by Graham Brack
The King cleared his throat, and then decided to stand. This was a good move on his part; already taller than many men, when he stood on the dais he towered over his hearers. It was more than a little intimidating. When he did so, I could see that Van Langenburg was standing at the left side of the throne, mirroring Arlington’s position on the right. Clearly they meant to present a united front to those present.
‘We are delighted to announce,’ the King said, ‘that the negotiations with our Dutch friends have come to a successful conclusion. A few minor points remain to be fixed, but we will now proceed to issue an invitation to our well-beloved nephew, William, Stadhouder of the Republic of the Seven United Netherlands, to come to London at his earliest convenience to marry our niece, Her Royal Highness the Princess Mary.’
There was a polite ripple of applause, in which the Duke of York joined, albeit a few seconds after everyone else. I noticed that Mary was not present to hear her future determined.
Paston was clapping like everyone else, but his head was turned to the side. I followed his gaze, and thought at first that he was looking at the Duke of York, but then Charles invited his brother to come forward to receive congratulations as the father of the bride, and I realised that the object of Paston’s mute enquiry was that man Coleman.
Coleman was not amused. He applauded when everyone else did so, but unenthusiastically, and I could see his lower jaw sliding sideways as he was in the grip of some fierce emotion.
Having said that, the Duke of York did not look one whit happier, but came to the King, who invited him onto the dais. Charles announced that James would say a few words.
To his credit, James did not say that his brother was a scheming manipulator who cared nothing for the feelings of a young girl and her injured father. Instead, he took a moment or two to marshal his thoughts before speaking, then addressed the room with a clear, confident voice. ‘The world knows that I desire nothing more than the peace of this Kingdom,’ he began, ‘and the work done here today will ensure an end to wars with the Dutch Republic while sending notice to the world that we have a formidable ally. If the marriage of my daughter to my nephew achieves this, we must all rejoice, and I do so.’
There was more applause, though Coleman and Paston were just as unenthusiastic as they had been before.
The King ushered Van Langenburg forward. The small problem that Bouwman, his usual translator, had gone back to The Hague meant that he looked around for an alternative. Arlington carefully avoided catching his eye and Van Langenburg could hardly ask Arlington’s Dutch wife, which would have been entirely improper. As a result, Van Langenburg said a few words in French, after which everyone applauded again.
The King then told us that there would be a celebratory banquet the following evening before we went home.
Just a moment — before we went home? I thought I had another week or so to complete my enquiries, but now I was being told that we were all going home imminently.
I rushed from my uncomfortable spyhole to see if I could have a word with Arlington, and if I could I knew exactly which word it was going to be, unusual though it was for a priest to use it.
He was speaking with the King so I held back, but the King spotted me there and called me forward.
‘Well, Master Mercurius,’ he said, ‘you must be pleased with the success of the negotiations.’
‘I am, Your Majesty,’ I said. ‘Anything that tends to peace between our countries can only be good. I was just a little perturbed to hear that we would be leaving so soon.’
Charles waved his hand dismissively. ‘Oh, don’t worry about that! It’ll take a few days yet to get the formal letter of invitation written, pack your things and get your ship ready to sail with a suitable friendly escort of our ships. Besides, putting out to sea in the morning right after a banquet is never a good idea. If it looks like it’s going along too quickly, I’ll just find something in the letter I don’t like and get it rewritten.’
Arlington patted me on the shoulder. ‘It’s standard diplomatic practice. Announce the conclusion then work backwards to get the agreement,’ he said.
‘So you haven’t actually agreed the wedding?’ I mumbled.
‘Oh, yes, that was never in doubt,’ Charles said. ‘There’s no reasonable alternative. Everybody knows that.’
‘We were worried that you might be contemplating a French marriage,’ I blurted out. I probably ought not to have said that in case it undermined our negotiating position, but I am no diplomat. For a start, I can’t lie to save my own neck, and that seems to be an essential skill for such men.
