Dark Waters

by Robin Blake

  ‘Has he? That’s the sort of fat talk you get from Constable Mallender. He’d be advised not to do any such thing. But, in case he does, would it not be better if we found Maggie first, and brought her safely back?’

  Barty’s head was sunk down, his chin on his chest. His hands clasped and unclasped as he mumbled something inaudible.

  ‘What was that, Barty? Speak up.’

  Barty lifted his head.

  ‘Aye, if you could, if she’s not got away clean.’

  ‘Well then, let’s do it. Who is this man of hers? What’s his name?’

  Barty sniffed, and the action seemed to help him make up his mind, for he straightened his back and spoke in a clear voice for the first time.

  ‘It’s Hamilton, sir, that’s his name. That’s who she says.’

  ‘Hamilton?’

  I shot a glance at Elizabeth, then at Fidelis, and finally brought my attention back to Barty.

  ‘Hamilton Peters? The servant of Mr Destercore who you have seen around town on the business of this election? Is that the Hamilton she meant?’

  ‘Yes, sir. That’s him.’

  ‘Good God!’

  ‘There’s something else, sir.’

  ‘Yes, Barty.’

  ‘I didn’t do it on my own like I told you.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘I didn’t get her out on my own. I was helping Hamilton – Mr Peters. Her room was on first floor, sir, and he put me up on his shoulders to climb in.’

  ‘So she left with Peters, did she, when you got her down?’

  ‘Yes, sir. But first he kissed her, sir.’

  ‘Oh? In what way? Do you mean on the lips – a lover’s kiss?’

  Barty would not look at me. His lowered eyes were fixed on the floor.

  ‘It were not like ordinary kissing but … like they were biting each other.’

  ‘Indeed? And did they say where they would go?’

  ‘I heard Maggie say, is it safe to go to Drake’s. He said yes. Then they went off, after they told me to say nowt about it.’

  * * *

  ‘Shall we engage linkmen?’ asked Fidelis.

  We were preparing to go to Michael Drake’s. It was now fully dark and, with so much disorder on the street, a couple of torches to light our way, and men carrying them to protect us, might have been useful. On the other hand it would take time to arrange and I was in a hurry.

  I went into my library and from a high shelf took down the cherrywood box in which nestled a pair of duelling pistols. These had been presented to me by a lady, a year ago, as a keepsake for a service I had done her, and though I had in the meantime taken the trouble to learn how to load them, I had not as yet had any reason or any wish to fire them. Now I handed one gun to Fidelis, took the other myself, and together we loaded them.

  ‘Just for safety,’ I said.

  At the last minute I decided to bring Barty with us, in case we needed an extra pair of eyes, or a runner. We walked out into Cheapside. To our left Market Place was thronged with election revellers, who were now predominantly Tories and crowing their anticipated victory. They were readying themselves to gambol through the streets behind the mayor, who would shortly be parading around town ceremoniously by torchlight, from bar to bar. He would be carrying the books containing the election results from the polling hall to be locked securely in the Moot Hall, before counting in the morning and the announcement of the result at noon. The fact that the polling hall and Moot Hall were one and the same place was no deterrent to the plan: what they wanted was a rousing procession, and the chance to wear their chains and finery. That they went round in a circle was of no consequence.

  We turned our steps, however, not left towards Market Place, but right, completing the short distance up Cheapside and crossing the road slant-wise in front of the Moot Hall, where Fisher Gate became Church Gate. From there we passed into the narrower and gloomier Stoney Gate. The Gamecock as we passed it was lively enough with noise and bright lights while Drake’s shop, just beyond it, showed only the dimmest of lights, probably just a candle, behind the drapes on the first floor. I pointed to a shadowed archway on the opposite side of the street and Fidelis and the boy stationed themselves there; then I rapped hard on the door, which was the entrance to the shop but also the front door of the living quarters. The door was glassed but a heavy drape was drawn across it.

  Nothing happened. Then Fidelis slipped from his concealment and joined me.

  ‘Someone raised the curtains a fraction, and then immediately dropped them again.’

  ‘Anyone you knew?’

