Traitor

by David Hingley

  Mercia glanced at him. ‘Perhaps you should …’ She put a finger to her lips. ‘Alice, when does she see this man?’

  ‘Often, this past month.’ Mercia’s chiding of the page had given her confidence. ‘Always at Hampton Court. She comes at least once a week, often don’t tell her husband, but he don’t much care. Don’t even notice she’s gone half the time, and her maid up at Whitehall helps her keep it quiet. She says she needs to get out of the city.’

  ‘God’s wounds,’ Mercia swore. ‘Alice, if she was with this man now, where could she be?’

  The maid thought for a moment. ‘There’s a summer house in the grounds she likes to go of a morning. It’s out of the way in the woods, so she lets me stay here, to save me the walk. But all her things are gone!’

  ‘Every morning, Alice?’ she persisted.

  ‘Yes, most mornings when she’s here.’

  ‘Then if you were worried, did you not think to go there and look?’

  ‘I can’t.’ Her eyes moistened. ‘I’m told I must stay here, my lady.’

  The page snorted. ‘Can’t you think for yourself? If your mistress has vanished, then—’

  ‘Did you think to ask?’ said Nicholas.

  ‘Well no, but …’

  ‘Then keep quiet.’

  Alice rallied once more. ‘Do you want me to show you, my lady?’

  Mercia shook her head. ‘Your mistress is right. Someone should stay here in case she returns. Your young friend will take us.’

  She snapped her fingers and signalled behind her. Nicholas suppressed a grin as the page scuttled to open the door to usher them through, leaving Alice in the room alone.

  ‘Annoying cove, isn’t he?’ he said in the corridor, the page walking some way ahead.

  ‘A little,’ she agreed.

  ‘And this is all a mite obvious, no? She sent that maid on a fool’s errand last night, locked the door and went to see this man of hers. And now she’s sneaked away again. They’re probably at it all the time.’

  She looked at him. ‘Quite possibly, Nicholas. But we had better find out who this man is. And whether Lady Allcot is mixing treason with her pleasure.’

  Head held high, the page led them into the palace grounds, weaving his way through a number of unknown courtiers who stared as Mercia passed, wondering who she was, no doubt.

  ‘A pleasant aspect,’ she said of the view towards the river. ‘The palace too. I prefer it to Whitehall. The air is so much cleaner here. It feels more like home.’

  ‘Not to me.’ Nicholas wrinkled his nose. ‘I was getting used to the stench of London again.’

  ‘I enjoy the park, of course, but go into the city itself and – horrible smells, everywhere, horrible. If I had to spend much time there, I would be forced to walk around with a posy. Rosemary or some such.’

  ‘That’s probably wise, in truth. They say there’s one or two cases of plague about. I hear the Intelligencer reckons ’tis all over Europe, and you know what that means.’

  She shivered as they passed by a lithe pair of statues. ‘That it is on its way here.’

  ‘’Tis only the odd case, so perhaps we’ll be spared. But remember that comet last winter? Eve – my sister – said yesterday when I saw her that it flew over here the same as it did in New York.’

  ‘Is she worried?’

  ‘If it comes, they’ll take their chances with the rest of them. So will I, once I go back.’

  ‘Through this gap here,’ the page called from up ahead, waiting for them to catch up. ‘Do you see the curve in the river, the other side of this hedge? Just past there a path leads into the woods. That’s where you’ll find the summer house, but it’s not well kept. No one much goes there.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Might I return to my duties, my lady?’

  Mercia nodded, and he bowed and walked off, but not before Nicholas lunged at him; the page emitted a squeak and scurried away.

  ‘You did not have to do that,’ she admonished, turning towards the gap in the hedge.

  ‘Doesn’t hurt to give that sort a fright.’

  ‘Still.’ Not stopping to wait, she passed through the hedge, flicking off a stray leaf that settled on her shoulder. There was still a fair walk to the bend in the river, but the rain had given way to sunshine, and she enjoyed the few minutes it took to amble down. Just after the bend, an earthen track headed for the trees, and she scuffed at the dirt as she headed along it. At the edge of a sprawling wood, a lone white structure could be seen off the path.

