Revelation

They were halfway to the door when there was a sudden disturbance. I saw a ragged little man was praying before one of the tombs, and no sooner had I registered his presence than he got up and darted out before Lady Catherine, throwing himself to his knees in front of her. I started forward out of some instinct to protect her but her guards had got there first. One of them pointed a sword at the man's throat. Lady Catherine stood with a hand to her breast, shocked and frightened. The man raised his head and I saw it was the mad beggar whom Barak and I had encountered in the infirmary, talking about looking for his teeth.

Then another figure stepped from the shadows with a drawn sword. It was Sir Thomas Seymour, dressed in a dark blue doublet with jewels to match. Lady Catherine turned pale. 'Are you safe, my lady?' Seymour asked.

'Quite safe, Thomas,' Lady Catherine said. She frowned. 'Put down your sword, you foolish man.' She looked down at the beggar.

'Good lady,' the wretched man burst out. 'I cannot find my teeth, I cannot eat, please, my lady, make them give them up to me!'

'You madwag,' the guard said, still holding his sword to the beggar's throat. 'What do you think you're doing, accosting Lady Catherine?'

'My teeth — only my teeth—'

'Let him go,' Lady Catherine said. 'He is out of his wits. I know nothing of your teeth, fellow. I see you have none. But if they are gone, they are gone. Mine will go too one day.'

'No, good lady, you do not understand—'

'We should have him taken in charge, my lady,' the guard said.

'No,' she answered firmly. 'He cannot help himself. Give me a shilling.' The guard lifted his sword, delved in his purse and brought out a silver coin. Lady Catherine took it, then bent and handed it to the man, who still stared up at her with beseeching eyes. She smiled, a gentle smile that reminded me of Dorothy's, though their faces were quite unlike.

'There, fellow, go and buy some pottage.'

The beggar looked from Lady Catherine to the hard faces of the guards, then rose to his feet, bowed and scampered away. Sir Thomas was still standing there, a faint look of amusement on his face. Her guards looked away as Lady Catherine took a step towards him. 'Thomas,' she said, her voice quivering. 'You were told—'

'A servant in your household said you would be coming to the abbey today,' he said. 'I wanted merely to see you, watch you from a distance.' He looked serious. 'But when I saw you might be threatened, I had to draw my sword.' He put his hand on his heart. It seemed to me an actor's gesture, but Lady Catherine's face flickered with emotion for a second. Then she said quietly, 'You know you must not try to see me. It is cruel of you, and dangerous.' She cast a worried look around, her eyes resting on me, still standing at some distance. Sir Thomas laughed. 'The crookback will say nothing, I know him. And I bribed the attendants to stay away from this part of the church for a little while.'

Lady Catherine hesitated a moment, then gestured to her guards and walked away rapidly. Her men followed. Sir Thomas gave the tiniest of shrugs. Then he turned to me.

'You won't say anything, will you?' His tone was quiet, but with a threatening undertone. 'Not to my brother, or Cranmer?'

'No. Why should I wish to be involved?'

Seymour smiled, white teeth flashing in his auburn beard. 'Well judged, crookback.' He turned and walked away, his steps loud and confident.

Chapter Twenty-eight

I REJOINED BARAK at the gate to Dean's Yard. He stood with the horses, looking watchfully over the crowds going to and fro. I told him about my encounter with Catherine Parr and Thomas Seymour.

He raised his eyebrows. 'He's taking a risk meeting her in Westminster Abbey, if the King's told him to leave her alone.'

'I don't think Seymour intended to talk to her. I think he just wanted her to see him in the shadows, know that he had not forgotten her.'

'He doesn't strike me as the lovelorn type.'

'No. But I think she may be. Where he's concerned, at least.' I shook my head. 'She struck me as an intelligent, good-hearted woman — what could she see in a man like Seymour?'

'A bedmate? She's had one older husband, and another in prospect if she marries the King.'

I shook my head. 'Her expression while she was praying seemed fearful, desperate—'

'Sounds like the Lady Catherine really made an impression on you.' Barak grinned wickedly.

'Don't be stupid. It was just — she seemed to have something good and honest in her, that you don't often see in ladies of the court.'

'Nor anyone else there, for that matter—' Barak broke off. 'Watch out, here comes Harsnet. I take it we are saying nothing about Seymour being in the church.'

'No. That's not our business. We know now these killings have nothing to do with Catherine Parr.'

I watched as Harsnet walked across Dean's Yard with his confident stride, looking neither right nor left. The beggars and pedlars did not approach him; perhaps they knew who he was and that he could arrest them on the spot. I had heard they had their own body of knowledge. 'Good afternoon,' Harsnet said. He looked more cheerful than before.

'A good meeting?' I asked.

He nodded. 'We are going to be able to stop Bonner spreading his persecution down here. Westminster is well out of his jurisdiction.' He fixed me with his keen eyes. 'What news from Lockley?'

I told him of my suspicion he was still keeping something back, and of the attack on Charles Cantrell.

'I'll have Lockley taken in for questioning after we've seen the dean,' he said. 'What about the wife? Should we take her too?'

'No. I do not think she knows anything.'

'And young Cantrell attacked?' He looked across the yard to the run-down carpenter's shop. He frowned. 'But why in God's name does Cantrell not want someone posted at his house?'

'He says he does not care if he is attacked again. I am not sure he is quite in his right mind.'

'How so?'

'He is half blind, he was thrown out of Westminster Abbey and then saw his father die. He has suffered much.'

'Yet his father and his friends seem to have offered him salvation. I know some of those groups have more wild enthusiasm than deep faith. Yet they are on the right path.' Harsnet looked at me earnestly.

'Whether they are or not, Master Cantrell joined this conventicle and then withdrew from it. That would be enough for our killer to believe he deserved death.'

'I'll arrange for a guard. I'll have one posted there whether he likes it or not.' He sighed. 'But I'm running out of men. I'll have to speak to Lord Hertford, see if he can supply anyone. What were those names that Cantrell gave you?'

I gave Harsnet the names of the group Cantrell's father had belonged to. He rubbed his chin. 'I've heard of one or two of those. I will ask around my contacts.' He took a deep breath. 'And now, let us see what we can get out of Dean Benson.'

THE DEAN WAS in his study again, in the fine house set amidst the warren of half-demolished and half converted monastic buildings, labouring over papers. The sound of hammering and sawing was louder today, and his plump face was irritable. When we were shown in he gave us a look of hostile enquiry, bidding us sit down with a patrician wave of the hand.