Dark Fire

Chapter Forty-five

WE WALKED SLOWLY BACK along Cheapside then down to the river, through lanes that the rain had already turned into trails of filthy, clinging mud. There can be something pitiless about rain when it pounds, hard, on exhausted heads, as though cast from heaven by an angry hand. This was a real storm, no half-hour cloudburst as before. Everywhere drenched Londoners, their thin summer clothes clinging to them, ran to get out of the rain.

Barak paused and leaned against a wall. He clasped his wounded arm and I saw a trickle of blood welling between his fingers.

'You need that seen to,' I said. 'We can walk to Guy's, it's not far.'

He shook his head. 'We must get to Whitehall. I'll be all right.' He looked at my wrist. 'How's your hand?'

'It's fine, it wasn't a deep cut.' I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket. 'Here, let me bind your arm up.' I tied the handkerchief round his arm, pulling it tight; there was a little spurt of blood and then, to my relief, the trickle stopped.

'Thank you.' Barak took a deep breath. 'Come, let's get a wherry.' He heaved himself away from the wall. 'We've won,' he said as we struggled on to the river stairs. 'It will be Norfolk who suffers, not Cromwell. Norfolk tried to gull the king and that won't ever be forgiven.'

'If the earl is believed. We've no proof now Marchamount is dead and everything destroyed in that fire.'

'Norfolk will be interrogated. And we'll get Fletcher picked up.' He whistled. 'Shit, the earl may have us appear before the king himself and tell our story.'

'I hope not. Whoever he believes, he'll be furious if there's no Greek Fire for him.'

Barak gave me a searching look. 'You saved my life by throwing that vase at Marchamount.'

'I did it without thinking – it was instinct. I'd not have had even Marchamount die like that.'

'But what if he hadn't attacked us? Would I have had to take that vase from you by force?'

I met his gaze. 'It's all one now,' I said. 'Past mattering.'

Barak said no more. There was a wherry waiting at the stairs, and soon a surging tide was carrying us rapidly upriver to Whitehall. The rain lashed down, churning up the river, rumbles of thunder still sounding overhead. A world of fire turned to a world of water, I thought. I could not help glancing into the river, fearing Marchamount's blackened corpse might reappear, but it must have long since sunk or been washed beyond the City by the tide. I hoped the people at Salt Wharf had managed to stop the warehouse fire from spreading; thank God the building was brick.

I huddled into my soaked clothes, watching the rain bouncing from the heads of Barak and the boatman. I saw from a church clock that it was almost three. I remembered I should have gone to the Wentworths today; I had only tomorrow left now. Joseph would be fretting and worrying.

'What did Norfolk mean when he said he's had more help than we guessed?' Barak asked suddenly.

I frowned. 'It sounds as though I was right earlier – someone close to us has been acting as a spy.'

'But who? The man I use to send messages is someone I trust.' He frowned. 'That old Moor knows much of what's been going on.'

I shook my head impatiently. 'Guy would never have any truck with murder.'

He grunted. 'Not even for the papist cause?'

'Believe me. I know him.'

'Or Joseph?'

'Come, Barak, can you see Joseph Wentworth acting as anyone's spy? Besides, he's a reformer.'

'Then who? Grey?'

'He's been at Cromwell's side these fifteen years.'

'Well, who then?'

'I don't know.'

The boat bumped into Whitehall steps. While I paid the boatman, Barak showed his seal to one of the guards and we were waved on into the palace. Climbing the stairs, I found it hard to get my breath, little white flashes danced in front of my eyes and I had to pause at the top. Barak was breathing hard too. I looked through the veil of tumbling water at the grand buildings, shivering, for a sudden cold had come with the rain. Barak blew out his cheeks and plodded on, and I followed him wearily.

Once again we made our way to the Privy Gallery and on to Cromwell's quarters. The guard admitted us to the outer office, where Grey sat over his papers. He was checking some documents with a clerk and looked up in surprise at our drenched, muddy forms.

'Master Grey,' I said, 'we have a message for Lord Cromwell. It is of the greatest urgency.'

He looked at us a moment, then bade the clerk leave. He came round his desk, fluttering his arms anxiously. 'What has happened, Master Shardlake? Barak, your arm –'

'We have the answer to Greek Fire,' I said. 'It was all a fraud, planned by Norfolk to discredit Cromwell.' I quickly told him what had happened at the warehouse, my words tumbling over each other. He sat with his mouth open.

