close to London, and yet free of the officers of the law, it was known as a hotbed of licentiousness, and for the quality of the whores who patrolled the streets. These ‘Winchester Geese’ – named as such because the land was owned by the good Bishop – were much favoured by Jack, I know. He had friends all over this area.
And he must have gone to hide with some. When I reached the Clink, he was not in the church grasping the altar cloth as a sanctuary seeker should.
A cleric was sweeping the aisles, and I enquired of him what had happened to Jack.
‘A penitent seeking sanctuary? I do not think we have had one for a few days.’
‘This would have been in the last week.’
‘No, there has been no one in that time, I am sure.’
‘You are quite sure?’
‘Certainly. When a man comes here to find freedom, we are most careful to make a note of his name and the date he arrives. He can only remain here for forty days, and then the coroner is entitled to demand that the fellow submits to imprisonment or must abjure the realm. We have to keep accurate records. But there has been no one here.’
It was enough to make me grind my teeth in frustration. Without Jack, I would have to seek another assassin, or undertake Sir Thomas’s mission myself.
Where was Jack?