‘To whom?’ asked Charles. ‘The only unmarried male near the throne is the Duke of Orleans’ son, and he is only two years old. Can you see me marrying Mary to someone who can’t reach to her garter? He might do for Anne when the time comes, I suppose. But given the known habits of the Duke of Orleans, I am not convinced that Philippe is his son anyway. Did you know the Duke hopes one day to be Queen?’
Arlington and the King laughed uproariously. Of course, everyone in Europe knew it. I was tempted to ask whether Charles would be giving back the millions of écus he had received from King Louis over the years, but it did not seem politic, so I just smiled weakly at their jest.
I said earlier that I do not believe in coincidence, but I do believe in the hand of Providence, and it reached out at this moment. Lady Arlington tripped over, and Lord Arlington could hardly ignore her since she was only ten paces away, so he went to help. This left me alone with the King, and that allowed me to ask a question that I could not trust Arlington to answer.
‘Your Majesty,’ I asked, ‘who gives Mr Morley his orders?’
‘Morley? Why, Mr Coventry, I suppose.’
I had not heard the name before, which must have showed on my face, because the King raised an arm to the horizontal and pointed to a man who was issuing instructions to some clerks near the door before wandering off to talk to someone more interesting than me. Just then Arlington returned, and I could hardly run over to Coventry in front of him.
‘Can I help?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘I was just asking who Mr Coventry was, of whom we have heard so many good things.’
That was, perhaps, not entirely true. In fact, I had never heard of him.
‘He succeeded me as a Secretary of State when I became Lord Chamberlain,’ Arlington explained. ‘A sound man.’
I subsequently discovered that there were two Secretaries of State. One looked after the south of the country, and the other was banished to the north. Coventry had been the northern one, and was now the southern one.
‘I am pleased to hear you say so, My Lord,’ I said, ‘for I understand he is Morley’s superior.’
Arlington turned a funny colour, as if he had swallowed a grape and discovered it to be a sheep dropping. ‘He is,’ he conceded. ‘All intelligence matters come within his purview.’
‘Then, by your leave, let us ask him what he knows of Morley’s activities,’ I replied, and crossed the room without waiting for a reply.
Arlington introduced me to Mr Coventry and explained that I was investigating the death of mijnheer Wevers at the King’s command.
‘Ah, yes,’ Coventry said. ‘I heard about that.’
I suppose he would not have been much of a head of intelligence if he had not, since it happened not a quarter of a mile from where we were standing and it had been the talk of the court ever since.
‘I understand, Mr Coventry, that Wevers was being shadowed by a man named Morley, who unfortunately lost sight of him shortly before his death.’
It was abundantly clear from Coventry’s face that this was the first that he had heard of it. ‘I assure you, sir, that we are not in the habit of following the citizens of friendly nations.’
‘Am I to take it, then, that this was a jaunt of Mr Morley’s own?’
Coventry was not such a fool as to answer directly. ‘It was not authorised by me,�
�� he said. ‘I will make enquiries upon the matter.’
‘It may help you to know that the King was aware of it,’ I said guilelessly, then I bowed politely and left Arlington and Coventry to have what I believe diplomats like them call “a robust discussion”.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Vlisser had a mind to take the air outside the palace one last time before we left, so I said I would accompany him. To my surprise, he went first to a passage alongside the great hall where a large map of London was hanging on the wall.
‘I did not know that this was here,’ I admitted.
‘I wouldn’t go out without looking at it,’ Vlisser announced. ‘You’d never find your way round this city without one.’
It was easy to find the palace and St Martin-in-the-Fields, and I could see the route Wevers must have been following to the Savoy. But then something leaped out at me.
‘Mijnheer Vlisser! Would you indulge me? I want to check if this map is entirely accurate.’