  ‘The summer house,’ she said as they approached. ‘It has a good view of the river, but that page is right, ’tis quite out of sight.’ She raised her hand. ‘Wait. I think … can you hear something?’

  Nicholas lifted his head. ‘Yes, a sort of—’

  Of a sudden his eyes lit up, and he stole towards the summer house, taking great care not to make any sound. A circular window was set just above head height, and he reached to peer through. Then he shot to the ground, clutching his stomach with his right hand and swatting at the air with his left.

  ‘What is it?’ she whispered as she crept beside him, startled at the silent laughter creasing his face. But then standing on tiptoe she dared a glimpse through the window and swiftly understood. Eyes wide, she fell to join Nicholas on the ground.

  ‘By the Lord!’ she said. ‘Anyone could walk in on them!’

  ‘Like us,’ he managed. ‘I have to … quick … before I—’

  Struggling to maintain control, he crawled through the long grass until he was out of earshot of the summer house. With more decorum, Mercia stood and walked.

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘That is one way of furthering foreign relations.’

  Nicholas was breathing steadily in and out, struggling to calm his mirth. ‘My, that was some sight. Did you see how she was—?’

  ‘Nicholas! I saw. Now what do we do?’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure we should interrupt.’

  ‘But what if they are – what if she is telling him things?’

  ‘Passing the King’s secrets?’ He almost choked on his laughter. ‘I don’t think they were talking much, Mercia. Are you certain it was Lady Allcot? You could only see from one side.’

  ‘I did not much look, but – yes.’ She glanced towards the summer house, hand to her mouth. ‘But this is too sordid. I can hardly speak with her straight after … that.’

  ‘Why not?’ He giggled, a ridiculous sound from a grown man, she thought. ‘And we do need to know who’s with her.’ He beat at his chest, taking hold of himself. ‘Right. Wait down there by the river, as though you’re resting from a stroll. Watch the ducks. I’ll stay closer in, keep my eye on the summer house, and wave at you when they … finish.’

  The waterfowl did not hold her attention for long. Two ungainly geese were coming in to land, their orange webs outstretched in comical descent, when Nicholas motioned across. As he darted behind a nearby bush, she sat on a flat patch of grass between river and wood, pretending to rest, feeling vaguely ridiculous. Subtly – she hoped – she turned her head, peering at the two figures emerging from the summer house, Lady Allcot and an unknown man.

  Now fully dressed in a plum-coloured outfit, her hair slightly askew, Lady Allcot reached to kiss the man, grasping his hand before letting it drop. Then she turned alone towards the river, kicking at the grass as she strolled along the path. Mercia buried her face, feigning renewed interest in the geese as Lady Allcot headed the way they had just come, walking in the direction of the palace.

  Outside the summer house, the man was holding back; she hoped Nicholas was close enough to get a good look, but even from her viewpoint she could make out his face. His hair was intensely black, his nose intensely long, and he seemed somehow familiar. Then he stretched his white-sleeved arms high into the air and, rotating his shoulders, inhaled deeply. But instead of following the path to the river, he walked into the wood.

  ‘Was it her?’ mouthed Nicholas, appearing from his hiding place.


  ‘Yes,’ she replied as he approached. ‘I assume she is returning to the palace. But where are the belongings she has taken from her room?’

  ‘Shall we follow her?’

  ‘I want to see who the man is first.’ She set off in pursuit, talking as they went. ‘I think I have seen him before, Nicholas. Recently. At Whitehall, but …’ She paused to close her eyes, picturing the layout of the palace, positioning its courtiers in the locations she had seen them, her mind flying through the corridors and hallways until it emerged into the grand space where—

  ‘The Banqueting House!’ she hissed, starting up again. ‘Alice said he was foreign. I think he was with the French delegation at the ball the other night. Against the fireplace.’

  ‘You are sure?’

  She closed her eyes again to picture him: a tall, black-haired man in a tight doublet, the allure of his face deepened by the strength of his Gallic nose.

  ‘Yes. His mask was lowered. He and Lady Allcot may even have exchanged a few words.’ She sighed. ‘So this man she meets is not Dutch, after all.’

  ‘Still, I wonder what he sees in her?’

