‘Did you know Hawisa?’ Corbett asked as a bleary-eyed Ranulf and Maltote slipped into the buttery. The under-sheriff looked up, his half-open mouth full of bread and meat. Corbett knew he had caught him unawares. ‘You did know her, didn’t you?’
Cade nodded. ‘Yes,’ he mumbled. ‘I knew the girl, but that’s my business!’
Ranulf and Maltote sat on the bench beside him.
‘Master Cade, a moment. Ranulf, I must speak to you.’
Outside in the passageway Corbett grasped Ranulf by the front of his jerkin. ‘You left the house last night, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, Master. But, as Master Cade said, that’s my business!’
‘When you leave the door off the latch, you make it mine!’ Corbett snarled. ‘I have enough enemies in this city without extending a public invitation to every felon and footpad, not to mention some red-handed killer of the night!’ He pushed Ranulf against the wall. ‘Where did you go? The Lady Mary Neville’s?’
‘Yes, I did!’ Ranulf glared back.
‘She’s a Lady and a widow!’
‘And what am I?’ Ranulf snapped. ‘Some commoner? Am I to know my true station in life, Master?’ Ranulf stepped closer. ‘Or would you like her for yourself, Master? Is that it? I have seen the way you look at her.’
Corbett’s hand flew to his dagger and Ranulf grasped the hilt of his.
‘I have served you long, Master,’ Ranulf continued quietly. ‘And I have served you well. God knows who my father was whilst my mother was the daughter of a peasant farmer. She had aspirations but not the talent to match. Believe me, I have both. One day I will kneel in front of the King.’ Ranulf jutted his chin forward. ‘I shall be knighted!’
Corbett let his hands fall away and leaned against the wall of the passageway. ‘God save us, Ranulf!’ he murmured. ‘Here we are, hands on daggers! Do what you wish. We have other business at hand.’
They collected Cade and a half-sleeping Maltote from the buttery and walked down a deserted Bread Street and up into Cheapside. The great thoroughfare was empty, only a lonely friar, a chasuble across his shoulder, and a sleepy-eyed boy carrying a lighted taper, hurried along with the viaticum for the sick. Dogs and cats fought over mounds of litter. Two members of the city watch staggered by as drunk as the roisterers they hunted. Corbett stared up at the grey sky.
‘Where is the girl’s corpse, Master Cade?’
‘It’s already been moved to St Lawrence Jewry. We put it on one of the dung carts.’
‘Who found it?’
‘A member of the watch.’ Cade looked away and spat. ‘He heard the dogs snarling and bickering over the body.’ Cade tightened his lips to stop himself retching. ‘God save us!’ he whispered. ‘The curs were licking and drinking her blood!’
Corbett breathed a silent prayer. ‘There’s little point in going to the place,’ he said. ‘Was the girl killed in her room?’
‘Oh, no, just outside. She had the key in the lock when the killer struck.’
‘Shall we go to St Lawrence Jewry?’
‘Master Corbett, I have to attend to other matters first. Would you wait?’ Cade tapped his pouch hopefully. ‘I asked my clerk to make a search of the records. He has drawn up a memorandum on what we know about Puddlicott.’
Corbett smiled. ‘Let’s attend to your business first, Master Cade.’
The under-sheriff took him up to the Great Stocks near the Conduit where soldiers wearing the blue and mustard livery of the city, had assembled the felons and night-walkers in order to carry out the day’s punishments. As Corbett arrived, a cleric caught in the arms of a burgess’s wife was being led away, preceded by a man playing the bagpipes.
‘He’s to walk six times to Newgate and back, bare-arsed,’ Cade explained. ‘His breeches round his ankles!’
The soldiers roared with laughter as the poor unfortunate was led away. Cade had to see to the ordering of other punishments. A counterfeit man who had purchased two satin cloaks for five pounds; on the excuse of taking one away to show a friend, the man had paid a quarter of a noble, offering as a deposit fifteen similar coins tied up in a purse. The shopkeeper had accepted this, and only when the fellow had gone did he find the coins were mere counters. Another, a cobbler had claimed he could find stolen goods by using a loaf with knives pressed in each side. Now the knives dangled round the man’s neck and, as he was clasped into the pillory, the loaf, soaked in horse’s urine, was rubbed into his face. The punishments continued. A blasphemer had to carry three pounds of wax to a church in Southwark. A man pretending to be dumb, so he could beg for alms, had the tip of his tongue burnt with a red-hot poker. Corbett got tired of the summary punishments and walked away.
He had to wait almost an hour in a nearby tavern until Cade’s duties were done then they all made their way to St Lawrence Jewry. Maltote, now fully awake, eagerly whispered with Ranulf how pleased the Lady Mary would be when she woke up and found the roses. Corbett overheard them and hoped she would, otherwise Ranulf could find himself alongside the felons they had just left in the stocks. He stole a glance at Cade who was still quiet and rather nervous.
‘I must ask you some questions, Alexander,’ Corbett whispered so that Ranulf and Maltote could not overhear.
‘Such as?’
‘Did you know any more of the girls who were killed?’
Cade shook his head and stared away.
When they reached St Lawrence Jewry, Cade summoned the fat little priest who, protesting at the early hour, opened the small death house, grumbling that he was tired of having to bury one whore after another. He only shut up when Cade brutally reminded him that the city paid him good silver for his services. Corbett took one quick look at the corpse inside, the great purple slash across her neck, the horrible mutilations in the groin, and walked back into the fresh air.
‘I agree with you, Priest!’ he called out, ‘Having to look at seventeen such corpses would try the patience of a saint!’
The priest, still wary of Corbett since their last meeting, shook his head.
‘Sixteen!’ he squeaked. ‘She is the sixteenth!’
Corbett noticed Cade’s face suddenly pale.
‘No, no,’ Corbett queried. ‘She is the seventeenth victim, or eighteenth if we include the Lady Somerville.’
The priest shrugged and waddled back into his house; he returned, carrying a huge, purple-dyed ledger.
‘This is the church’s burial book,’ he explained, opening the yellowing pages. He turned to the back. ‘Here are those given a pauper’s grave. I have starred the names of the victims — the whores killed over the last few months.’
Corbett took the book and scanned the pathetic entries. An old man who had died in the stocks; a young boy who had fallen from a belfry; a tinker killed in Floodgate Lane. Interspersed with these, each with a star next to the name, were the prostitutes who had been killed. Corbett walked away, ignoring the priest’s protests. He placed the book on top of a crumbling tombstone, took from his wallet the list of victims provided by the under-sheriff and compared the two. Cade now stood far away with his back turned, whilst Maltote and Ranulf lounged against the wall watching the sun rise. Corbett scrutinised both lists carefully. He then closed the book and gave it back to the priest.
‘Thank you, Father. You will probably never know how valuable that book is. Ranulf! Maltote!’ he called. ‘Stay where you are! Master Cade, come with me!’
Whilst the priest scurried away Corbett led Cade around to the back of the church. Once alone, Corbett pushed the under-sheriff against the wall, one hand grasping Cade’s throat, the other pushing a dagger tip into the soft part of the under-sheriff’s neck just under his right ear.
‘Now, Master Cade,’ Corbett whispered. ‘No lies, no fables. What’s gone on here? Eh? According to your list, a whore named Judith, living in Floodgate Lane, was supposed to have been killed six weeks ago!’