‘Then we will have to trust him. Surely, even a man like Doggett would not want to shield a cowardly assassin, would he?’
‘If he has been paid to protect your quarry, yes. If he feels more loyalty to one of his own kind than to a stranger, yes. If he scents some financial advantage in helping you, then, just possibly, no.’
We both fell silent. It was a long time before Ned spoke again. ‘I can see only one faint glimmer of hope in the situation.’
‘What is that?’
‘Doggett has no love of foreigners. If the man you seek came from across the water to ply his trade in Doggett’s territory, Doggett would be most offended and might be persuaded to cooperate. But then, of course,’ he observed mournfully, ‘we don’t know that your assassin is an alien.’
After another lengthy silence, Ned rose to take his leave. ‘Let me see what I can find out,’ he said, with his hand on the door latch.
‘Very well,’ I agreed, ‘but don’t be long. Our killer may already have left London.’
‘In which case you have nothing to worry about,’ he replied, with an encouraging smile.
But worry I did and another night passed in mixed wakefulness and bad dreams.
In fact my impatience was not long stretched. The following afternoon Jed appeared in my shop. His message was simple: ‘Ned wants you to come straightway. He said to bring a full purse and a discreet weapon.’
The November weather had turned foul. We took the narrower lanes between Bread Street and East Cheap but rain and sleet lashed us as we emerged into Grass Street, passed the impressive frontages of rich men’s houses and jogged on down Fish Street Hill. Huddled in our cloaks and hoods, we made haste for the protection of the bridge, thankful only that the rain had washed the stench of Fish Wharf out of the air. Reaching St Swithun’s House, we dismounted and hurried indoors. Ned met us in the ground-floor chamber he shared with Jed.
‘His Grace, Lord Doggett, has graciously consented to receive us,’ he said, with an uncharacteristic note of scorn in his voice.
‘Good,’ I responded. ‘When do we go?’
‘Directly. Doggett is planning to be away from town and has commanded our presence before he leaves. It would not be wise to keep him waiting. But first there are one or two points I must make. The first is that I have not mentioned your name; you are simply a wealthy merchant in need of some discreet service, for which you are prepared to pay handsomely.’
‘That’s true enough.’
‘There’s more: I have given my word that you are not an intelligencer for the beaks.’
‘Beaks?’
‘Magistrates. They sometimes send spies among us. ’Tis a hazardous occupation; the wretches tend not to survive more than a few days. Doggett boasts that he can smell them.’
‘I can satisfy him on that score.’
‘Third, your audience will cost you five sovereigns of the latest coinage, unclipped, paid in advance.’
I nodded.
‘Finally, I am to warn you that if Doggett comes to believe that you are not being straight with him, that you are concealing anything, or that you are in any way trying to trick him, then…’
‘Yes?’
‘His exact words were “Tell your friend not to make any plans for tomorrow.” If these conditions are not agreeable to you, Doggett says you may leave and he will have no interest in you. If you accept his conditions, then you will be entering a binding contract and must accept whatever consequences follow.’
‘I am ready for that,’ I said.
Ned walked to the door and threw it open. ‘Then let us go and may Mary and all the saints preserve us.’
Beneath my breath I muttered a heartfelt ‘Amen.’
Chapter 14
Apprehension mounted as we rode down Kent Street and emerged on to open ground. The buildings, which afforded some protection from the driving rain, became sparse but it was not just exposure to the elements that knotted my stomach and set me shivering. Nor was it Dickon’s reluctant gait as he bent his head against the wind that sapped my enthusiasm for this foray. At any moment I could easily have turned back, excusing my decision by acknowledging that Lizzie and Ned were right to call my self-imposed mission ‘madness’. I had no idea what to expect from the forthcoming meeting with a man held in esteem only by those who were alienated from decent society, and fear always goes hand-in-glove with the unknown.
The Red Lamb was slightly off the highway about three miles from the sprawl of Southwark. It stood out very clearly in the surrounding landscape. A high wall enclosed the stone house and its attendant outbuildings, which were substantial. It may once have been a manorial residence but of any village that might have owed allegiance to its owner there was no trace. Only waterlogged meadows surrounded it. If Doggett reigned over all he surveyed from here, his demesne was sparse in the extreme. Yet I could well imagine its present tenant espousing the strategic value of the unrestricted views of the country on all sides. The sign above the entrance arch looked fresh-painted but, though my judgement may have been clouded by what I knew of the place, I found it difficult to imagine any weary traveller thankfully turning in here for a night’s lodging or a much-needed meal.
The unwelcomeness of the Red Lamb was further emphasised when Ned and I dismounted in the muddy yard. Two men lounged by a stable door and a third scurried past towards the house without a glance in our direction. We had to lead the horses in ourselves and find stalls for them. But we would have been wrong to think that our arrival had created no interest. As soon as the heavy portal was opened to us we were confronted by two men in leather jerkins. They were very visibly well-armed and blocked our entry with hands on sword hilts.
The taller of the two nodded at Ned. ‘This your friend, Doctor?’
‘Yes,’ Ned replied. ‘Master Doggett is expecting us.’
The other, a burly fellow with a thatch of rufous hair, said, ‘That’s right. We’ll take your weapons first.’
Reluctantly I handed over my dagger. That was not enough for them. ‘Cloaks off,’ Red-head ordered.
When we had removed our sodden capes, his companion patted and prodded us. Having satisfied himself that we carried no concealed knives, he stood back with a curt, ‘Follow me.’
The ‘hall’, now the inn’s main room, had a scattering of tables. A dozen or so men sat drinking and playing at cards or dice. They showed no curiosity about us as we were led to a circular staircase at the far end. To my surprise, we did not climb to an upper storey, but went down to a cellar or undercroft. It was a long room, little more than a corridor, lit meagrely by two hanging lamps. The smell was foul — damp, decay and faeces. Along one side there were cells fronted by iron grilles. I tried not to look into them but at least two were occupied. Our guide made no comment. He simply turned at the end of the cellar and preceded us back to the staircase. This time we did climb to the next floor, then stepped through a doorway, crossed an empty chamber and halted before another door. The tall man knocked, opened it and ushered us in. When the door had been closed again, he stood inside with his back against it.
The room was large, with an impressive fireplace on one wall and a south-facing oriel opposite it. The overall impression was of good taste, affluence and comfort. The large tapestries that faced us as we entered were of recent import and would have graced any nobleman’s chamber. The furniture was of good quality, and a standing cupboard beside the door had been carved in the latest Flemish style. The centre of the room was dominated by a long trestle table, above which was suspended an eight-branch brass candle beam. The flickering glow from this augmented the paltry light penetrating the window from the grey day outside. With its aid the man seated behind the table was reading a letter. At our entry he placed it carefully on a pile beside him. John Doggett was not what I had expected. Thin-faced and pale of complexion, he wore spectacles through which he now subjected us to a long, appraising gaze. But, though he had the air of a clerk in Chancery rather than that of a feared and ruthless criminal, there was no mistaking the authority he exuded. His voice was sharp; his words clipped. I sensed that every one was calculated and none wasted.