Death Magic by - (smart ebook reader .txt) 📖

his breath ran out.

There must be a way through.

Charlie kicked desperately but all was black. His mind swam. There was no air left. Nothing for his mind to fix on. Only the dark cold water all around.

Something was pulling his wrist. John was tugging at the string. Charlie followed the line of contact. And there it was. The faintest of yellow lights. It seemed to be coming closer. A candle flame?

Then he felt John lifted and wrenched away. And in another moment, strong arms lifted him free.

‘God moves in mysterious ways,’ said a good-natured voice. ‘How came you to be swimming in the old sewer?’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twelve

Charlie opened his eyes, spat water and righted himself. He swivelled in panic and then breathed out in relief to see John gasping with his back against the stone sewer wall.

He felt hands lift him to a sitting position. Then a kindly face met his.

The man’s hair was cut in the style of a Roundhead soldier. He was dressed as a vicar, in a plain black overcoat with a square of white handkerchief at his neck and a black cap.

‘I heard noises beneath my house,’ the man explained. ‘It connects to the old sewer and we use it sometimes. Did you come to flood the church?’ he accused. ‘You and your large friend?’

Charlie made the connection.

‘So you’re the bathhouse vicar,’ he said.

The man blinked gently. He didn’t seem surprised by the accusation.

‘If you’ve come to make trouble,’ he said, ‘I’ll give no names.’

Charlie shook his head.

‘We didn’t come to break up your church. I’m a thief-taker. Paid to find Nancy’s stolen thimble.’

The cleric gave a sharp intake of breath.

‘You’re here to find poor Nancy’s killer,’ he said.

‘I hunt stolen property,’ corrected Charlie. ‘I leave murders to the Watch.’

The vicar eyed him.

‘Someone opened the sluice,’ said Charlie, pointing to the water washing through the sewer. ‘It wasn’t us. Did you see anyone else down here? Or near the bathhouse?’

The vicar hesitated, then to Charlie’s surprise he nodded.

‘From my window I noticed someone near the bathhouse,’ he said. ‘A local lad. I didn’t think anything of it. He comes to church sometimes and I assumed he wanted to say some prayers. I’m sure he would never …’

‘Did this lad have red hair?’ asked Charlie.

Dumbly, the vicar nodded.

‘Where did he go?’ asked Charlie, heaving himself up.

‘I didn’t see,’ said the cleric. ‘But you won’t catch him. The boy is part-vagrant and adept at evading the justices.’

‘He hasn’t met me yet. Is there anything else you can tell us about the boy? Or Nancy’s thimble?’

‘You and your friend had best come with me,’ decided the vicar. ‘I’ve a fire you can dry yourselves by. I’ll help you any way I can.’

‘Do you know the Fitzgilberts?’ asked Charlie, as he and John followed the vicar out of the sewer.

The man hesitated.

‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘But I’ll be meeting Elizabeth this evening.’

‘You’re ministering in her cell?’ asked Charlie, confused. He’d imagined this would fall to Elizabeth’s own vicar.

‘I’m the only man of her faith who’d brave her witchcraft,’ said the holy man with a faint smile. ‘But I’m not ministering.’ He eyed Charlie uneasily. ‘You haven’t heard,’ he decided. ‘Elizabeth had a fit, perhaps an hour ago. She was raving. Shouting things. They took it as evidence of witchcraft, and tried her in her cell.’

‘They found her guilty?’ asked Charlie, feeling ice settle in his stomach. He’d liked Elizabeth. For all her stubbornness, he admired her bravery.

‘Guilty of witchcraft and murder,’ said the vicar. ‘I’m to read her last rites. She burns tomorrow.’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirteen

John and Charlie sat in the vicar’s wooden house, steaming gently before the large fire. He had warmed them cups of wine with spices. His home was plain and comfortable, with a few simple chairs.

‘Nancy fled to London,’ the cleric was explaining, ‘after some scandal in her hometown.’

‘What scandal?’ asked Charlie as he drank.

‘We never asked. She told us she’d been wronged and we believed her.’

‘You took a girl into your church, and never asked what scandal she escaped?’

‘Forgiveness is at the heart of Christian living,’ said the vicar. ‘Nancy was eager to join our church. It was enough for us.’

‘Did she travel from Lancashire alone?’ asked Charlie.

‘Nancy told me she came to London with her brother. But he was a feckless sort. In and out of debtors’ prison. She did well to get into service, where her wages were her own.’

‘Did you think Nancy a good girl?’

The vicar gave a small smile.

‘I did. But she was unfortunate to be so lovely in her looks. Nancy attracted a great deal of interest she didn’t want. Lord Gilbert took to visiting the Fitzgilberts’ often, after she was employed.’ The cleric raised his eyebrows to confirm the insinuation.

‘You know Lord Gilbert?’ asked Charlie.

‘Know of him,’ said the vicar. ‘Like all of us in these parts. People say when he’s not drinking he’s fucking, though he must be near sixty now.’

‘What of this red-headed boy,’ said Charlie, ‘he was in love with Nancy?’

‘His name is Patrick. And yes, I think he likely was. He’d follow her around. I saw Nancy rebuff him a few times. Politely but firmly, as kind women do.’

‘Did you think him the person who gave Nancy the silver thimble?’ asked Charlie.

‘Poor Patrick could not afford an expensive item like that.’ The vicar’s gentle features flickered uneasily. ‘I was very concerned about the thimble. I even told Fitzgilbert. Though I’m not in the habit of telling tales,’ he added. ‘But with Lord Gilbert making visits … That man has more bastard children than legitimate ones. Only last year he ruined some poor local girl.’

