cathedral but over the whole city. There was a time when Walsingham feared Langworth and his supporters could have inspired an outright rebellion in Canterbury—and if that were to coincide with a Franco-Spanish invasion …” He left the thought unfinished, looking at me with a decisive nod.
“Such as the one that was planned last autumn,” I mused.
“Exactly. But Howard scuppered his own plans by getting himself arrested just prior to the dean’s election,” Harry said. Samuel gently eased his master’s head back again before dipping his own hands in the basin and coating them with soap.
“Henry Howard is in the Fleet Prison because of me,” I said, my eyes fixed on Samuel’s hands as they moved in slow circles over Harry’s jaw, white lather blooming under his fingers.
“Ah. I wondered,” Harry said. He sat forward and spat the soap that had got in his mouth as he spoke. “Walsingham said in his letter that you had performed a great service for the queen and the realm last autumn. I guessed it might have been connected with that conspiracy.”
“Howard may have corresponded with Langworth from prison about it.”
“No doubt. The Earl of Arundel came to Kent before Christmas last year, not long after his uncle was arrested, and Langworth met him. We think he was bringing messages too sensitive to trust to paper.”
“Henry Howard’s nephew visited Langworth in person?” My mind was racing ahead, clutching at the possible implications. Perhaps messages were not all the Earl of Arundel had brought to Kent with him.
“It’s my understanding that Howard trusted Langworth with some of his affairs—that’s why he’s still an object of suspicion. He would certainly have known about the conspiracy last autumn. God’s wounds, man, don’t wave that thing so near my face when I’m trying to have a conversation!”
Samuel had opened a narrow, straight-bladed razor, which he now dipped in the hot water. “It might be easier for everyone, sir, if you were to break off your discussion just until I have finished,” he suggested mildly.
Harry grunted, but settled back in his chair. I watched Samuel’s deft strokes with the razor around the old man’s chin, but my mind was elsewhere. So it was likely that my reputation had preceded me to Canterbury after all—and in the worst possible way, from the pen of a man who wanted me dead. If Howard had named me to Langworth as his enemy, I would need to take extra care that no one in Canterbury should discover my real name —though being Italian and a friend of the Sidneys, I may already have aroused Langworth’s suspicions. And here my pulse quickened, because I could not prevent my imagination from wild leaps—if Howard trusted Langworth so implicitly, might he have entrusted the canon with the care of his most treasured possession, a book he would have wanted to spirit out of London, far away from the eyes of the searchers who came to arrest him? The book he had once allowed me to hold in my hands, only because he had believed he was going to kill me immediately afterwards? If his own nephew had travelled all the way to Kent in person to see Langworth, there must have been a good reason. Any courier could carry a message.
When Harry eventually sat up, a linen towel pressed to his pink face, he looked at me with concern.
“You appear troubled, Bruno. Worried Langworth might work out who you are?”
“We will have to be careful. It is a shock to find myself so near a close associate of the Howards. When you said Langworth was dangerous—did you mean violent?”
“Violent? No, he is too clever for that. But a man with money and powerful friends can be dangerous in other ways. Here—” Harry levered himself out of his chair and gestured to me to take his place. “Samuel, fetch some fresh water and see if you can make our guest look halfway respectable.”
“Really, there’s no need—”
“Don’t quibble, Bruno. You have the look of a Spanish pirate at the moment. If you want to gain people’s trust in Canterbury, you must tidy yourself up a little.”
Samuel favoured me with one of his long, withering looks from under his brows as he set about pouring a fresh bowl of water and wiping the razor. When I was nervously seated with a cloth tied around my throat, Harry pulled up a chair.
“Langworth is not a godly man. Rumours follow him—of mistresses, an illegitimate child, misappropriation of cathedral funds—this is quite apart from his suspected loyalty to the Church of Rome. But there has never been enough evidence to deprive him of his position.”
“Uh-huh.” I could only look up at the ceiling as Samuel smoothed the soap on to my face with a light touch. I gripped the arms of the chair tightly nonetheless.
