The Counterfeit Crank

Chapter Seven

The next day being the Sabbath, it began as usual with a visit to church. Nicholas Bracewell accompanied Anne Hendrik and Dorothea Tate through the streets of Bankside to the sound of a medley of bells. Washed, well fed and restored by a good night’s sleep, Dorothea was wearing one of the servants’ dresses and a borrowed hat that had been designed by Anne. When the girl knelt in prayer at the church, Nicholas had no doubt who was in her thoughts. Racked with anguish, she was pleading for the safe return of her friend and protector. After the service, Nicholas escorted the women back to the house, then left them alone in the hope that, if Anne could spend some time alone with Dorothea, she would win her confidence and draw out details that the girl had been too embarrassed to divulge to a man.

Nicholas, meanwhile, had to meet a friend on the other side of the river.

‘What did you learn, Owen?’ he asked.

‘Precious little from the gatekeeper at Bridewell,’ grumbled Elias. ‘He’d have told me nothing at all had I not wheedled the facts out of him.’

‘How did you do that?’

‘By posing as Hywel’s cousin.’

‘You have the looks and accent to carry it off.’

‘It was like getting blood from a grain of sand.’

He told Nicholas what had transpired. The two of them were in the Welshman’s lodging, a long, low room that was filled with amiable clutter. On the bed in the corner, the sheets were still rumpled from a night of passion, and from the sudden departure to church of the woman with whom Elias had been sleeping. There was a faint aroma of tobacco from the pipe that had been smoked earlier. Nicholas was disappointed that such scanty information had been gained at Bridewell. Elias added a telling detail.

‘I peeped into his ledger as he checked it,’ he explained. ‘Beside the name of Dorothea Tate was a scribble that I took to be a record of her discharge. But there was nothing beside Hywel’s name. Instead, it was scratched through with a line of ink.’

‘Scratched through?’

‘It was almost as if they were pretending that Hywel Rees did not even exist.’

‘That’s worrying news.’

‘I did not give up there, Nick. Since I got such short shrift at Bridewell, I decided to look elsewhere for help. I reasoned that, if anyone could tell me how that workhouse was run, it had to be a lawyer.’

‘Which one did you choose?’

‘The only one that I could trust. That friend of Frank Quilter’s. The jovial man who gave us so much assistance when Frank’s father was unjustly accused.’

‘I remember him well,’ said Nicholas. ‘Henry Cleaton.’

‘He told me things that bear out what Dorothea was saying.’

‘You surely did not doubt her word?’

‘No, no,’ replied Elias, ‘but she’s a young girl, wounded by her experience at Bridewell and still confused about what really happened there. Master Cleaton was able to throw more light on how the institution is administered.’

‘What did he say?’

Elias took a deep breath. ‘Bridewell has been dogged by corruption for years,’ he said. ‘One treasurer was dismissed for letting it flourish under his nose, another convicted for taking money that should have gone to the poor souls inside the place. A third, I discovered, was so incompetent that he paid several bills twice by mistake thus losing any profit that might have been made. Like the prisons,’ he continued, ‘the management and victualling of Bridewell is leased out to the highest bidder.’

‘Is that how this Master Beechcroft became involved?’

‘Joseph Beechcroft has a partner in the enterprise,’ said Elias. ‘A man named Ralph Olgrave. They somehow persuaded the good aldermen of this city to pay them no less than?300 a year to take over Bridewell.’

Nicholas was astonished. ‘As much as that?’

‘Master Beechcroft is a weaver, as I hear, and Master Olgrave a tailor. They wove a clever deal and tailored it to fit their needs. You can see why the two of them took an interest in the workhouse.’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘They can watch their trades practised there. According to Dorothea, wool is carded, cloth woven, suits made up. Dorothea said that hides are tanned there as well — and not only those belonging to the inmates. Joseph Beechcroft and his partner have found a means of using cheap labour.’

‘The cheapest kind of all, Nick. They get no wages.’

‘Only bed and board.’

‘You heard Dorothea. The beds are hard and the food is dreadful.’

‘So even more money is saved.’

