‘Oh yes sir,’ said Simon. ‘Of course I will.’
‘Do you know what swearing on the Bible means?’ demanded Lowther. Simon turned to him. He had gained some courage from confession and managed to face Lowther squarely.
‘Yes sir,’ he said. ‘It means if I swear and lie I’ll go to hell.’
‘Would you recognise this man if you saw him again?’ Carey asked.
‘I think so, sir.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘Well, big and wide.’
‘Was he a gentleman?’
‘No sir. He had a leather jack on and an arm in a sling and his face was bruised, sir.’
‘No name?’
‘No sir. He’s not one of the garrison. I’ve not seen him about the Keep.’
‘If you spot him again, Simon, try and make sure he doesn’t see you. If you can, find out his name and come and tell me or Sergeant Dodd, understand?’
Simon nodded. ‘Can I go now, sir? Only I havena eaten nothing today.’
He was at the age when one missed meal was a serious thing and two threatened instant starvation. Carey nodded.
‘You’re to stay in the Castle. Don’t leave it for any reason.’
‘Ay sir.’
‘What did you do with the money?’
Simon looked even more woebegone. ‘Och, sir. Ian Ogle had most of it off me at dice.’
Carey was careful not to laugh. ‘Some advice for you, Simon,’ he said. ‘When you get a windfall, pay your debts first, then gamble with what’s left.’
‘Ay sir,’ said Simon, who wasn’t listening. ‘May I go now, sir? They’ll be ringing the bell...’
Carey looked at Scrope who nodded. Dodd was still there, busily pretending to be a piece of furniture.
‘My lord,’ Carey said intently. ‘I’m beginning to have an idea of what’s been happening. Will you hear me out?’
Scrope was squinting unhappily between his two hands at something on the table before him, underneath Carey’s sword.
‘Go on, Sir Robert,’ he said.
Carey paced up to the table and back again. ‘We have the corpse of Mr Atkinson, whose throat was cut, and which was found in Frank’s vennel, off Botchergate. I’ve seen the corpse, I’ve talked to Mr Fenwick the undertaker and also to Mrs Atkinson and her neighbour Mrs Leigh.’
Lowther looked sour, but kept his mouth shut.
‘Now then, firstly Fenwick’s suspicious about it and he’s seen more dead bodies than most. There was no blood in the alley where the corpse was found and although Atkinson’s shirt was soaked, his clothes were unmarked on the outside and he had no boots on. That argues he must have had his throat cut when he was wearing only his shirt, and his killers then dressed him in his clothes. They couldn’t get his boots on because his feet had stiffened by then. Somebody brought something heavy into Frank’s vennel last night. There are clear tracks of a handcart in the alley, I’ve seen them.’
‘It could have been there for another reason,’ objected Lowther. ‘Or Fenwick could have brought it to take the body away.’
‘It could,’ agreed Carey. ‘But it’s suspicious, especially as Fenwick used a litter; he told me so. Next, there’s a knife and glove from Barnabus and myself. Respectfully, my lord, would you be so careless? Do you really think I would be? Would Barnabus? Anybody at all? The knife could have been lifted from Barnabus in Bessie’s yesterday evening while he was drunk or at Madam Hetherington’s which was where he went after Bessie closed for the night. As for my glove... You’ve heard Simon Barnet’s story.’
‘He could have made it up,’ said Lowther.
‘No,’ said Scrope positively. ‘The boy’s not... er... enterprising enough. If it were Young Hutchin Graham standing there with that tale, I wouldn’t believe a word of it, but I think Simon was speaking the truth.’
‘So?’ demanded Lowther. ‘What are ye getting at, Sir Robert?’
You can’t be that obtuse, Carey thought, but he answered evenly enough. ‘Atkinson was not killed in the alley but somewhere else.’
‘Where?’
‘I don’t know where, Sir Richard, since I didn’t do it. But somewhere else in Carlisle his throat was cut. I expect, unless whoever did it was clever enough to choose a butcher’s shambles for it, there will have been a great deal of blood about the place. No doubt, if you could find the blood, you could find the killers. Whoever killed him then put his clothes on, wrapped him in something, piled him on a handcart and trundled him into the alley where they dumped him. Then, to make it look as if it was Barnabus and I that did it, they left what they thought would be clinching evidence. Which means I would very much like to talk to this mysterious man who made the bet with Simon Barnet.’
Lowther growled something completely inaudible. He looked from Scrope to Carey and back to Scrope again.
‘Ye’ll not do it? He’s convinced you with that smooth courtier’s tongue of his, hasn’t he?’
Scrope frowned. ‘If you recall, I had my doubts from the beginning,’ he said. ‘I’m certainly not... er... going to take any rash steps simply because you want to believe that your political rival would kill your man.’
This time Carey heard what Lowther said about brothers-in-law needing to stick together. It annoyed him, but he held his peace. Scrope heard as well and was more angered.
‘I think you had better go, Sir Richard,’ he said, sounding more genuinely the Lord Warden than Carey had heard him before. ‘I may be related to Sir Robert, but if necessary I would arrest him, try him and execute him on a foul bill. I’ll have no favourites here as my father did.’
