by Jake Lynch
‘A lot still has to go according to plan if they’re to pull this off.’ Her most vivid memory, which went furthest to suggest the exchange might have been real, was of his lips brushing her ear, so close were they as he spoke. ‘I’ve done my part by bringing you here and guarding you. I follow orders. But if something goes wrong, I’ll look for a chance to stop them.’ With that, he receded – was it into the fog of her unconscious, whence he had come – or in reality, back to his seat? She could not tell. As the darkness began to lift, however, she redoubled her silent prayers, and clung to a glimmer of hope that might – just might – be slightly brighter than before.
Chapter 64
A Political Rally
The first market traders were beginning to assemble the wooden frames of their stalls towards the top end of Fish Street, and unloading boxes of produce from horse-drawn carts. It would soon be time for the porters to open the Christ Church College gates. The return of Captain Lucy, suitably refreshed by a couple of hours’ sleep, felt to Luke like the moment to change things.
‘Ed and Tom, can you stay here?’ he asked. ‘When the gates are opened, you can keep out of sight behind the wall.’
‘Surely. And you?’
‘I need to be able to see what’s going on outside The New Inn. That’s where College is supposed to be making his speech.’
‘What about me?’ Robshaw enquired.
‘I have a special role for you, Robshaw. Come with me.’
As the pair strode up the gentle gradient towards the Guildhall, Luke explained.
‘College will try to make mischief over Harbord’s murder – why haven’t we caught the killer, it’s a conspiracy of Papists and so forth.’
‘Want me to give him some stick?’ the deputy growled, fingering his stave. ‘I feel like a bit of a barney, after a night like that.’
‘Nay, leave your weapon alone. Your job is more subtle.’
‘Not sure I’m in the mood for “subtle”.’
‘When College starts up about Harbord, people in the crowd will shout out about the wrong he did to that girl, and his abandoned bastard son.’
‘How will they know about that, then? We only just found out ourselves.’
‘All the work of the other “Tom”, the spy for the Lord Chancellor. He turned up last night, remember, as we were stabling the horses. I brought him up to speed. Anyway, when they say those things, you’re to confirm them. Loudly. People will believe it, coming from you.’ The man was not too fuddled or fatigued to swell a little with pride at this rare compliment.
‘Aye – will do. You can count on me, Master Sandys.’
‘Good fellow.’ With that, Luke slipped round the back of the Guildhall, in through the door of his office and up the stairs, to a mezzanine landing with a narrow window that faced directly on to the street below, propping it slightly ajar so he could hear, as well as see, events as they unfolded.
The foot traffic was thickening now, with market-goers eager to get business under way on a day when bigger crowds were expected than Oxford had seen in many a year. Then, suddenly, there was a commotion, and some movement from the corner of Queen Street, away to the right. Four men were pushing their way through the pedestrians, carrying heavy wooden objects that were clearly designed to fit together into a makeshift platform or dais. And they all wore green ribbons, either on the breast of their jackets, or round their hats, or both. Robshaw turned to look up from his position at street level, and caught Luke’s eye. As they constructed the stage, another two Green Ribbon men arrived. One of them, he recognised as the MP, Edward Norton, who’d addressed the mob in the High Street. The planks, struts and trestles having now been levered and slotted into place, Norton turned to his friends, nodded and stepped up. One of the men who’d carried the stage whistled loudly through his fingers, while the others cried: ‘Pray quiet! Pray quiet!’
‘Friends,’ Norton began, when a degree of hush had descended. ‘We meet in grave danger, on this market day.’ An ominous answering growl rose from his audience. Where were the other Green Ribbon men now? A couple were making their way back up Fish Street – presumably to fetch College. Norton was clearly the warm-up man. And was that a glimpse of another one, or even two, disappearing up the narrow yard running along the side of the New Inn? But the MP was now ramping up his rhetoric.