‘Henry Cleaton said that rumours have been coming out of Bridewell for some time, but they are only rumours. No clear proof of mismanagement has been found. In fact, the place is at last being run with some efficiency. What shook me,’ said Elias, ‘was how much power those men have. Our merry lawyer claims that the terms of their contract make them positive kings inside Bridewell.’

‘Kings or tyrants?’

‘Whichever they choose to be.’

‘Joseph Beechcroft does not sound like a benevolent monarch.’

‘Dorothea dubbed him a monster.’ ‘And she got close enough to him to make that judgement.’

‘Why release her when she could make allegations against him?’

‘To whom could she complain?’ asked Nicholas. ‘What strength does the word of a convicted vagrant carry? She was no threat to Master Beechcroft. No, Owen,’ he concluded, ‘I believe that she was discharged to get her out of the way. Dorothea knew too much. As long as she was inside Bridewell, she’d have been trying to find out what happened to her friend. That would irritate them.’

‘And, to her credit, she refused to turn punk at Master Beechcroft’s request.’

‘So she could not serve her purpose in that respect. As far as he knew, she was alone and friendless in the city. When he had her turned out, Joseph Beechcroft believed that he was throwing Dorothea to the wolves and would never hear from her again.’

‘He reckoned without us, Nick.’

There was a long pause. ‘Let us suppose,’ said Nicholas, trying to think it through, ‘that the gatekeeper was telling the truth. Imagine that Hywel Rees was indeed discharged a few days ago. What would he have done?’

‘Banged on the door until they let Dorothea out as well.’

‘And if he’d been chased away?’

‘He’d have done as she did, Nick,’ decided Elias. ‘Hywel would have turned to the two people in London who showed him any friendship. I fancy that we’d have seen him at the Queen’s Head, asking for our help.’

‘That’s my belief. Yet there’s been no sign of him. As I know to my cost,’ said Nicholas with a wry smile, ‘the Welsh are nothing if not tenacious. Hywel is like you, Owen. He’d not give up without a fight. But, all of a sudden, he disappears from the city. Would he desert Dorothea like that?’

‘Never!’

‘Then there are only two explanations.’

‘He has either been hounded out of London altogether.’

‘Or he is no longer alive,’ said Nicholas, solemnly. ‘Master Beechcroft, we are told, swore that he’d not be allowed to cause any more trouble at Bridewell. How far would he go to shut Hywel up?’

Lawrence Firethorn’s day also began with a visit to church, taking the entire household with him. When he had seen his wife, children, servants and the apprentices safely returned to the house in Old Street, he mounted his horse and headed for the city. His first port of call was Edmund Hoode’s lodging and he was pleased with what he found.

‘You are out of bed at last, Edmund,’ he observed, approvingly.

‘I have been on my feet for the best part of an hour,’ said Hoode, embracing his friend. ‘I am trying to build up my strength again.’

Firethorn nudged him. ‘And I know why, you rogue. That comely girl, the daughter of the house, let me in. Adele looks even more fetching today. You’ll need all your strength to board that pretty little carrack.’

‘I’d not even think such thoughts on the Sabbath.’

‘More fool you!’

Firethorn inspected him more closely. Simply by exchanging his nightshirt for his doublet and hose, Hoode looked markedly better. His cheeks were still hollow but there was a sparkle in his eye and more zest in his voice. He sat near the window and waved his visitor to the chair opposite him.

‘What’s this I hear of a theft at the Queen’s Head?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Firethorn, angrily, ‘some rogue beat Luke Peebles to the ground and stole our money. We lost pounds that we can ill afford.’

‘Have you no idea who the culprit might be?’

‘No. Adam Crowmere has questioned all his servants but none could help us.’

‘Thank heaven this did not happen under our old landlord,’ said Hoode. ‘He’d have used it as an excuse to lever us out of the inn.’

‘His substitute shows Marwood up for the miser that he is. We could not ask for more sympathy. Adam even offered to make good our losses.’

‘A worthy benefactor!’

‘Our contract ties us and we had to refuse. But we saw his true character.’

