Dissolution

* * *

I made my way at once to Copynger's house. He was just sitting down to supper with his wife and children and invited me to join his board, but I said I must get back. He led me to his comfortable study.

'Have there been any more happenings out at the monastery?' I asked as soon as the door was shut.

'No, sir.'

'Everyone is safe?'

'So far as I know. I have news of those land sales, though.' He reached into his desk, producing a parchment deed of conveyance. I studied the ornate calligraphy, the clear impression of the monastery seal in red wax at the foot. The deed conveyed a large parcel of arable land on the other side of the Downs to Sir Edward Wentworth for a hundred pounds.

'That's a cheap price,' Copynger said. 'It's a goodly parcel.'

'None of this was entered in the official books I saw.'

'Then you have the rogues, sir.' He smiled happily. 'In the end I went to Sir Edward's house myself, and took the constable with me. That scared him, it reminded him I've powers of arrest, for all his haughtiness. He gave up the deed in half an hour, started whining he'd bought it all in good faith.'

'Who did he negotiate with at the monastery?'

'His steward dealt with the bursar, I believe. You know Edwig has control of everything to do with money there.'

'But the abbot would have had to seal the deed. Or someone would.'

'Yes. And, sir, it was part of the arrangement that the sale be kept secret for a while, the tenants would remit the rents to the monastery's steward as usual and he'd pass them on to Sir Edward.'

'Secret conveyances are not illegal in themselves. Hiding the transaction from the king's auditors is, though.' I rolled up the parchment and put it in my satchel. 'You have done well. I am grateful. Keep on with your enquiries and say nothing for now.'

'I ordered Wentworth to keep my visit secret, on pain of trouble from Lord Cromwell's office. He'll say nothing.'

'Good. I will act soon, I await some information from London first.'

He coughed. 'While you are here, sir, Goodwife Stumpe has been asking for you. I told her you should be back this afternoon and she parked herself in my kitchen after lunch. She won't move till she's seen you.'

'Very well, I can give her a few minutes. By the way, what forces have you at your command here?'

'My constable and his assistant, and my three informers. But there are good reformist men in the town I could muster if needed.' He eyed me narrowly. 'Are you expecting trouble?'

'I hope not. But I expect to make arrests very soon. Perhaps you could make sure your men are available. And that the town gaol is ready.'

He nodded, smiling. 'I'll be happy to see some monkish prisoners there. And, sir,' he gave me a meaningful look, 'when this business is over, will you commend me to Lord Cromwell for my assistance? I have a son who is almost old enough to go up to London.'

I smiled wryly. 'I fear a recommendation from me would carry little weight just now.'

'Oh.' He looked disappointed.

'And now, if I could see the goodwife?'

'You don't mind seeing her in the kitchen? I don't want her dirty shoes on this matting.'

He led me to the kitchen, where the overseer sat nursing a jug of ale. Copynger shooed out a couple of curious kitchenmaids, and left me with her.

The old woman came straight to the point. 'I am sorry to take your time, sir, but I had a favour to ask. We buried Orphan two days ago in the churchyard.'

'I am glad her poor body is at rest.'

'I paid the mortuary fee myself, but I've no money for a headstone. I could see, sir, you felt for what was done to her, and I wondered – it is a shilling, sir, for a cheap gravestone.'

'And for an expensive one?'

'Two, sir. I can arrange for you to be sent a receipt.'

I counted out two shillings. 'This mission is setting me up as a dole-giver,' I said ruefully, 'but she should have a good headstone. I won't pay for Masses, though.'

She snorted. 'Orphan needs no Masses, I spit on Masses for the dead. She is safe with God.'

'You speak like a reformer, Goodwife.'

'I am, sir, and proud.'

'By the way,' I added casually, 'have you ever visited London?'

She gave me a puzzled look. 'No, sir. I went as far as Winchelsea once.'

'No relatives in London?'

'All my people live around here.'

I nodded. 'That's what I thought. Don't worry, Goodwife.' I sent her away and said a quick farewell to Copynger, who was markedly less effusive now he knew I was not in Cromwell's favour. I collected Chancery from the ostler and rode the misty path back to the monastery.

* * *

I felt it growing warmer still as I made my way slowly in the dark, Chancery stepping carefully for the pathway was slick with melting snow. All around I heard the drip and gurgle of meltwater running into the marsh. After a while I dismounted and led the horse along: the idea of Chancery's wandering into that mire in the dark was not pleasant. At length the monastery wall and the lights of Bugge's gatehouse loomed through the mist. The keeper came quickly to my knock, carrying a torch.

'You're back, sir. That's a dangerous ride out there tonight.'

'I needed to make haste.' I led Chancery through the gate. 'Has a rider brought a message for me, Bugge?'

'No, sir, there's been nothing.'

'Pox on it. I'm expecting a man from London. If he comes, you're to find me at once. Day or night.'

'Yes, sir. I'll do that.'

'And till I give further word no one, and I mean no one, is to leave the monastery precincts. Do you understand? If anyone wants to go out, you are to send for me.'

He looked at me curiously. 'If you order it, Commissioner.'

'I do.' I took a deep breath. 'What has been happening these last few days, Bugge? Is everyone safe? Master Mark?'

'Yes, sir. He's up at the abbot's house.' He looked at me keenly, his eyes glinting in the torchlight. 'But there's others been on the move.'

'What d'you mean? Don't speak in riddles, man.'

'Brother Jerome. He got out of his room yesterday. He's disappeared.'

'You mean he's run off?'

Bugge laughed maliciously. 'That one couldn't run far, and he's not been through my gate. No, he's hiding in the precinct somewhere. The prior'll soon root him out.'

'God's death, he was to be kept safe!' I gritted my teeth. Now I could not question him about Mark Smeaton's visitor; everything depended on the messenger.

'I know, sir, but nothing's being done properly any more. The servant in charge of him forgot to lock his door. You see, sir, everyone's frightened, Brother Gabriel being killed was the last straw. And there's talk the place is to be shut down.'

'Is there?'

'Well, it follows, sir, doesn't it? With these killings, and the talk of more monasteries being taken by the king? What do you say, sir?'

'God's flesh, Bugge, do you think I'm going to discuss matters of policy with you?'

He looked chastened. 'I'm sorry, sir. I meant no impertinence. But –' He paused.

'Well?'

'The talk is that if the monasteries go down the monks will get pensions but the servants will be put out on the road. Only I'm nearly sixty, sir, I've no family and no trade but this. And there's no work in Scarnsea.'

'I can't help what gossip-mongers say, Bugge,' I replied more gently. 'Now, is your assistant here?'

'David, sir? Yes.'

'Then get him to stable Chancery for me, would you? I am going to the abbot's house.'

I watched as the boy led Chancery across the yard, stepping carefully through the slush. I remembered my talk with Cromwell. Bugge and all the others would be out, cast on the parish if there was no work. I remembered the day I had gone to the poorhouse, the licensed beggars clearing the snow. Little as I liked Bugge it was not pleasant to think of him at such work, his beloved scraps of authority gone. It would kill him in six months.