  ‘I didn’t see enough. But it was a woman.’

  ‘A woman? Drake is unmarried and lives alone, except for his apprentice.’

  At length I heard footsteps approach the door on the inside and a faint flicker of light shone through a chink in the curtain. I put my ear to the glass and heard a woman’s voice speaking in an urgent whisper.

  ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Who else?’ I hissed.

  ‘What’ve you come back for?’

  A bolt scraped above, and then another below, and the door opened. I pushed it wider and stepped in, followed immediately by Fidelis. As soon as she saw me the young woman gave a startled squeak and took a frightened step back into the room, her eyes wide and her knuckles in her teeth. We had found Maggie Satterthwaite.

  * * *

  ‘I used to be at my grandfather’s to do the kitchen when he had his guests in for cards,’ said Maggie. ‘He wanted a fuss made of Mr Reynolds, him being a gentleman and candidate for Parliament. Everything would be proper on those evenings – best service, best crocks, a roast bird, Cheshire cheese, port wine.’

  We were sitting in the shop, with Maggie’s single candle on the counter. Fidelis and I had decided as soon as we had calmed the girl that we would wait with her.

  ‘Who is it you were expecting?’ I had asked. ‘Are you waiting for Hamilton Peters?’

  She had looked more than surprised at the mention of this name.

  ‘How did you know about him?’ she asked.

  ‘There’s a story to that, but it’s your story we want to hear, Maggie. We have sympathetic ears. Go back to the beginning.’

  She told us it had all started with her grandfather’s Sunday-night card game. Originally four Whig friends used to gather but, when one of them died the previous year, they invited Mr Reynolds to make up the party as he had come to live in the town and was to be their candidate at the next election.

  ‘When you served at table, was there much talk of politics?’

  ‘Oh, yes, while they were eating and in between hands of cards, it was how to beat the Tories, how to get certain pamphlets on sale, all that. Not that I paid a lot of attention.’

  ‘You mean you were not a part of these discussions?’

  ‘No, I am very dull about politics. And they were only interested in me in a very different way – or rather one of them was.’

  ‘Who do you mean?’

  ‘I mean Michael Drake, who owns this shop.’

  I exchanged a glance with Fidelis. We were perhaps coming to the heart of all this, and especially of why we had found her waiting alone in this house.

  ‘He used to come and stand in the kitchen door to watch me work. He’d say he’d quit his hand and would rather look at me than sit and count the cards falling. And that’s what he did, watch me, like a cat. I hated it. It made me feel prickly all over myself. He had that look in his eye. Then once he came right into the kitchen when I was at the sink and got hold of me and when I twisted around he kissed me. It was horrible. I told him, never do that again, and he said, yes, he would, first chance he got. So I slapped him hard as I could and said he was an old man and he disgusted me. I’m sure the sound of the slap carried to the room where the others were playing, but no one said owt, then or later. Michael Drake’s eyes changed, though. Before, they were always mocking, like, but after that they were looking at me with hate.’

&
nbsp; ‘Was it Michael Drake who was responsible for your … well, your disgrace at the Ferry Inn? The reason for your dismissal?’

  She lowered her head.

  ‘In a way, yes, sir.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘By putting Mr Wilson onto me. Mr Drake told him, after they’d finished cards one night, that he could have me, if he liked. I was easy, so he told him. Liar. That’s how much he hated me. Well, I was sleeping at the Ferry Inn at the time and I had to help Mr Wilson back with me after the cards, and when we got there Mr Wilson didn’t go to his room, but followed me to mine and … Well, they found him asleep on my bed in the morning.’

  ’Was Michael Drake also at the inn?’

  ‘No. His old mother lives nearby. He would always sleep at her cottage.’

  ‘And did Thomas Wilson force you on that night, Maggie?’

  Maggie laughed.

  ‘Oh, no! He were too drunk to do owt. But that’s not what it looked like to them at the inn. Mr Wilson, he were a customer, he could do no wrong. So it must all be on me. I was a slut and a whore and all the rest. They give me the sack.’