‘Everyone has kind words to say of him. Michael Grammaticus told me that this generous landlord has been trying to help the company in other ways.’

‘Yes,’ said Firethorn. ‘He’s done things that would never even cross the mind of that maltworm, Alexander Marwood. New benches have been added to the galleries so that we may seat another sixty buttocks, and a better range of food is being served in the yard. More people have been tempted in.’

‘Michael spoke of playbills.’

‘Yes, Adam Crowmere lets us put them on every wall we choose. Nobody can pass the Queen’s Head without knowing what Westfield’s Men offer next. It’s such a joy to have a landlord who is on our side.’

‘If only I were there to share the joy.’

‘You will be, Edmund. I see a new man before me.’

‘The old problem persists, Lawrence. I am still tired for most of the day.’

‘That will pass in time,’ said Firethorn. ‘Before you know it, you’ll be reaching for A Way to Content All Women again.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘Though I could tell you how to do that for I’ve devoted my life to the art.’

‘My interest in the play has been rekindled,’ confessed Hoode.

Firethorn was thrilled. ‘You’ve started work on it again?’

‘No, but I talked about it with Michael. He’s offered to help me finish it.’

‘How? He has no ear for comedy. Just look at the man!’

‘Do not be misled by appearances,’ said Hoode. ‘Michael has a keen sense of humour. When he was at Cambridge, he acted in two comedies by Plautus. Admittedly, they were performed in Latin but they taught him much about how to provoke laughter.’

‘He can more easily produce tears. That’s where Michael’s skill lies, in the realms of tragedy. Flashes of humour there may be in The Siege of Troy, but it’s a play that will move an audience with its dark and mysterious power.’

‘Do not forget that I, too, have written tragedies.’

‘Yes, but you are Edmund Hoode, who can turn his hand to anything. How many authors are able to do that? Michael Grammaticus will never ape you in that respect.’

‘Give him the chance to try, Lawrence.’

Firethorn was unconvinced. ‘We’ll see, we’ll see.’

They talked for half an hour before Hoode began to weaken visibly. His visitor decided to take his leave. Getting to his feet, Firethorn clapped him on the shoulder.

‘Welcome back, Edmund!’ he said. ‘You’ve risen from the dead.’

‘Bear my fondest regards to all of our fellows.’

‘To those that deserve them, I will. But not to Barnaby, the wretch, who cannot find the time to call on you when you need comfort. And there are one or two others who do not merit your affection.’

‘Why not, Lawrence?’

‘They have let the company down badly.’

‘How?’

‘By allowing themselves to be seduced,’ said Firethorn, scornfully. ‘If there was a woman in the case, I would not mind, but the seduction involves a card table.’

‘At the Queen’s Head? Our landlord detests both cards and dice.’

‘Adam Crowmere does not share his objections. He has a man, lodging at the inn, who plays in his room and conjures money out of our fellows’ purses. Nathan Curtis and Hugh Wegges were the first to suffer. They had to beg Nick to give them their wages in advance. The latest victim is Frank Quilter.’

‘That surprises me,’ said Hoode. ‘Frank is such a level-headed man.’

‘Not when he gets ensnared in a card game. All common sense then vanishes. He lost a lot of money at the table. I mean to raise the matter with Master Lavery.’

‘Who is he?’

‘The cunning devil who deals out the cards,’ replied Firethorn. ‘The sermon this morning urged us all to confront Satan in his various guises. I mean to do just that.’

The naked body lay on a cold stone slab in the morgue, the stink of decay softened by the smell of herbs that had been scattered around. Nevertheless, both Nicholas Bracewell and Owen Elias coughed when the foul air first hit their throats. They took care not to inhale too deeply. Though there was blazing sunshine outside, the room was dank and chill. The coroner, an elderly man with a wispy beard, indicated the latest cadaver to join his grim collection.

‘This is the only one who might meet your description,’ he said.

‘Where was he found?’ asked Nicholas.

‘He was pulled out of the Thames yesterday evening.’

Elias was doubtful. ‘I’m not sure that it’s him.’

‘Water disfigures the face,’ warned the coroner. ‘As you see, the body’s bloated well beyond its normal size. We cut his clothing off and burnt it. He was wearing nothing but rags.’

