by Graham Brack
It was, I suppose, possible that things had fallen out as Morley said. Wevers might have entered a carriage, willingly or unwillingly, but if the latter, why was his dagger not drawn? Unless, I suppose, it was a woman’s carriage, when his suspicions might not have been aroused. Then he might have been done to death elsewhere and his body returned. But then we had the same problem as with Vlisser’s weapon; why not leave the body in the carriage, or dump it in the river after dark, instead of bringing it back to the road where he had been abducted?
And why would he enter a carriage anyway when he had an appointment to keep? I had not known Wevers long, but he seemed to me to be single-minded of purpose. If he had a task in hand, he was not the sort of man to be deflected from it. I could not think of any inducement that would entice him to climb into a carriage in a foreign city.
Unless, of course, the appointment was in the carriage. Wevers would certainly not have suggested such a rendezvous, but perhaps he was not in a position to make such a stipulation. Maybe the place and time of the meeting was to be determined by Delphi, though how that was to be transmitted to Wevers was unclear.
Think, Mercurius, think!
It was impossible to think during an interview, but I felt that Morley was not going to give me any more useful information. Indeed, his whole purpose in this discussion appeared to be not to give me any useful information of any kind.
I had one potential trick up my sleeve, for which I was indebted to a colleague, Master Hubertus. Hubertus taught mathematics, and could best be described as a little eccentric, or, if you lacked Christian charity, barking mad. During interviews he was wont to throw in a question that had no apparent connection to anything that had gone before. At first we thought this was a clever trick to try to throw the student off his prepared path, but I came to realise it was probably because Hubertus’ mind just worked that way. Asking a student who was busy developing an argument from Euclid’s geometry whether he preferred strawberries or raspberries certainly served to show who was able to return to the subject after such a disruption to their train of thought, but I think Hubertus’ motive in asking was at best unclear, except that he had a chart in his room which tabulated the numbers preferring each soft fruit. The last time I saw it, strawberries had a substantial lead in the contest.
‘Mr Morley,’ I asked, ‘have you ever been to my country?’
This was a question of the simplest kind that afforded two possible answers, yes or no, and I did not expect it to pose too difficult a test, but Morley did not answer at once. I decided I must have disconcerted him more than I intended, but he whispered furiously to Arlington, who responded in kind.
‘Mr Morley says that he does not see the relevance of that question to your enquiries,’ Arlington said.
Except that I was sure that Morley had not said that. His whispering was loud enough for me to pick out a key phrase. He had asked Arlington what the answer was.
I thanked them both for their courtesy, at which Arlington asked me to leave first, undertaking to seek me out in a few minutes. The servant stepped forward to conduct me away, but I knew where I was going and I had no intention of waiting for him, so I rushed forward and opened the door to the laboratory myself. By pushing it behind me as I left, I slowed the servant so that I could run ahead. Achieving the door to the garden, I quickly slipped out onto the path and looked in at the window of Arlington’s office. As I expected, Arlington and Morley were arguing about something.
Now that is interesting, I thought, as I recognised a familiar face. Why had Arlington recruited Captain Hallow to masquerade as Morley?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I had believed that Arlington was dealing honestly with me, but now I had clear evidence that he was not. I had thought that he had not imprisoned Morley, but perhaps he had, and that was why he needed to have Hallow impersonate him; or, I thought with dread, maybe Morley was another of the witnesses who would mysteriously die before I had the opportunity to interrogate them.
There were so many unanswered questions pressing upon me.
First, who was Delphi, and how had he managed to communicate with Wevers without the rest of us knowing?
Second, if we were right about Wevers being bound for the Savoy, where had he been killed? I had assumed he had been killed in the alleyway, but if so why had he not defended himself?
Third, who detailed Morley to follow Wevers? More importantly, to whom did Morley report? And whom could I ask, if Arlington was not to be trusted? Could it even be Arlington himself?
Fourth, the suggestion that Wevers shrugged off his follower by hiding behind a door in an inn that was not on his route, and no bigger than a large closet, was frankly laughable. So why did Morley lie about it? Even if Hallow had repeated the story, Arlington had given it to the King earlier and had presumably had it from Morley himself.
Fifth, it seemed a remarkable coincidence that within an hour or so of Morley being set to follow Wevers, Wevers had been murdered, and I have already explained my feelings about coincidences. Did Morley have a hand in the killing and merely claim to have lost touch with Wevers to deflect suspicion?
Sixth, we had been assuming that the motive here was to cause tension between our countries, thus putting the successful completion of the marriage negotiations under threat; but what if this was simply one spy dealing with another spy?
And yet, I thought, surely spies abound. Whatever he was going to do, at the time of his death Wevers had done nothing. If all the spies in London were to be used in this way, the streets would soon be choked with dead foreigners. Did someone know that Wevers was on his way to meet Delphi? But if they did, then surely the English would have wanted to know who Delphi was, the better to prevent his wicked schemes, so why not wait until after the meeting to kill Wevers, or even kill both Wevers and Delphi? Preventing a meeting at which the identity of an English traitor would be revealed made no sense at all, even in my naïve view of the world.