  ‘What?’ The man had passed out of sight. ‘Just because she is not the most attractive—’

  ‘That’s not what I meant. But a handsome Frenchman at the English Court … there are so many pretty women for him to choose, if that’s what he wants.’

  ‘Maybe he prefers older women. Maybe those with wit. But this is beside the point.’

  ‘Not if he’s interested in certain – connected women. Say, those with a husband on the war council.’

  She looked at him askance. ‘But he is French, Nicholas. What would they gain from betraying the King’s trust?’

  ‘I don’t know, but … Mercia, while we talk he’s getting away, and your dress isn’t the plainest. Why don’t I follow him, and you go back for Lady Allcot?’

  She looked down at her bright-green dress; even amidst the trees, she supposed it stood out.

  ‘Very well. Just try not to be seen.’

  ‘I’m used to that,’ he said, speeding off.

  Left on her own with the birdsong and the breeze, she felt a sudden and unexpected apprehension. The appearance of the Frenchman had put her senses on alert, the closeness of the woods making her cautious. She hurried back to the river; the water was sparkling in the playful sun, but her disquiet was no less uneasy.

  She looked towards the palace, where a flash of plum was disappearing through the gap in the hedge. Picking up her pace, she ascended the slope, squinting to search for Lady Allcot. As she reached a series of herb-filled patches of earth, she saw her rounding the side of the building, and despite her prior misgivings she continued her chase, hopeful Lady Allcot might be more receptive to her questions, flush from her morning’s enjoyment.

  She was nearing the palace when a man’s cry rang out.

  ‘Mercia!’ he shouted from behind, and she realised it was Nicholas. ‘Mercia, watch out!’

  Caught by surprise she turned, only to be confronted by a blur of a man as a dark figure ran into her before she had a chance to react. She tumbled to the ground, jarring her arm, but the man merely stumbled and hurried on. Her arm throbbing, she lifted her head to see a white-sleeved individual running round the corner of the palace.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ said Nicholas, extending his hand as he came alongside, barely out of breath.

  ‘Get after him!’ she ordered, trying to ignore the pain. ‘Quickly!’

  He hesitated, but then sprinted away, avoiding the crowd of courtiers and servants gathered along the miscreant’s route. He dodged the startled onlookers as best he could, vanishing in pursuit. There was no sign of Lady Allcot.

  As Mercia tried to shuffle to a sitting position, another man ran up, and when he held out his hand, she accepted it. But she cried out in agony as he pulled on her injured arm.

  ‘I think ’tis sprained,’ she said, offering him her other hand instead. This time he tugged more gently, but there was no discomfort, and she managed to get to her feet.

  ‘What happened?’ he said. ‘Are you much hurt?’

  ‘Someone pushed me. My manservant is chasing him.’ Clutching her injury, she attempted to walk, but the pain pulsed through her and she had to stop. ‘Damn him!’ she cursed. ‘Why has he done this?’

  ‘May I?’ Gently, the stranger squeezed her forearm, feeling it up and down. ‘I do not think it is broken. Most likely you are right and ’tis sprained, but you should rest it awhile.’

  ‘I have no time for rest. Can you help me to the front of the palace?’

  The man frowned but nodded, and using his shoulder as support she managed to bypass the assembled crowd, reaching the drive that led up to the palace entrance, where she looked to find Nicholas. As she cleared the last of the chattering watchers, she finally saw him, running towards a waiting carriage. Two small cases were tied on top, the horses and driver waiting to depart.

  ‘Stop!’ she heard him cry. ‘Come back!’

  He was nearly at the carriage when the driver cracked his reins; the steeds lurched forwards, directly into his path. He had just enough time to jump to one side, landing on the gravel with a crash, before the horses whinnied past. Further down, Mercia forgot about her arm and strode forwards, just as the carriage drove by. The leather blind was raised, and although it passed quickly, a flash of plum betrayed the sole occupant.

  ‘Lady Allcot!’ she called out.

