The Anger of God

whom no charges were brought, revealed the existence of a male brothel in an alleyway off Billingsgate. Well, sirs, I ask you to reflect on this. First, the names I have just listed are all involved in this present business. Second, Sturmey, also involved, has been found murdered, floating off the quayside near Billingsgate.’
    ‘Come to the point,’ Goodman said softly.
    ‘Oh, I think it’s obvious,’ Athelstan spoke up. ‘Of course, everyone here was innocent of the charges levelled fifteen years ago. However, Sturmey was guilty at least in the eyes of God. Once the scandal blew over, he kept silent. He worked hard at his trade, at which he was very good, but kept up his secret life. The years passed. Sturmey’s reputation as a locksmith grew and he was entrusted with this special task. Unfortunately, someone remembered the past, kept a close eye on Master Sturmey, and realized he was still living a double life.’
    ‘My clerk has the truth of it,’ Cranston continued. ‘Sturmey was blackmailed on two counts: on the past but, more importantly, on the present. He probably fashioned a second set of keys out of fear and, on the day he died, was summoned to Billingsgate, a place our locksmith knew very well, for what he thought was his final meeting with the blackmailer.’ Cranston spread his hands. ‘The rest you know. The blackmailer had no intention of allowing Sturmey to talk. He had served his purpose and was brutally murdered. We do not know the name of the murderer nor how he stabbed Sturmey and tossed his body into the river.’
    ‘So,’ Marshall squeaked, ‘what has this to do with us, Sir John?’
    ‘Well, you all know the scandal lurking in Sturmey’s past. He was hired at your insistence to build the chest and fashion the locks and...’
    ‘And what?’ Sudbury snapped, leaning forward. ‘Are you implying, Sir John, that one of us, some of us or all, are involved in treason, blackmail and murder?’
    Cranston smiled falsely. ‘Sir, I did not say that. All I am doing is describing the facts. But, yes, now you have raised the matter, I will ask you, were any of you in Billingsgate the day Sturmey died? Or did any of you visit him secretly?’
    A chorus of defiant nos greeted Cranston ’s questions. Nevertheless, the Guildmasters looked so relieved Athelstan suspected they had a great deal to hide whilst Goodman looked embarrassed. After all, Athelstan reflected, he had known about Sturmey’s past and yet had gone along with the rest, choosing the dead locksmith as their craftsman.
    ‘Other people knew,’ Denny spoke up. ‘Why question only us?’
    ‘Who else knew?’ Cranston retorted. ‘His Grace the King was not yet born, my Lord Regent was only a boy and the Council would protect his ears from such scandal. I have a copy of the investigation and I don’t suppose any other record exists. So, yes, please tell me, who else knew?’ Cranston shrugged. ‘Perhaps other people did but they are not powerful Guildmasters, they are not witnesses to treason, the robbery of treasure, the murder of one of their colleagues, not to mention the secret assassination of a London Sheriff.’ Cranston pushed back his chair and got to his feet. ‘But I tell you this, sirs, old Jack Cranston will dig out the truth and justice will be done.’
    Once outside the Guildhall he clapped his hands with glee.
    ‘The buggers are frightened,’ he chortled. ‘Lord, Brother, you can smell their fear.’
    ‘What happens,’ Athelstan asked, ‘if these murders have more to do with ancient crimes than the ambitions of the Regent or the dark designs of Ira Dei?’
    Cranston shook his head. ‘No, those men, Athelstan, are gluttons for power. They are neck deep in vice. Corruption is their second name. Old sins play a part here but only as a device rather than the cause. Mark my words.’ Cranston smiled. ‘I have shaken the apple tree. God knows what may fall down!’
    The Coroner peered across the market place. ‘Let’s leave this matter,’ he breathed. ‘Tomorrow is Saturday and I must play dalliance with the Lady Maude. You have my manuscript?’
    Athelstan nodded.
    ‘Then keep it. Study it carefully, Brother.’
    Athelstan vowed he would and, with Sir John’s salutations ringing in his ears, made his way back down the Mercery, across London Bridge and into Southwark.
    Benedicta was waiting for him in the priest’s house. She looked rather subdued.
    ‘I took the girl Elizabeth and her nurse Anna