‘You live in comfort, Mistress Bernicia?’
The young woman shrugged and smirked. Cranston peered at her closely. Her every movement was elegant. She flounced her hips as she walked in her high-heeled pattens. When she sat, crossing her legs, she pulled her gown further down but not so far as to hide the creamy whiteness of her petticoats and the scarlet and gold of her hose. She leaned forward.
‘So, what can I do for you, sirs?’
Cranston thought how mellow and rich her voice was.
‘You were . . .?’ he began tentatively.
‘I was William Roffel’s paramour.’ Bernicia held up a hand and sniggered softly behind beringed fingers. Her nails were painted a deep purple.
‘Ah, yes!’ Cranston’s unease grew. ‘And he visited you often?’
She spread her hands and looked around the room.
‘Captain Roffel was generous for the favours I gave him.’
‘And did you love him?’ Athelstan asked.
Again the pretty snigger and the quick movement of her hand.
‘Oh, Father, don’t be ridiculous! How can you love someone like Captain Roffel? A blackguard born and bred! He was generous and I was available.’ She pursed her lips. ‘You know he was a defrocked priest?’
‘What?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She laughed gaily. ‘Roffel was once a curate in a parish near Edinburgh. He became involved in some trouble and had to leave his parish rather quickly.’
‘What was this trouble?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘And you met him where?’ Cranston asked.
‘In a tavern.’
‘Which one?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I forget.’
‘Did you ever meet his wife?’
‘Oh Lord, that sour bitch. Never!’
‘Did you give Captain Roffel anything before he left on his last voyage?’
‘A nice, big kiss.’
‘And are you suspicious about his death?’
‘Oh, no, the evil bastard always had a weak stomach.’ Bernicia shrugged. ‘Now he’s gone’ – she fluttered her eyelashes – ‘and I’m available again.’
‘Do you know anything about his last voyage?’
‘Nothing. I went on board the ship. They wouldn’t even let me go to his cabin, so I came ashore.’
‘Did Roffel have any enemies?’
Bernicia rocked with laughter. ‘I think the question, Sir John, should be, "Did he have any friends?" He had enemies all along the river Thames. Roffel may have been one of the king’s captains but he was also a pirate.’ Bernicia lowered her voice. ‘You’ve heard the stories, surely? Roffel was not above attacking any ship. Many a sailor’s lonely widow curses him before she falls asleep at night.’
‘Have you visited his coffin in St Mary Magdalene?’ Athelstan asked. He, too, had caught Cranston’s unease and was studying the woman carefully.
‘No, I haven’t and I don’t intend to.’
Perhaps it was the way that she said it, moving her face sideways. Or perhaps, in the light of the fire, Cranston caught a glimpse of hair on her upper lip not quite covered by the white paste she had rubbed there. Suddenly the coroner leaned forward and grabbed her by the knee.
‘Well, aren’t you the pretty one?’ he growled. ‘What’s your real name, Bernicia?’
She tried to struggle free. Sir John’s hand went further up her thigh. He shrugged off Athelstan’s warning glance.
‘I have heard of your type,’ he said. ‘I wonder, if I kept moving my hand up to your privy place what I’d find, eh?’ He placed his other hand gently on her rather flat chest, his fingers gently pressing back the muslin. ‘Bernicia the whore,’ he said softly, ‘you’re no woman. You’re a man!’
Athelstan’s jaw sagged. He gaped at Bernicia and then at Sir John. Bernicia tried to struggle free.
‘The truth,’ Sir John demanded. ‘Otherwise I’ll have the beadles brought in and have you stripped. You can’t hide what God gave you!’ He leaned forward and touched Bernicia’s hair. ‘I know where you met Roffel,’ he continued. ‘In the Mermaid tavern down near St Paul’s Wharf. What’s your real name? Come on, what is it?’
‘My name is Roger-atte-Southgate.’
Athelstan could only keep gaping.
‘I once served as a cabin boy with Roffel. I was, I am a woman in a man’s body.’ Bernicia looked into the fire. ‘I used to envy the whores, the way they moved, the clothes they could wear, the excitement they aroused in the sailors. And then, one night, I discovered there were others like me.’
‘If the sheriffs discover you,’ Cranston warned, ‘they’ll burn you as a sodomite at Smithfield! Isn’t that true, Father?’
Athelstan could only stare. He studied Bernicia more closely and caught the lost, despondent look in her eyes. Athelstan blinked. He still considered her a woman, whatever Sir John or she might say. He felt a wave of compassion. In his days in the novitiate, and in camps in France, he had met men who liked to be used as women, but never had he met one who dressed and acted the part so convincingly.
‘Your secret is safe with us,’ he said gently. ‘Sir John and I are not here to inflict any pain, though you are involved in serious sin.’
‘Am I, Father? Men like Roffel? I have known them as far as my memory stretches. They like to use me as a woman, so why blame me for what others made me? Oh, yes, there were priests too. They liked such strange bed sports.’
Athelstan held his hand up. ‘I am not your judge nor your confessor.’
‘Little point in that,’ Bernicia interrupted. ‘I have no need for either. There’s no God and, if there is, he’s forgotten all about us.’ Bernicia moved on her chair. ‘Roffel used to bring me precious trinkets – fingers with the rings still on them, once an ear with a small gold band in it. He used to sit where you are, Father, and boast about what he had done. How he would cheat his crew, his business partner Ospring and even his dull wife.’
‘Did you return to the ship last night?’ Cranston abruptly asked.
Bernicia looked away.
‘Don’t lie! Did you return?’
‘Yes, I did. Well, at least, to the quayside. I wanted to see if Roffel had left any of his valuables. He always had a full purse and a little coffer full of trinkets. I thought the first mate might let me back on board.’
‘Why only to the quayside?’ Cranston asked.
‘Well, there was no bumboat available to take me to the ship. I did hail it, though.’
‘And what happened?’
‘One of the watch must have heard me, for the first mate came.’
‘What time was this?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Oh, it was about midnight. I thought it was safe then. The quayside is usually deserted by that time – all the revellers have gone home or are too drunk to care.’
‘And what happened?’
The mate came to the side of the ship. He was drunk. He just waved his cup at me and shouted, "Piss off!".’
‘Strange,’ Cranston mused. ‘The nearest ship was the admiral’s Holy Trinity and he did not tell us about any disturbance?’
‘I have told you what I saw.’ Bernicia pulled a face. ‘But there was something strange.’
‘What?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Well, I was on the quayside; it was deserted, cold and windswept. I realised how foolish I had been, even in going there. Now, as I turned away, I am sure I saw a figure move in the doorway of one of those warehouses.’
‘You are certain?’
‘Oh yes. There were the usual night sounds along the quayside – rats slithering about, the lapping of the water – but I heard a scrape as if someone had drawn a sword or was carrying some metal implement. I am sure whoever was hiding there was keeping watch and guard on the ship. I called out, but there was no response so I hurriedly left.’
‘And that’s all you saw or heard?’
‘Yes, yes, it is.’
‘Did you ever meet any of Roffel’s crew?’
‘Oh, only from a distance. When they accompanied the captain ashore, Roffel usually kept me away from them.’
‘And Sir Henry Ospring?’
‘No, though Roffel did receive letters from Ospring accusing him of embezzling some of the profits.’