Nicholas ignored the body and stared at the face, trying to imagine what it would be like without the gashes on the temple where the head had been bludgeoned. It was the nose that caught his attention. He pointed to a long scar.

‘Look at that, Owen,’ he said. ‘Do you remember that scar on Hywel?’

‘I thought it was more to the left.’

‘No, I fancy not. This young man — God rest his soul — is the right age and height and colouring. That mark on his nose tells me that it might well be Hywel Rees.’

Elias bit his lip. ‘If only I could hear his voice! I’d know him then.’

‘Who was he?’ said the coroner.

‘A counterfeit crank. He feigned the falling sickness better than those that suffer from it. Hywel was a natural actor.’

‘Even he cannot counterfeit death,’ said Nicholas. ‘And this, I think, is him.’

‘It pains me to agree with you, Nick, but I must.’

‘What was the name again?’ said the coroner, plucking at an ear lobe. ‘Hywel Rees? I do not like to see any man go to his grave anonymously.’

‘Hywel Rees, late of Wales. Would that the poor fellow had stayed there.’

‘Which part of the river was he found in?’ wondered Nicholas.

‘Not far from Westminster.’

‘Downstream from Bridewell, then.’

‘The body would have been carried much farther by the current had it not been caught in a piece of driftwood that snagged on the bank.’ He glanced at the two men. ‘Would you like to be left alone with him for a while?’

Nicholas nodded and the coroner quietly withdrew. They were grateful for his consideration. It enabled both men to lose themselves in thought, to feel a mixture of pity and rage at the hideous sight before them, a young life brought to a premature end by a brutal and unknown hand. The more they looked, the more convinced they were that Hywel Rees was lying there before them. It was Elias who eventually broke the silence.

‘How will you break the news to Dorothea?’ he asked.

‘Gently,’ said Nicholas.

Dorothea Tate thought that she was dreaming. She had met with such compassion from a complete stranger that she did not know how to respond. Anne Hendrik had not only given her a soft bed and decent food, she had allowed the girl to settle in without exerting any pressure on her. Because Anne did not pry, Dorothea was drawn to her. They sat in the parlour of the house in Bankside and listened to the church bells as they began another booming round to remind people what day it was. Dorothea became inquisitive.

‘Do you live alone here?’ she asked.

‘Apart from my servant and Nick, who lodges here.’

‘You have no husband, then?’

‘He died some years ago,’ explained Anne, ‘and left me with his business. What I did not know I soon learnt and I have some of the best hatmakers in London working for me. All Dutch, all outsiders.’

‘That was Hywel’s complaint. He was treated like a foreigner as well.’

‘Why was he on the road?’

‘He worked on his uncle’s farm until the old man died. A cousin took over and he had no love for Hywel. He forced him off the land,’ she said, bitterly. ‘It was cruel. Hywel had no other family. He was driven to leave his native country.’

‘What of you, Dorothea?’

‘I, too, was orphaned when my parents died of plague. I’d lived in Bedford until then. Nobody would take me in so I set out for London.’

Anne was concerned. ‘How did you live?’

‘By stealing food and sleeping under hedges,’ said Dorothea. ‘Two men caught me in St Albans and took me to a field for sport. Hywel saw my plight. He risked his own neck in saving me.’

‘Nick told me that he was a brave young man.’

‘He was fearless, Anne. He proved that in Bridewell.’

‘What was it like to be imprisoned in that place?’

Dorothea swallowed hard. ‘Worse than I could tell,’ she said. ‘They made us work all day and never took their eyes off us. Most of the ones I met were old women or young girls, robbed of their childhood. It was frightening.’

‘Nick mentioned a man by the name of Master Beechcroft.’

‘He’s not a man, he’s fiend from hell and his partner was even worse.’

‘His partner?’

‘Master Olgrave,’ said Dorothea with a shiver. ‘The one only had me whipped for disobeying him but the other, Ralph Olgrave — he kept asking me to call him by his Christian name — did far worse than that.’

