Traitor

by David Hingley

  ‘Do you like them?’ said a man she had not noticed come alongside. ‘A gift from the Russian ambassador last year. Pelicans, they are called. And I am called Henry Raff.’

  ‘Mr Raff,’ she said, turning to look. He was around her age, wearing fashionable clothes of colourful hue, his doublet slashed to reveal the silk beneath. He was … extremely attractive, jet-black hair and immaculate beard, and she realised she had seen him before.

  ‘I saw you at the ball last night,’ he confirmed. ‘From across the room. A shame you had to leave.’ He held out an arm, keeping the other behind his back. ‘May I?’

  Taken with his appearance, she accepted. She allowed him to steer her from the mesmerised crowd until he halted in the shade of a tree.

  ‘I shall not long disturb your stroll,’ he said. ‘But I was told by my friend you were walking in the park and I could not ignore the chance to approach you.’ Releasing her arm, he pulled a yellow rose from behind his back. ‘For you. It will go well with your dress.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She could not help but smile. ‘Mr Raff.’

  ‘Henry,’ he said, and then he leant in, arresting his lips an inch from her neck. ‘I know you are close with Sir William. But do not forget, there are other men about you. Younger men, more able to … please.’ He retreated a pace. ‘Look for me in the palace whenever you want. For now, let me bid you good day.’

  He bowed and walked away as quickly as he had come, falling in beside another spruce courtier who laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. The pair ambled off, leaving Mercia to the rose and the pelicans, but a short way along Raff paused and turned his head, giving her another broad smile. She watched him as he disappeared towards the palace, and smelling the fine scent of the flower in her hand, a surprised satisfaction coursed through her. But then she shook her head, for she knew well the stories of the men of Whitehall – the bored and competitive men of Whitehall – and she resumed her canalside stroll, although she swung the carefree rose by its stalk.

  Keen to soak up the sun a half-hour more, she reached the park’s limits, the pell-mell courts where men played at ball and hoop stretching out to her right. And then, her legs finally tiring, she dragged herself back, sauntering along her usual line of beech trees, wanting to prolong the enjoyment of the early afternoon breeze.

  Up ahead, a woman in dark clothing emerged from behind one of the beeches. Disarmed by Raff’s charm, Mercia took less notice than she otherwise might have, and she stepped to one side to pass by. But as she drew level, the woman coughed.

  ‘Good morrow, Mrs Blakewood,’ she said. ‘How agreeable to see you in London once more.’

  Mercia stopped still. It had been almost a year, but she recognised that voice.

  ‘And he was such a handsome man,’ the woman continued. ‘Aren’t you going to pick that up?’

  The rose, loosely held, had dropped to the ground, one petal fallen from the rest. Betraying none of her mounting emotion, Mercia turned to take in the creased visage, the narrowing eyes, the well-worn folds of skin. The woman was wearing a man’s broad hat, but she knew underneath would be a clutch of white hair, for she had seen this person before.

  ‘Mrs Wilkins,’ she managed.

  ‘I’m touched,’ said the woman. ‘You remember old One-Eye.’

  The warmth of the day had all gone. ‘I remember.’

  ‘Then it will be pleasant for us to talk together a while.’

  Mercia looked along the line of beeches. Now that she noticed, she could see a man leaning against one of the trunks.

  ‘One of yours?’ she asked.

  One-Eye shrugged. ‘The sooner we talk, the sooner you can return to your newfound comforts.’

  ‘I cannot be seen with you here.’

  ‘You have little choice. But if you prefer, we can talk in the shade of that big tree over there. Don’t think to walk away. We have matters to discuss.’

  Thinking it best to comply, Mercia led the way to the indicated spot, somewhat hidden from the canal. It was all she could do to keep her face set.

  ‘Well then,’ said One-Eye. ‘Your trip to America was quite the success, I am told.’

  She frowned. ‘Told by whom?’

  ‘By one of a hundred sailors, Mrs Blakewood. As soon as the first men returned, they spoke of you in the taverns. Not quite the usual thing for them, was it, to have a beautiful woman on their ship? You delayed your own return, I see, but here you are at last.’