  ‘Can you remember the night Antony Egan fell into the river? There had been a card game that night, too, hadn’t there?’

  ‘Yes, course I do. But he never fell in.’

  Fidelis leaned forward in his chair. The deeply shadowed room felt ghostly, hollow.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘They did it. Drake, Wilson, Reynolds – or maybe not Reynolds for he had left on the last ferry, I think. My grandfather had gone to bed. The other two went out as I was clearing table. When they came back in for more to drink they were well satisfied with themselves. They had done something, but they would not say what.’

  ‘But what about Mr Destercore and his man Peters? Didn’t you see them that night?’

  ‘We’d seen Mr Destercore earlier. He had come by to greet Mr Reynolds, and he stayed for a bit of supper but he was tired from journeying and went back early to the Ferry Inn.’

  ‘And Peters?’

  Maggie shook her head slowly.

  ‘I never saw him, sir, not that night. But later I saw him at the Gamecock, and he’d be coming in and out of this shop. I think it were then that Mr Destercore had started to talk about John Allcroft, and how they could save more votes for the party by getting rid of him. Drake was all for the idea, but Wilson and my granddad didn’t like it. I think that’s why they were killed, see? They didn’t like it and they would have told, that’s what I think. Braver than me, they would’ve been, if they had told.’

  She sniffed, and now I saw tears glistening in her eyes in the candlelight.

  ‘So are you saying you had nothing to do with Allcroft’s poisoning?’

  ‘I did, but only without knowing it, sir, I swear! Drake pestered me for word on Allcroft, like where he ate his dinner, which I told him was in his room, and he asked me if the room was locked and I said no, because the key was lost.’

  Luke Fidelis, who had been listening intently, cleared his throat.

  ‘Maggie, tell me what you are doing here, now. Who are you waiting for?’

  ‘Oh sir, I am afraid to tell.’

  ‘Is it Hamilton Peters?’

  ‘I can’t, I mustn’t—’

  ‘Come now, Maggie. Is it Peters?’

  ‘I have sworn.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter. An oath to murderers is no oath. Mr Cragg here is coroner. You must tell him. You must.’

  ‘Very well, sir. Yes, it is. He is my friend, sir, my…’

  ‘Your lover?’

  ‘He does say he loves me, sir. And wants to take me away and protect me.’

  ‘Was he to take you away tonight?’

  ‘After the business—. After something that was to happen tonight.’

  ‘After what?’ said Fidelis, urgently. ‘What business tonight?’

  But Maggie was weeping now, with her head sunk down to her knees. Her words when they came out were broken, and difficult to make out.

  ‘A terrible thing, sir, a wicked thing, though no worse than what they’ve done before. He said we would be miles and miles away by the time it came out that Mr Drake and him had done it. He said Mr Destercore and Mr Reynolds would never be prosecuted for it.’

  ‘Done what, Maggie? What terrible thing were they going to do?’

  Emotion was making her sob now, choking her words and making them very hard to pick out. Her speech, as I give it here, must be understood as being fragmentary and spoken with the utmost effort.

  ‘It must be around about this time that they will do it, sir, this time of night. You can still maybe stop it, if it isn’t too late. I cannot keep it to myself any more. It’s the mayor, sir. They plan to shoot him, see, as he parades down Fisher Gate. Just like they shot my grandfather. I heard them talking, and they went out with guns, sir. They are that angry, they say the election’s lost and the mayor’s arranged it all by corrupting the vote and deserves to die. But you can stop them, you can, if you go quick. Mr Drake, he threatened me with death if I spoke out. Without Hamilton he’d have killed me anyway, I think, and blamed me for the poisoning. That’s how much he hates me. But I’ll not keep quiet now, not when it can still be stopped. If you go quick.’

  By now, Luke had leapt to his feet, only a fraction of time before me.

  ‘My God, Titus, it will be from the room at Mrs Bryce’s, as Biggs passes below. We must get up there. The parade has probably started already. God knows where it is now!’

  ‘Maggie!’ I warned. ‘You must stay here. If you go out you are in danger from Mallender’s hue and cry. Stay exactly where you are, keep the door locked and admit no one until I come again for you. I shall say nothing of where you are.’

