New World

by Jo Macauley

  Beth crossed to the window and looked out. The river glimmered in the faint moonlight and willows dangled their tendrils in the water like humpbacked figures.

  “This place used to be a prison cell,” John said, pointing out iron rings in the wall that had chains hanging from them. “Why would you need a prison in a palace?”

  “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?” Ralph guessed. “Anyway, look at the rust. Nobody’s been locked up here in years. Let’s have a look around.”

  The new owner – Beth was convinced she knew who it was – was using the place as a combined storeroom and office. The objects piled up in the centre of the room proved to be travelling trunks, and a writing desk stood in the corner. She caught her breath as she saw how neatly the quill, ink, papers and sand had been laid out. Whoever had done that was a careful, meticulous planner. Beth’s stomach churned with excitement.

  “This trunk’s open,” John hissed.

  Beth tore herself away from the desk and went to look. It was full of clothes. Like the desk, everything was neat – carefully folded and stacked. There were many different garments, almost like the wardrobe department of her theatre. Beth fingered the cloth, taking note of the quality. Then something else struck her.

  “This is a gentleman’s coat. But this is a clergyman’s shirt, do you see? And this is a military jacket, ribbons and all.”

  “Why are they bringing clothes for half a dozen different men?” Ralph muttered.

  “They aren’t,” said Beth meaningfully. She held up two of the shirts so that Ralph could see the sizes matched exactly. “These are all for one man.”

  Ralph’s mouth opened as he suddenly understood what Beth meant. “No wonder they’ve never caught him. He’s thought of everything, ain’t he?”

  Beth’s gaze fell on a pile of white silk kerchiefs. They were of exceptional quality, the finest money could buy. The sort of thing a man couldn’t bear to part with, even if he’d had to leave all else behind...

  “Almost everything,” she whispered. She gently picked up one of the kerchiefs. It was as light and fine as gossamer. And there, in the corner, was the embroidered mark she’d been looking for: HJV.

  Henry J. Vale.

  “It’s him,” she said softly. “Look.”

  John frowned. “He goes to all that trouble to hide his identity, then has his kerchiefs monogrammed? Maybe he’s not as smart as we thought.”

  “No, he’s had these for a long time,” Beth said. She could feel it with her deepest instincts. “These are souvenirs of who he used to be, back when he had power and wealth. He must have taken them with him when he fled the country.”

  From the floor below came the sound of a door closing.

  “Listen!” John hissed.

  They all fell silent.

  Next moment, footsteps were coming up the stairs. More than one person.

  “Hide!”

  Ralph and John dashed across the room to the staircase that led up to the top of tower and hunkered down in the dark, hoping whoever was coming had no reason to go up that far. Beth ran the other way, to the window. She hid behind the curtain, feeling half terrified and half ridiculous. What a childish hiding place – and yet there was no time to change her mind. Were her feet sticking out? She had no way to know. Very carefully she put one eye to the tiny gap between the curtains.

  Two men came into the room, one of them holding a lamp that blazed like a bonfire in her dark-accustomed eyes. Even through the dazzle, she could see it was Hewer – and she could hear his raspy breathing, a result of the smoke from the Great Fire, she guessed. For a moment she let herself imagine a desperate swordfight with Hewer on top of the tower, ending with her kicking the man off the edge. Then she shook her head quickly. That was the stuff of stage melodrama. This was reality.

  “What’s to be done with this lot?” said the other man, the one Beth didn’t recognize. He had a large wart on his neck that dangled repulsively like a turkey’s wattle.

  “The other stuff’s already gone – to Dorcas,” said Hewer. He sighed, coughing a little as he did. “On second thoughts let’s leave these where they are for now. They can go with himself in the carriage tonight.”

  Dorcas? Beth thought.

  The man nodded. “Anything to bring from up top?”

  Beth held her breath as the men looked in John and Ralph’s direction.

  “No,” Hewer said. “Nobody ever goes up there except him, and he only does it when he wants to have a quiet think. Walking the battlements, like. Come on. We’ve time for a beer before we start.”

