Revelation

I left her and went round to the stables. I decided not to take Barak with me. Left alone together, perhaps he and Tamasin might be able to talk more. I would have been reluctant to walk to Westminster alone, but felt safer on my horse, though I had not had that sense of someone following me lately. I felt sorry for Tamasin, sorry for Barak too now. I thought again of Dorothy. Doubts came into my mind; my feelings for her might have lain dormant all these years, but there was no reason she should ever feel as strongly. Yet perhaps, in time — I told myself I must wait and see how things developed over the months to come.

Young Timothy was in the stable, scraping dung-laden old straw into a pail. A batch of new straw stood by the door. Genesis stood in his stall, looking on placidly. I was glad to see the horse was at ease with the boy.

'How are you faring, Timothy?'

'Well, sir.' He smiled, a flash of white teeth in his dirty face. It was the first time I had seen him smile. 'Master Orr has been teaching me and Peter our letters.'

'Ah yes, I saw him with Peter. It is good to know them.'

'Yes, sir, only—'

'Yes.'

'He talks about God all the time.'

I thought, and you will have little time for God after your experiences at Yarington's. 'You and Peter are getting along?' I asked, changing the subject.

'Yes, sir. So long as I leave him to his work, and stick to mine.'

'Good. You seem to have made friends with Genesis.'

'He is an easy horse.' He hesitated. 'Do you know, sir, what became of Master Yarington's horse?'

'I am afraid not. Someone will buy him.' Timothy looked crestfallen. 'I do not need another horse,' I said. 'Now come, saddle Genesis for me.'

I rode out, thinking how sad it was that the child's only friend had been Yarington's horse. But I drew the line at buying it for him. The stable was not large enough, apart from anything. I pulled aside hastily to avoid a grey-bearded pedlar pushing a cartload of clothes. Waifs and strays, I thought. And beggars and pedlars. Everywhere. The hospital — when this was over I must set to work on the hospital.

THE RIDE TO Westminster Stairs took longer than usual, for the streets were waterlogged and one or two were flooded. I heard people saying the Tyburn had overflowed in its upper reaches, flooding the fields. I noticed a printer's shop, closed and shuttered, and wondered if the owner had been taken away by Bonner's men.

When I arrived in Cranmer's office at Lambeth Palace the atmosphere was tense. All the men of power who had involved themselves in this grim quest were gathered. Harsnet stood near the door, looking downcast. Lord Hertford stood opposite, stroking his long beard, anger in his prominent eyes. His brother, Sir Thomas, stood next to him, arms folded, looking grim. As usual he was dressed in bright, expensive clothes: a doublet in a bold green, the arms slashed to show a vermilion silk lining. Cranmer sat behind his desk in his white robe and stole, his face severe.

'I hope I am not late, my lord.'

'I cannot stay long,' he said. 'There are matters I must attend to.' He looked drawn and anxious. 'Among them trying to persuade the Privy Council to allow me to have Dean Benson in for questioning without saying why.' He laughed bitterly. 'When most of them would rather have me arrested than him.'

Hertford looked at me. 'We have been asking Coroner Harsnet how it is he cannot find this Goddard despite all the resources we have given him.'

'It is easy to disappear in London,' I said. Harsnet gave me a brief, grateful nod.

'But this man must have antecedents.' Hertford slapped a hand violently on to his desk, an unexpected gesture that made us all start. 'He must have come from somewhere before he joined the abbey, or did he spring from the earth like some demon from Hell?'

'I do not believe his family are from within London,' Harsnet said. 'I think they may have come from the nearer parts of Middlesex, or Surrey or Kent. It must be near enough for him to ride into London. I am still making enquiries with the officials of all those counties, but it takes time.'

'Time is what we do not have,' Cranmer said. 'There are still three more vials to be poured out, three more murders to come, and with each it gets harder to conceal what is happening.' Cranmer looked at me sternly. 'Master Harsnet says you think there may be another suspect. Some young man who visited Yarington's whore. The whore who escaped,' he added, with a sidelong look at Harsnet. They were blaming him for everything: the lack of progress, the escape of the whore and Lockley's vanishing.

'The fact he knew Yarington kept a girl in his house makes this visitor a suspect,' I said carefully. 'But there is nothing to link him to the other murders. Yet all the evidence against Goddard, too, is circumstantial.' I glanced at Harsnet again, then back at the Archbishop. 'My lord, the man we seek is very clever. He seems to have made killing his life's mission.'