Revelation

WE WALKED FAST through the wooded square, emerging in front of the large houses on the eastern side. Lord Latimer's mansion was large, three storeys high, set back from the road in its own grounds. Lights shone at several of the large, diamond-paned windows. As we walked down the gravel path, the front door opened and a man emerged carrying a lantern; he approached Harsnet. He was middle-aged, full-bearded, with an anxious expression. Lord Latimer's arms, a grey shield with a red diagonal cross, were stitched prominently on his doublet.

'Master coroner?' he asked.

'Yes. Is all safe?'

He nodded. 'We've searched the house. There's no one here. We've told Lady Catherine there are robbers about, tried to get her to stay in her room, but she wants to take charge.'

'She doesn't know what she's facing,' I said.

'He's around somewhere. I can feel it,' Barak muttered. He looked into the deep shadows cast by the house. There were trees and bushes against the inner wall; plenty of space for Cantrell to hide.

'What do you mean?' The steward looked at me sharply. 'I thought it was a gang of burglars?'

'It's one man we're after.' Harsnet looked into the steward's eyes. 'An assassin, a madman. Lady Catherine must be told she is in real danger.' The man's eyes widened. 'How many entrances are there to this house?'

'Two. This one and the one for tradesmen at the back.'

'Have you had any visitors today?' I asked.

'A messenger from the King came with a note for Lady Catherine.' The steward hesitated. 'She's been rather agitated since.'

'Where is she?' Harsnet asked him quietly. 'In her rooms on the first floor.'

'All right,' he said. 'Now go, tell her she must stay there. Two of you men, accompany him, guard her.' Two men joined the steward and they ran back inside. Harsnet turned to the others. 'I want six men patrolling the outside. Everyone else, inside with me.' As the men moved to his orders I had to admire his ability to command, his decisiveness. He led the other four, and Barak and me, into the house.

We entered a large hall, the walls covered with expensive tapestries of Greek and Roman gods in woodland settings. Before us, a wide staircase led upstairs, the Latimer arms held by a pair of brightly painted wooden lions at the foot. Several doors led off the hall. One at the back was open, a couple of frightened-looking pages looking out. 'Get back in there,' Harsnet ordered. They hastily disappeared. We looked up as the steward clattered down the stairs. I was pleased to see he looked calmer now, his face intent.

'Lady Catherine has said she will remain in her rooms. But she would like to see you, master coroner.'

Harsnet took a deep breath. 'Very well.'

'What will you tell her?' I asked.

'That we have word of an assassin, no more.' He turned to the steward. 'Make sure all the servants are accounted for.'

The man nodded and disappeared towards the servants' quarters. Harsnet took a deep breath and mounted the stairs. Barak and I were left with the four remaining men, who fingered their sword-hilts uneasily.

'Is it true then, sir,' one asked. 'There is a madman after Lady Catherine?'

'It seems so.'

After a few minutes Harsnet returned looking sombre. 'Lady Catherine will stay in her rooms,' he said quietly. 'She is a fine lady, she received me most courteously and calmly. But I could see she was afraid.'

The servants' door opened and the steward reappeared. 'All the servants are present, sir. They are in the kitchen, all save Lady Catherine's waiting-women, who are with her. They've been told there are burglars. They're scared, sir.'

'Have you had any deliveries today?' Barak asked him.

'There are deliveries most days. The cook would know.'

'Then let us ask him,' Harsnet said. 'Good thinking, Master Barak. You men, stay here.' He looked at the steward. 'Go to your mistress. She should have you with her.'

We passed through the servants' door, following a stone-flagged passage into a large kitchen. Half a deer was roasting on a range, a boy turning the spit and another ladling juices over it. A large group of frightened-looking servants sat round a large table.

'Where is the cook?' Harsnet asked.

A fat man in a stained apron stepped forward. 'I am, sir. Master Greaves.'

'What deliveries have there been today?'

He nodded at the spit. 'George and Sam brought that deer over from Smithfield. And the coalman came this morning. He brought a new load, we put it in the cellar.'

'Where do you get your coal?' I asked.

'A man up at Smithfield. Goodman Roberts. He's been delivering for years.'

The freckle-faced lad turning the spit looked up. 'He sent his new assistant this week,' he ventured. 'And last week. I let him in.'

I exchanged a glance with Barak. 'What was he like?' I asked the boy.

'I didn't really see his face, sir, it was so black with coal-dust. He looked like he'd been rolling in the stuff.'

'Was he tall or short?'

'Tall, sir, and thin. He took the coal down to the cellar in the hall, as usual. I told him where it was last week.'