Vlisser made no demur and soon we were walking along Whitehall. When we reached St Martin-in-the-Fields, we turned towards the river and finally entered the alley where poor Wevers was found. We walked along its noisome length, wading in filth, but I assured Vlisser it was in a good cause.
I found a crate and stood on it so I could see over the fence to my left. It did not tell me what I wanted to know, so I suggested that we retrace our steps and return to the street, perhaps taking some refreshment in an inn I knew.
We sat in the tiny inn, Vlisser taking in the view of the street as he glugged his beer, and I watching the innkeeper at work at the far end. Eventually my patience was rewarded. The innkeeper sent his boy to get a fresh barrel and the back door was opened. Leaning slightly to my left, I could see out of the door into the yard behind. There was an outhouse of some kind, and a yard littered with empty bottles and kegs, and at the end there was a gate through which they must have received their deliveries.
‘Will you have another?’ Vlisser asked.
‘I’ve had enough, thank you,’ I said. ‘We should be getting back for dinner.’
‘Should we?’
‘And the drink will be free there.’
Vlisser was not a rich man for no reason. In no time he had grabbed his hat and cloak and we were striding back to the palace. ‘Did you learn anything?’ he asked.
‘Oh, certainly,’ I replied. ‘English beer is horrible. And expensive.’
‘That’s true,’ Vlisser agreed. ‘Still, our trip has not been entirely fruitless. We have arranged a marriage, and I have found myself a supplier of excellent English wool.’
‘How did you do that?’ I asked. ‘We have barely set foot outside the palace.’
Vlisser tapped the side of his nose. ‘It’s all to do with whispers. That’s how business is done, Mercurius. You let it be known that you’re in the market for something, and that there’s a healthy commission for someone who brings it to you. Then you sit back. I’ve seen three major merchants since we’ve been here.’
‘But you don’t speak English,’ I said.
‘No, but I speak money, and that’s a universal tongue. If there’s a deal to be made, I’ll learn a little Russian if I have to. And the Englishmen are the same. Everywhere in the world, Mercurius, a man who holds up some silver gets people’s attention. They fall over themselves to be his friend.’
‘I thought you were negotiating Mary’s dowry?’
‘That was straightforward. The English have got next to nothing to give us, but I extracted a few concessions and trading rights. Dutch ships will be able to trade at any English port without punitive excise duties, and vice versa. And to be honest, all William really wants is to stop Mary marrying a Frenchman. Any dowry he gets is a bonus. Charles loses anyway; he has been receiving a hundred thousand a year from Louis XIV, and you can’t imagine that will continue after Mary marries William.’
‘I suppose not. But I hate to see the blessed sacrament of marriage reduced to a business transaction. Whatever happened to marrying for love?’
Vlisser looked me up and down. ‘I can tell you’re not married,’ he said. ‘What’s love got to do with it?’
Solitude. That’s what I was missing. I do my best thinking on my own. Other people’s views sometimes help, but not very often. Usually I can work things out for myself, given some time and space to think; and that was just what I was not getting in London.
It was partly my fault. By the time I got to my room at night I was too tired to do much thinking, and when I got up in the morning I wanted to start investigating at once. I could have stayed in my room until midday like the King and most of his courtiers, but I absolutely refused to change my habits to accommodate such laziness, or, rather, the late night revelry that caused it.
I admit that I am not an early bird. I have never quite understood why someone decided that we should start the day with prayer at six o’clock in the morning rather than nine o’clock, which would be a much more sensible time; but I put on airs compared with most in Charles’ court.
Anyway, on this particular afternoon I decided I needed to find somewhere to be alone, and my room was the obvious place. I climbed the stairs and pushed the door open to find Meg with a handful of my papers.
‘Beg pardon, sir,’ she said. ‘Just tidying. Would you like me to do it later?’
‘Yes, please,’ I said. ‘I have some work to do.’
She bobbed a curtsey and replaced the papers, but could not resist giving them one last squaring up before she bobbed again and left, giving me a shy little smile as she squeezed past.
