The Wrecking Storm

by Ward, Michael

  ‘This job isn’t just about knifing the religious sort, much as I enjoy that. We’ve been searching for a very rare pearl who can unlock untold riches. But there’s more ways to kill a dog than hanging, Billy Boy, so we’re changing our tactics. The search moves on from the Jesuits to something else. And I know where. We need to get a move on, so I will go and take a look-see and then we’ll plan our move. Get the boys prepared.’

  Chapter 16

  The Royal Exchange, Cornhill

  Tom looked up at the familiar sight of the gilded grasshopper weather vane as he approached the Royal Exchange. Normally it raised a smile but his business today in London’s trading centre weighed heavily on him. He was meeting Barty and Robert Petty and was desperate to make progress in the hunt for the attackers of Bolton Hall.

  He pushed his way through the rag-tag band of street sellers who regularly crowded around the building’s southern entrance on Cornhill. Lemons and oranges were pressed into his hands by women, some half-drunk, desperate to make some coin. A man was trying to persuade another merchant to buy his dog, a thin mangy creature held on a short piece of twine, and promised him the ‘best ratter in London’. He could feel their frantic hopelessness and thought of the woman in the warehouse attempting to claim Josh Wilding’s wages.

  He entered the building and kept his head down. He wanted this meeting to be private. The Tallants sold most of their spices at the Exchange and the building manager had given him the use of an empty first floor shop as a favour. But he needed to get there without being seen. He had to cross a corner of the busy trading floor to reach the stairs, and was wondering how to achieve this unnoticed when a commotion broke out behind him.

  He could hear discordant music and shouting coming from the street. He darted behind a pillar as everyone in the Exchange turned to look at the Cornhill entrance. This was not what he needed. The street hawkers had been joined by another group including, on its hind legs, a large brown bear. Tom blinked and saw the beast was being led on a thick rope by a bear ward. A monkey was balanced on its right shoulder, with three minstrels following, dressed in ragged harlequin costumes, playing fiddle jigs tunelessly.

  This time he did allow himself a smile. The local bear-bating pit must have a show tonight, and their timing was perfect. Their attempt to attract customers was meeting with mixed success, with some merchants complaining loudly about disruption to their business. A scuffle broke out and he slipped away unseen to the stairwell.

  His friends were waiting in a private back room of the empty shop.

  ‘What fun and games!’ Barty said, excitedly. ‘Was that really a bear in the Exchange? We couldn’t see from the balcony. Whatever next!’

  ‘Yes, the bear ward is drumming up business for tonight’s fight.’

  ‘’Tis a cruel entertainment, and no type of sport’, Petty said.

  ‘Well, of course, absolutely’ Barty mumbled , as they all sat down. ‘So, let’s get to business and compare notes on our investigation. By Jesu’s name,

  what a state of affairs! Your parents’ home is first ransacked and then attacked by a wicked gang trying to kidnap Ellen,’ he exclaimed. ‘How is your dear sister?’

  ‘Initially she was very shaken and would not leave the house,’ Tom replied. ‘However she is now regaining her confidence. Ellen is tougher than she looks. She takes after our mother.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Do you think these two outrageous incidents are connected?’

  He was surprised by Barty’s question. ‘If we lived in the City I would say possibly not, as there is so much disorder on the streets. But out beyond Clerkenwell? In the countryside? I feel they surely must be linked. Bolton Hall is not a place you stumble upon by chance.’

  Robert Petty nodded his agreement, ‘I agree, it’s too much of a coincidence. It’s clear in my mind the same wretches were behind both attacks. And I’m pleased to say I may finally have made progress in tracking down who is responsible.’

  ‘You know who did it?’

  Petty’s brow furrowed as he put his palms forward in a pacifying gesture.

  ‘Let us not get ahead of ourselves. As you know, I am working my contacts hard in the City. I picked up plenty of rumours and accusations, but the mood on the streets currently is so poisonous it’s taken a long time to sort the wheat from the chaff. Under closer scrutiny, almost all the suggestions proved to be malicious, designed to discredit individuals. However I have found one that could be more promising.’

