Sacrilege

“He had Ezekiel Sykes out to her, didn’t he, and all of Canterbury knows he meddles with what he shouldn’t.” He spat the words so fiercely that he had to wipe his mouth on his sleeve. I saw his hand was shaking.

“How do you mean?”

“He’s one of them …” He frowned. “I forget the word. You know—that tries to turn iron into gold.”

“An alchemist?”

“Aye, that’s what they say. Witch, more like.” Garth narrowed his eyes. “Why you so interested, anyway?”

I shrugged. “I took a dislike to this Nicholas Kingsley. He cheats at cards. I’d have been glad to see you teach him a lesson last night.”

He nodded slowly, still wary. “I lost my temper last night. I’d had a drink. Should know by now I’ll get nothing that way.”

I made as if to leave, then half turned.

“Do you mind the gate here every evening, Master Garth?”

“Aye.” His face closed up again; he seemed to be bracing himself for an argument.

“The night young Kingsley’s father was murdered too?”

“Wasn’t me killed him, if that’s what you mean,” he snapped, taking a step towards me, his nostrils flaring, almost before the words were out of my mouth. “It was the wife. Ask anyone. That’s why she ran the next day.”

I held up my hands as if to ward off misunderstanding.

“I didn’t mean to suggest … Then you must have seen her, surely?”

He slumped, the sudden flash of anger abated, and rolled his shoulders, his face uneasy.

“I saw her come in for Evensong, that I do remember. But I don’t recall seeing her leave, as I told the constable next day. First thing I know of it, Canon Langworth comes running up after supper like he’s seen the Devil himself, yelling that he’s found Sir Edward murdered.”

“But the other gates are all locked after Evensong, are they not? So anyone leaving after that time must have to pass you here at this gate.”

“Or hide themselves.” He leaned in confidentially. “These precincts are full of nooks and crannies, you must have seen. The canons do the rounds and lock the gates after the service when everyone has left, but anyone with unfinished business could easily tuck themselves away unseen. The church is as good a place as any.”

“But she would still have had to come out,” I persisted, “to have been at home when they came to tell her the news.”

“I don’t recall,” he repeated, more stubbornly this time, though his eyes were evasive. “Look here.” He tilted his neck to one side and then the other stiffly, as if it was causing him discomfort. “I won’t pretend I was sorry. It was no secret I hated him. And I can be quick with my fists sometimes, but I couldn’t do what she did. Strike a man from behind, in the dark, with a crucifix?” He shook his head. “That’s a coward’s way. Or a woman’s.”

I moved back towards him, alert.

“A crucifix? Was that what killed him?”

“So they reckon. They found it the next day, slung into the long grass in the orchard, covered in blood and brains. Big silver cross with a heavy base, one of those they have in the church.”

“So she took it from the cathedral, then?”

Garth rubbed the back of his neck.

“Must have. From the crypt, they said. It was the one used to stand on that little altar down there.”

I whistled.

“To kill a man on consecrated ground, with the cross of Christ. Mother Mary! Only someone with no fear of God could think of it.”

“Neither God nor the Devil,” Garth muttered.

“A man with no fear of the Devil would be a fool indeed,” said a new voice from behind me, smooth and polite. “Of whom do you speak, Garth?”

Garth flinched like a dog that fears a kick; I turned sharply to see John Langworth standing at the gatehouse entrance, wearing the same funereal black robe. He had appeared silently just as he had the previous day, like a bird of prey. In daylight his face seemed even sharper, the skin stretched tight over the bones so that, looking at him, I had the impression of seeing his naked skull as it would appear if his grave were opened years hence. Despite the warmth of the day, I shivered. Langworth seemed to trail the chill of the crypt around with him, as if the summer dare not venture too close to his person.

“Ah, and our Italian friend, Signor Savolino. Good day.” He gave me a thin smile and offered his hand. “Back to admire the glories of our church?”

“I had rather hoped to admire the glories of your library today,” I said, with forced politeness, shaking his cool hand. “Doctor Robinson has kindly offered to introduce me to the canon librarian.”

“Again, I fear we have little to excite a travelling scholar,” he said, inclining his head in an attitude of regret. “The great abbey of St. Augustine once boasted the finest library in England—some two thousand volumes. You may see the ruins of it outside the city wall, beyond the Burgate. A handful were saved from the flames and brought here, but nothing remarkable. Still,” he said briskly, as if pulling himself back from the past, “yours is a happier task than mine today. It seems another dreadful murder has been committed in the city only this morning. I must go and see what comfort I can offer the family. I’m afraid I shall miss divine service.”

I nodded and made as if to go on my way into the precincts. He swept past, his robe billowing at his heels. As he was about to pass into the market square, he turned.

“Oh—Garth! If you should happen to see any of the carpenters in the precincts, remind them of the casement in my back parlour, would you? I can never find any of the workmen when I need them. It would be convenient if they could do something this morning while I’m out.”

“If I see Master Paine, I’ll tell him, Canon Treasurer,” Garth called back, with a nod of deference. When Langworth had disappeared out of sight, he turned to me and rolled his eyes. “Thinks his broken window should be the master carpenter’s first priority,” he muttered, shaking his head.

I made a vague murmur of sympathy.

“Well, I will not trespass on your time any longer,” I said, smiling.

Garth squinted towards the street.

“Communion service’ll be busy this morning. Always is when there’s been a death. Best place for the gossips to get together.” He brandished my knife at me in its sheath. “Don’t worry, I shall take good care of this, sir, and see you by and by.”

I nodded and passed through the archway into the cathedral precincts, where I stood for a moment, allowing my eyes to adjust to the brightness of the day after the shadows of the gatehouse and trying to decide, with racing heart, where to go next. I had thought I might take the opportunity of being inside the precincts to visit the crypt again before I called on Harry, but Langworth’s departing words had given me a new idea. If the treasurer was out all morning and his house had a broken window…

My stomach tightened; it was almost too audacious, especially after Harry’s explicit warning about Langworth. But the treasurer’s friendship with Sir Edward Kingsley, together with the fact that he had found the body and raised the alarm, meant that he had to be regarded as a suspect, and if Harry was not willing to explore the possibility, despite being charged with watching Langworth, then I would not shy away from the prospect. I at least had no position in Canterbury to lose.

Sophia had mentioned that her husband kept the key to his mysterious cellar on a chain at his belt, yet Langworth had not returned any key to her along with Sir Edward’s other valuables. Had Langworth taken that key? If he was one of the magistrate’s close confidants, perhaps he had some idea of what was in the cellar. Was it something he needed to move, or keep hidden? Something that gave him reason to kill?

But hovering above all this was the figure of Lord Henry Howard. He trusted Langworth; did he trust him enough to make him custodian of the secret book I had seen in his house last autumn, before his arrest? That book—the lost book of the writings of the Egyptian sage Hermes Trismegistus, perhaps the only remaining copy in existence, the book Howard had believed would teach a man the secrets of immortality—was as precious to Howard as it was to me. I was certain he would not have risked leaving it among his own possessions, where the queen’s searchers might find it on the occasion of his arrest. And shortly afterwards, his nephew, the Earl of Arundel, had come into Kent to meet Langworth. Arundel had also been under suspicion over the conspiracy last autumn;