'Please,' I concluded urgently, 'we must tell the earl at once.'

He glanced at Cromwell's closed door. 'He's not here. He had a message to go to Hampton Court, Queen Anne is there and sent for him. He left by boat an hour ago. He's due back at Westminster this evening, some parliamentary business –'

'Where is the king?'

'At Greenwich.'

'Then we'll go to Hampton Court.' Barak stepped away from the table, then groaned. He staggered and would have fallen had I not caught him and sat him on a chair. Grey's eyes widened.

'What ails him? Look, his arm is bleeding.'

I saw the tourniquet had loosened and Barak was bleeding again. He was deathly pale and there was sweat on his face. 'God's teeth, I'm cold.' He shivered, plucking at his soaked doublet.

'You're in no state to go to Hampton Court,' I said. I turned to Grey. 'Is the king's physician here?'

Grey shook his head, hovering fussily over Barak. 'The king ordered Dr Butts and his assistant away yesterday. They wanted to open the ulcer on his leg again and he ordered them out with a volley of oaths. Threw his cushions at them.'

'Then you should see Guy, Barak,' I said. 'I'll take you.'

'No. You must go to Hampton Court. Leave me here.'

'I'm half-fainting myself.' I turned to the secretary. 'Master Grey, can you have a message taken to Hampton Court at once? By someone you can trust, someone who is loyal to the earl?'

He nodded. 'If you think that best. Young Hanfold is here.'

'I remember him.' I smiled wryly. 'He brought me a message from the Tower once that sealed the fate of a monastery. Yes, send him.' I took a quill and scribbled a note to Cromwell. Grey impressed Cromwell's seal on the letter and bustled from the room with it, calling for Hanfold. I looked out over the sodden garden.

'What will Norfolk do now?' I asked pensively.

'He still thinks he's safe. It'll be hours before he starts to worry because no message has come from the warehouse.'

I studied him; he was still very pale. 'Can you make it to Guy's? We can come back after, or Cromwell can send for us there.'

'All right.' He got up slowly. 'Maybe I'd better, before I bleed to death over Master Grey's fine chair.'

The secretary returned to say the message was on its way and a boat was waiting to take us back downriver. I gave him the address of Guy's shop and we hurried away. Another half-hour in the rain and we disembarked. Barak was stumbling now and I helped him through the lanes to Guy's shop, staggering along the alleys like a pair of scarecrows.

Guy answered the door and let us in with little more than raised eyebrows; he was becoming used to this. We sat down in the shop; Barak removed his shirt and Guy examined his arm. It was a horrible gash, very deep. Barak clutched at his mezuzah as Guy's fingers probed.

'I think I should sew your arm, Master Barak,' Guy said. 'Can you bear some pain?'

Barak screwed up his face. 'Have I any choice?'

'Not much, I fear, unless you would bleed to death.'

I waited in the shop while Guy took Barak through to his workshop, after coating my wrist with some stinging oil. He brought dry clothes and I changed in the shop, glad there was no one to see. I wondered again what Lady Honor might make of my bent form if she saw it. Well, she knew what to expect and did not seem to find me so bad. As I transferred my belt and purse to my borrowed hose, wincing at another stifled cry from Barak in the other room, I felt a spurt of irritation at my long preoccupation over how I looked. It was a sort of dark vanity, almost, I thought, a sort of martyrdom. Well, my path was free to make friends with Lady Honor now and I would not miss my chance. My heart had plummeted when, in the warehouse, it had seemed for a while that she could be the one behind the Greek Fire plot after all. Plummeted far enough to make me realize the depth of my feeling for her.

I went across to the window and looked out; the rain seemed to be lessening. The window had steamed up and I leaned my head on the cool glass, shutting my eyes for a moment. The door opened behind me and Guy entered, flecks of blood on his robe.

'There,' he said quietly, 'that's done. I've told him to rest an hour. He's a brave young fellow.'

'Ay, he's hard as nails.' I smiled tiredly. 'We've won, Guy. There will be no Greek Fire. It's all burned up.'

He sat down on a stool. 'Praise God.'

'Did you destroy what was in that pot?'

'It's in the Thames.'

I told him what had happened at the warehouse. 'All that's left is to get that message to Cromwell.'