She went off into a reverie and Anne waited until the girl looked at her again.

‘Are you able to talk about it, Dorothea?’

‘No,’ whispered the other. ‘Not yet. It still troubles me so.’

‘When you are ready, you’ve only to turn to me.’

‘Thank you, Anne.’

‘Do you wish to eat now or would you prefer to rest?’

‘I’ll not rest properly until I know what’s happened to Hywel.’

‘You love him, I can see.’

Dorothea’s eyes moistened. ‘He’s the only person who ever let me love him.’

‘Then he’s a true friend.’

There was a tap on the door and the servant popped her head around it. Anne went across to give her instructions about the preparations for dinner. Dorothea looked around the room. It was not large but it was well furnished and very comfortable. The girl had never been in a house with such a friendly atmosphere. She studied Anne with mingled awe and bewilderment. When the servant left, Anne turned to smile at Dorothea.

‘Why are you being so kind to me?’ asked the girl. ‘I do not deserve it.’

‘I think that you do, Dorothea.’

‘But you know nothing about me.’

‘I know enough to see that you are in need of help.’

‘But you — and Nicholas — have given me much more than help. You’ve taken me in off the streets and listened to my woes. How can I ever repay you?’

‘We seek no payment,’ said Anne. ‘From what you tell us, a grave injustice has taken place. It’s our Christian duty to look into that. I know that it causes pain but the more information you can give us, the easier that will be. You’ve been inside Bridewell: we’ve not. So we can never understand the real horrors that go on behind those high walls. You were whipped, you say?’

‘That was not the only punishment I suffered.’

‘What else?’

Dorothea looked down and played with her fingers. Anne could see the blend of anger and embarrassment in the girl’s face, and she felt guilty for asking the question. There was a taut silence. After a few minutes, Dorothea found her voice again.

‘They took me to Master Olgrave’s room,’ she murmured.

Lawrence Firethorn was taken aback when he first met the man. Philomen Lavery was not at all what he had expected. Having knocked hard on the door of the man’s room at the Queen’s Head, he was confronted by a sight that drained him instantly of the fury he had built up. Lavery did not only look meek and mild, he was holding a Bible in his hands. He gave his visitor a luminous smile.

‘Master Firethorn,’ he said. ‘This is an honour.’

‘You know who I am?’

‘All London knows who you are, sir, and I have had the privilege of seeing you on the stage here. You are beyond compare as an actor. I humble myself before you.’

Firethorn was flattered. ‘Which of my roles do you admire most?’

‘All are played with equal skill,’ said Lavery, opening the door wider. ‘But do step inside. I knew that you would come to see me sooner or later.’

‘You knew?’

‘The landlord told me that you frowned upon my presence here.’

‘Well, yes,’ said Firethorn, stepping into the room and trying to assert himself. ‘True it is, I have some qualms about you, Master Lavery. This is the first moment I’ve had to voice them.’

Lavery closed the door. ‘Speak on, sir.’ He put the Bible on the table. ‘Unless you wish me first to remove my shoes.’

‘Your shoes?’

‘So that you may inspect my feet to see if I have cloven hooves.’

‘There’s no need for that.’

‘You’ll have to take my word that I lack a forked tail,’ said Lavery, ‘for it would be indecent of me to lower my breeches.’

Firethorn grinned. ‘If Barnaby Gill were here, it would also be unwise.’

‘I am no creature from Hell. As you see, I study Holy Writ on the Sabbath.’

‘The Devil has been known to quote scripture, Master Lavery.’

‘But he has never been known to lose at cards.’

‘Lose?’

‘That’s the fate that befell me last night,’ said Lavery. ‘I won money from Frank Quilter and even from Adam Crowmere, then along comes a member of your company and I am suddenly out of pocket again.’

‘One of the actors?’ asked Firethorn in annoyance.

‘James Ingram.’

‘He dared to come here after I’d warned him against doing so?’

‘With the greatest respect, Master Firethorn, you are not his keeper. You may warn but not coerce your fellows. Had he listened to you, James Ingram would not now be able to count his winnings.’

‘I am worried about those who incur losses at your table.’

