The Body at the Tower - By Y. S. Lee Page 0,26

teetotal, in practice, he couldn’t possibly prevent the men from drinking beer or spirits. At dinnertime, they had the chance to nip out to a pub or bring a flask onto the site. That meant he was either terribly naive or rather clever at cost-cutting: most building sites provided men with beer for refreshment and nutriment, and spirits to warm them in damp weather. But if Harkness provided only tea – and cheap tea, and not enough of it – that would leave a small surplus in the budget. It was brilliant: Harkness made a small profit on the drinks supply, and Jenkins made an even smaller profit provisioning the men. It was a perfect exercise in free-market economics, and the only people losing out were the workers themselves.

Was Harkness the sort of man to attempt such a thing? Character was so difficult to read. Apart from that unfortunate twitch, he looked like many a middle-aged gentleman in England, with his neatly trimmed beard and thinning hair. His face was neither benevolent nor stern, and his well-fed cheeks served as a counterweight to the anxious creases in his forehead, the twitch beneath his left eye. He might, he might not, in about equal measure. Besides, there was likely nothing strictly illegal about serving tea instead of beer. Probably the site budget allowed for such small variances.

Her thoughts circled back to the bricklayers – to Keenan’s violence, which prompted a further question about Reid’s bruises. Was he a habitual brawler? The sort who got drunk and became aggressive, and sought out fist-fights as a form of recreation? Or was there more to his bruised appearance? He’d seemed otherwise peaceable, in contrast with Keenan. Reid’s greeny-yellow eye might signify nothing; but it merited consideration, none the less.

Church bells chimed seven o’clock while Rogers snored on. Would he never wake? Mary continued to lie still, listening to the household rustle to life. Creaking floorboards. Violent coughing. Clatter of shoes on the uncarpeted stairs. Outside, somebody pumped the handle of a well, filling bucket after bucket of water. Her bladder throbbed at the taunting sound. Should she risk it? She would be late for work, if he slept any longer. She might be late as it was. But what if Rogers awoke while she was on the chamber pot? She stared at the ceiling for an agonizing half-minute. No. She’d have to take the chance.

As she cautiously swung her legs over the side, he erupted in a fit of snorts and sneezes. Instantly, she lay down again. Closed her eyes. Feigned sleep. Rogers yawned, sneezed, yawned again. Then, finally, she felt his bulk shift as he sat up. Grunted. Sneezed again. Then, with a sigh, he dragged the heavy basin from beneath the bed. It was a long, splashy, hissing sort of piss, one that made her own bladder scream in protest. Mary gritted her teeth. Listened to him lace up his boots and clomp about for a few minutes before the door finally slammed behind him. She waited another ten seconds – it was all she could manage – then tumbled from the bed and scrabbled for the brimming chamber pot.

Lightning wash. Bowl of porridge. Smart pace to Palace Yard. And Mary arrived, breathless and sweaty, to discover that she was among the first on site. Strangely enough, though, she didn’t overhear any discussion of last night’s break-in. Had it gone unnoticed? Harkness’s office generally looked as though it had been ransacked, so any minor disorder was likely to go unobserved. And the man had seemed to know what he was looking for. It had taken him only a few seconds to pocket the item he sought. Mary hoped this was the explanation. The other possibility, which made her much more nervous, was that the men were reluctant to talk while she was about.

As she passed the joiners, one of them summoned her with a crooked finger.

“Sir?”

“You hammered out nails before, sonny?”

“No, sir.”

“Right. Well, the thing is to take your time and not rush it. Else you’ll smash your finger and spoil the nail, and then I’d have to thrash you, as well.” He chuckled at his little joke as he demonstrated the technique. “Like so. Now let’s see you try it.”

Mary hefted the hammer he’d given her and attempted to imitate his deft actions. The result wasn’t terrible – she hadn’t actually bent the nail further – but it was far from straight. She frowned. “I’ll get better.”

The joiner snorted. “Not holding