Seventh, what did they put in that game pie, because my bowels were in confusion?
Thus required to pass some lengthy time in the privy closet, I was not in my room when Arlington came looking. I did not know this, of course, except that when I emerged and went to my room to wash my hands I could see signs of agitation in the courtyard below the window. I quickly dried my hands and ran to one of the windows in the corridor which could be opened, and there I could hear Arlington ordering his men about.
‘I want you to find that damned Dutchman!’ he yelled. ‘Bring him to me!’
When he used the adjective, I do not believe that he intended any theological reflection on the future of my immortal soul. I think he was just annoyed with me for some reason.
It seemed to me that if my absence was in some way unsettling to the English, then I had better remain unfound for as long as possible and therefore resolved to look for some hiding place where I could remain undetected for the greatest time. One candidate immediately occurred to me. I could go to the library. It was full of books, so no well-bred Englishman would spend any time in there.
Unfortunately, the point that I had overlooked was the King’s great interests. While Charles had several large wardrobes to hold his clothes, he did not appear to have a library, and I did not want to draw attention to myself by asking a servant where it was. I tiptoed around the Palace for a while, peeking into corridors to assure myself that they were empty before venturing along them, but I must have toured much of the main building without finding anything that looked remotely like a library.
It was then that I heard a rustle behind me and looked in vain for some niche in which I might conceal myself.
‘Why, Master Mercurius!’ said Charlotte. ‘Whatever are you doing?’
‘I was looking for the library, madame,’ I said, bowing awkwardly. I never bow any other way, to tell the truth.
Charlotte took me by the hand. ‘This way!’ she announced briskly, and we walked along the corridor, up a small staircase and along an
other corridor until we came to a door which Charlotte opened.
‘There you are!’ she said, and I stepped inside.
I heard the click of a key turning in a lock.
‘Madame, there is some mistake. This is not a library.’
‘No, it’s my bedroom,’ Charlotte said. ‘But you never know, you may yet find it educational here.’
I hope that readers who have perused my journals to this point will have decided for themselves that this was information of the most perturbing nature. I will not deny that at this point I felt more than a little uncomfortable.
My family were not wealthy by any means, but when I was young the minister of my village, a man of excellent discernment and abundant charity, determined that I would benefit from an education and arranged for me to attend a school. I applied myself and he then — somehow — persuaded some leading men to endow a scholarship so that I could go to university. It sufficed to provide my fees and my maintenance, but there was nothing left over for carousing (and a good thing too, if you ask me). You may therefore understand that by the time I graduated I was, shall we say, inexperienced in the jousts of Venus.
Then I became a lecturer and, at the age of twenty-six, a priest, and from that potted biography you can understand why the forwardness of Charlotte Paston was causing me to erupt in a cold sweat. I thought for a moment that I should swoon, but that smacked too much of the innocent bride. I was, after all, nearly forty years old at this time; blushing insensibility was unfitting to my sense of decorum.
Charlotte came very close to me. The only thing that prevented her coming any closer was her substantial bosom.
‘Sir,’ she whispered, ‘you can do me a great service.’
Now, I am not very familiar with idiomatic English, and I am afraid that I may have misconstrued her meaning. I thought that she was hinting at something of the animal breeder’s yard.
‘Pray, sir, promise me that you will make no noise.’
I was not prepared to engage myself thus far until I knew what she proposed to do with me, but she seemed to take my agreement for granted.
‘Let us sit upon the bed here.’
No maiden ever sat with her knees more tightly clamped together than I did then.
‘My father tells me that you are skilled in elucidating the truth.’
I did not want to answer until I knew where this discussion was going, but since the silence was extended and it appeared that no progress would be made without my assent to this proposition, I replied. It came out rather more huskily than I intended, perhaps because I was a little tense. ‘His Majesty is very kind.’
‘My husband is up to something.’
‘I am not sure that I have any skills in detecting adultery, madame…’
‘Adultery! Who said anything about adultery?’ she snapped. ‘William doesn’t have it in him to commit adultery. I am more than capable of meeting all his carnal needs.’
I felt that some comment was expected. ‘I do not doubt it, madame.’
‘He is a young man, Master Mercurius. But his main interest is in the gaming table. That is his passion and his true love. I suppose if a woman were prepared to play at brag naked he might be momentarily interested in her, but otherwise I have no worries on that score.’
‘I am pleased to hear it, madame.’
‘No, my concern is that he is mixed up in something political. I am worried for him because he does not have the head for it, and I fear that he will finish up in prison — or worse.’
‘Why do you suspect this?’
‘Master, I will be frank. My father is only forty-six years old, but the life that he leads is sapping his strength. The Queen is not able to give him an heir. Clearly this is not the King’s fault — the evidence for his virility is sitting beside you now — but men’s thoughts are turning to the succession. There are two camps. One believes that the King’s younger brother, my uncle James, Duke of York, must ascend to the throne. That is the time-honoured principle, and since the King’s very Restoration was a vindication of that principle the King himself is insistent that his brother should succeed.’
‘But others have reservations?’