'Well, you have won, Matthew, fulfilled your mission and destroyed Greek Fire as well.'

'Ay, though that last was by strange chance. If Marchamount hadn't lunged at Barak –'

Guy smiled. 'Perhaps that was the hand of God, answering your prayers and mine.'

'God's hand struck Marchamount hard, then.' I looked at him seriously. 'I have hardly prayed at all these last days. What they did, Marchamount and Norfolk, all those people killed – they did it with the aim of restoring the pope, you do realize that?'

'As Cromwell too has done many evil things.'

I shook my head sadly. 'Once I did believe the world could be perfected. I don't think that any more. But I believe I've defended the bad side against the worse.' I frowned. 'Yet –'

'What?'

'Why does faith bring out the worst in so many, Guy?' I blurted out. 'How is it that it can turn men, papist and reformer both, into brutes?'

'Man is an angry, savage being. Sometimes faith becomes an excuse for battle. It is no real faith then. In justifying their positions in the name of God, men silence God.'

'But have the comfortable belief that, having read the Bible and prayed, they cannot be wrong.'

'I fear so.'

From within, I heard Barak call out for water. Guy rose. 'There, your friend is thirsty. I thought he would not lie quiet for long.' He smiled. 'I think he is no man of faith, but he has an earthy honesty.'

THERE HAD BEEN NO message from Cromwell by the time we left Guy's an hour later. Nor was there any news at home. I sent Simon to retrieve the horses from the inn near St Paul's. Then Barak and I ate lunch and waited in my parlour as afternoon turned slowly to evening. We were too exhausted to do more than sit half-dozing.

'I must go to bed,' Barak said at length.

'Ay, I need rest too.' I frowned. 'Why hasn't Cromwell contacted us?'

'He's probably waiting for a chance to see the king,' Barak said. 'Likely he will do that first, then fetch us later if we're needed. We'll hear something in the morning.'

I heaved myself upright. 'Barak, do you think you are fit enough to come to the Wentworths tomorrow? It will be our last chance.'

He nodded, getting to his feet. 'Ay. It takes more than a sword thrust to lay me low. And what's to fear from a greasy steward, a fat old merchant and a brood of women? I'll come. The business started there after all, didn't it?'

'Ay, and it must end there, before Elizabeth comes back before Forbizer.'

NORMALLY JOAN WOULD have woken us for breakfast, but after seeing the state in which Barak and I had returned home the good woman must have decided to let us sleep. Neither of us woke until nearly midday. I felt much better, though my wrist still hurt, and Barak seemed almost restored to his usual self, though still a trifle pale. It had stopped raining, but the sky was dark and heavy. To my surprise there was no word from Cromwell, only a plaintive note from Joseph begging for news.

'He must have seen the king by now,' I said. 'Surely he'd at least let us know.'

Barak shrugged. 'We're small fry, you and me.'

'Maybe we should send another message?'

'Demanding news! That would be a mighty insolence.'

'At least we can send a message saying if we're not here we'll be at the Wentworths, and ask him if he needs us.' I looked at him. 'Are you fit to go to Walbrook?'

'Fit as a fly. You look better too.' He laughed. 'You're not as weakly as you pretend.'

'It's all right for you to say that at your age. I'm going to write a note, then we ought to go. I'll send Simon, get him to put it into Master Grey's hands himself. That'll be an adventure for him, going to Whitehall. I'll borrow your seal, if I may, so I can stamp it in the wax.' I hesitated. 'I ought to go myself, but there's no time. We should not have slept so long, it is less than twenty-four hours before Elizabeth returns to court.'

WE TOOK A BOAT into the City, then walked up to Walbrook. I had dressed in my robe and my best doublet and urged Barak to borrow my second-best robe to conceal his bandaged arm.

A maid answered the door. 'Is Sir Edwin in?' I asked. 'I am Master Shardlake.'

Her eyes widened a little; she recognized my name. I wondered how much the servants knew of what had happened here.

'He's at the Mercers' Hall, sir.'

'Goodwife Wentworth, then?' The girl hesitated. 'Come,' I said briskly, 'we have business with Lord Cromwell at Whitehall today. Is your mistress in?'

Her eyes widened further at Cromwell's name. 'I'll see, sir. Please wait.' She left us at the door and scurried off into the house. Minutes passed.

'What's keeping her?' Barak asked irritably. 'Let's go in.'

