Puritan

by David Hingley

  Thorpe blinked madly as he turned his head, his mouth fallen half open in surprise. Clearly nobody had ever told him the reason Mercia was in America at all, and indeed why should they have?

  ‘The … the King’s business?’

  Sir William inclined his head. ‘And no, it is not for you to know on what business precisely, so do not ask.’

  Mercia looked at Sir William, feeling a strange appreciation for his words. ‘On which basis,’ she said to Thorpe, ‘you who claim to be loyal to the King, answer my question.’

  ‘Very well.’ Thorpe looked at her with darting eyes. ‘First, they have been seen in this area. Deny it or no, I think we all know the truth of that. And second, there is motive, that they want to stay hidden. They hope to cover their tracks by killing those with whom they have had most contact.’

  ‘Then why not kill me, Thorpe, I who am supposed to have harboured them?’ Percy shook his head. ‘Oh, that is right. Because they are not even here.’

  Thorpe ignored the taunt. ‘People may not like talking with me, but they talk with each other, and I hear what they say. And they say that George Mason visited Goffe and Whalley in New Haven, where he preached for them; that Clemency Carter gave them medicines when they were sick; that Hopewell Quayle supplied them with food and drink he traded from the Indians; that Silence Edwards talked with them when they were in want of company. And now all four are dead, the very four who had the most knowledge of their whereabouts. Except you, of course. I cannot explain that.’ He jutted out his chin. ‘Unless, of course, you have been aiding them.’

  ‘That is too far, Richard,’ said Lavington. ‘You cross a line when you accuse my son of that.’

  Mercia glanced from the one to the other. ‘Besides, it is still not proof. It is supposition.’

  ‘Refute it all you like. But the matter is slipping out of your hands.’ Thorpe nodded, as if to reassure himself. ‘I have made my accusations, and when I find where they are hiding, I will show you real proof you can no longer ignore.’

  ‘This is an insult,’ said Percy. ‘If that is all, Father, then I can stand this malice no longer. I will be outside, taking some air.’

  ‘Take as much air as you like,’ said Thorpe. ‘But think hard on what I have said, as others in the town are beginning to. Then perhaps you will see that the answer has been in front of you this whole time, and that turning over those men is the best course of action you can take.’

  By the time Mercia had finished speaking with Sir William, Percy had vanished. Deep in thought, she walked slowly back towards her cottage. Under normal circumstances she would have dismissed Thorpe’s contentions as fanciful, the accusations of an aspirant bent on rooting out his enemies to prove his loyalty to the King’s men recently arrived on his shores. And yet, there was something in the force of his words, something that gnawed at her. Whalley and Goffe, Dixwell too, these were men who were wanted for treason, who would be executed if they were discovered. Was it not just possible that such men, forced to hide for so long in cramped quarters, was it not just possible that they could turn to savage acts to preserve their hounded lives? Like Godsgift Brown, she thought, they were versed well enough in war, to the atrocities of battle and the deaths of friends.

  She turned the corner at the meeting house, eyes to the ground. She knew Dixwell, a little, and had reason to trust him, but she did not know the other two, the father-in-law and son-in-law. Was that familial connection strong enough that they might work together on such desperate crimes? Whalley had come to the aid of the town during the Indian attack, true, and that did not chime with Thorpe’s accusation. And what of the methods of killing, the hanging, drawing and quartering? With a sickening lurch, as she approached the cottage gate, she realised it could be a comment on the fate that awaited the regicides themselves if ever they were captured. Perhaps … a kind of message to those who would investigate … to those believers like Percy, she thought, who would never betray them, not even then, who knew the intricacies of their lives and where they hid away. She had heard how such killers sometimes needed to confess.

  And then, one hand on the gate, she stopped. The codes that had been left on the bodies. What if they too, as she had speculated, had been placed to confess? And if they were such a confession … if they were … would there not also exist, left somewhere secret, the means for those trusted friends to decipher them?