  She raised a hand at the coach in a futile instruction to stop, without thinking: she sucked in through her teeth as she gripped her wounded arm. To her right, Nicholas got to his feet and made to pursue, even though it must be in vain. But then two men stepped from behind an embankment near the gates at the head of the drive, and this time the driver did slow his horses. Nicholas took advantage, accelerating hard, while the driver began to converse with the men who had caused him to halt.

  Hooded men, Mercia noticed. Hooded men, each holding a gun.

  And then the men each fired one shot, the one shattering the window of the coach, the other forcing the driver back into his seat. Two loud cracks echoed off the palace walls. A host of birds ascended from the trees.

  And all around, the people screamed, as the shooters walked away through the gates.

  Chapter Nine

  She found herself in three places at once: the world outside the palace, where the aberration had happened; the world inside the palace hall, where she sat with Nicholas on a hard and cold bench; the world inside her head, her own racing thoughts hemmed in by a throng of agitated murmurs. The whole of Hampton Court had ceased its daily business, servants and noblemen congregating on the drive to stare in paralysed shock at the overturned carriage now blocking the iron gates, the panicked horses thrashing on their flanks. Inside the hall, nervous maids lingered in the entrance, whether slumped against the walls, or holding each other for comfort, or curling their fists against the innocent wainscot. Inside Mercia’s head, she was struggling to understand the horror she had witnessed.

  ‘You would think it would be easier by now.’

  ‘Easier?’ Nicholas looked at her in sympathy. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Another death. Another two deaths. And yet it is still painful to see.’

  ‘Mercia, if it wasn’t painful then something would be wrong. There’s no shame in it.’

  ‘I suppose.’ She pulled herself up. ‘What are we going to tell the King? We have nothing to show for this … travesty. Did nobody manage to find those two men?’

  He shook his head. ‘They fled into the woods. Some people went to look, but so far – nothing.’

  ‘And the Frenchman?’

  ‘No sign of him either.’

  ‘Hell’s teeth,’ she swore. ‘This is my fault. If I had not fallen so strangely, you would not have thought to stop your pursuit to help me and you might have caught him.’

  ‘’Tis not your fault. When I saw the carriage, I made a choice to go for that. But … I
don’t know if the man who pushed you was the Frenchman.’

  ‘What? Then who?’ She winced as a dart of pain shot through her. ‘Nicholas, I do not seek to blame, but why were you near the palace? What did happen in the wood?’

  ‘He saw me, simple as that. I think he must have noticed us after he left the summer house. Pretended to stretch and all and then headed into the wood. Then when he saw me catching him, he panicked, and before I knew it, I’d lost him in the trees.’

  ‘Then who was it pushed me, if not him?’

  ‘I don’t say it wasn’t him. I couldn’t see for certain, but …’ He blew out his cheeks. ‘I was coming back to you, in case he’d run in a loop towards the palace. Then I saw someone running right for you, head down.’

  ‘But why knock me over at all, unless to prevent me from reaching Lady Allcot?’ She thought back to the blurred moment. ‘In truth, I cannot say either. I recall he was wearing white somewhere on his person, like the Frenchman. But that is hardly unusual.’

  ‘What if … Mercia, what if he wanted to be sure you couldn’t stop her leaving? And so be sure you couldn’t prevent her death?’

  ‘You mean if he was aiding the killers?’ She stared at the dusty floor. ‘God’s truth, Nicholas. Shot at close range before a score of witnesses. And that poor driver. How can anyone be so bold as to do that?’

  He shifted to face her. ‘I’m not sure the driver was so innocent, Mercia. He was very keen to get away from me. So why did he slow down when those other two turned up, even though he could have ridden on? He could see they had guns, but it didn’t seem to bother him. No, I fear he knew what was about to happen.’

  ‘But he was killed himself!’

  ‘Simplest way to be sure he never talks. I tell you, this isn’t the first time those men have killed. They stepped into the open, no thought to anyone, and fired their shots like that.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Nasty and precise.’

  ‘There is another question.’ Her mind was beginning to reassemble itself. ‘Is this related to our hunt for Virgo? People are not murdered without reason. Perhaps Lady Allcot knew something of Virgo somehow. Or … what if she is Virgo herself, killed to ensure her silence, like your driver? If that were so, it would suggest a wider conspiracy than one woman acting alone.’