I held him back. 'She's coming.'

The girl reappeared, looking flustered. She took us upstairs, and once again we were led into the parlour with its tapestries and cushioned chairs, its view of the garden and the well. The room was cold today. This time the old woman was the only member of the family present. She was still dressed in black, her dark hood highlighting the paleness of her lined face. The young steward Needler stood behind her, his broad features impassive but his eyes watchful. The old woman had evidently just eaten, for a tray stood on a table at her elbow, with the remains of a dish of spring vegetables and a hunk of cold beef. I saw that the empty plate, the mustard pot and the little salt cellar were all of silver.

Goodwife Wentworth did not get up. 'You will forgive me if my steward stays, Master Shardlake. There are no other members of the family at home just now.' She smiled. 'He can be my eyes. Tell me, David, who is it that accompanies him? He has the steps of a young man.'

'A bald young fellow,' Needler said insolently. 'Though he dresses well enough.'

Barak gave him a steely look.

'He is my assistant,' I told her.

'Then we each have a chaperon,' Goodwife Wentworth said with another smile, showing her horrible false teeth and wooden gums. 'Now, what may I do for you? I understand the business is urgent. Elizabeth returns to court tomorrow, does she not?'

'She does indeed, madam, unless fresh evidence can be brought. Evidence, for example, of what lies at the bottom of yonder well in the garden.'

'Our well?' she asked quietly. 'Whatever can you mean, sir?' Her composure was remarkable.

'The bodies of the animals your grandson Ralph tortured and killed for sport are there. Including Elizabeth's cat that Sabine and Avice brought to him. And a tortured child, a little beggar boy. Whom Needler must have seen, but which you said nothing of at the inquest.' I looked from one to the other of them. They were silent, their faces expressionless.

'The boy had things done to him that would make a hangman sick,' Barak added.

The old woman laughed then, a shrill cackle. 'Are they mad, David? Are they frothing at the mouth, plucking straws from their hair?'

I spoke evenly. 'It must have been hard, these last weeks, for your granddaughters to keep such a secret.'

'Elizabeth is my granddaughter too,' the old woman said.

'Sir Edwin's children are all you have ever cared for. Them and their advancement.'

She was silent for a long moment. Then her lips set hard. 'I see you have learned much.' She sighed. 'It seems I must tell you all. David, I would like a glass of wine. Master Shardlake, you and your assistant will have one?'

I did not answer, surprised by the speed of her capitulation. I looked at the steward.

His face was tense, anxious.

'Get some wine, David,' the old woman said quietly.

Needler went over to the buffet, then turned to his mistress. 'The family had the last of it yesterday, madam. Shall I fetch another bottle from the cellar?'

'Ay, do that. I will be safe enough, I think.'

'Quite safe,' I replied grimly. Needler left the room. The old woman worked her hands in her lap, playing with her gnarled, beringed fingers. 'Elizabeth has spoken, then?'

'Reluctantly, yes. To us and to your son Joseph.'

She pursed her lips again. 'My family has come far,' she said quietly. 'If Edwin had been like Joseph we would all still be country clods, working at that dreary farm. But Edwin has brought us advancement, wealth, the chance for his children to mix with the highest in London. It has been a great consolation to me in my blindness. Now that Ralph is gone our hopes rest on good marriages for Sabine and Avice. It is all we have left.'

'Are they safe for a young man to marry? After what they have done?'

She shrugged. 'They only need a strong lusty fellow to take them in hand.'

Needler returned with a bottle of red wine and three silver goblets on a tray. He laid it on a table and gave a goblet to the old woman, then passed the others to Barak and me. His face was expressionless as he returned to his place behind his mistress's chair. Why were they both so calm? I wondered. I took a sip of the wine. It was sweet and sickly. Barak took a large draught.

'The truth, then,' Goodwife Wentworth said decisively.

'Yes, madam, the truth. If not here, then in court tomorrow morning.'

'Elizabeth will speak for herself?'

'Whether she does or not I shall bring forward the evidence I have. This is your chance to tell me the truth, madam. Perhaps –' I paused, taking another sip – 'something may be done.'

'Where is Joseph?' she asked.

'At his lodgings.'

She nodded then paused, gathering her thoughts. 'David saw it all,' she said. 'From this window. He was cleaning the tapestries; it is a task I trust only to him.' She hesitated a moment, as though listening for something, then continued.