  She turned back. The guilt that rose up was immense, but in the face of Thorpe’s assertions she had to find out, if only to eliminate the doubt. Thorpe may not know where to start looking for the proof he so badly sought, but she did, and she would fetch Nicholas, and she would go looking herself now.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  ‘Are you sure about this?’

  Nicholas was feeling his way through the trees by the light of a diminishing torch, the greys and purples of dusk obscured to black by the encroaching woods. Foregoing horses because of the darkness, they were making slow progress.

  ‘Not at all.’ She reached up to stop a gnarled branch swinging into her face as he pushed past it in front. ‘But I feel guilty enough as it is. I need to do this while I am still able.’

  A sigh came from up ahead as he stopped. ‘This is hopeless. See, we should have brought Percy. He knows the path.’

  ‘I told you, I did not want him to come. I am sure nothing will be there, but … he is too involved.’

  ‘It won’t matter if we can’t find the cave at all.’

  ‘Just keep going. I found it last time.’

  ‘Yes, in the middle of the day.’

  She blew out her cheeks. ‘Look. There should be a cloven stump soon. I think. Then all we need do is head in the direction of the long root at its base.’

  It was near impossible to see what lay in front, the hems of her dress dragging in the leaves and the dirt. Nicholas was continuously swearing: she knew he thought this madness, but he had come even so. Nathan would have too, she supposed, but she was furious that he had written to Sir William, even more that he hidden from her the nobleman’s arrival. It was an argument she would happily delay until she returned to the town. If she returned, that was, for out here in the wilderness, the sounds of the forest growing ever louder as darkness enveloped them, her fantasies taunted her that she could be lost out here for ever, and that Daniel would never see his vanished mother again.

  Calm yourself, she ordered. Trusting to Nicholas and his torch, and to her hands, reaching out to find safe ways around branches and scrub, she forced herself to press on. Then there it was, the cloven stump, and they followed the root, listening for the sound of the river to grow until they arrived at the heart-shaped carving, and finally the hollow itself. Passing once more into the walled-in space, the darkness fell stronger still, but Nicholas raised his torch and the flames bounced from the rocks, drawing light into its hidden realm.

  He called from within his halo. ‘Where is the cave?’

  ‘Here. The far corner.’

  He lowered his torch, swinging the flickering light left and right until he found the opening. ‘What – that? How on earth did they live in there?’

  How indeed, she thought. Still, she bent to go in, pulling in her dress, stooping to fit her topknot under the stony passage roof.

  Nicholas had other ideas. ‘Wait. I’ll go first and let you know if there’s room.’

  ‘There has to be. Three men were living here for a number of days. Besides, I do not want to stand out here on my own. Foolish, I know, but still.’

  ‘Very well, but I’ll lead. Grab hold of my shirt and follow me in.’

  Holding the torch before him, he crouched to slip through the narrow opening. She caught up a fold in his shirt back and, the chill ever growing, allowed him to pull her through. She banged her head twice as they passed through the passage, squeezing sideways to come into the cave proper, envying Nicholas his man’s shirt and breeches as she watched him glide in. Once inside the cave they straightened up, but she felt the bum
py roof on her topknot before she could stand fully upright. The lit, open space was larger than would be supposed, the further reaches of the cavern still shrouded in darkness.

  ‘I wonder how he discovered it,’ she mused, looking at the shadows on the walls and ceiling.

  ‘How does anyone? When you need somewhere to hide, you find it.’ Nicholas inched deeper into the cave, swinging the torch. The already weakening light flickered.

  ‘Take care,’ she said. ‘We will be in trouble if that goes out.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Hold it a moment, would you?’

  He passed her the torch and bent down to pick up a long, branch-like object from the floor. ‘Look. Here’s another one.’

  ‘Still, not much use if this burns out first.’

  ‘Then let’s be quick. If that starts to go down, we’ll light this one.’ He looked around. ‘What are you searching for?’

  ‘Hopefully nothing. But I have to be certain. Can you take back the torch while I look?’