  ‘Please Robert. Do not hold me in suspense. This is the first good news I have received in this whole dreadful affair. Do we have a name?’

  ‘Not yet and I must impress upon you I’m at the early stages of my investigation. It may, once again, only be spiteful gossip.’

  ‘Investigation?’ Barty commented. ‘You called it an investigation? Does that infer your private research on Tom’s behalf may soon become the formal business of the Merchant Adventurers, and it is another merchant who is responsible?’

  His eyes were alight with a sharp intelligence that belied his innocent appearance. Petty had made a slip and he was on it in a flash.

  Petty grimaced at his own error. ‘It’s too early to say. I must stress the importance of not spreading this information further. It is only a suggestion, but it has come from two different and reliable sources. However it all may come to nothing. My role as an investigator for the Merchant Adventurers would be in jeopardy if I besmirched the reputation of one of its members, without gathering compelling evidence first.’

  ‘But you do know who it is? A member of the Adventurers?’ Tom continued.

  ‘No! ‘Petty exclaimed with exasperation. ‘I have no names at present.’

  Barty clasped Tom’s forearm. ‘I share your desire to find those responsible but we must let Robert proceed with due caution. It will bring results, I can assure you, if there is any truth in the claim.’

  The three sat in silence for several minutes and then Petty continued, speaking quietly. ‘I have learned that someone harbours jealousy over the Tallants' success in the spice trade. That person feels your family has acquired a source of trading information that’s been very much to your advantage in recent years. This gives you access to new supplies of high quality spices in the Indies, at prices that undercut your rivals.’

  Tom’s shoulders sagged with disappointment. ‘Robert, I thank you for your efforts but there is nothing new in this. Yes, we do regularly acquire superior quality spices but this is due to our excellent agents in India and beyond. Our rivals frequently grumble about it, but nothing has changed to make one of them suddenly resort to kidnapping my sister!’

  ‘You have told me this before.’ Petty acknowledged. ‘But this accusation goes further. It’s said you are trading information with our great rivals the Dutch East India Company, using their knowledge to gain this advantage. And the question is ‘what do you give them in return?’

  Barty coughed and lent forward to Petty, almost whispering. ‘Let us be clear, Robert. When you say investigation, who is now under scrutiny - the perpetrator of these terrible crimes at Bolton Hall, or the Tallant family themselves?’

  Robert Petty stared at Tom with his deep brown unblinking eyes.

  ‘I have to say, at the moment, nothing can be ruled out. So, I’m sorry, but it has to be both.’

  Chapter 17

  Bolton Hall

  Ralph Tallant gave his son a disbelieving look.

  ‘You’re telling me the person behind the attacks could be a fellow City merchant? I’m sorry, but I don’t believe it.’

  They were sitting in the drawing room at Bolton Hall. Outside the wind was howling, blowing squally showers almost horizontally across the garden. Tom was appreciating the heat from the wood fire crackling in the fireplace. Beatrix Tallant and Elizabeth were attending to Jan upstairs. His condition had not improved since the attack, despite their care and frequent visits from his brother, and he flitted in and out of consciousness. Yesterday he
had started a fever and both were worried an infection had developed.

  ‘I don’t want to believe it either father, and Petty stresses he has much work still to do. But after weeks of investigation, it’s the only possibility he’s taking seriously.

  ‘That does not make it true. The very idea is absurd.’

  Tom sighed in exasperation. ‘You, yourself, have warned me that the City can be a snake pit, with its own rules, and there is anti-Dutch sentiment among some merchants. You must agree, Petty’s suggestion is not entirely fanciful.’

  ‘It’s one thing for a merchant to bear a grudge against the Dutch and make malicious gossip to damage their reputation. Quite another to raid our house and attempt to kidnap your sister!’