'Elizabeth was in the garden alone that afternoon, sulking as usual. She would have done better to stand up for herself, the way she used to cower in corners like a pissing woman only encouraged the children to be cruel. And children are cruel, are they not? As a hunchback you will know that.'

'Yes they are. Which is why adults must correct them. And they were three against one, were they not?'

'Elizabeth was almost an adult. A great girl of eighteen afraid of a twelve-year-old boy.' She gave a snort of contempt. 'The day Ralph died he had gone down to the garden, to Elizabeth. He sat on the edge of the well and spoke to her. You could not hear what he said, could you, David, through the window?'

'No, madam.' He looked at us and shrugged. 'He was probably tormenting her, perhaps talking about that cat of hers he killed. She just sat under the tree and took it as usual, her head bowed.'

The old woman nodded. 'If she'd any courage she would have got up and boxed his ears.'

'The favoured son?' I said. 'Sir Edwin would not have been pleased.'

Goodwife Wentworth inclined her head. 'Perhaps not.'

'Did you know your grandson had killed a little boy, madam?' I asked. The steward laid a warning hand on her arm, but she shrugged it off.

'We heard the boy had disappeared. I wondered. I knew the things Ralph did and I was waiting for a chance to speak to him about it – I feared he was placing himself in danger. My son Edwin knows nothing,' she added. 'He believed Ralph could do no wrong and I thought it better he kept that belief. He has enough to worry about with his business.'

'You did not fear Ralph was growing into a monster?' I coughed. My throat was suddenly dry.

She shrugged. 'If Ralph did not grow out of his cruelties he would have learned to conceal them. People do.' She sighed. 'You go on, David, this is tiring me. Tell them what happened next.'

The steward looked at us intently. 'After a while Sabine and Avice came outside and sat with Ralph on the edge of the well. They joined in baiting Elizabeth, I think. But then Ralph said something to Sabine. Something she did not like.'

The steward reddened.

'He referred perhaps to her feelings for you?' I asked.

The old woman raised a hand. 'It's all right, David. Sabine developed a girlish fancy for David. He did not encourage her: he is loyal, he has served my son and me for ten years. He would do anything for us. Tell them what you saw next, David. From the window.'

'Sabine grabbed at Ralph. He twisted away from her, fell backwards and then he was gone. Down the well.'

Goodwife Wentworth sighed. 'Sabine says she did not mean to throw him in, she only lashed out in anger. I think at law that would be manslaughter, eh lawyer? Not murder?'

'It would be for the jury to decide on the facts.'

'Either way Sabine might hang, for all her status. We could try for a king's pardon, but that would bankrupt us. Of course, if Elizabeth had not been there Sabine and Avice could have said Ralph merely slipped, but Elizabeth saw everything. And she has no love for us.' She spread her hands and smiled. 'You see, that was our problem.'

'So she had to be silenced. By being accused.' My voice came out as a croak and speaking hurt my dry throat. I wondered whether I was sickening for something.

'When I saw Ralph go down the well,' Needler went on, 'I ran downstairs to the garden. Sabine and Avice were screaming, howling. I looked down the well. I could just make out Ralph's body.'

'Poor boy,' the old woman whispered.

'Elizabeth just sat there under the tree, gawping. Then, not knowing I had been looking from the window, Sabine pointed at Elizabeth and said, "She's killed Ralph. She put him in the well! We saw her!" Elizabeth just sat there, like a stone, saying nothing. Then Avice joined in, pointing at Elizabeth, accusing her.'

Goodwife Wentworth nodded. 'Then I came down, I had heard the screaming. I found Sabine and Avice howling that Elizabeth had killed Ralph. Elizabeth would not answer when I spoke to her. I thought at first that was what had really happened, I ordered Edwin fetched and he had the constable take Elizabeth away. It was only afterwards that David told me the truth. I questioned the girls and they admitted all. They knew about the beggar boy; they have been very frightened, Master Shardlake, but they know how to control themselves as young ladies should. They will make fine gentlewomen one day.'

'They'll make devilish monsters, like their brother,' Barak said.

The old woman ignored him. 'We waited a day, two days, to see if Elizabeth would tell her story, but she kept her silence. Joseph came and told us she was refusing to plead. So we decided, if Elizabeth was prepared to go to her death, let her.' She spoke calmly, as though of a business arrangement.