  Although low-roofed, the cave was deep, and many discarded items littered the earthen floor. In one corner loomed clear evidence that someone had stayed here: seeds and bones, the remnants of meals. As Nicholas passed the torch around the space, different sections became illuminated, others tumbling into blackness. The effect was eerie, giving the constant impression that the cave was shrinking and being reformed.

  ‘Wait.’ She held up a hand Nicholas could not have seen. ‘What is that over there?’

  ‘Over where?’

  ‘Just behind you. That – rectangular shape. I think … is it a chest of some sort?’

  ‘I don’t know. Let me—’

  A loud crack resounded through the cave. Nicholas cried out, slumping to the floor and dropping the torch. As it bounced on the hard surface, a cloth appeared as if from nowhere, cast across the light. Within moments, the cave had plunged into total darkness.

  ‘Nicholas,’ she called out, her voice echoing. ‘Nicholas!’

  A low moaning came from in front. She edged forwards, blind, but she stepped too far and she fell over his outstretched leg. Falling over headfirst, she put out her hands in involuntary reflex; they smashed into the hard ground, the force of her rigid arms vibrating through her chest in agony, but she managed to roll over into a crouching stance. Her sight gone, her other senses combined with the tension coursing through her blood to set her on high alert.

  ‘Who is there?’ she called. ‘That cloth did not throw itself.’

  Try as she might, she could not keep the trembling from her voice. Not being able to see was terrifying. She was aware of a damp smell all around her, and the steady dripping of water through rock from somewhere to her right. And then – a shuffle of feet on the other side of Nicholas, near where she had seen the supposed chest. The sound of breathing, as unsteady as her own. A dull thud as something struck at Nicholas, causing his moans to cease.

  She backed away but could not retreat far: the rough sharpness of the stony cave wall soon pressed into her back. Then the shuffling became a scuffle, heading right for her. A feeling of terror flooded her soul, a snatching of absolute, total panic. She opened her mouth to plead for mercy, but found she could no longer speak.

  Whoever was in the cave paused right in front of her, and still she could not see, the darkness was so acute. But her heightened senses heard the irregular breaths, smelt the fresh leather of a jacket or coat.

  ‘Please,’ she stammered, her instinct for survival releasing her voice. ‘Please don’t.’

  For a moment the presence lingered. The image of her father on the scaffold flew uncalled into her mind. Was this what he had felt before his end? She raised her arms, readying for the attack. She would not die without resisting, not here in this dark cave, far from home. Now almost upon her, the presence paused, and she heard herself whining, a terrified, unhuman sound. But then it seemed to back away, the oppressiveness lifting. And then Nicholas groaned anew, regaining his wits.

  She heard him pull himself up. ‘Mercia,’ he croaked. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Nicholas, there is someone with us!’

  She waited for the presence to strike, not daring to move. But then she realised the breathing had gone, and she could no longer smell leather. Instinctively she felt out with her arms, but – there was nothing.

  ‘Is he still here? Nicholas, can you tell?’

  A hand brushed against her own. She screamed out, the cry reverberating round the cave.

  ‘’Tis just me,’ said Nicholas, his voice close. He clutched at her forearm. ‘Just me.’

  ‘Where is he?’ She reached out once more. ‘He was here. Right in front.’

  For an anxiety of moments they felt round the cave, crawling in the dirt, keeping a hand always touching. But of their ghostly companion they encountered no trace.

  She breathed out in pure relief. The presence had gone.

  Nicholas winced as she dabbed at a wound on his temple, splashing a piece of cloth she had ripped from his shirt with water from the stream near the hollow. Back in the open air, her heart was still pounding, her senses on edge, but at least she could now see, to a point.

  ‘I don’t know what’s worse,’ he said. ‘The stinging from that water or the pain in our eyes when we came out of the cave. I never knew night could be so bright.’

  ‘Anything is bright compared to in there.’ She wrung out the cloth. ‘Stop moving your head.’

  ‘I’m thankful I’ve a head left to move. Then again, I don’t think he meant to kill me, just put me out. He didn’t hit me hard enough for that.’

