The Gallows Murders

reluctantly agreed: after all, Kemble was a perfect host.
    Now, you young men who know the Tower might think it was all gloomy, wet, mildewed walls, draughty cells, narrow cold passageways and creaking doors. Oh, there's plenty of that, but our rooms in the Wakefield were spacious, well-lit by windows, all filled with glass and protected by shutters. Tapestries hung on the wall, we had soft beds, tables, chairs, a large aumbry for our clothes, as well as chests and coffers. In many ways it was a home from home, except for the problems which faced us. Cooks and servitors brought us wine and food, and Kemble issued an open invitation to dine with him or in the garrison refectory. However, for the next few days we kept to ourselves. Benjamin paced up and down. He slept, muttered to himself, or studied Thomas More's History of Richard the Third.
    In any other circumstances I would have gone wandering into the city looking for mischief, but I was frightened. Benjamin kept to his studies: he borrowed parchment, quills and inkhorn from the Tower stores, and began to scribble furiously. On the morning of our third day he finished. I came back from my usual walk on the Tower Green, where everyone could see me, to find him sitting on the bed, studying what he had written.
    What if,' he began, 'the young Edward the Fifth did survive? Or his younger brother, or both? They kept their seals and now work in the Tower garrison as humble soldiers or servitors?' He took one look at my face and grinned. 'It was just an idea,' he declared. He swung his legs off the bed. This is the problem, Roger. Forty years ago, the two sons of Edward the Fourth, his eldest boy, also named Edward, and Richard Duke of York, were locked up in the Tower by their Uncle Richard. They disappeared. They could have been murdered, or they could have escaped. We know that, for most of Henry the Seventh's reign, the King's peace of mind was plagued by pretenders who claimed to be the lost Princes. Even our present King has had to face conspiracies from the secret Brotherhood of the White Rose.'
    Benjamin walked to the window and looked down at the soldiers practising their archery on the Tower Green. 'Now, I think both Princes are probably dead. However, their seals, which should have been broken and defaced, are being used to blackmail Henry. The sequence of events is as follows, correct me if I am wrong. On the sixth of June last, the Guild of Hangmen celebrated the King's birthday in a banquet which turned into an orgy. The hangmen were dressed in their official garb. It's possible that one of them saw something in the Tower which put the whole company at risk. Time passes: the sweating sickness breaks out in London, but the garrison only suffers one casualty, Philip Allardyce, clerk of the stores. He falls ill and is looked after by the crone Ragusa. We know he was ill from the testimony of witnesses. The old woman claimed he died: his sheeted corpse was taken to the death-cart at the Lion Gate, where a bailiff also pronounced him dead.'
    'Aye, that road is closed,' I agreed. We know Allardyce was ill and died. He can't possibly be the villain in the city'
    The sweating sickness begins to rage,' Benjamin continued. ‘Kemble sealed the Tower as if it was under siege. He and his two principal officers stay here, as do Mallow and his guild. No one is allowed to enter or leave. Then the first blackmailing letter arrives. It was left in Kemble's chamber, so the writer must be someone in the Tower. However, he must also have an accomplice in the city who can issue those proclamations and demand the money be left near St Paul's. We also think the same villain is behind the death of the hangman Andrew Undershaft, whose blackened corpse was found in a cage at Smithfield. Agreed?' ‘Yes, Master.' 'And what else, Roger?'
    The sweating sickness passes and the Tower is opened. Another hangman is murdered, knocked on the head and drowned in a sack in the Thames, whilst a further blackmail letter is left on the Abbot's seat at Westminster. We, unhappy two,' I continued bitterly, ‘have the miserable task of taking the gold to where the blackmailer wants it at St Paul's. By subtle trickery, the villain seizes this and also taunts us. Once again we know it could not have been anyone from the Tower as, for most of that particular day, the Tower was locked and sealed. Nevertheless, we come back here, Horehound is horribly murdered. We are none the wiser, except that we know