I coughed drily. 'Well, madam, you have told us all. What do you expect to happen now?'

She said nothing, only smiled. I was aware my heart was pounding very fast. I could not understand why. I heard voices from the hall, then the closing of the front door.

'Shit,' Barak said. 'My eyes. I'm seeing double.'

I looked at him. The pupils of his staring eyes were enlarged, enormous. I remembered Sabine's eyes on the day of my first visit and that nightshade was extremely poisonous. I had seen its effects before, at Scarnsea monastery.

'They've poisoned us,' I breathed.

'It's working quickly,' the old woman said quietly. Needler crossed quickly to the door and locked it. He stood against it and looked at us, a grim set to his fleshy jaw.

'The servants have all gone?' Goodwife Wentworth asked.

'I told them there's nothing more to do this morning, to go out and enjoy the air while it's fresh after the storm.' He turned to me. 'You thought you were unseen that night you went down the well, but my mistress heard someone in the orchard. She told me to wait at a window and see what happened. I saw the pair of you sneak in, saw baldy there go down the well.'

The old woman laughed, a brutal, ugly cackle. 'The blind have wondrous hearing, Master Shardlake, After that we feared the constable would come for us. When nothing happened we realized Elizabeth must still be refusing to plead.'

Barak tried to get to his feet but fell back, his eyes staring wildly. 'I can't see,' he said. His head began to shake. Whatever this stuff was, he had drunk more of it than me.

I tried to say something, but my voice would not come. I remembered standing by the nightshade bush at Scarnsea, Guy telling me about the poison. The only way to counteract it, if taken quickly enough, was an emetic.

Needler returned to his place behind the beldame. 'We knew you would come here,' she continued. 'It was all you could do.' She smiled evilly as I took deep breaths, trying to ease my pounding heart. 'The well, is empty now, by the way, the carcasses in the river. It's ready for you. Then we will deal with Joseph.' Her voice was low, a whisper, she was listening for us to fall on the floor. 'An old countrywoman knows many poisonous plants and we have a large herb garden. They are weakening, David. Kill them now.'

The steward swallowed hard. His face grim, he drew a dagger and came round the chair slowly, deliberately.

And then I remembered the mustard, what Guy had said about its emetic properties the day I first told him about the Wentworth case. Knowing it was my last chance, I hauled myself to my feet. I was shaking from head to foot. Barak too managed with a herculean effort to rise unsteadily and fumble for his sword. He seemed unable to focus. Needler, looking between us, appeared suddenly uncertain. I reached out for the mustard pot and, before Needler's astonished eyes, grasped it and thrust a big spoonful into my mouth. I swallowed, my throat on fire.

The old woman called out, a note of fear in her voice. 'What's happened, David? What have they done?'

Barak made an uncertain lunge with his sword. He cut only air, but Needler retreated quickly behind the chair.

I felt my stomach turn, then leaned over and vomited its contents onto the floor with a horrible retching sound. 'Jack!' I cried. 'Here, take this!'

He grabbed the pot and swallowed what was left. He gasped and leaned back against his chair, sword still raised at Needler. I put a hand on the back of my chair, my head spinning.

'Stay up, sir!' Barak shouted. 'We must stay up!'

I took long, deep breaths. It was horribly frightening, knowing if we allowed ourselves to pass out now it could be the end of us. But my heartbeat was steadying a little. I pulled out my dagger. The old woman stood too, trembling, hands stretched out before her. 'David!' she called in a shrill howl. 'David! What is happening?'

Needler's nerve broke. He stepped away from his mistress and ran to the door. Barak started to follow, but staggered. The old woman turned to the sound of Needler's footsteps, her hands waving helplessly. 'David! David! Where are you? What's happening?'

Needler unlocked the door and threw it open. He ran down the steps and out of the house just as Barak leaned forward and vomited as spectactularly as I had. He sank to his knees, gasping.

The old woman turned towards the noise, panicky now. 'Where are you?' she shouted. 'David! David!' She stumbled, lost her balance and fell with a cry. Her head struck the wall and she collapsed to the floor with a moan.

I staggered to the open door of the parlour, down the stairs and through the front door which Needler had left open. I leaned on it for support and called 'Help!' in a cracked voice, making heads turn along the crowded street. 'Murder! Call the constable! Help!' Then my legs seemed to disappear beneath me and I fell into blackness.