  As the two of them left the room, Beth slipped out of hiding. “They’re gone,” she whispered up to the others.

  John stood up and emerged from the shadows. “Thank God.”

  “They’ll be back,” Ralph said. “You two search the place, fast. I’ll keep lookout.”

  Beth nodded, and began quickly looking through the writing desk in the corner. Oddly, the drawer contained bills of sale for large amounts of tobacco, all organized by date. There was a sheaf of paperwork relating to shipping too. The writer – Vale beyond a doubt – had been sending cargoes backwards and forwards to America.

  “John, look at this!”

  “So that’s how he’s making his money,” John said. “Trading with the New World.”

  “Hurry it up!” Ralph whispered.

  “Who do you suppose Dorcas could be?” Beth asked, leafing quickly through the papers.

  “Perhaps a housekeeper in Vale’s new house?” guessed John. “Or maybe Vale has a daughter none of us know about?”

  Now there was a possibility Beth didn’t want to dwell upon. Vale had many lives now. That gave her a thought. “Every one of these costumes is one of Vale’s identities. We need to try and take note of all of them. It could be a big help in tracking him down if he got away...”

  Ralph nodded. “You check the outfits and anything else that’s in the trunks. I’ll go with John and see what we can search of the rest of the tower.”

  “Be careful,” John warned.

  “Be quick!” Beth replied. The young men headed off down the front stairs.

  Left alone, Beth began rifling through the trunks as fast as she could. Every time she came across a new kind of outfit, she made a note. Vale had thought of everything, she realized; even his henchmen had multiple sets of clothes, so that they could blend in without arousing suspicion.

  “But you’re not as cunning as you like to think you are, Mister Vale,” she whispered. “There’s always someone out there who’s cleverer than you. Someone you’ll never expect.”

  After five minutes of rummaging she had noted down seven of Vale’s separate identities. She kneeled down with her back to the rear stairs to start work on a new trunkload, but this one was mostly filled only with silken bedsheets and pillowcases. There had to be more interesting stuff buried deeper down. She eagerly pulled the sheets out, leaving them piling up on the floor next to her, but there seemed to be nothing inside but an endless supply of bedding. Beth leaned in to check for a false bottom, absolutely certain she would find one. She was so engrossed that she never heard anyone come into the room.

  She only knew the man behind her was there when he spoke.

  “Oi! Who are you? What are you up to?”

  Beth tried to turn around, but he was on her too fast, and she realized it was the man with the hideous wart who had been in here before. He had her wrists in his grasp before she could do anything. She tried to kick his shins and twist her arms free, but he held her at arm’s length, pushing her painfully back over the lip of the trunk. An ugly grin spread over his face and he pushed harder, forcing her all the way inside.

  “No!” Beth yelled. “Don’t!”

  He gave a final brutal shove, forcing her down into the depths of the trunk, then slammed the lid. She tried to straighten up, forcing her shoulders against the lid like Atlas supporting the world, but the man had his weight on the trunk lid now and she c
ouldn’t budge it. The lock gave a sharp rattle and click and she heard the key being taken out. Then his footsteps moved away.

  I’m trapped in here, she thought. He’s locked it.

  She was too furious with herself to panic. Being caught with her back to an entrance? That was an amateur error. Never mind what Strange would think – she was bitterly angry. She ought to be better than that by now.

  The chest was uncomfortable, cramped and pitch dark, and the smell of lavender was overpowering. To keep moths away, she thought. Now panic began to set in, welling up under the anger. She really was trapped in here and she could do nothing about it. She could smash her hands and feet against the wood until they were bloody, and it would do no good.

  Think, she told herself. You need to breathe. So how are you going to? The keyhole! Wart-man had removed the key. She set her lips against the cold metal and inhaled, sucking air into her lungs. It was hard going, but it was enough. She forced herself to calm down and control her breathing. If she could take slow breaths, she’d not only have a better chance of surviving, she’d keep the panic at bay too.

  There were voices outside. Beth pushed her ear against the keyhole to listen.

