Alison sipped from her tankard. ‘Of course I was in London when Edwin died. Even before it happened, I had a premonition. When Edwin was taken ill after the attempted poisoning and sent me that letter, I came to London and wondered what I should do. Edwin never stayed away from me when I was in the city. I heard about the other clerks carousing at the Dancing Pig. Somehow I knew they were responsible for his death.’
‘And so you decided to be two people?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Yes, Brother. When I was with my father I had experience as dressing as a youth. And again whenever I travelled into London to meet Edwin. It was a subtle disguise. On the morning I killed Peslep, I visited Edwin’s garret once more, just to make sure. After that it was simply making sure that Alison Chapler was elsewhere whenever this young man was seen. When Ollerton died, I was in Southwark. After I killed Elflain I crossed the river, whilst I placed the caltrop in Napham’s chamber very early in the day.’
‘Did you hope to escape?’ Cranston asked.
‘Sir John,’ Alison smiled, ‘I didn’t really care. I didn’t disguise myself because I was frightened. I just wanted the time, the means to carry out my revenge. If I hadn’t been caught,’ she shrugged, ‘I would have travelled back to Epping, perhaps sold my goods and entered some comfortable nunnery. Men like Edwin are rare: I would not meet his like again.’
‘You were clever,’ Athelstan broke in, ‘deliberately being seen round the Silver Lute, asking the landlord to keep an eye out for a mysterious young man, although that did intrigue me. When we met William the Weasel,’ he continued, ‘you were not at all frightened. Yet you acted as if your life depended on leaving the Silver Lute.’
‘I wasn’t going to leave London,’ Alison replied, ‘until I saw the end of the game: the destruction of all those evil men.’
‘And Alcest? Why didn’t you take care of the leader?’
‘It suited my purposes, Brother. His name was at the end of Poena. I actually planned that he take the blame for all the murders.’ She glanced at Cranston. ‘Have you found where they hid the profits of their wickedness?’
‘No, we haven’t,’ the coroner replied. ‘But I know our Regent. He’ll search all the goldsmiths and bankers in the city for that gold.’
Alison got to her feet. ‘And I suppose that is it, is it not?’
‘Yes,’ Athelstan answered softly. ‘I suppose it is. Alcest killed Chapler. You carried out those murders.’
‘I have to arrest you.’ Cranston came round the table.
Alison dug into her wallet and brought out a purse of coins. She dropped these on the table in front of Athelstan. ‘The game is finished,’ she said. ‘Brother, take care of poor Edwin’s grave. I have left a will with the priest in Epping. Everything is to be sold and given to the poor. God will understand.’
‘I’ll go with you,’ Benedicta volunteered.
‘God forgive me,’ Cranston whispered, beckoning Flaxwith forward, ‘but you are to be lodged in Newgate.’
‘Am I now?’ Alison smiled.
Athelstan also rose. On the one hand this young woman had committed terrible murder but, on the other, she had loved deeply and, in her own eyes, carried out justice.
‘Is there anything we can do, Sir John?’
‘No, Father, there isn’t,’ Alison interrupted. ‘I don’t want Sir John making false promises. These clerks come from powerful families. If I sought sanctuary they would track me down and, when I face the Justices, money will exchange hands.’ She walked towards Athelstan and kissed him gently on each cheek. ‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered. ‘Look after Edwin’s grave. Say masses for him and me.’
She joined Cranston, Flaxwith and Benedicta at the door.
‘I’d best go, Brother.’
Benedicta, who was dabbing at her eyes, pointed across at the small writing desk under the window. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Whilst you were across at the Tower, Brother Niall came. He left a letter for you.’
‘He probably wants a book back,’ Athelstan replied quickly before Cranston could demand what the letter might contain. He walked to the door.
Alison smiled again, Cranston bade goodnight and they left.
Once they were gone, Athelstan sat down on the stool, face in his hands, and said a short prayer for Alison Chapler. ‘I didn’t even get to know her real name,’ he murmured.