‘Then you must extend your sympathy to me,’ said Lavery with another smile. ‘I fell in love with card games many years ago. I’d play for the sheer pleasure of it, without a penny changing hands, but those who come to my room insist on placing a wager. What can I do, Master Firethorn?’

‘Turn them away.’

‘And deny myself the joy of a game?’

‘If you wish to play cards, visit a gaming house. The city is full of them.’

‘And the gaming houses are full of cony-catchers, men who play with marked cards that allow them to win at will. I want an honest game where chance is paramount.’ Lavery became anxious. ‘Has anyone complained that I cheat?’

‘No, that charge has not been levelled against you.’

‘Do they think me dishonest?’

‘You are exonerated there as well, Master Lavery.’

‘Then wherein lies my offence?’

‘You are distracting my fellows,’ said Firethorn.

‘Every man needs distraction of some kind. Look around you. Some find their pleasure in ale, others in women, others again in bear baiting or cock fighting. London is brimming with such distractions,’ Lavery pointed out, ‘and the theatre is among the best of them. Those who come to the Queen’s Head take the same risk as a card player. They pay money in the hope of gain. If the play is dull or the actors jaded, the spectators have lost all that they invested.’

‘That never happens here,’ said Firethorn, proudly. ‘Our audiences always get far more than they pay for, Master Lavery. Do not insult us by comparing us to a game of cards. Westfield’s Men offer drama and excitement.’

‘Both of those are on display here, albeit in smaller measure.’

‘I do not see them.’

‘That is because you have not felt the surge of blood as you turn a card.’ Lavery crossed to a shelf and took down a pack of cards. ‘Allow me to show you, sir.’

Firethorn took a step back. ‘Keep those away from me.’

‘They’ll not bite you, Master Firethorn. How can they? Look,’ he said, putting the pack on the table and spreading it out. ‘Are you afraid of a few pieces of card?’

‘I’ve seen what they do to others.’

‘Yes, they can fill a purse. Speak to James Ingram on that account.’

‘I’ll speak to him to chide him for his folly.’

‘At least know what drew him to my table,’ said Lavery. ‘It is so simple and yet so pleasurable. Watch me.’ He turned over a card. ‘Now, Master Firethorn, choose one yourself and see if it is higher than mine.’

‘Do you dare to trick me into a game?’ roared Firethorn.

‘This is no game, sir. I merely offer proof. Come now, I do not seek your money, only your understanding.’ He indicated the cards. ‘Turn one over then tell me if you did not feel a twinge of excitement.’

Firethorn was reluctant. ‘I prefer to find excitement in other ways.’

‘What can you lose? There’s no trickery here. Chance determines all.’

‘That’s what you said to Nathan Curtis and Hugh Wegges.’

‘They pressed me to play for money,’ said Lavery. ‘I could not refuse a wager. Here, there is no such risk. All that you forfeit is your suspicion of the game.’

‘Do not rely on that,’ said Firethorn, eyeing the cards. ‘I choose one?’

‘From anywhere in the pack.’

‘How do I know they are not marked?’

‘Examine them, if you wish.’

‘No, no, I’ll take your word for it.’

After a moment’s hesitation, Firethorn selected a card and turned it over. The face of a red king stared up at him. He could not resist a smile at his good fortune.

‘You see?’ said Lavery. ‘You are the winner. Had you wagered a groat on that card, you’d be walking away with two. Now, Master Firethorn,’ he went on, collecting the cards up again, ‘tell me the truth. Do you feel defiled for having played a game? Were you disappointed when you made your choice? What do you say?’

There was a considered pause. ‘Let’s try it again,’ said Firethorn.

Nicholas arrived back at the house to discover that Dorothea Tate had retired to bed for the afternoon. He was very grateful. It gave him an opportunity to pass on the sad tidings to Anne Hendrik. She was aghast at what she heard.

‘Her friend was murdered?’ she said.

‘Battered to death then tossed into the river.’

‘Can you be certain that it was him?’