‘You know me, sirs, as a Member of Parliament. And proud to serve with some of the best men of England. One such was William Harbord. William Harbord, MP.’ The hush deepened, as if in respect for the dead. ‘It stands for Member of Parliament. It could stand for “Man of the People”. For William Harbord was a man of the people. And this week, sirs – this week in Oxford – it stands for something else.’
‘Murdered by Papists!’ a voice cried from amid the crowd, to loud acclaim.
‘Aye, sir! You have it right,’ Norton continued. ‘Murdered by Papists, indeed.’ While the attention of the audience was on the speaker, Robshaw stole a glance up at the window, raising an eyebrow. Luke frowned and shook his head, making a hand gesture he hoped would signal the deputy to wait. His interventions would be needed for when College took to the podium.
Chapter 65
‘Please, sirs, no!’
The familiar rhythm at the door – Here’s-a-health-unto-His-Majesty – roused Cate from her indeterminate condition of exhaustion, wretchedness and sheer, limp resignation. Hawkins entered, with another Green Ribbon man whom she had not previously seen.
‘’Tis time,’ this one said. ‘Armstrong has gone to fetch College. Better tie her up,’ – with a nod in Cate’s direction.
First, Hawkins and Settle pushed the low cart, which Armstrong had been bringing when she’d run headlong into him the previous night, over to the cartwheel, lifted it on and settled it between two wooden spars secured in place on the trolley. Then, Hawkins and the newcomer turned in her direction.
‘P-please, sirs, no,’ she whimpered.
‘Silence, Papist hussy!’ Settle snapped in his nasal tones. Francis sat in the chair at the far end of the covered area, elbow resting on one of its arms and chin cupped in his hand – looking away from her.
Strong hands grabbed Cate roughly by the shoulder, and the fabric of her dress at the nape of her neck, and carried her over to the cart. She vainly struggled for a moment as Hawkins held her left wrist, and the other man tied it tightly on to one of the wooden blocks with a length of rope pre-cut for the purpose. Her breath coming in short gasps and a nauseous feeling rising in her throat, Cate looked frantically from side to side, espying out of the corner of her eye a thick wooden chock, set to the perpendicular from the wheel’s rim. Could it be… yes, she was sure, it was holding the apparatus of the four blocks and iron crosspiece – on to which she was now being shackled – and the wheel, together. When it was removed, the one would be free to rotate relative to the other.
‘Now we can put on the blades,’ the new man grunted. ‘Settle – that’s your job, since Francis won’t join in.’ With a curse, the pamphleteer now went to the box Hawkins had brought, and pulled out what looked like a dagger, only with an attachment added to the hilt to enable it to fit on to a spoke of the wheel. One by one, he secured six of these in position between Cate’s outstretched limbs. As the last one clicked on, Hawkins was bending down to knot a length of rope around her right ankle, when the rhythmic knock at the door came again. The other Green Ribbon man turned the key in the lock and opened it a crack. An excited voice spoke from outside:
‘Make haste! College is taking the stand!’
Chapter 66
What if he had miscalculated?
A gasp rippled through the market-day crowd at a spectacular sight: what looked for all the world like a medieval knight, astride a white charger – decked out with the cross of St George – and apparently wearing full plate armour. With a flourish, the rider doffed his helmet and slid down from his mount, handing the headgear, along with his black leather gauntlets, to one of the Green Ribbons, as
he strode purposefully towards the pop-up stage. Norton led the audience in a loud cheer.
‘Now, gentlemen!’ The MP turned his palms outwards and downwards to appeal for calm. ‘’Tis mine honour, indeed, to present our next speaker. A doughty defender of our liberties, sirs. A fearless witness to the truth. Here to tell us more, about the perils of Popery – the Protestant Joiner himself, Stephen College!’ The announcement, and College’s ascent to the dais, were greeted with tumultuous applause from market traders and customers alike.
‘Sirs,’ College began, when the noise had subsided. ‘I am come to warn you of the Antichrist in your midst, here in Oxford.’ There was the noise, discernible to Luke from his elevated position, of a sharp intake of breath among many in the crowd. ‘Opposite us is the Guildhall. Seat of the authorities in Oxford – authorities who sit idle, sirs. The mayor, the bailiffs and constables – all have pawned their very souls. They take no action to protect the City, or its God-fearing people, against this Antichrist!’