‘To some, Uncle James’ papist leanings render him unfit to rule this country. They are looking elsewhere. Some favour his daughter Mary, but she is very young and would need a Regent. Others look to your master William as the leading male of the family. And of course if the planned marriage goes ahead, those two parties might be able to unite. However, a third group favours the Duke of Monmouth, my half-brother. As the son of the King they see him as fit to rule, though he is a bastard.’
‘And you think your husband is involving himself in this? On whose side?’
‘Oh, William has rarely expressed an opinion of his own in his life. But lately he has observed once or twice that the tide is turning in Uncle James’ favour, and that a man who nailed his colours to that mast might do very well in the coming years.’ She seized me by the arm. ‘I know what you are doing here. And I think our interests coincide. My husband has expressed the view that the future peace of the country requires that Mary should not marry your master.’
This was news indeed! Here, for the first time, was a plausible candidate as the murderer. ‘And where is your husband now, madame?’
‘I told you, in Norfolk. Or so he says.’
‘You think that may be an untruth?’
‘It may, Master, it very well may.’
‘Then the first thing to do is to establish whether he is actually there. You must write to him, madame, something that requires an immediate reply.’
‘What kind of thing might I write?’
I thought for a moment. Who knows what a young wife writes to her husband? I blush to think.
‘I know!’ she said. ‘I’ll tell him I think I am with child again.’
‘Will he reply to that?’
‘He will if I tell him I need fifty guineas for new dresses.’
‘And when he discovers that you are not with child?’
‘Oh, that’ll be months yet. I’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.’
I was relieved that I was not going to be imposed upon to remedy the deficiency.
Charlotte unlocked her door and peeped out. ‘All clear!’ she said. ‘I’ll let you know when he replies.’
I agreed and stepped out into the corridor.
I had taken all of five steps when I came face to face with a guard.
‘Ah, there you are, sir,’ he said. ‘My Lord Arlington is looking for you.’
It is true that I was not outside Mrs Paston’s bedroom door, but if I were challenged I had no idea what else there was in the corridor where I could have been.
The guard was smirking, but I endeavoured to ignore him.
‘Taking a chance there, sir!’ he chuckled.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I mean, I’m sure you being with the lady was entirely respectable but still — with her husband not a quarter of a mile away…’
‘Mr Paston is here?’ I realised as soon as I said it that my excitement might be misunderstood. ‘I mean only that I had understood that he was in Norfolk,’ I added.
‘Just got back, sir.’
‘His wife consulted me on a spiritual matter,’ I rushed to explain.
‘Yes, sir. And you weren’t there long enough for anything else. Completely understand.’
‘How do you know how long I was there? Were you watching me?’
The guard appeared offended. ‘Me, sir? Good heavens, no! Lord Arlington wouldn’t be so jumpy if anyone was watching you.’
I felt relieved to hear that.
‘No, sir, Mr Paston pays me to watch his wife.’
Arlington was decidedly agitated. I could see him pacing back and forth in the courtyard as he waited for me. I wondered why that might be. Was he concerned that despite his best efforts I had actually discovered something?
‘Master Mercurius!’ he cried, upon th
e instant assuming a sunnier disposition. ‘I feared we had lost you.’
‘I am sorry to cause you any concern,’ I lied. ‘A necessary diversion, I’m afraid.’
I mimed washing my hands. It took Arlington a moment of two to divine my meaning, then he smiled.
‘Ah!’ He came closer to whisper. ‘There is an office of ease in the corner that the gardeners use. Much better than letting them foul wherever they wish.’ He wrapped an arm around my shoulder and began walking me towards the main part of the palace. ‘His Majesty is about to announce the success of his negotiations. It may be useful if we observe the reactions of the audience to see who shows disappointment at these tidings.’
It was a good plan. ‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘You can watch from the front and I can look from the side.’
‘Better than that,’ Arlington answered. ‘I’ll be at His Majesty’s shoulder, and I have arranged for you to be in the gallery above.’
‘I didn’t know there was a gallery,’ I replied. ‘I hadn’t noticed it.’
‘Well, perhaps gallery is too grand a term for it,’ Arlington conceded.
He was right. There was a small passageway designed so that workmen could get to the mountings for the chandeliers, and a spyhole had been crafted at some time so that, if I laid on my stomach in the crawlspace, I could see the hall below.
Arlington followed the King into the hall and glanced up at me while His Majesty took his seat. The courtiers had clearly been told that the King was going to say something important, because they fell quiet at once. At least four women busily fluttered their fans before holding them open over their hearts, which I understand to be a sign of the engagement of their affections. The King seemed to spot them all. Mrs Paston was the last to rise from her curtsey, thus ensuring that she was noticed. Next to her stood a young man with a deep frown. It turned out that he often had this knot in his brow, because William Paston seldom understood what was going on around him. He was not a stupid man, but he was not inclined to take the trouble to do any research on anything beyond the gaming table and the bloodstock lines. I watched him particularly to see whose eye he tried to catch. It seemed likely that if the King’s speech perturbed him, he would look to a fellow plotter for a hint as to how to respond, and I did not mean to miss that.