Revelation

'No, sir. I didn't. I didn't.' But he reddened, squirmed uneasily on the bucket. The horse, sensitive to changes of mood, turned and looked at him.

'But there is something else, isn't there?'

He hesitated, looked between me and Barak.

'Come on, lad,' Barak urged.

'I promise you Abigail will come to no harm,' I added. 'But I think there is something more you did not tell me.'

Timothy breathed hard, the snot quivering at his nostril.

'Tell us, lad,' Barak said. 'Master Shardlake's house is warm. You'll like it there.'

'I watch people,' the boy blurted out suddenly. He pointed to a knot-hole in the stable door. 'Through there. I get tired of being in here all the time.'

'Master Toby did not let you out much?'

'Only to help clean the house. I'm sorry if it was wrong, looking.'

'What did you see?' I asked quietly.

'Tradesmen who called. The egg-man. The chimney-sweep, and the carpenter to repair the wooden screen when Toby knocked it over. But that was before Abigail came.'

'And after?'

'A man used to come and see Abigail sometimes. When the master was out and Toby had his day off. Toby didn't know about it.' He bowed his head.

'Who was he?' I asked.

'Don't know.' He shook his head.

'Did he come often?'

'A few times. This winter. When there was snow on the ground.'

'Was he a tall man, a gentleman?' I asked, thinking of Goddard.

'No, sir.' Timothy shook his head again. 'He was young.'

'How young?'

He thought for a moment. 'I don't know — maybe twenty.'

'What did he look like?'

'Taller than either of you. Strong-looking, like him.' He pointed to Barak.

'Fair or dark?'

'Dark. He was handsome. Abigail used to say he had a handsome face.'

'She talked to you about him?' I tried to keep a tremor of excitement from my voice.

'Not much, sir. I told her I'd seen him. She said the less I knew the less I could tell. She didn't like me knowing.'

'So he used to visit her secretly.'

'Yes.'

'Did she know him before she came here?'

'I don't know,' Timothy said again. 'Honestly, sir, I don't know that.'

'Was he in the reverend's congregation?' I asked.

'Don't know, sir. I only saw him because he came round the back door. When master was out. Please.' He began to look upset. 'Please, sir, I've told you all I know.'

'All right,' I said. 'Thank you, Timothy. Now come, you are coming back with us. Barak, take my papers on to court. I will join you there after I have delivered Timothy home.'

He looked dubious. 'Shouldn't you clear it with Harsnet, before taking him?'

'No. Timothy's master is dead, and I am buying his services.' I leaned close to Barak. 'And I want him kept safe at my house. He may be the only one that has seen the killer and lived.'

'Whoever he was trying to describe, it doesn't sound like Goddard.'

'No.' I nodded and looked at him. 'It doesn't, does it?' Timothy had got to his feet. He laid a hand on the horse's flank. 'Please, sir, may I take Dinah too?'

'I am sorry, lad, no. We already have two horses.'

He bit his lip. I thought, the horse and Abigail are probably the only friends he has ever had. But I could not take another horse I did not need.

Barak reached out a hand. 'Come on, sniffly,' he said kindly. 'Let's get you home and safe.'

Chapter Twenty-six

I RODE ALONG slowly back to Chancery Lane, the boy trotting along at my side, one hand on Genesis' harness to avoid being separated from me in the crowded streets. I reflected that Harsnet would not be pleased at my news, certain as he was that Goddard was the killer. As of course he still might be, but we must find the identity of this man who had visited the prostitute. It was still early, the shopkeepers again opening up and throwing out any beggars they found in their doorways. One, a young man, had collapsed in the street and was being half carried by two others. Timothy looked at the scene then up at me, his face frightened. On impulse I halted and told him to climb up behind me.

We reached my house, and I could see from his wide-eyed expression that Timothy was overawed by its size. I led him inside and through to the kitchen, where Joan was working. I was pleased to see that Harsnet's man Orr was helping her, peeling potatoes. Joan exclaimed at the boy's dirtiness, gave him a bucket of water and ordered him to the stable to wash himself down. He went out obediently. Young Peter was in the kitchen and greeted Timothy with a surly nod. Joan frowned at him. 'You had better treat Timothy well, he is younger than you and in a new place. You should be pleased he will be doing some of the jobs you don't like. Now take him those old clothes of yours I looked out to cut up because they had got too small.'

'Yes, Mistress Joan.' Peter sidled out of the room. Joan smiled at me.

I smiled back. 'Degree matters for everyone, does it not? Even kitchen boys.'

'It's as much the fear of losing a place. So many beggar boys in London now, you can always find one cheaper than the one you have.'