Luke took a step back from the window as irate expressions turned towards the building.
‘Before the morn is out, sirs,’ College continued, ‘we will demonstrate how Papists should be dealt with.’
Where was Cate? Where was Settle? What if he had miscalculated – that the wallet was of lesser consequence than he thought; or that others in the group would press ahead regardless, with College’s ‘demonstration’? For the moment, though, the speaker was concentrating on the issue of the succession to the throne.
‘The King sits just down the road, sirs, in Christ Church. Still abed, no doubt, with his Catholic whore.’ There was a growl of disapproval. ‘Then he’ll spend the day plotting with his ministers to thwart the will of our elected Parliament, and impose a Popish successor on us.’ Another growl. ‘And who will stand against this infamy, sirs? Why, none other than our good friends, Members of Parliament among ’em – the Green Ribbon Club.’ Heads were nodded, and the noise was now one of approbation. ‘Men of the people indeed. And none better, sirs, than the late William Harbord.’ College now adopted a more subdued tone. ‘What was William Harbord’s “crime”? Why, to defend us, sirs, and our liberties. And his “punishment”? To be viciously stabbed, by Papists!’
This time, however, a piercing voice from the other side of the street – directly below where Luke was standing – cut through the general hubbub.
‘No, he wasn’t!’
College’s head lifted sharply as he surveyed the sea of faces in front of him. Before he could respond, however, another speaker piped up.
‘Harbord’s killer is locked up in the Castle, right now.’ A few of Robshaw’s neighbours turned towards him, and the deputy confirmed the news.
‘Aye, ’tis true. He confessed, last night. ’Twas in self-defence, when Harbord drew a dagger on him.’ As the mood on the street tilted towards confusion at these unexpected tidings, another of Tom’s ‘local assets’ took up the chorus.
‘’Twas in a quarrel over Harbord’s bastard son, from when he was in Oxford.’
‘He got a young maid in trouble, then abandoned her, the rogue!’ the first voice chimed in contemptuously, as the focus of anger shifted among the crowd.
‘Then she drowned herself, poor thing,’ yet another added, from the far edge of the throng around the podium.
As Robshaw straight away verified these statements to those around him, College tried to reclaim the initiative.
‘Be that as it may, sirs,’ – but he was struggling to wrest back the attention of the gathering. Suddenly, a thin figure, clad all in black, emerged from the end of New Inn Yard, over the Protestant Joiner’s right shoulder. Settle – at last! Luke glimpsed the pamphleteer turn right to make his way down Fish Street towards The Unicorn and Jacob’s Well, before flying down the Guildhall stairs two at a time and bursting out on to the packed thoroughfare in pursuit.
‘Make way, sirs. Make way there, please.’ Luke unhitched the wooden stave from his belt and used it to push his way through, ignoring the cost his progress exacted in bruises and lost tempers. At the edge of his field of vision, some kind of missile, thrown from the crowd – perhaps a coin, or a small pebble – hit College a glancing blow on the side of his breastplate; but it did not make quite the sound he expected. A heartbeat later, he realised. Of course: it was not made of metal after all, but wood, painted with silver gilt, like a picture frame. ‘Seeing is believing,’ Tom had said, referring to the armour – a cornerstone, Luke reflected briefly in his haste, of his own world view. But evidence could be misleading, as the episode with Gregory’s coat had shown him. Sometimes, to discern the truth, you had to know what you were looking for. Now he was clear of the mob, the view down Fish Street opened up, and he was just in time to see Settle try the front door of The Unicorn and Jacob’s Well and – finding that it swung open – enter the premises. Luke lengthened his stride, and loped away down the incline.
*
Peeking out from their perch behind the open lower gate of Christ Church College, Ed and Tom Lucy spotted Settle as he hastened along the pavement opposite. Conspicuous because their section of the road was virtually deserted – with all attention concentrated on the area around the impromptu speaking stage – the scurrying pamphleteer looked back over his shoulder to check no one was following, and approached the inn.