  Ralph leaned forward and picked up a small log from the wood basket next to him. ‘You’re right, the City does have its own rules, but it would be unthinkable for a rival merchant to launch such a visible assault on our family. It’s far too public. Attracts too much attention,’ and at this he threw the log into the grate sending a shower of sparks into the air. ‘No, if a merchant was responsible, the deed would be done with a stiletto between the ribs…silenziosamente…silently. Believe me.’

  ‘So you don’t dismiss the possibility, just the method?’

  Ralph’s face coloured. ‘Tom that’s enough! We have sufficient concerns to occupy our minds without this foolish notion of Petty’s. I’ve said before, this mob violence is more likely the work of John Pym or another of his Puritan gang. You can now see it everyday throughout the City, and its getting worse.’

  ‘Yes, but not so far outside the City walls, surely?’

  ‘There’s trouble erupting throughout the counties! Only this week I’ve been told of popish plots in Guildford and Norwich. Pym has got the hot-gospellors stirring up mischief all over the country, causing panic.’

  ‘That’s true. I know of fights in Essex between Puritans and those who do not wish to see changes to their church.’

  ‘Exactly. Pym’s taking his battle beyond the streets of London, and where better than the homes of merchants which are still close enough to be reached by his gang of Apprentice Boys?’

  ‘But why us?’

  ‘Why not? In the eyes of the mob, merchants have wealth and power and all support the King even though, as we know, quite a number are reformers. You must understand, as we have seen before, that it doesn’t matter what is true, just what people believe to be true. They don’t want proof and, if any did, they would just point to your refusal to sign Strafford’s death warrant.’

  Their conversation paused and Tom could faintly hear his mother upstairs calling to the maid, a note of urgency in her voice. Ralph reached over and gripped his forearm. ‘Tom, we have no choice. We must fight fire with fire. Which is why I have already acted against Pym and his junto.’

  He was shocked by the quiet ferocity in his father’s voice. ‘What do you mean?’

  Ralph paused. He was weighing his next words carefully.

  ‘What I am about to tell you must never be repeated outside this room. Do you understand?‘ He nodded. What had his father done?

  ‘Do you recall in Parliament, when John Pym received a letter containing a piece of binding from a plague victim?’

  He thought back to the shock of that moment, the suspension of the session and, with it, Pym’s speech. ‘I’m hardly likely to forget it, as I was so close to Pym.’

  Ralph smiled. ‘You were perfectly safe. You could have blown your nose on that rag without any ill effect.’

  He gaped at his father, momentarily lost for words. ‘What do you mean? How could you know that?’

  ‘Because I sent that message. I used one of my old contacts in the Commons. He couldn’t have timed it better, handing it to Pym as he was launching into one of his interminable speeches and had the attention of the whole House.’

  ‘And the cloth?’

  ‘An old rag I found in the kitchen here at Bolton, used to wrap a leg of mutton, I believe, so it was suitably stained. I included a message – no name, of course – a piece of nonsense making it clear to Pym he was holding a plague rag, and more would follow if he didn’t back off, but with no other specifics.’

  ‘But, what a risk! If you’d been discovered, you’d now be in the Tower, your reputation – and our business –ruined.’

  ‘Yes, a risk, but a calculated one. There was nothing in the message to identify me and my contact was a trusted old friend who shared my views on Pym. He knew the rag was safe and he had his story ready. If asked, the sealed letter was given to him by a stranger outside the chamber who requested it be handed to Pym immediately.

  ‘I sent the rag as a reprisal – warning Pym off. If there was then another attack on Bolton Hall, I’d know he was my man. And, of course, that’s what happened. The members of the Puritan junto are so arrogant. If you are not with them, you are against them and attacking any opposition is God’s will.

  ‘So you were anticipating another attempt on our house?

  ‘Yes, but not so soon, or so savage.’ Tom’s father stared at the floor, his hands clenched tight together.

  ‘But Ellen and Jan?’

  Ralph nodded. ‘I had no idea Pym would go to such lengths. I miscalculated, and now I live with the consequences. Thank God Ellen is safe, but Jan…’

  He pondered his father’s story. It had blown Petty’s theory of a rival merchant out of his mind. He had witnessed the determination of the junto previously in the Commons and their inflamed language about papist plots. And his father was right about their insufferable certainty. The account seemed real and credible. He would have to talk again with Petty and Barty.

