Dissolution

'The rider from London, he's here. I've never seen a man so covered in mud.'

I stood a moment, watching as Prior Mortimus banged on the counting-house door. I could not decide whether to follow him in or go to the messenger. I felt my head swim, saw little motes dancing in front of my eyes. I took a deep breath, and turned to Bugge, who was eyeing me curiously.

'Come,' I said, and led the way back to the gatehouse.

CHAPTER 31

The messenger sat hugging the fire in Bugge's lodge. Despite the mud that caked him from head to foot I recognized a young man I had seen delivering letters at Cromwell's office. The vicar general would already know what the gaoler had said.

He stood up, a little shakily for I could see he was exhausted, and bowed.

'Master Shardlake?'

I nodded, too tense to speak.

'I am to hand this to you personally.' He handed me a paper bearing the Tower seal. I turned my back to him and Bugge, broke the seal and read the three lines within. It was as I had thought. I forced my features into composure as I turned to face Bugge, who was staring at me intently. The messenger had slumped back beside the fire.

'Master gatekeeper,' I said, 'this man has ridden far. See he has a room with a good fire for the night and victuals if he wants them.' I turned to the messenger. 'What is your name?'

'Hanfold, sir.'

'There may be a message to take back tomorrow morning. Goodnight. You have done well to ride so fast.'

I left the gatehouse, crumpling the paper in my pocket, and walked rapidly back across the outer court. I knew what I had to do now and my heart had never been heavier.

I stopped. Something. A shadow of movement in the corner of my vision. I turned so quickly I almost overbalanced in the slush. It had been by the blacksmith's lean-to, I was sure, but I could see nothing now.

'Who is there?' I called out sharply.

There was no reply, no sound but the steady drip of water as the snow melted from the roofs. The mist was growing thicker. It curled around the buildings, blurring their outlines and making haloes round the dim yellow glow from the windows. My ears alert for any sound, I went on to the infirmary.

Brother Paul's bed lay stripped, the blind monk sitting in his chair beside it with bowed head. The fat monk lay asleep. There was nobody else in the hall. Brother Guy's dispensary was empty too; all the monks must still be at the refectory. Edwig's arrest would have caused a mighty stir.

***

I went down the corridor, past my old room, to where I knew Alice's room was located. There was a strip of candlelight under her door. I knocked and opened it.

She sat on a truckle bed in the little windowless room, stuffing clothes into a big leather pannier. When she looked up at me there was fear in those large blue eyes. Her strong square face seemed to sag with it. I felt a desperate sorrow.

'You are going on a journey?' I was surprised at how normal my voice sounded, I had half-expected a croak.

She said nothing, just sat there with her hands on the straps of the pannier.

'Well, Alice?' Now my voice did tremble. 'Alice Fewterer, whose mother's maiden name was Smeaton?'

Her face flushed, but still she did not speak.

'Oh Alice, I would give my right hand for this not to be true.' I took a deep breath. 'Alice Fewterer, I must arrest you in the king's name for the foul murder of his commissioner, Robin Singleton.'

Then she spoke, her voice shaking with emotion. 'No murder. I did him justice. Justice.'

'To you it must seem so. I am right then, Mark Smeaton was your cousin?'

She looked up at me. Her eyes narrowed, as though she was calculating something. Then she spoke in clear tones of quiet ferocity such as I hope never to hear again from the mouth of a woman.

'More than my cousin. We were lovers.'

'What?'

'His father, my mother's brother, left to seek his fortune in London when he was a boy. My mother never forgave him for leaving the family, but when the man I was to marry died I went to London to claim kin, for all she tried to stop me. There was no work here.'

'And they took you in?'

'John Smeaton and his wife were good people. Good people. They welcomed me into their house and helped me to a position with a London apothecary. That was four years ago, Mark was already a court musician then. Thank God my aunt died from the sweating sickness, at least she was spared what happened.' Tears appeared in her eyes, but she wiped them away and raised her eyes to my face. Again there was something calculating in them, something I could not fathom.

'But you must know all this, Commissioner-' I have never heard such contempt put into a single word – 'or why are you here?'

'I knew nothing for certain till half an hour ago. The sword led me to John Smeaton – no wonder you pleaded with me not to go to London that day by the fish pond – but for a while I could go no further. I was puzzled when the records said John Smeaton left no male relatives, and his estate went to an old woman – your mother?'

'Yes.'