“She’s a whore, not a highwayman,” he replied peevishly. “She has no experience with murder, and she can’t escape the city. We’ll have her by sundown.”
“No, you won’t,” I said, shaking my head in despair. “I don’t know what happened here, but this was no robbery. And if you have the killer by sundown, I’ll send you a fresh-killed deer for Christmas.”
I turned and descended the stairs, still furious at Henry’s obstinacy. When I reached the alehouse door, I noticed the hem of my skirt had soaked up some of Thomas Penrose’s blood. For some reason, this roiled my stomach more than anything I had seen upstairs. Whether I wanted it to or not, his blood would come home with me. I crossed the street to rejoin Martha and Will.
Will asked the question that was on both their minds. “What did you find? Is it Penrose?”
I tried to answer but could find no words to describe the corpse, the way the blood had sprayed across the bed, or the sheer brutality of the killing. I simply nodded and started home.
Chapter 20
When we arrived at my house I called for Hannah, went to my chamber, and hurriedly took off the bloodied skirts. “Get rid of them,” I told her.
“My lady?”
“Take them, throw them away, burn them, use them yourself, I don’t care. I won’t wear them again.”
She looked at the blood, puzzled. She knew perfectly well that I had worn far bloodier clothes home from deliveries and then worn them again after they had been washed. She started to object but must have seen something in my face that told her I was serious.
After she left, I wondered at my reaction. I could not say why Penrose’s death disturbed me so much. I knew how he treated his apprentice and how men like him treated the city’s whores; I’d seen their bruises and delivered their bastards. What I found so disturbing was the realization that the drops of blood on my skirt would not be the last ones shed in this case. If I completed my investigation, two more people—Penrose’s killer and his “whore”—would join Penrose and Stephen Cooper in the ranks of the unhappy dead; Stephen’s death would beget three more. I sat for a while, looking out the window, and my mind kept returning to the girl who led Penrose to his death. I could not imagine her. She must have known what would happen to Penrose when they reached her room, but why would she do it? What was her connection to Stephen Cooper, and who was her murderous accomplice? A knock at the door interrupted my meditations.
“Are you all right?” Martha asked.
“Fine, fine,” I said too quickly. “Help me with my bodice, and I’ll come down and tell you what I found.” Once I had dressed, Martha and I found Will waiting impatiently in the parlor. We all sat, and I told them what I had seen.
“Last night Mr. Penrose was murdered in the Black Swan. The constable had fetched Richard Baker so he could identify him.”
“We guessed as much,” said Will. “How was he killed?”
I described the scene in all its gore. “The killer was strong and fast. If you come upon him, be on your guard.”
“Do they have any idea who might have killed him?” Martha asked.
“Henry Thompson is leading the search. He thinks—wants to think—that a whore and her accomplice tried to rob Mr. Penrose, but killed him instead. He sees it as divine justice for Mr. Penrose’s sins.”
“That seems a bit far-fetched,” said Martha. “Two thieves just happened to kill the man who could tell us who murdered Mr. Cooper? And they do this a few hours after we tried to question him?”
I shrugged. “In troubled times, men like Henry crave clarity. It’s much easier to believe that God struck down Penrose for his evil living than to admit that the city council wrongly convicted Esther. Remember, he sat on the jury and voted to burn her. That is not all. Lorenzo Bacca was there.”
“Could it have been a coincidence? The Lord Mayor might have sent him. The murder of a second citizen in as many weeks is sure to get his close attention.”
“I don’t know why he was there. If he killed Penrose to keep him quiet, he would likely want to steer the investigation in another direction. But there is more. Sometime between yesterday afternoon and this morning, he suffered a wound to his hand that demanded bandaging. Will, do you think you might have stabbed our assailant in the hand?”
“It is possible. But between the dark and the rain, I don’t know.”
“Could the Hookes have killed Penrose?” asked Martha. “Or someone hired by Charles Yeoman?”
“I wouldn’t want to rule anyone out. Either Yeoman or the Hookes could have hired a killer without undue trouble.”