Revelation

Harsnet looked at him suspiciously. 'Give me that candle,' he said firmly. The old man hesitated, then handed it over. 'Stay here,' Harsnet told him. 'Barak, keep an eye on him.' The coroner inclined his head to me, and I followed him up the stairs.

THE FIRST ROOM we looked into was a study, well-thumbed books lying among papers and quills on a big desk. I picked one up, peering at it to try to make out the title. Institutes of the Christian Religion, by John Calvin. I had heard of him: one of the most radical and uncompromising of the new generation of continental reformers.

Harsnet held up a hand. 'I heard something,' he whispered. He pointed across the corridor to another door, then marched across and threw it open. A shrill scream came from within.

It was a bedroom, dominated by a comfortable feather bed. A woman lay there, naked; a girl, rather, for she was still in her teens, smooth-skinned and blonde-haired. She grabbed the blankets and pulled them up to her neck. 'Help!' she shouted. 'Robbers!'

'Quiet!' Harsnet snapped. 'I am the King's assistant coroner. Who are you?'

She stared at us with wide eyes, but did not reply.

'Are you Yarington's whore?' There was anger in his voice.

'What is your name, girl,' I asked quietly.

'Abigail, sir, Abigail Day.'

'And are you the minister's woman? There is no point in lying.'

She reddened and nodded. Harsnet's face twisted in disgust. 'You seduced a man of God.'

A look of defiance came into the girl's face. 'It wasn't me did the seducing.'

'Don't you bandy words with me! A creature like you in a minister's bed. Do you not fear for your soul? And his?' Harsnet was shouting now, his face filled with anger. I had grown to respect and almost like the coroner these last few days but the terrible events of the evening were bringing out another side of him: the hard, implacable man of faith.

The girl made a spirited reply, her own fear turning to anger. 'Keeping body and soul together's been all I've worried about since my father was hanged,' she answered fiercely. 'For stealing a gentleman's purse.' There was bitter contempt in her voice. 'It killed my mother.'

Harsnet was unaffected. 'How long have you been here?' he snapped.

'Four months.'

'Where did Yarington pick you up?'

She hesitated before answering. 'I was in a house down in Southwark where he used to come. We get many ministers down there,' she added boldly.

'They are weak men, and you tempt them to fall.' Harsnet's voice shook with anger and contempt.

This was wasting time. 'Did you ever hear of a whore called Welsh Elizabeth?' I asked her.

'No, sir.' She looked from one to the other of us, frightened again. 'Why, sir, why?'

'Your master is dead,' Harsnet said bluntly. 'He was murdered, earlier tonight.'

Abigail's mouth opened wide. 'Murdered?'

He nodded. 'Get some clothes on. I'm taking you to the Archbishop's prison. There'll be some more questions. Nobody will miss you,' he added brutally. 'And after this you'll find yourself whipped at the cart's tail as a whore, if I have anything to do with it.'

'It's only some questions about your master,' I said as the wretched girl began to cry. 'Come, pull yourself together and get dressed. We shall be downstairs.' I took Harsnet's arm and led him out.

Outside, he shook his head sorrowfully. 'The snares the devil sets to pull us down,' he said.

'Men are men,' I answered impatiently. 'And always will be.'

'You are a cynic, Master Shardlake. A man of weak faith. A Laodicean.'

I raised my eyebrows. 'That phrase comes from Revelation.'

Harsnet blinked, frowned, then raised a hand. 'I am sorry. I am — affected by what we saw tonight. But do you realize, if Yarington hadn't been keeping that whore he wouldn't have died tonight? He was killed for his hypocrisy, wasn't he?'

'Yes. I think he was.'

Harsnet closed his eyes wearily, then looked at me. 'Why did you ask about Welsh Elizabeth?'

'That was what the cottar Tupholme's woman was called. I wondered if the killer might have got his information through a whorehouse. About the two carnal sinners punished with death,' I added. 'It's clear now that Yarington did fit the pattern.'

'Yes he did.' Harsnet's face set hard. 'I'll find out what house she was at.'

'Be gentle with her, please. Nothing will be served by harshness here.'

He grunted. 'We'll see.'

THE STEWARD TOBY was sitting in the kitchen, together with a scared-looking boy of around ten, ragged and smelling of the stables, with dirty brown feet. He stared at us, wide-eyed, from under a mop of brown hair.

'Who is this?' Harsnet asked.

'Timothy, sir, the stable boy,' Toby said. 'Stand up for your betters, you silly little shit.' The boy stood, his legs trembling.

'Leave us, boy,' Harsnet said. The child turned and scurried out.

'Well,' Harsnet said sarcastically. 'So much for there being nobody at home.'

'He paid me well for keeping her presence quiet,' Toby said, his voice surly.

'You connived at sin.'

'Everyone sins.'

'Who else knew?' I asked.

'No one.'