  ‘So it seems. How did you know where to find me?’

  One-Eye cackled. ‘I am master of a host of smugglers. I know men in every port. Those in Southampton learnt of your arrest and found out where you were taken. I have had Whitehall watched ever since. You have taken this same walk in the same park at the same time for the past few days. You are wearing the finest clothes. If you do not want to be found, you should take more care.’

  ‘You live up to your name, Mrs Wilkins. It seems you do have one eye on everything around you.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear.’

  ‘Now what do you want?’

  One-Eye grinned, her chipped teeth showing through the gaps. ‘My men have a temper, Mrs Blakewood. They do not like to see me talked harshly with. And after I helped you with your little task for the King last year. How ungrateful.’

  ‘Mrs Wilkins, I am grateful. I merely ask what you want of me now.’

  ‘You recall our bargain, Mercia?’ One-Eye leant against the tree. ‘That if I were to give you the name of that man you sought, I might come to you for some favour in return?’

  Could chills freeze over? Mercia grew as icy as the canal must do in winter.

  ‘I recall how you extorted that promise with a knife at my manservant’s cheek.’

  ‘A deal is a deal, my dear. When I heard where your fortunes had taken you, I knew I had to redeem your vow without delay.’

  ‘That will depend on what you ask.’

  She shook her head. ‘There is no question of dependence. I ask and you do, that is how this works.’ She hacked up a cough, but then the cough turned into a fit, and she beat at a spot below her neck until she stopped. ‘Yes. I ask, you do.’

  ‘Not unwell, I hope,’ said Mercia.

  ‘Quite well.’ But then she coughed again, and had to clear her throat several times before she could continue. ‘Now, my dear,’ she said at last. ‘You are in a rare position, wouldn’t you say? Living at the palace. Taking up as mistress to Sir William Calde.’

  The leaves above them fluttered in the breeze. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘That I do is all that matters. I want information, Mrs Blakewood. Information you can provide me.’

  ‘I am hardly about to do that.’

  ‘I’ve wanted someone inside the palace for years. I admit, perhaps, I have someone who … tells me things now and then. But you can get close to the powerful. Give me morsels of intelligence I can use if ever I need to … persuade them of anything.’

  ‘You mean bribe them.’

  ‘My business is not without risk, Mrs Blakewood. Sometimes life becomes simpler if the men with the power can make lesser men look away.’

  Mercia stared. ‘I do not know if you have noticed, but we are at war with the Dutch. I know full well that you ferry … cargos to Holland. I will not make it easier for you to smuggle to our enemy.’

  ‘Such fervour, my dear. But you must comply.’

  ‘And if I refuse?’

  ‘You recall my rules. Actions, even lack of them, lead to consequences.’

  ‘No, Mrs Wilkins.’ She shook her head. ‘If you insist on payment for your scant help last year, you will have to devise some other form of compensation.’

  One-Eye pushed from the tree. ‘This is the payment I require. I want nothing else.’

  ‘Then you will have to think harder.’ She could feel the sweat forming on her back. ‘Or better still, cancel the debt in its entirety. You should know I have the ear of the King himself.’

  ‘A threat?�
�� She laughed. ‘And so this is your answer?’

  ‘There can be none other.’

  ‘Then consequences it is, Mrs Blakewood.’ One-Eye nodded at her man, and for an instant Mercia thought she was going to order him to strike. But he merely lingered to one side.

  ‘Enjoy what remains of your day,’ said One-Eye, as she led him into the sun. ‘We will talk again soon. Of that you can have no doubt.’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘I couldn’t see her.’ Barely out of breath from his brisk search of the park, Nicholas was still seething. ‘But she was never going to stay around.’

  ‘I said there was no sense in you looking. What would you have done if you had found her?’

  ‘Warned her to lay off. I may have been away a while, but I still have mates.’

  ‘Mates.’ Mercia shook her head. ‘Nicholas, she is a renowned smuggler. She must use scores of men.’

  ‘Yes, and it was me who got you involved with her, when we wanted her help last year.’

  ‘At my request.’