  There was a knock on the door and his mother entered, followed by Elizabeth. Both looked exhausted. As they approached, he could see their faces, wet with tears.

  ‘He’s gone. Jan has gone.’ Beatrix whispered. ‘That brave boy has finally succumbed. He has given his life to save Ellen.’

  He walked to Elizabeth and took her hand. ‘Was it the fever?’

  ‘Yes. An infection had taken hold and he was already very weak from losing so much blood. I’m so sorry, Sir Ralph, but I couldn’t save him.’

  She buried her face in Tom’s chest and submitted to a wave of wracking sobs that shook her body. Still holding her, he looked at his father, rooted to the spot, his face ashen and haggard.

  ‘Damn, damn, damn,’ Ralph murmured. ‘I shall write to Jonas at once and then I must tell Dirck.’

  Chapter 18

  The Tallant warehouse

  Tom lay in his bed at the warehouse, listening in the dark to the creaking of a ship’s rigging in the breeze.

  He stared at the ceiling, his mind full of images from the previous day: Dirck sitting on Jan’s bed hugging his brother’s lifeless form, whispering to him desperately in Dutch as he rocked back and forth; Ellen’s grief when she was given the news, and his mother repeatedly saying it was not her fault; and above all, his father’s stony expression of shock and guilt.

  Dirck was eventually persuaded to return to the warehouse, where he sat on the wharf looking at the river, his only company a rapidly emptying bottle of brandy. He finally went to his bed and managed to sleep but, three hours later, Tom was still awake.

  What of his father? Would his conscience be troubled enough to deny him sleep? Pym’s immediate retaliation to the plague letter made it plain who was behind the attacks on Bolton Hall, but at what cost? Uncle Jonas would be furious. The parents of the twins were close friends in Amsterdam and the boys had been entrusted to his care. When agreeing to Ralph’s request for extra bodies, he would have relied on his brother not to place them in extreme danger. Jan’s death was a disaster for the Tallants.

  He turned over in his bed and attempted once again to empty his mind. He concentrated on the occasional noise from the rigging, nothing else. It reminded him of sleeping on board ship, without the swell of the waves. Eventually, his thoughts settled and the creaking merged with
other sounds in the wooden building – the slight movement of old joists, the scrabble of a mouse looking for grain and the occasional rattle of a loose shutter disturbed by the breeze.

  What was that knocking, coming from below? He was alert again and totally focused on something new he could define. He sat up in bed, stock still. Ten, fifteen seconds passed…and there it was again, and then again.

  His bedroom was on the first floor of the warehouse, overlooking the river and the wharf below. He stood and crept towards its window, stopping every couple of steps, his ears straining. He reached the window and checked the wharf. The moon was partly behind a small bank of cloud, giving enough light to see the familiar contours of the dock and the ship moored against it, but little else. Was that a movement, by the deck of the ship? He stared hard but saw nothing.

  Again there was knocking, quieter this time. He attempted to place it within the inky blackness, but it was hopeless. Picking up his sword, Tom tiptoed down the warehouse stairs, stopping regularly to listen, but there was nothing. He was cold and regretting leaving his bed and, on reaching the ground floor, strode to the back door with less caution.

  Removing the sword from its scabbard, he carefully undid a bolt, opened the door and stepped into the dark outside. The cloud had thickened in front of the moon and a cool breeze touched his face as he waited for his eyes to adjust.

  There was another knock, much clearer now, further down the wharf, next to the ship’s side. He advanced slowly, sword drawn. The vessel docked yesterday and its cargo had been unloaded. Hatches and doors secured, it would sail to Rotherhithe for repairs in the morning. If it was looters he’d disturbed, they’d be out of luck; but so would he, as no help would be at hand. As he inched forward, a dark shape started to form in the black void in front of him. He held his breath and took one more step. He was in touching distance. Now or never.