“A couple of years ago, one of the minor canons who worked with Langworth in the treasury thought he had discovered fraudulent accounts relating to leases of some of the local manors owned by the cathedral. He went so far as to accuse Langworth of corruption.”
“And what happened to him?” I asked, through my teeth, knowing the story would not be good. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the flash and wink of steel in the sunlight.
“Shortly after he made this accusation, one of the serving boys in the dean’s kitchen accused this young canon of having improperly assaulted him. Another stable lad repeated a similar claim. Then the canon was arrested for brawling in the street outside a tavern—he insisted he was set upon by two thugs, but witnesses were found to say he had provoked a fight after losing money at dice. You see?”
I tried to nod, but Samuel’s hand clamped tightly under my chin. His grip was surprisingly strong.
“Head still, if you would, sir,” he murmured. I felt the kiss of the blade against my throat and flinched violently; an instinctive response, to my shame. I thought I heard Samuel snigger.
“You are skittish, Bruno,” Harry observed. “Bad experience with barbers?”
“Bad experience with knives,” I muttered, through clenched teeth. The memory of a blade levelled at my throat back in Oxford still pulsed vividly when I closed my eyes.
“I had no idea philosophy was such a dangerous profession.” He smiled. “In short, this young canon was deprived of his position in disgrace and his career in the church ended at a stroke. Since then no one has dared to repeat any such accusation against Langworth. For myself, I would appreciate it if your investigations here gave him a wide berth. I do not want his suspicions aroused against me—any more than they are already.”
“Is he capable of murder?” The razor feathered gently across my cheek; there was no denying that Samuel had a deft touch, but still I felt painfully vulnerable, my throat exposed, his left hand gripping my chin, and all my muscles were held taut as wire.
“Sir Edward Kingsley, you mean? No, they were friends. In fact it was Langworth who found the body, and he was visibly distressed by it, as far as I could see. Besides, staving in a man’s skull like that? I can’t picture it. Too vulgar for a man like Langworth.”
“He could have paid someone to do it, like he did with the tavern brawl. Friends can fall out, with violent consequences, if there is enough at stake. And what better way to avert suspicion than by finding the body with a show of grief? Besides, what was he doing alone in the crypt just now with no light? Surely—”
“You are allowing your imagination to run away, if I may say so.” Harry heaved himself to his feet again and came to loom over me as I sat. “Perhaps you didn’t hear clearly. You leave Langworth to me.” He sighed. “I will do what I can to help you while you are here, but I haven’t spent the last six years painstakingly watching him for you to compromise my work with rash suspicions. Is that clear?”
I lifted my head to look at him and caught the stern expression in his eyes. I was too dependent on Harry’s goodwill and cooperation to make any argument; no one else in Canterbury could vouch for me or smooth my way while I tried to find Edward Kingsley’s murderer. I nodded obediently, before Samuel smothered the lower half of my face with a hot cloth, but I was already intrigued by Langworth’s friendship with the murdered man. And what had he meant when he told me not to disturb the dead? Was that a weak joke, or a warning?
Samuel patted my face dry and held up a small looking glass so that I could approve his work. I pushed my hair back from my face, tilted my head from one side to the other, and wondered what Sophia would make of me now. She was right; I did look younger. I thanked Samuel and received only a sarcastic smirk in return.
“Dine with me tomorrow at noon,” Harry said, as he saw me to the door. “You can let me know how your enquiries progress. If they are to involve prominent men in the city, it would be best for you to consult me first—I can advise you on sensitive matters and make introductions if necessary. You will be less suspicious if it becomes known in the town that you are my guest.” He leaned on his stick and reached out with his right hand to shake mine. “But remember what I said, Bruno. Leave Langworth alone. Whatever ideas you may form about him, forget them. It would do no good and might well do great harm.”
I bowed in reply, but said nothing. Behind Harry’s shoulder, Samuel’s eyes bored into me with silent resentment.