  He growled. ‘I should have known she’d show herself, making her threats. I should have made it my business to chase her off as soon as we came back.’

  ‘God’s truth, Nicholas, I have seen too much death of late to be concerned for the words of a self-appointed queen of smugglers. I told her I would not do as she asked.’

  ‘Well, I am worried. We’re not dealing with frontier settlers here, or nobles acting alone. These are nasty people if you get on their wrong side. You’ll have to stay in the palace until I can get Martin to ask around.’

  ‘One of your – mates?’

  ‘The one who arranged the meeting with One-Eye for us last year. He … deals with these things.’

  ‘You mean he is part of them.’ She looked at him but he chose to keep silent. ‘I am not going to be put off my walk, Nicholas. I cannot stay in the palace the whole time.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to let me come with you. Maybe take Phibae too.’

  ‘Have to?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘I do not have to do anything.’

  ‘And I suppose I’ll be the one struggling to write to Nathan to explain what happened, shall I? I made him a promise to look out for you, and I don’t mean to stop now.’

  ‘Why is it men think we need their help with everything?’ She sighed. ‘I know you mean well. But do not fret so.’ Her eyes flicked to the door and she put a quick finger to her lips. ‘She is back. Not a word more.’

  The door pushed open and Phibae entered, a smile on her face.

  ‘Here it is, Nicholas. It was not hard to find.’

  ‘Thanks for looking for it,’ he said, taking a shirt from her outstretched hand. ‘I knew I’d left it in my room.’

  ‘And I see Cerwen did launder it. I told you she would.’

  ‘Yes.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Cerwen.’

  Mercia looked at him askance; she could not help but notice how his cheeks had lightly flushed.

  ‘Thank you, Nicholas,’ she said. ‘You may go, if you wish.’

  He opened his mouth as if to protest, but then he nodded and vanished, leaving Phibae to shut the door.

  ‘Follow me into the bedroom,’ said Mercia, her hems swishing across the floor. ‘I am to see Sir William later. I want to change into something new.’

  Phibae smiled. ‘I promise you will look magnificent.’

  She sat at her dressing table, similar to Lady Herrick’s, but made of oak rather than walnut. ‘Perhaps the red dress this afternoon? I wish to surprise him after his council meeting. It will be well to take his mind off matters of war.’

  ‘Very good,’ said Phibae, reaching into the wardrobe for a beautiful silken dress that would rival anything Lady Castlemaine could wear.

  ‘But I am troubled, Phibae.’

  She set the dress on the bed. ‘How so, my lady?’

  ‘About Sir William. He is so recently returned from overseas I fear he is at a disadvantage with his fellows on the council. They must know much more of events in England than he.’ Gently, she pulled the silver wires that supported her ringlets from out of her hair. ‘I thought if I could know their wives better, their mistresses, I might help ease his way back into Court. Lady Cartwright, Lady Allcot, and suchlike.’

  Phibae loosened the folds of the dress Mercia was wearing, enough to heave the heavy garment over her head in one assured movement. ‘What would you like to know, my lady?’ She leant in. ‘Or would like me to find out?’

  Mercia laughed. ‘I see you understand me, Phibae. You have served at the palace long?’

  ‘Near ten years, since I was a girl. First under Cromwell, now the King. I know most of the maids here, and they know their mistresses.’ She untied the bow holding up Mercia’s bodice. ‘My, I tied this tight before. It didn’t dig in during your walk, did it?’

  ‘Not that I noticed.’

  ‘And your stays are comfortable?’

  ‘Yes, no need to change those.’ Unencumbered by her heavy dress, she twisted her neck to relieve the trapped tension. ‘I suppose I want to learn anything of interest about these women. What they like, whom they meet. What they favour. And do you know a maid named Faith? She serves Lady Simmonds, my aunt.’

  ‘Arms up, please.’ Phibae deftly removed the floral bodice, lying the patterned garment beside the discarded dress. ‘I have seen her, my lady. But I don’t think she’s been here long. About a month, if that. Lady Simmonds dismissed her last girl over some row or other.’

  ‘Why so?’

