Death Magic, - [books for 20 year olds .txt] 📗

on his lip. He winked. ‘I tell larger men it was a knife fight.’

Elizabeth gave a brief smile.

‘But I’m not here to prove your innocence,’ he added. ‘I’m a thief-taker. Here to find the silver thimble.’ He paused. Elizabeth’s eyes had darkened.

‘You’re not a good man as I hoped,’ she muttered.

‘No,’ agreed Charlie apologetically. ‘Your husband …’ he added, ‘you’re not what I expected.’

She lifted an eyebrow.

‘You expected someone confused? Raving? My husband does like to exaggerate my condition,’ she said.

‘What is your condition?’

‘I can’t say for certain,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Only sometimes I wake up and don’t know what happened. My husband tells me I rave. Speak in tongues. It doesn’t happen often. But it makes me seem devout, you see. Touched by angels. And my husband is very concerned that we are seen as proper.’

‘His illegitimacy?’ guessed Charlie. ‘He’s ashamed of it?’

‘All bastards are,’ said Elizabeth. ‘And with Lord Gilbert’s drinking and carousing, my poor husband has a heavy atonement to bear. But you didn’t come here to talk of his religious fervour.’

‘No.’ Charlie drew out the shoe. ‘I came to talk of this.’

Something seemed to shrink back in Elizabeth’s eyes.

‘What would I know of that?’ she said.

‘I would expect a great deal,’ said Charlie. ‘Since this is your shoe.’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Six

Elizabeth stood straight-backed, her face impassive.

‘What makes you say that?’ she said.

You just told me, thought Charlie.

‘I’ve an eye for detail,’ he said aloud, holding out the shoe. Charlie nodded to the muddy footprints on the gaol floor. ‘It looks the right size for your foot,’ he added, placing the shoe next to an identically sized print.

‘You can’t be certain of that.’

‘Put it on and prove me wrong,’ he said.

Elizabeth hesitated. Then she sighed.

‘It’s from before my marriage. Puritans are scathing of frivolous things. But some belongings … Some things I kept. A dress. A few gloves and shoes. My husband doesn’t know,’ she added, glancing up at Charlie.

‘Did you give the shoe to Nancy?’

Elizabeth nodded. ‘She needed an old shoe,’ she said. ‘For some charm or other.’

‘She didn’t say what the charm was for?’

‘Protection, or good luck or some such.’ Elizabeth shrugged. ‘She was a country girl. From Lancashire. Nancy had some strange ways, but they kept her happy. So long as she went to church we didn’t begrudge it.’

There was something in Elizabeth’s face that didn’t quite fit what she was saying.

‘What other strange ways did she have?’ asked Charlie, watching her carefully.

Elizabeth smiled faintly. ‘Nothing different from most country maids. There was a fortune-teller she went to see after church on Sundays. Old Joan or Jenny or the like.’

‘Do you know where this fortune-teller practised?’

Charlie recalled Fitzgilbert’s description of Nancy. The sensible girl who only left the house to visit church.

‘Somewhere near Ald Gate. She never mentioned the street.’

Charlie sucked at his scarred lip in frustration. The streets around Ald Gate were clustered with fortune-tellers conning silly women from their pennies.

‘Your husband thinks Nancy only left the house for church,’ he said.

That faint smile again. ‘My husband was mistaken, Mr Thief-Taker. But men tended to be, when it came to Nancy.’

‘She had a way with men?’ suggested Charlie.

‘Her beauty was only part of it,’ said Elizabeth, her eyes far away. ‘Nancy was captivating. She could compel people to do whatever she wanted. Not just men.’ She nodded to the shoe and shook her head. ‘Men became obsessed with her.’

‘Which men?’

‘The red-headed boy who had me arrested.’ Elizabeth smiled wryly. ‘He thought himself in love with her. Why else do you think he took such an interest in Nancy’s bedroom window?’

‘Your husband didn’t mention knowing the lad,’ said Charlie. ‘He took your accuser for a common apprentice who happened to be passing by.’

‘My husband isn’t the most astute of social observers.’ Elizabeth looked away. ‘The red-headed boy was always skulking near the house,’ she said. ‘Hoping for a glimpse of Nancy. He witnessed some of my … episodes. My fits. He thought my witchcraft was keeping Nancy away from him.’ She raised her eyebrows to signal the ludicrousness of this. ‘That was how Nancy was. No one held her responsible for things,’ she added.

‘What of your husband and Nancy?’ asked Charlie.

Elizabeth flinched.

‘My husband is a faithful man.’

‘He didn’t find Nancy beautiful?’

Elizabeth’s fists clenched.

‘All men found Nancy beautiful,’ she said shortly. ‘Likely my husband looked. He may have even imagined. But he never acted upon it.’

‘How can you be so certain?’ pressed Charlie.

She smiled thinly. ‘He’s a bastard son. Hanging by a thread on Lord Gilbert’s favour. His reputation could take no misdeed.’

‘What of Nancy’s reputation?’

‘Everyone thought her an angel,’ said Elizabeth. She gave a scoffing kind of laugh and Charlie heard bitterness.

‘You didn’t think of her as pure?’

‘No, Mr Tuesday, I did not.’

‘Nancy had lovers?’ he asked.

‘How else would she come to possess a silver thimble?’ Elizabeth gave a sad smile. ‘Men see purity when it suits them. And it always seems to match a pretty face.’ She lifted her eyes to Charlie’s. ‘I feel sorry for men in that way,’ she concluded.

‘What of your husband?’ asked Charlie. ‘Do you feel sorry for him?’

Something twitched in her face then. Fear or hurt. It was gone almost as quickly, but they both knew Charlie had seen the slip.

