‘So, all very sad,’ Marlowe said, ‘people getting drunk, ill and similar, but there is still nothing that I can see that would have made you both leave the house.’ It all sounded pretty much like a routine wedding to him. He had seen things in his years as a treble which would make the prissy Manwood’s eyes pop.
‘He’s coming to that,’ Dee said, getting up to refill his plate.
‘I’m coming to that,’ Manwood said. ‘In the middle of all this, what with Goad singing something we were shocked to find he knew, and Falconer falling in the carp pond and Thirling . . . well, we will draw a veil over that. In the middle of it all, no one saw for a moment when Johns suddenly appeared in the gateway leading from the Physick Garden, with his robes all anyhow, calling for help.’
‘Steane went wild,’ Dee said, putting in his groatsworth. ‘Went for him, like a madman.’
‘No, no, you’ve got that wrong,’ Manwood said, pausing to pick bits of venison out of his teeth with the point of his knife. ‘He didn’t do that until Ursula appeared behind Johns, with her gown all anyhow and her hair in her eyes.’
Dee shrugged. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘That’s the only bit I saw.’
Marlowe’s eyes were wide. ‘Professor Johns attacked Mistress Steane?’ he asked, agog.
‘No,’ Manwood said. ‘No, that’s not how it was.’
‘Mistress Steane attacked Professor Johns?’
‘No, not that either. It turns out that she swooned from the heat, and the excitement I suppose, and in trying to stop her falling, Johns had grabbed a handful of her dress and it tore. She grabbed some of his robe and it did the same. She didn’t accuse him of anything, but it was quite a shock to see Steane in such a temper. I always thought he was the mildest of men.’
‘I’ve certainly never seen that side of him,’ Marlowe said, ‘although I can’t say I know him well. I have usually only seen him conducting services at King’s and there isn’t that much scope for temper at evensong.’
‘It rather broke the party up,’ Manwood said. ‘Francis Hynde has gone off somewhere with a bottle or two, Steane and his good lady have taken themselves off to bed. In the event, Ursula apparently didn’t give her bride’s maids her garters as is the custom and I don’t suppose for a moment anybody wanted Steane’s codpiece. The guests have all gone home, those within a reasonable distance, anyway. Falconer, Thirling and Goad are still having a lie-down although I should think they will be stirring soon. John gave them a tincture.’
‘Just a spot,’ Dee said. ‘They will indeed be waking shortly. Johns stayed with them, so that they had someone other than the driver with them on the way home. I’m not sure about Norgate? Do you know where he went, Roger?’
‘He went earlier, I think,’ Manwood said. ‘I started to lose track, at the finish.’
Marlowe blew out his cheeks and looked from one to the other. ‘I’m not sure I can match that,’ he said. ‘All of my news is older than this, of course, and as such doesn’t have the dramatic attack.’
Dee blinked. ‘Kit, have you fallen among players or something?’
Marlowe blushed and looked down. ‘No, no. A little poetry, that’s more my métier.’
Dee looked dubious, but motioned him to continue. When would people realize that it was pointless to dissemble with Dr John Dee, the Queen’s Magus. He knew everything; especially through the clear glass of hindsight.
‘I’ve taken it as read that Ralph and Henry were poisoned,’ Marlowe said. ‘Henry was working on Ralph’s journal when he died . . . although I’m not sure that that is pertinent, because we all knew that Tom was supposed to be doing it. We managed to piece together the conundrum that Henry was working on – it was Greek, in a mirror, and not very good Greek at that.’
‘What did it say?’ Manwood leaned forward, a dripping spoon of custard halfway to his mouth.
‘Well, we can’t be sure that the translation is completely right, mostly because it doesn’t make sense, but it seemed to say “opposite the Dark Entry”. We have thought of what is opposite the Dark Entry, but it is just a couple of tombs and that makes no sense.’
There was a pause, then Manwood gave a shout of laughter.
‘Is that a joke?’ Dee asked, looking at the Men of Kent.
Marlowe bit his lip and then, smiling an embarrassed smile, told Dee about his childhood gaffe.
Dee looked at Manwood and they nodded at each other.
‘After you,’ Dee said, magnanimously. He had tired of Manwood’s reminiscences over the last week, but the man’s memory had come up trumps this time.
‘Perhaps the tombs don’t make sense, but does this?’ Manwood asked. ‘Kit, you thought that the couple in the Dark Entry were fighting, but in fact they were fornicating. So, might Ralph have seen a couple who he thought were fornicating, but who he realized were actually fighting?’ He sat back, and waited for the reaction.
‘The woman in the river!’ Marlowe said, suddenly.
‘Fludd’s case?’ Dee checked.
‘Yes. Even Edward Winterton thinks there is something suspicious about her death, but instructed a verdict of “found drowned” to protect the family.’
‘Where would Ralph have seen it, though? It could have been anywhere,’ Manwood said.
Marlowe clicked his fingers. ‘I was on the Backs this afternoon and I saw what I thought was a pile of clothes, but it was a college servant. It was in the cloister along the side of the King’s meadow, leading from the gate to the Chapel.’
‘That doesn’t narrow things down at all,’ Dee complained. ‘I know in my day that was a short cut for every Tom, Dick and Harry.’
‘True,’ Marlowe said. ‘So in that case, Ralph possibly told the wrong person what he had seen. And that person is the one who killed him.’
The silence was palpable. The men could hear the pinging of the candle sconces as the hot wax ran over the metal. They could hear the birds shifting in their nests in the chimney. They could hear their own hearts beating.
‘Oh God’s teeth!’ Marlowe suddenly shouted and Manwood almost died of shock. ‘I’m sorry, Sir Roger,’ Marlowe said, contrite. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. Henry asked one of the Fellows to help him with the translation when he took it over from Tom.’
‘Who?’ Manwood and Dee shouted together.
Marlowe sat back in his chair and sighed. ‘The same man I found in my ransacked room one night, waiting for me. The man who had been kind; too kind, perhaps.’ The answer was in sight but it gave him no pleasure. ‘Michael Johns,’ he said.
FIFTEEN
Ambrose Falconer sat in the carriage and couldn’t remember when he had felt more ill than this. His trouble was very long-standing and an unexpected fit of it had robbed him of the post of organist at Canterbury Cathedral, many years before. His general malaise had not been helped by the fall into the carp pond; as he had sunk below the murky surface, he thought he saw his whole life flash before him and could certainly feel the nibble of fishy lips on his cheek before two of Francis Hynde’s gardeners had fished him back to the world, coughing and spluttering. They had manhandled him into one of the second best guest bedrooms and that strange, slightly singed little man in grey had come to see him. For some reason that he still couldn’t fathom, Ambrose Falconer had told him every symptom of his trouble and the man had told him to drink the contents of a small package dissolved in wine and then, dried and dressed in one of Francis Hynde’s second best guest robes, he had fallen into a sleep like death. But now he was awake and dressed again in his own clothes, which were still very slightly damp about the seams and the dreams that had come to him in his long sleep still lingered at the corners of his eyes. He groaned and sat patiently, waiting for what would happen to him next.