I do not know whether having a suspicious nature is ungodly. It is certainly uncharitable; but I was interested to know what she had been looking at. The uppermost papers on the desk were my cogitations on the fourth of Pascal’s Lettres provincials, in which Pascal castigates those who believe that a person does not sin if they do not know their actions to be immoral. Fascinating though my ideas were, I could not think that they would attract the attention of an English maid, particularly since they were, of course, in Latin. I do my best thinking in Latin.
If not those, then perhaps she had replaced them on the pile to conceal the item beneath that she was reading. I riffled through the papers to the last of my notes, then lifted the stack to reveal some scribbles I had been writing on the matter of Wevers’ death, but they were fragmentary, incoherent, and in Dutch. What use would those be to a young girl who had shown no sign of understanding our language?
I was assuredly worrying unnecessarily. After all, most young Englishwomen of the lower classes could not read. Maybe she really was just tidying, as she claimed. Or perhaps her interest was not in my papers, but in my valuables. My chest was still locked, and I had my pouch about me, so my cash was safe.
No matter. I decided to begin with a period of prayer and dropped to my knees. I opened my Psalter and read Psalm 72, where my eyes fell upon verses 18 and 19: Verumtamen propter dolos posuisti eis; dejecisti eos dum allevarentur. Quomodo facti sunt in desolationem? subito defecerunt: perierunt propter iniquitatem suam. Which means: truly you set them in slippery places; you make them fall to ruin. How they are destroyed in a moment, swept away utterly by terrors!
If only it were true that the wicked of the world did not prosper! I know that this is corrected in the life to come, but it would be good if God occasionally smote someone for being miserly. Having conceived the wish, I decided not to stand too close to Vlisser in case God answered my prayer with a thunderbolt and his aim was off.
But my mind returned to that word terrors. What was Wevers’ killer frightened of? Men do not kill others for no reason, and this was no vulgar robbery or tavern brawl. This was a planned murder in the street. Whoever killed him could not have had any interaction in the time available other than to draw his dagger, and that so swiftly that Wevers did not see it. And if this was a planned killing, then someone knew Wevers would be there or followed him and somehow got ahead of him. It seemed inco
ntrovertible that the murderer knew where he was going, at least in general direction.
My first idea was that the murder was simply an escalation by those who did not want the wedding to succeed. Having failed to get Preuveneers jailed, they took the life of Wevers, and that was the theory that we had proceeded with.
But when you thought about it, this made little sense. Not to put too fine a point on it, killing any of us would have worked as well. If I were an assassin — and I am definitely not cut out to be one — I would not tackle a fit young man with military training. I would stick my dagger into Vlisser or Preuveneers, or even me, since I could be guaranteed not to be carrying a weapon. The fact that Wevers was picked out implied that this was not just a second attempt to disrupt the talks.
So was this just a coincidence of the type that I have decried earlier?
I scratched my head and thought hard. Let’s say that person A tries to have Preuveneers arrested and fails. Now they need to do something more, but that will take some time to arrange. In the interim, person B stabs Wevers. Wouldn’t A decide that he doesn’t need to do any more for the moment, and wait to see what happens?
Of course, the death of Wevers did not stop the discussions which had now been successfully concluded, so maybe A would now be spurred into action again. Alternatively, they may decide that they had failed.
Now, approaching the matter from the other end: we know that Wevers was going to meet Delphi. It was an appointment that Delphi must have suggested because Wevers did not know who Delphi was, so Delphi would have known where Wevers was going. Was Delphi the murderer, then?
But why? Delphi had been supplying information to my government for some time, and must have been well rewarded for doing so. By killing Wevers, he would lose the opportunity for a lucrative new commission. Perhaps he had decided that he did not choose to spy for us any longer, but then all he had to do was avoid making any appointment. Taxed about the matter later, he could have lied and said the instruction to meet Wevers did not arrive in time.