  She nodded her head mutely, humbly. I felt she had returned to sanity. The villains had turned Maggie’s head towards them by persuading her that, without their help, her case was hopeless. Now this influence was counterbalanced. We went out and I heard the rasp of the bolts behind us.

  * * *

  We left Barty to watch the house, with particular attention to the back entrance, and strode up Stoney Gate at the double, full of purpose. Well, I thought, perhaps Elizabeth’s fears would be groundless: Maggie had not run; she had not condemned herself. Instead she had forestalled a crime – perhaps – if we could get there in time.

  My fingers touched the pistol in my pocket. I felt excitement, elation. It is this, I imagine, that charges soldiers up to go into action. There is a coil inside you hard wound, or if you prefer, a balloon tightly inflated, pent up, waiting for release.

  We turned left into Church Gate and continued urgently along Fisher Gate, where we were increasingly impeded by knots of bystanders and routs of political enthusiasts. The sides of the street were lined with folk, some waving small Union flags, rather more with oak-leaf flags and other tokens of their opposition to our German monarchy. Evidently the mayoral progress had not yet reached this spot.

  I looked down the length of the street, sloping away from us towards the town bar and then on to our small tidal port beyond. I could hear a band playing, and whoops and shouts. Great flaming torches, flaring in the darkness, were visible at the far end of Fisher Gate. I saw one particular torch go high into the air, and then come spiralling down into the hands of its bearer, to the hoots and applause of the crowd. This was the head of the procession.

  ‘Come on,’ shouted Fidelis, ‘we are not too late. We must get to the Bryce house before they do.’

  But our progress was being impeded by the people milling around in the street and a moment later I had bumped and rebounded off one of them. I realized it was Adam Lorris.

  ‘Eh, Mr Cragg,’ he said, failing to read the signs of my haste. ‘It’s ready! Your Aesop. It’s done. Shall I—?’

  ‘Not now, Adam,’ I said. ‘I am in something of a hurry.’

  I pushed on but then, quite involuntarily and without a spark of warning, the words of Elizabeth about Maggie – �
�If she runs, it will condemn her’ – and the fable Lorris and I had discussed on the morning they found Antony Egan in the river – the one called The Scarecrows and the Foxes – fused together in my head and exploded. By virtue of the association of ideas, or the concatenation of memory and experience, I suddenly saw their true significance for the present moment. Is that it? I thought. Is that what she’s doing?

  Immediately the tension began to leave me, the coil to unwind, the balloon to go flat. I stopped pushing forward and stood still in the midst of the turmoil, lucidly calm. The Scarecrows and the Foxes. Of course: how obvious.

  I no longer faced down the street towards the procession but revolved on my heel to survey the view back the way we had come. Fidelis, who had gone ahead of me, now returned and grabbed my arm, tugging it.

  ‘Titus! What are you doing? We have no time to lose. Come along!’

  I put a restraining hand on his arm. All the urgency and hurry had left me.

  ‘No, Luke,’ I said. ‘If we go anywhere, we should go back – but I doubt that is necessary either.’

  ‘What, Titus? I don’t understand.’

  I looked at him, rather enjoying the moment.

  ‘The game is played,’ I said. ‘The cards are back in the pack. The players have gone their ways.’

  ‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’

  ‘No, I have come to them. Light has suddenly dawned. There is no attack on the mayor. There is no murderous Whig plot, and in fact there never was. It is a pack of lies, Luke. We have been spun a yarn, and it is all a cock and a bull – or should I say a couple of scarecrows and a female fox.’

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  IT WOULD BE no great exaggeration to say that Luke Fidelis took this rather like a man interrupted in coitus. He was flushed in the face, blowing hard: I had never seen him so fired up and passionate of purpose at one moment, and so frustrated at the next.

  He shook loose from my hand and made a step away from me.

  ‘You have taken leave of your senses. I’m going on. The risk is too great.’

  I found myself smiling.

  ‘Give it up. There is no risk at all. It is all quite clear to me. None whatsoever.’