  She paused with the cloth in her hand. ‘I was sure he was going to kill me. When he came forwards.’ Renewed terror fluttered down her spine. ‘But before you came round, he halted, as though he was looking at me, even though he could not see. And then he left.’

  ‘You think it was the murderer? One of them, at least?’

  ‘I think it could have been.’

  ‘Perhaps it was Percy, come to do the same we have.’

  She shook her head. ‘Whoever it was, he knew it was me. I called your name. Percy would have revealed himself.’

  ‘Thorpe, then?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ She sighed. ‘Do you think he could be a murderer, Nicholas? I am not sure. Why make up such a story about the regicides if he were?’

  He shrugged. ‘To pass blame onto them, away from himself? To sow doubts to bring them into the open, while punishing those who helped them hide?’ She dabbed again at his wound; this time he bore the sting. ‘But it sounds a little extreme.’

  ‘Not to me, not any more. We have seen enough fanatics in our time to believe the same could be happening in America. And Thorpe is adamant about tracking those men down. Whatever else he is, he has threatened to find them out. Maybe he followed us here.’

  ‘Maybe he followed at some point in the past, or maybe someone else did, but not tonight. That man was in there before we arrived. He only attacked when we got close.’

  She straightened up. ‘Well, if he was not looking for the regicides themselves, then perhaps he was looking for something else. We may have surprised him before he could finish his task.’ She walked a few yards along the river, carefully setting down one foot before raising the other, until she stooped to paw at the earth. ‘Come, Nicholas. Put some of those old sailors’ skills to use.’

  He lurched upright. ‘How so?’

  She began to amass a pile of twigs, calling him across. Between tending to his injury and talking she seemed to have vanquished her former fear.

  ‘You can start a fire, can you not, to relight our torch? Relight both torches, indeed. That other we saw must have been his, dropped as he heard us enter.’ She reached for more twigs. ‘So when we go back in, that should make the task quicker, thank God.’

  It took longer than she had hoped for Nicholas to light the fire, but he managed it, using a sharp stone he found at the side of the stream. Once the fire was going he disappeared into the cave, em
erging soon after with one of the torches, which he lit before returning for the other.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said as he handed the second torch across. She reached down to light it. ‘Now we had best extinguish this fire.’ She stamped on the ground, putting the flames out with her boots. ‘Are you ready?’

  He grinned. ‘Always.’

  The warmth of the gesture encouraged her, in spite of the renewed dread she was feeling, and she knew he had done it on purpose.

  ‘Then let us go in quickly in case he decides to return.’

  They squeezed back inside, checking again for signs of an intruder, but this time there was nobody there. Hasty all the same, they swept their torches over each part of the cave, circling the walls before coming to the middle. As she had thought, there was a small chest to one side, composed of two drawers; a pen and inkstand sat atop.

  Nicholas was beginning to cough. ‘There is too much smoke from these torches,’ he said. ‘How did they live in here? It must have been dark most of the time.’

  She leant down to the chest. ‘I suppose they slept when it was night, one of them probably on watch, and when it was light, they came into the hollow.’

  She tugged at the handle of the top drawer, but it was locked. The bottom drawer pulled open, but there was nothing inside.

  She looked at Nicholas. ‘Whoever that man was, he may have emptied this already. But the top drawer is secure. Have you found a key?’

  ‘No. But let me see.’

  She stood aside so he could examine the drawer. He took one look, drew a knife from his belt, and stabbed into the puny lock.

  ‘Shame I could not use this earlier, when that bastard was here.’ He twisted the tip of the blade. ‘There. It should open now.’ He tugged at the handle and the drawer flew from the chest, scattering its contents as it tumbled to the ground.

  Mercia crouched down. ‘Watch the entrance, will you?’

  As he moved off, she rummaged through the objects that had fallen from the drawer: a chain of some sort; a buckle, perhaps broken from a belt; a Bible; a whole sheaf of papers now littered about. She leafed through them.