‘But you thought Nancy sensible,’ confirmed Charlie.

‘Women can be giddy when it comes to baubles. I hoped her sensible. But the evidence was she hadn’t been.’

‘What of Nancy’s fortune-teller?’

‘I didn’t approve of course,’ smiled the vicar. ‘Some old crone telling stories.’

‘Do you know where to find her?’

The cleric shook his head. ‘Nancy assured me she only had a few tarot cards turned. I didn’t object so long as she did no other occult divination.’

‘Did Nancy come to you for exorcism?’ asked Charlie.

The vicar looked slightly taken aback.

‘Of course Nancy came for exorcism,’ he said eventually. ‘It’s the main practice of our church. I assumed you knew.’

‘Patrick too?’ asked Charlie.

‘Yes. I think it did him good for a time. Many troubled people come to me,’ the vicar added. ‘I’ve made it my life’s work to relieve them.’

John and Charlie exchanged glances. This wasn’t the usual practice of churches in London.

‘Our exorcisms are Bible readings and blessings with holy water,’ said the cleric carefully. ‘Nancy submitted herself only once. I think she may have been expecting harsher treatment. Because of Fitzgilbert.’

He waited a moment, his eyes assessing Charlie.

‘You didn’t know Fitzgilbert carried out exorcisms?’ he decided.

‘Fitzgilbert performed exorcisms on Nancy?’ said Charlie, shocked.

‘Not on Nancy. On his poor wife.’

The vicar shook his head. He looked sad. ‘I wanted to intervene. But Elizabeth is Fitzgilbert’s property. Both legally and in the eyes of God.’

‘Fitzgilbert was cruel then?’

‘I can’t tell you if his nature is cruel,’ said the cleric. ‘But his methods of expunging evil are.’ He looked directly at Charlie. ‘Elizabeth was denied food for days. She was purged, plunged in freezing water. Anything to weaken her spirit.’

Charlie swallowed, remembering the dignified woman in the prison cell.

‘I don’t agree with such methods,’ continued the vicar. ‘We use restraints to make the demons tremble. But we are gentle and never discomfort our subjects. I believe Fitzgilbert wanted to control his wife.’

The holy man’s mouth twisted. ‘There’s a lot of talk in these parts,’ he said slowly. ‘I can’t say how much is true. But it’s said that Elizabeth wanted Nancy to leave the house.’

‘Why?’

‘Elizabeth thought Nancy cursed. Possessed by the Devil.’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Fourteen

‘What now?’ asked John, as they left the vicar’s comfortable home.

‘The fortune-teller,’ said Charlie.

‘We don’t know where she is.’

‘We do. The vicar told us Nancy had tarot cards read. That’s a City trick. The fortune-tellers near Ald Gate are not so skilled. They divine from spit and feathers,’ he added, thinking of the simple women who clustered around Ald Gate promising to foretell marriages and births.

‘So the fortune-teller is in the City?’ asked John, his forehead wrinkling.

‘She was in the City,’ corrected Charlie. ‘She moved near the Ald Gate. In which case she’ll be simple enough to spot. City fortune-tellers hang the sign of Merlin’s head,’ he added, in answer to John’s uncertain expression. ‘Bethnal Green folk hang a palm.’

‘Right then,’ said John, ready to go.

‘You don’t need to come along,’ said Charlie. ‘An old crone is hardly dangerous. But if you’d still wish to do me a service, you might seek out the silversmith in the Bucket of Blood. See if he’s heard anything yet about a silver thimble being struck.’

John nodded and set off south. Charlie turned west, towards the band of women who plied their wares around Ald Gate.

 

The sign of Merlin’s head swung amid the cluster of barbershop and fortune-teller palms. Charlie made a quick assessment.

This building, towards the back.

He slipped between a loaded dung cart and two beggar boys. A mouldering rug hung in place of a door, shedding a cloud of tiny flies as Charlie pushed it aside.

For a moment the dark room appeared empty. Then a shifting pile of rags moved and two rheumy eyes blinked forth. Charlie waited for his vision to adjust to the gloom. Old Joan was hunchbacked, her face folded in layers of brown skin. Shreds of threadbare fabric covered her ancient bulk and Charlie suspected her feet hadn’t been seen in a long time.

‘Don’t often see menfolk,’ she observed, in a creaking voice. ‘Will you know of a girl?’

‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Charlie. ‘I want to know of a girl who came to have her fortune told here. Nancy. A maidservant for the Fitzgilberts in Bethnal Green.’

‘Many maidservants,’ said Old Joan cagily. ‘They’re mostly who I see.’

Charlie brought forth a fistful of coins. The fortune-teller’s eyes widened hungrily. Carefully, he placed a penny in her palm.

‘I’ve four more,’ he said, as her hand closed more quickly around the money than he would have thought her age capable of.

She beckoned for his hand. Slowly, he extended it.

The fortune-teller’s strong fingers closed on his and she let out a hissing breath. Her eyes flicked up to his.

‘You,’ she said. ‘You are destined for greatness. Descended from kings.’

Charlie shook his head.

‘I don’t want my fortune,’ he said. ‘I need to know about Nancy.’

She kept her tight grip on his hand. After a moment she seemed satisfied by what she saw in his palm.

‘Nancy was in love,’ she said, releasing her grip. ‘Came to me for charms to break the spell.’