‘No,’ admitted Nicholas. ‘We only met Hywel once and that was brief enough. But we recognised a scar upon his nose and it seems too great a coincidence that he should turn up where and when he did. Owen and I are persuaded that it is him, but only Dorothea would know for definite.’

‘Must she, then, view the body?’

‘I think not, Anne. It’s the last thing she must do. It’s a gruesome sight for anyone to look upon. No,’ he decided, ‘Dorothea must be allowed to remember him as he was. Were she to visit the morgue, that bloated image would haunt her forever.’

‘Who could have done such a thing to him?’

‘We have one suspect at least.’

‘Master Beechcroft?’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘I had to restrain Owen from charging off to Bridewell to accuse the man to his face. We have no proof as yet. Besides, the man may be innocent of the charge. Hot words were spoken against Hywel but that does not mean they were acted upon. Joseph Beechcroft may not be involved at all.’

‘Then who is?’

‘I do not know, Anne. London is full of danger and we know that Hywel would not run away from a fight. He might have been attacked by a gang, who threw him in the Thames. Or fallen foul of a sailor who tumbled out of a tavern. Bodies are all too often hauled out of the water.’

‘What will you tell Dorothea?’

‘As little as possible.’

‘She must be told that he’s dead, Nick, and she’s bound to ask the cause.’

‘I want to spare her as much pain as I can.’

‘Dorothea is stronger than you think,’ said Anne. ‘We talked for hours while you were away. She spoke about her childhood, such as it was. It’s been a very hard life for her. Only someone with strength and courage could have come through it.’

‘If she spoke so freely, she must have trusted you.’

‘I think she does, Nick. Why?’

‘It might be better if you were to tell her about Hywel.’

‘Teach me what to say and I’ll gladly take on the office.’

‘Thank you,’ said Nicholas, leaning forward to kiss her on the forehead. ‘You’ll do it better than I could manage. While you comfort Dorothea here, I can try to pick up a trail that leads us to the killer.’ He glanced upwards. ‘How long will she sleep?’

‘Who knows? She said she’d not stir from this room until she knew what happened to Hywel, but she fell asleep in the chair so we put her to bed.’

‘Did she tell you anything about Bridewell?’

‘A great deal, Nick. Her time in that workhouse has marked her for life.’

Anne told him what she had learnt about the way that the institution was run and how Dorothea Tate had suffered at the hands of her keepers. Nicholas listened intently to the description of what had happened at the feast to which the girl had been unwillingly dragged. It was clear that she had given Anne a much more detailed account.

‘She never mentioned Master Olgrave to us,’ he said.

‘He’s a ruthless man, Nick, even more so than his partner.’

‘We’ll need to look at both of them in time.’

‘Start with Ralph Olgrave,’ advised Anne. ‘He committed the greater crime against Dorothea. He had her brought to his room one night. Master Beechcroft only had the girl whipped. His partner robbed her of her virtue.’

Nicholas was shocked. ‘Dorothea was raped?’

‘It left her feeling so ashamed, Nick. She broke down when she told me.’

‘Ralph Olgrave will be called to account for this,’ he promised. ‘Their contract with the city authorities gives them such wide powers inside Bridewell that they think that they can get away with anything. We’ll have to show them otherwise.’

‘Go carefully. They are dangerous men.’

‘Dangerous but cowardly, Anne. It is easy to strike at people who are defenceless. Only cowards do that. We’ll see how much courage they have when they meet someone on equal terms. Joseph Beechcroft and Ralph Olgrave have a shock awaiting them.’ He rose from the chair. ‘I’ll back to Owen and acquaint him with what I’ve heard.’

‘Shall I speak to Dorothea when she wakes?’

‘If you would. All you need to say is this.’

Before he could instruct her, however, there was a tap on the door and Dorothea came into the room. She rushed across to Nicholas and looked up hopefully at him.

‘Did you find Hywel?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ he replied, quietly. ‘I fear that we did.’

Dorothea read his expression and tried to hold back tears. Anne immediately put a comforting arm around the girl’s shoulders. Tightening her jaw and bunching her fists, Dorothea looked up at Nicholas.

‘Tell me the truth,’ she insisted. ‘I can bear to hear it. How did he die?’