  “...still in there, is she?” said Hewer’s raspy voice.

  “Well, I didn’t know what else to do wiv ’er, did I?” said the wart-man. “I came in ’ere and she was pinching the sheets...”

  “She wasn’t,” Hewer said scornfully. “She was looking for something. Odds on she’s a spy.”

  “What do we do, then? Kill her?”

  Beth’s heart pounded. She drew her hatpin out. She might get one chance, if she was lucky. She’d aim for the eyes.

  “Not without himself’s say-so,” Hewer said. “He doesn’t want any killing done unless he’s given the word personally. Besides, he’ll want to know she was poking around.”

  “You’d better tell him, then.”

  “Of course I’ll tell him, you coward. But now she’s in there, we best not let her out. You drag the trunk down the back stairs to Vale’s study. Let me do the talking.”

  Panic hit Beth then like a cannonball in the stomach. She was trapped, about to be hauled into the presence of Henry Vale himself. He was a killer – he’d done it countless times before. And she knew, with a sickening deep-down certainty, that he wouldn’t kill her quickly and cleanly. Not Vale. He must know she was Strange’s agent, so he’d want to make her talk first. Milk her for every last agonizing drop of information. She would probably wish she was dead before he was done with her. And now the trunk was moving.

  She was being pulled across the floor.

  Chapter Six - In His Presence

  “I wish we could have brought a lantern with us,” John whispered as he and Ralph descended the stairs. “Or even a candle. It’s so dark in this place. I expect Vale likes it that way.”

  “Carrying a light’s the easiest way to get yourself noticed,” Ralph replied, then he grunted in pain as he hit his shin on a wooden crate, all but invisible in the near darkness.

  “I know!” John hissed. “But how are we meant to look for clues if we can’t see anything?”

  “I’ve flint and tinder. How about we shut up, eh?”

  They groped their way to the foot of the stairs and found themselves in a passage with doors on all sides. The sound of gruff voices came from behind the door at the end. It was slightly ajar, and light flickered in the narrow gap. John was about to suggest they turn round, but Ralph was already heading forward. The voices grew louder. Six men, maybe more. John swallowed. They were more heavily outnumbered than he’d expected.

  “This lot must have been in here all along,” whispered Ralph. “Hewer and Groby must have brought them food and drink from outside. That’ll be what the boxes were. Supplies.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Vale’s personal bodyguards, at a guess,” Ralph said quietly.

  John glanced back down the passage, all but certain that someone would come down the stairs behind them at any moment. They’d be trapped if that happened. All of a sudden, it seemed like a very bad idea to still be here. They shouldn’t have split up. Strange would have called that an amateur mistake...

  “Let’s fetch Beth and get out of here,” he whispered.

  “Hush up, can’t you? I’m listening!”

  John had no choice but to listen too.

  “...nothing left to do but wait,” a man was saying. “When’s that blasted carriage getting here?”

  “Nine o’clock sharp,” said another. “It won’t be here a minute earlier or later. You know Vale. Everything has to be exact.”

  “God forbid you so much as crease his bedsheets,” said another.

  That remark made John think of the Dorcas person they’d mentioned. He doubted she was in there with the men, whoever she was. If she was staying at the tower, then maybe one of these rooms down the passageway belonged to her.

  “Let’s keep searching,” he suggested. “We can’t get inside that room to look around, can we? So let’s check these others.”

  “Fair enough,” Ralph finally agreed. They moved back down the hall, Ralph trying the doors, John watching out for approaching guards. Nothing stirred. John hoped Beth was all right where she was.

  The first two doors were locked, but the third opened onto a pitch-black room. They quickly ducked inside and Ralph sparked a light. The tiny flame revealed the furnishings of a bedchamber. The bed was an ornate four-poster, but the curtains and bedding had been removed, leaving only a mattress. A wooden wig stand stood on a dresser.

  “Vale’s room,” Ralph said. “Who else out of this lot would wear a wig, eh?”

