“Could anybody, for that matter?” Harry peered into his glass. “You told the Widow Gray?”
“That’s where I was this morning.”
“When you should have been buying my bread.”
“Yes. Sorry. I wanted to test the theory of the miracle. She is the only one left who could testify to it before a judge.”
“You won’t get her to say a word against Langworth, no matter how often you bow and wink your big dark eyes at her, my friend,” he said, tracing the rim of his glass with a forefinger.
“I don’t suppose she could have …?”
Harry laughed.
“Sykes was three times the size of her. Stabbed him and rolled him into the river, on her own?”
“Then who else? The millstone—it was the verse the old monk quoted to me in prison, about the boys. It
“Langworth wouldn’t confide to Nick Kingsley where he keeps his ale.”
“No. Of course, the only one still at large is Samuel.” I raised my head and looked at him. He made a gesture of resignation.
“You hold no hope of him being on the road to London, then?”
“I don’t think he’s anywhere near London. Langworth wouldn’t let him. But I don’t see why he would need to kill Sykes, unless it was at Langworth’s order.”
“Perhaps Langworth feared Sykes would not be able to hold his counsel if he was questioned about the Becket plot. Perhaps he now thinks the only way to manage this is to do so alone.”
“But Sykes was essential to the whole scheme. Besides, to silence him would be one thing. Why the millstone? It draws attention to the business with the boys.”
“Only to us, who know.”
I sighed. “Perhaps you are right. I cannot make sense of it, Harry. God, what I would not give to search Sykes’s house. I’ll wager Langworth is there even now, tidying away anything that would expose him.”
“Before he comes back and throws my papers to the four winds,” Harry muttered.
WE DID NOT leave the house until Evensong. Harry tried to read, though his eyes were more often fixed on the looming shape of the cathedral through the window than on the page. I paced endlessly, trying to piece together the disparate parts of my defence for the assizes the next day. By now I hardly knew whether I should be defending myself and Sophia, or bringing charges against Langworth for the murder of the two boys. The more I tried to make a coherent case, the more ensnared I felt; I could not mention the dead boys without explaining the plot to revive the shrine of Becket, and that was part of information so sensitive it properly belonged to Walsingham’s ears alone. He would not thank me for airing it in a public courtroom with all the citizens of Canterbury looking on, agog. If enough of them learned that their beloved saint was still among them, they might even start a riot. But without an explanation of the boys’ murders, how could I hope to incriminate Langworth for the deaths of Fitch and Edward Kingsley? And I had no firm proof that Langworth killed Kingsley, except that he knew Kingsley was on the way to his house and he was the only person who could have gained access to the crypt to get hold of the crucifix.
Langworth and the constable returned with their armed guard shortly before Evensong. The canon treasurer was ghostly pale, his face grimmer than usual. He did not seem a man to shed tears, even for a friend; Sykes’s death seemed rather to have sparked in him a fiercer hostility. He carried himself now with the air of a man whose will has been thwarted, and who considers this a monstrous injustice for which someone must be made to pay. They tore the house apart with undisguised relish; I stood by with a hand on Harry’s arm as he stoically watched Langworth scattering his papers, rifling through his clothes, knocking his few ornaments to the ground. The only moment’s grace was when the canon attempted to poke about in the chimney breast in search of hiding places and dislodged a fall of soot on his own head. Stifling my laughter, I climbed the stairs to see what Edmonton was doing. I found him in my chamber, surrounded by scattered straw; he had slit the thin mattress open with a knife. When he heard my tread on the landing outside he started like a guilty creature and wheeled around, holding up a bag of money with a forced expression of triumph.
“As we suspected,” he said, bouncing it in his palm so that the coins chinked. “There must be at least ten shillings in here. That qualifies as grand larceny in a court of law. Grand larceny is a hanging offence, as you surely know.”
“Oh, please.” I leaned against the doorjamb, affecting a nonchalance I did not feel. “You took that from inside your own doublet this very moment.”
His ginger moustache twitched and he looked away. “Naturally you would try to deny it. Canon Langworth!” he shouted down the stairwell.
“It is laughable. I predicted this.”
“Oh, really? Because you knew you were guilty.”
“Not even a simpleton would be fooled by this trick. Do you take the queen’s justice for a fool?”
Langworth appeared behind me on the stairs.
“It may interest you to know that there is a locksmith in the town who will swear on oath that the other day you came in and asked him to make a copy of four keys. Keys you could only have stolen from my house, one of which is to the cathedral treasury. How do you answer that, signor—I’m sorry, I forget your name. You have so many, do you not?”
“I say it is pure speculation. But if you wish me to confess publicly to having been in your house and in the treasury, or rather beneath it, that could lead to an interesting discussion before the queen’s justice.”
Langworth flicked a glance at Edmonton, who looked from one to the other of us, perplexed.
“Don’t try to threaten me,” Langworth said, lowering his voice. “You will spend the night in gaol for this. Your friends in high places cannot reach you now.” His mouth curved into a slow smile, stretching his scar silver. I closed my eyes. I had thought I would have one last night with Sophia; if I were taken to the gaol, who would fetch her from the outbuilding? Who would protect her if Langworth and his thugs chose to come back unannounced and search the house again when I was out of the way?
Edmonton pushed me lightly, his finger between my shoulder blades.
“Let us go. Once again.”
Langworth turned and began to descend ahead of me, still wearing his cold smile. I saw no choice but to follow.
Harry turned pale and gripped the banister when he saw my face. I nodded to the bag in Edmonton’s hand. “Told you.”
“We are taking your houseguest back to the West Gate, Doctor Robinson,” Langworth informed him, with impeccable politeness. “I fear that money you put up for his bail has been wasted. Never mind—perhaps you will learn to be a better judge of character in future.”
Harry set his jaw and flexed his hands into fists. In spite of everything, I smiled; I could see how much he would have liked to punch Langworth in the mouth.
“I shall go to the dean right away,” he said to me.
“Doctor Robinson, this man has been caught stealing from the cathedral treasury—do you think the dean will want to vouch for his character now?”
“You are a snake, John Langworth,” Harry said, between his teeth.
“For shame, Doctor Robinson, is that how one canon of God’s church should speak to another? I fear you have been infected by the company you keep.”
At the front door, the two armed men closed in on either side of me. I looked up at the one I recognised from before.
“Hello. I begin to feel we are old friends.”
He smiled, then quickly straightened his face when he caught Langworth’s piercing look.
But outside in the precincts, by the Christ Church gate, our little procession was impeded by another, grander entourage coming in the opposite direction, from the gatehouse towards the cathedral. People clustered around a group of men, guarded as I was by liveried attendants with pikestaffs, but a good many more of them. Edmonton held up a hand and we slowed. Dean Rogers approached the mass of people from the direction of the Archbishop’s