  ‘Nobody really knows. Nobody really liked her, in truth.’ She puffed out air through her teeth. ‘Mary, her name was. Folk said she was stealing, but I think there was more to it than that.’

  ‘Where was Faith before?’

  ‘Upriver, I think, at Hampton Court. Now hold still.’

  Splashing a little rosewater on Mercia’s arms and neck, she pulled on a new bodice and tied the fastenings at the back. The material was firm against her skin, even through her stays, but when Phibae pushed the whalebone down the front to hold the ensemble in place, all she could feel was its unyielding discomfort.

  ‘And now stand up, please,’ the taskmaster continued.

  Mercia obeyed, holding up her arms so that Phibae could haul on the new dress. ‘Why do we put ourselves through this pain, Phibae?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know, my lady. Keep your head straight.’

  Embarrassed at her thoughtlessness, Mercia chose not to protest when the expensive dress stuck in her hair – soon set right with a sharp tug of the delicate silk.

  ‘I am sorry, my lady. If you sit again, I can straighten that out.’ Phibae took up an ivory comb, brushing Mercia’s curls into place before firming up the topknot with deft skill. Finally, she reinserted the silver wires to trail her ringlets over her forehead, applied cochineal, and adhered a decorative patch to her left cheek: a tiny minstrel serenading from a boat.

  ‘Lady Cartwright won’t be able to find fault in this,’ said Phibae, regarding her creation with satisfaction. Then her face fell. ‘I only say as you mentioned her, my lady. And …’

  ‘What is it, Phibae?’

  ‘I … heard of your argument. I’m sorry if I speak out of turn.’

  ‘Heard from whom?’

  ‘From her … boy. Tacitus, they call him.’

  ‘I see.’ She craned her neck, as best she could with the whalebone jutting into her chest. ‘What do you know of her, then? Of Lady Cartwright?’

  Phibae’s eyes flicked away. ‘I shouldn’t like to say.’

  ‘Phibae, you may speak as you find. I told you it would help me to know.’

  She hesitated. ‘Well, I know little of Lady Cartwright. She doesn’t much speak to her own maids, let alone to me.’

  ‘She is not a pleasant person?’

  ‘Not to people like me.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  Phibae smiled sadly, tracing a finger along the skin of her hand. ‘But Tacitus is a good boy, my lady. Cle
ver.’

  ‘But his mistress treats him badly?’

  ‘I cannot say.’

  ‘Hmm.’ She gave her a glance, but Phibae chose to stay silent. ‘Then how long has Lady Cartwright known Sir Geoffrey Allcot? She and he are close, I understand.’

  ‘Several months, I think.’

  ‘And her husband?’

  ‘He is not often at Court. And …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘And when he is, he is not often in her chambers. But really, my lady, that is all I know.’

  ‘Then what of Lavinia Whent?’ she tried.

  ‘Oh, the opposite, my lady.’ Her taut shoulders seemed to relax. ‘Miss Whent is most generous.’

  ‘She says she knows of you.’

  ‘She has talked with me, once or twice.’

  ‘And what do you think of her?’

  She began to tidy the dressing table. ‘I think that … I think she means well, my lady.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But she is young.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Mercia waited for more, but again Phibae had fallen silent, and in all honesty, Mercia could little blame her. ‘And Lady Allcot?’ she prompted. ‘I tried to see her this morning, but her maid said she was away.’

  ‘All I know of Lady Allcot is that she spends half her time at Hampton Court.’

  ‘Do you know why?’

  She walked to close the door to the wardrobe. ‘For the same reason many ladies of the Court spend time away from their husbands.’

  ‘She has a lover, you mean?’

  Phibae stopped still. ‘You say I may speak as I find, my lady?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Then I think … she and her husband … they do not get on. She …’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘She doesn’t like him meeting Lady Cartwright. And I’ve heard, perhaps, she wants her revenge by doing the same herself.’

  ‘Revenge? That is an interesting notion, Phibae.’

  ‘I am sorry, my lady. I did not—’

  ‘No, that is helpful. You have said nothing wrong. Can you tell me anything similar of Lady Herrick?’