‘That surprises me,’ said Hoode. ‘Frank is such a level-headed man.’
‘Not when he gets ensnared in a card game. All common sense then vanishes. He lost a lot of money at the table. I mean to raise the matter with Master Lavery.’
‘Who is he?’
‘The cunning devil who deals out the cards,’ replied Firethorn. ‘The sermon this morning urged us all to confront Satan in his various guises. I mean to do just that.’
The naked body lay on a cold stone slab in the morgue, the stink of decay softened by the smell of herbs that had been scattered around. Nevertheless, both Nicholas Bracewell and Owen Elias coughed when the foul air first hit their throats. They took care not to inhale too deeply. Though there was blazing sunshine outside, the room was dank and chill. The coroner, an elderly man with a wispy beard, indicated the latest cadaver to join his grim collection.
‘This is the only one who might meet your description,’ he said.
‘Where was he found?’ asked Nicholas.
‘He was pulled out of the Thames yesterday evening.’
Elias was doubtful. ‘I’m not sure that it’s him.’
‘Water disfigures the face,’ warned the coroner. ‘As you see, the body’s bloated well beyond its normal size. We cut his clothing off and burnt it. He was wearing nothing but rags.’
Nicholas ignored the body and stared at the face, trying to imagine what it would be like without the gashes on the temple where the head had been bludgeoned. It was the nose that caught his attention. He pointed to a long scar.
‘Look at that, Owen,’ he said. ‘Do you remember that scar on Hywel?’
‘I thought it was more to the left.’
‘No, I fancy not. This young man — God rest his soul — is the right age and height and colouring. That mark on his nose tells me that it might well be Hywel Rees.’
Elias bit his lip. ‘If only I could hear his voice! I’d know him then.’
‘Who was he?’ said the coroner.
‘A counterfeit crank. He feigned the falling sickness better than those that suffer from it. Hywel was a natural actor.’
‘Even he cannot counterfeit death,’ said Nicholas. ‘And this, I think, is him.’
‘It pains me to agree with you, Nick, but I must.’
‘What was the name again?’ said the coroner, plucking at an ear lobe. ‘Hywel Rees? I do not like to see any man go to his grave anonymously.’
‘Hywel Rees, late of Wales. Would that the poor fellow had stayed there.’
‘Which part of the river was he found in?’ wondered Nicholas.
‘Not far from Westminster.’
‘Downstream from Bridewell, then.’
‘The body would have been carried much farther by the current had it not been caught in a piece of driftwood that snagged on the bank.’ He glanced at the two men. ‘Would you like to be left alone with him for a while?’
Nicholas nodded and the coroner quietly withdrew. They were grateful for his consideration. It enabled both men to lose themselves in thought, to feel a mixture of pity and rage at the hideous sight before them, a young life brought to a premature end by a brutal and unknown hand. The more they looked, the more convinced they were that Hywel Rees was lying there before them. It was Elias who eventually broke the silence.
‘How will you break the news to Dorothea?’ he asked.
‘Gently,’ said Nicholas.
Dorothea Tate thought that she was dreaming. She had met with such compassion from a complete stranger that she did not know how to respond. Anne Hendrik had not only given her a soft bed and decent food, she had allowed the girl to settle in without exerting any pressure on her. Because Anne did not pry, Dorothea was drawn to her. They sat in the parlour of the house in Bankside and listened to the church bells as they began another booming round to remind people what day it was. Dorothea became inquisitive.
‘Do you live alone here?’ she asked.
‘Apart from my servant and Nick, who lodges here.’
‘You have no husband, then?’
‘He died some years ago,’ explained Anne, ‘and left me with his business. What I did not know I soon learnt and I have some of the best hatmakers in London working for me. All Dutch, all outsiders.’
‘That was Hywel’s complaint. He was treated like a foreigner as well.’
‘Why was he on the road?’
‘He worked on his uncle’s farm until the old man died. A cousin took over and he had no love for Hywel. He forced him off the land,’ she said, bitterly. ‘It was cruel. Hywel had no other family. He was driven to leave his native country.’
‘What of you, Dorothea?’
‘I, too, was orphaned when my parents died of plague. I’d lived in Bedford until then. Nobody would take me in so I set out for London.’
Anne was concerned. ‘How did you live?’
‘By stealing food and sleeping under hedges,’ said Dorothea. ‘Two men caught me in St Albans and took me to a field for sport. Hywel saw my plight. He risked his own neck in saving me.’
‘Nick told me that he was a brave young man.’
‘He was fearless, Anne. He proved that in Bridewell.’
‘What was it like to be imprisoned in that place?’
Dorothea swallowed hard. ‘Worse than I could tell,’ she said. ‘They made us work all day and never took their eyes off us. Most of the ones I met were old women or young girls, robbed of their childhood. It was frightening.’
‘Nick mentioned a man by the name of Master Beechcroft.’
‘He’s not a man, he’s fiend from hell and his partner was even worse.’
‘His partner?’
‘Master Olgrave,’ said Dorothea with a shiver. ‘The one only had me whipped for disobeying him but the other, Ralph Olgrave — he kept asking me to call him by his Christian name — did far worse than that.’
She went off into a reverie and Anne waited until the girl looked at her again.
‘Are you able to talk about it, Dorothea?’
‘No,’ whispered the other. ‘Not yet. It still troubles me so.’
‘When you are ready, you’ve only to turn to me.’
‘Thank you, Anne.’
‘Do you wish to eat now or would you prefer to rest?’
‘I’ll not rest properly until I know what’s happened to Hywel.’
‘You love him, I can see.’
Dorothea’s eyes moistened. ‘He’s the only person who ever let me love him.’
‘Then he’s a true friend.’
There was a tap on the door and the servant popped her head around it. Anne went across to give her instructions about the preparations for dinner. Dorothea looked around the room. It was not large but it was well furnished and very comfortable. The girl had never been in a house with such a friendly atmosphere. She studied Anne with mingled awe and bewilderment. When the servant left, Anne turned to smile at Dorothea.
‘Why are you being so kind to me?’ asked the girl. ‘I do not deserve it.’
‘I think that you do, Dorothea.’
‘But you know nothing about me.’
‘I know enough to see that you are in need of help.’
‘But you — and Nicholas — have given me much more than help. You’ve taken me in off the streets and listened to my woes. How can I ever repay you?’
‘We seek no payment,’ said Anne. ‘From what you tell us, a grave injustice has taken place. It’s our Christian duty to look into that. I know that it causes pain but the more information you can give us, the easier that will be. You’ve been inside Bridewelclass="underline" we’ve not. So we can never understand the real horrors that go on behind those high walls. You were whipped, you say?’
‘That was not the only punishment I suffered.’
‘What else?’
Dorothea looked down and played with her fingers. Anne could see the blend of anger and embarrassment in the girl’s face, and she felt guilty for asking the question. There was a taut silence. After a few minutes, Dorothea found her voice again.