‘See that?’
‘Aye – looks like it might be one of our pair. No idea what’s happened to the other one, but still.’
The captains buttoned up their tunics to the neck, attached their scabbards to their belts, and set out across the road, immediately seeing Luke’s converging figure to their right. The Sandys brothers greeted each other with a wave, and – without words passing between them – the Guards followed Luke across the threshold.
‘Stop right there!’ Luke cried. At the far side of the room, Settle was in the very act of straightening up from bending down to retrieve the document wallet – which he stuffed hastily into his inside pocket. He flinched, but quickly recovered his poise.
‘You’ve no business with me. I’m retrieving some personal property, is all. Now you’d better get out of my way, and let me get back to the meeting.’ There was a rustle, as Ed and Tom Lucy both drew their sabres, and Settle gulped and shrank back.
‘I’m arresting you for the murder of the landlord here, Ged Unsworth, for one,’ Luke said, advancing on him with the captains behind him on either side. ‘And I demand you tell me what you’ve done with Catherine Napper! Where is she?’
A sly look came over the face of the Green Ribbon man.
‘Friend of yours, is she? You know she’s a Papist, yet you do nothing about it!’ Luke seized Settle by his lapels, and pinned him against the back wall.
‘If I don’t get her back safe and sound, it’ll go ill with you, I swear.’
‘Let me go! You’ve no evidence against me.’
‘Oh, haven’t I just?’
Chapter 67
A Small Chink of Hope?
‘What the Devil’s going on out there?’ Hawkins cursed. Armstrong, whom Cate in her dejection recognised as the man whose untimely arrival had stymied her escape, pushed open the unlocked door without the usual knock, entering with another Green Ribbon in a state of agitation.
‘College has lost them!’
‘What d’you mean, “lost them”?’
‘A man’s been arrested for killing Harbord.’
‘That’s happened before.’
‘Aye, but this one’s confessed. Men in the crowd knew about it – we didn’t.’
‘He’s supposed to get their blood up for the spectacular!’ Hawkins spat in disgust. ‘You were supposed to fix the crowd, you and Norton.’
‘Norton’s taking a turn on stage now, trying to get the thing back on course.’
As the four Green Ribbons glared at each other, Francis stood up and took a pace forward from the far end of the enclosed space.
‘No point going through with it now, then.�
�
‘When we want your opinion, Francis, we’ll ask for it,’ Hawkins shot back. Cate pricked up her ears, feeling the tiniest lift in the near-unbearable weariness that had descended on her as she stood, manacled to the deadly wood-and-iron apparatus that articulated with the giant cartwheel. Maybe, as she’d been hoping, her captors would not all turn out to be on the same side, at least not on the matter of the ‘spectacular’. But surely it was too late to make any difference? For what seemed like the hundredth time, she was scourged by conflicting feelings of injustice, and of self-reproach for her own part in her predicament. If only she had not looked back, as she slipped through the door! Or was this, perhaps, even a punishment for her sin, of entertaining thoughts of a married man? Thank God she had confessed and sought absolution through Father Morris.
She was getting pins and needles in her right ankle, since the cord Hawkins had attached there had also bound in a fold of her skirt, and trapped it at an odd angle; so she jiggled her leg, as unobtrusively as she could. Might as well try to relieve that trivial discomfort, at least. As she looked down, the fabric pulled clear of the rope, and she felt a distinct loosening of the restraint. What was this? Checking that she was not being watched, she flexed the ankle experimentally, finding that there was some leeway in the knot – enough, perhaps, to allow her to free her foot. It was the last of her limbs to be fastened, she remembered – and Hawkins had been interrupted while tying it. He must have missed a loop.
To be able to extricate herself from one of four fetters was of little practical use, to be sure, even if she could – as long as the other three were all tight – but this, too, was a minor chink of hope. She would keep the foot where it was for now, but she might be able lift it out if the need arose.