‘You didn’t marry for love,’ Charlie discerned.

She let out a long sigh.

‘There’s nothing in the Bible to condemn it. I am a good and obedient wife to him.’

‘But you’ve no children.’

Her green eyes flicked sharply up at Charlie.

‘God never blessed us. I am a good wife, Mr Tuesday. I always did my wifely duty.’

‘There is something you don’t tell me,’ said Charlie. ‘About the thimble. I usually know when people are lying to me. But mostly it’s to save their own skin. You stand accused of witchcraft and I think you know something that could prove your innocence.’

Elizabeth opened her mouth and closed it again. Her hands shook very slightly.

‘If I don’t find the thimble,’ said Charlie, ‘you’ll likely burn.’

A hardness settled over Elizabeth’s handsome features.

‘Do you believe in God’s divine wisdom, Mr Tuesday?’

The question took him by surprise.

‘I believe in God,’ he said. ‘But He’s no lover of London.’

‘I offer myself to God’s mercy,’ said Elizabeth, folding her hands. She was locked away now. A pillar of piety.

‘God may be merciful,’ said Charlie, growing frustrated, ‘but if I had a penny for every innocent hanged I wouldn’t live on Cheapside.’

‘What makes you so sure I’m hiding something?’

Charlie glanced to the door. He could see the gaoler’s heavy form lumbering towards them. ‘It’s a gift,’ he said distractedly. ‘If you want to prove me wrong, swear on the Bible you’ve told me all you know.’

Elizabeth looked away.

There was a hammering on the other side of the cell door.

‘Time to go!’ shouted the turnkey. ‘Your visit with the witch is over.’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Seven

‘Did you notice the string around her neck?’ said Charlie as he and John followed the gaoler through the winding prison.

John shook his head.

‘Elizabeth keeps something concealed beneath her dress,’ said Charlie.

‘A crucifix,’ reasoned John. ‘Valuable, so she hides it from the gaoler.’

He shot a glance ahead to check they couldn’t be overheard.

‘Could be a crucifix,’ said Charlie. ‘Could be a thimble. Certainly she knows something she’d rather burn for than confess.’

‘Loyalty to the husband,’ suggested John.

‘Or she’s scared of him.’ Charlie’s instincts were telling him this was more likely.

They passed through a thick door and up into another dark corridor.

‘Nancy only left the house to visit church and a fortune-teller,’ said Charlie as the guard turned the heavy lock behind them. ‘If she had a lover, she likely met him at church. But why keep the betrothal secret?’

He thought for a moment.

‘First I’ll find Nancy’s vicar,’ he said. ‘He saw the thimble. Maybe he can tell me something more of it. Then I’ll go to Bethnal Green. Ask some questions. Try and find the red-headed apprentice. If only we knew which fortune-teller Nancy visited. I’ll wager she could tell us much.’

They were passing by longer-term felons now. Filthy arms stretched from the cell grates.

Charlie eyed John. ‘I imagine your Rosie is impatient for the wedding?’

‘We make each other oaths every day,’ said John. ‘Rosie will wash her dress especially and has made a garter from an old ribbon. She is clever in that way.’ There was a faraway look in his eyes. ‘She is my sun and moon, Charlie,’ he said. ‘We shall be the happiest people you ever saw wed.’

‘How should you like to buy her some extra pretty gifts for the day?’

John tilted his head, only half comprehending.

‘A Puritan church won’t take kindly to questions,’ explained Charlie. ‘Not while King Charles sends men to break them up. If you come along with me and we find the thimble, I’ll be sure you’re well rewarded.’

‘I’ve never known you fail,’ said John agreeably. ‘I have a fight tomorrow, but can otherwise be at your disposal. My Rosie would like some coins for luck,’ he added, his heavy features softening at the thought.

Charlie nodded gratefully. Infractions regularly broke out in churches. Pockets of bad feeling had festered since the civil war twenty years ago.

‘First we’ll have to find it,’ said Charlie. ‘Most Puritans worship in secret. Unless they’ve a private chapel like the Gilberts.’

Charlie ran through his mental map of the City.

‘Nancy saw a fortune-teller near Ald Gate,’ he said. ‘She lived near Bethnal Green. Even Fitzgilbert wouldn’t spare his maid a whole Sunday morning to say her prayers. Nancy’s church must have been somewhere between the two.’

‘I thought you knew all the secret places in the City,’ said John.

Up ahead the gaoler slowed his pace. Something about the movement made Charlie uneasy.

‘Not outside London’s walls,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘And Puritans keep their churches well hidden. Attics, basements.’

Charlie could sense the turnkey straining to hear their conversation.

‘Nancy told Fitzgilbert her church was damp and cold,’ he said, trying to dispel the fear of being locked in.

‘A cellar then,’ said John. ‘But there’s probably a hundred cellars between Bethnal Green and Ald Gate.’

‘Not all are damp enough to invite comment,’ said Charlie. He cast a quick look to the gaoler. ‘Nancy joked her church should be Baptist for all the water.’

As he said the words something came to him. An idea.

‘There’s an old river that runs from Bishops Gate to Petticoat Lane,’ he said, thinking aloud. ‘It was covered over to stop people using it as a sewer. Plenty of water in those parts.’

Charlie pictured the houses crossing the old river near Ald Gate and Bethnal Green. There were only a handful.

They could see the door to the exit now. Charlie let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He resisted the urge to run towards it.

The guard stopped and turned to them, swinging his keys thoughtfully.

‘Most of the thief-takers are known to me,’ he said. ‘But not you.’

Charlie understood the implication. Gaolers were paid for each prisoner and more for confessions. Most thief-takers