Bonaventure, as if he knew that Samson had gone, slipped through the window, tail erect, head stiff. He walked in and, as if disgusted at the fact that his master had dared to have a dog in the house, jumped on to the writing desk, curled up and went to sleep.
Athelstan walked across, picked up Brother Niall’s letter, undid the seals and began to read it.
Cranston and his party walked on to London Bridge, along the narrow thoroughfare between the shops and houses. The coroner walked in front, Benedicta, one arm linked through Alison’s came next, Flaxwith and Samson trailed behind. At the chapel of St Thomas, Alison stopped.
‘Sir John!’ she called out.
The coroner turned.
‘I’ll never be given the opportunity again,’ she said and pointed to the narrow passageway which ran along the side of the chapel. ‘I’d like to go there,’ she said. ‘I really would: say a short prayer where poor Edwin died.’ She held the coroner’s gaze. ‘Please,’ she whispered, gently pushing Benedicta’s arm away. She walked up and tugged at Cranston’s jerkin. ‘Please,’ she repeated. ‘You know what is going to happen to me, no mercy will be shown. Just a few moments. Please!’
Cranston glanced at Benedicta. She looked away. Flax-with crouched as if closely studying the leather collar round Samson’s neck. Even the dog turned its head away. Cranston looked up at the sky.
‘Go,’ he said. ‘Go and say your prayers, then I’ll come for you.’
Alison walked away, the patter of her sandals echoing along the passageway.
‘Sir John! Sir John!’
The coroner turned. Athelstan was running towards them, hood pulled back, one hand clutching his robe. He slipped and slithered in the mud. A window casement opened and someone shouted out.
‘The riddle!’ Athelstan gasped. ‘The very first one.’ He looked round. ‘Where’s Alison?’
‘I let her go to the bridge rails,’ Cranston replied. He pointed to the passageway, refusing to meet Athelstan’s eyes. ‘She said she wanted to pray where Edwin’s corpse was thrown over.’
Athelstan ran down the passageway, Cranston and the others following. There was no one there, nothing, only a piece of silk Alison had wrapped round her waist; this was tied to one of the rails of the bridge, flapping forlornly in the evening breeze. Athelstan looked over at the water frothing below. He closed his eyes and said the Requiem.
‘It’s better that way,’ Cranston said. ‘Better that way, Athelstan. She had suffered enough. I didn’t want to see her burnt at Smithfield or struggling at Tyburn. God knows what horrors would have happened to her in Newgate.’
‘God rest her!’ Benedicta whispered.
‘She said she’d do it,’ Athelstan declared. ‘That first riddle, about a king conquering his enemy but, in the end, victor and vanquished lying in the same place, like chess pieces, gathered up and placed in their box. They’ve all gone now: Alcest, Ollerton, Elflain, Napham, Peslep. Good Lord, Sir John, what tangled lives we lead.’ He turned. ‘And for what? A little more gold, a little more silver? A pair of pretty breasts? Or the best food and wine to fill the stomach? The lust of money is surely a great sin. Because of that those clerks are dead. Alison is dead. Drayton is dead. Stablegate and Flinstead condemned to wander the face of the earth like the sons of Cain they are.’ He rubbed his face. ‘Sir John, tell the Fisher of Men to search for her corpse. Tell him to treat her gently. Bring it back to St Erconwald’s. She can lie next to the man she loved and whom she so ruthlessly avenged.’
‘I’ll walk back with you,’ Cranston declared. ‘Darkness is falling.’
They went back to the Southwark side. Athelstan refused any offer of refreshment from Sir John.
‘Take Benedicta home,’ he said. ‘Make sure she’s safe. Oh, Sir John…?’ Athelstan went up and gripped his hand. ‘You are big in every way, Jack the lad,’ he murmured. ‘Big of body, big of mind, big of soul. God bless you, Sir John Cranston!’
The coroner looked at him strangely but Athelstan just shook his head. He squeezed the coroner’s podgy hand and strode off up an alleyway.
Once he was back in his house, Athelstan bolted and locked the doors. He filled his blackjack full of ale. He lit