  “Looks like he’s cleaned the place out,” John said. He pulled open the drawers, revealing them to be empty. “Why would he ... Hang on. It’s obvious. They’re getting ready to abandon this place for good!”

  “You’re right! Vale’s not just getting ready for another mission. He’s jumping ship!”

  “And the carriage arrives here at nine, they said. There’s just enough time to tell Strange what’s going on. We’ve got to go and get Beth—”

  But they both froze as he said this. Footsteps were approaching fast.

  Ralph blew the flame out. “Under the bed!” he whispered.

  They scrambled into the tiny space under the slats and lay there, praying that the door wouldn’t open.

  “Lads!” a voice was calling. John clenched his fists. Hewer! “Listen to this. You’ll never believe what Mathers has gone and done!”

  A babble of answering voices: “What?” “Go on, then.” “What’s he done now?”

  “He’s only gone and caught a spy!”

  John felt as if he were falling through the tower floor. It had to be Beth. Beside him he heard Ralph whisper, “Oh no. Oh no.”

  “Get away,” one of the men said lazily.

  “It’s the truth! Mathers caught her going through Vale’s things. He’s holding her prisoner right now.” The man gave a gloating chuckle. “Tell you what, I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes when Vale gets done with her.”

  Say where she is, John thought fiercely. Tell them where you’re keeping her.

  “So,” said one of the guards, “do we get to watch?”

  “Mathers is taking her to Vale,” Hewer replied, sounding disappointed. “I’m going back up there now. But you’ve all got your orders and you’re to wait for the carriage like we were told.”

  “Don’t worry about missing the show,” said a different bodyguard. “Most likely you’ll be able to hear the screams!”

  The men all laughed, and Ralph and John said nothing to one another. They didn’t need to. Silently they slipped out of their hiding place, opened the door, and headed for the staircase.

  * * *

  The trunk jolted every time it bumped down a step, but Beth refused to make a sound. She didn’t want to give whoever was out there the satisfaction. Besides, if she stayed quiet for long enough, they might think she
was running out of air and open the trunk to let her breathe.

  She was a captive spy. That made her valuable – too valuable to kill without questioning first. The thought of her coming interrogation ran cold fingers of dread down her spine, but at least it meant Vale would keep her alive to do so, and that bought her time; hopefully, enough time for Ralph and John to come and find her. If only she hadn’t had her stupid back to those stupid stairs! She wanted to kick herself, but there was no way to do it in this cramped space.

  After more painful bumping down stairs, the trunk came to a stop. A new voice was speaking now, one Beth hadn’t heard before. Ear to the keyhole, she strained to hear what he was saying.

  “...believe I left strict instructions that I was not to be disturbed?”

  “Yes, sir, I’m sorry, sir, but under the circumstances I thought you’d want to know,” said Hewer. He sounded like a grovelling butler instead of the thug he was.

  “I’m busy. Get out.”

  “B-but we’re under standing orders to tell you if we catch spies, Mister Vale,” Hewer whined, his dry voice cracking.

  Finally she was in Vale’s presence, Beth thought. His was a cultured voice, soft, very precise, and her life depended on what it said next. Beth stayed perfectly still, listening. Vale sighed wearily, and Beth heard a drawer slide shut.

  “Go on.”

  “It was Mathers who found her, sir, not me,” said Hewer. “He found a strange girl rooting through the trunks in the room upstairs, didn’t you?”

  Mathers mumbled an affirmative.

  “A girl?”

  “Yes, sir,” Hewer replied. “He shoved her in the trunk, so as to keep her from escaping, and we thought we’d best let you know right away, sir.”

  “And the contents of the trunk? Did you attend to them?”

  Silence for a moment. Then: “Mathers left them on the floor.”

  “I see,” said Vale. “My personal effects are left lying in the dirt. Attend to the matter now, Mathers, or I will be most displeased.”

  Beth heard Mathers hurry out of the room. A chair slid back. She heard Vale pat his hand on the top of the trunk. A mere thickness of wood divided her from him now. She could feel his presence through the lid of the chest.