Traitor

by David Hingley

  Lady Cartwright laughed. ‘I doubt these two will kill each other. Let us enjoy their display.’

  Malvern was parrying well, but Raff had the advantage. He forced his rival to the edge of the circle, which parted with an excited intake of breath to avoid his swift thrust. Malvern stumbled on a torn patch of grass, and the crowd gasped, but somehow he hopped to the side, balancing himself as Raff made to strike, and now it was Raff who was teetering over, the expected balance of Malvern’s shoulder turned to thin air. Yet he too righted himself, and stabbed at his opponent once more.

  Neither man was fighting as fiercely as surely they knew. Even though Raff had demanded the duel, it was clear he did not intend even to hurt; for his part, Malvern seemed happy to defend and attempt to disarm than to win with a shining blow. The two traded lunges and ripostes, circling each other in an elegant dance, until Malvern sighed in irritation. Raff took advantage, nicking his opponent’s sword arm with a perfectly judged scratch.

  Malvern jumped back, dropping his borrowed blade, but to the crowd’s disappointment Raff chose not to pursue, instead holding his sword skywards and standing triumphant, awaiting, then obtaining, his cheer.

  ‘Congratulations, Henry,’ said Mercia. ‘But I fear I shall still have to leave.’

  ‘Oh?’ he said, cheeks red with the thrill of the fight. ‘I hoped I had won your favour.’

  ‘And you have. But Mr Malvern speaks of matters that demand my interest. I … cannot speak of them, so I hope you will accept that this is no slight.’

  Raff sheathed his sword. ‘What is so vital you cannot speak of it?’

  ‘Henry, please.’

  He looked at her, his forehead not quite a frown. ‘Very well. But I shall demand a fresh outing when I return from the fleet.’

  ‘You shall have it.’

  He smiled, then addressed the crowd. ‘An easy fight, but worthy, to earn my lady’s favour! Now I concede we must part, but first she has promised me this.’

  Before she could react, he reached across to kiss her full on the lips. For a moment she was startled, but then she held herself against him a second or two longer than she needed. By and large, the group roared its approval, although Lady Cartwright gave her followers a stern look when they joined in.

  ‘Farewell, sweet lady,’ called Raff. ‘You may leave with the loser, but the victor retains your heart.’

  ‘Come,’ she said to Malvern, trying not to smile. ‘Does it hurt?’

  ‘It was only a scratch. He fights well, I shall give him that. But I should have won.’

  ‘You were distracted by the news of what you came to impart.’ She walked him in the direction of his coach. ‘Can you tell me now what it concerns?’

  ‘I should rather be certain no one can overhear.’ He opened the carriage door, stepping aside to allow her in. ‘But I thought you should know as soon as I could fetch you. I have news of Lavinia Whent.’

  She looked around the darkened room, but nobody was lurking against the fireplace, or hiding in the shadow of a heavy cloth drape.

  ‘Is this it?’ she said. ‘I was led to believe I should be meeting the men who broke Bellecour’s code.’

  Standing behind a desk, Malvern stared across. ‘I can tell you what you need to know.’

  ‘I suppose you can.’ She could not help but feel she had been brushed off, somehow. ‘Then shall we sit?’

  Nicholas was already present; she pulled up a grand, high-backed seat to join him, the chair finished in a fresh blue fabric that matched the colour of her eyes, as did Nicholas’s choice of green, she noticed. Malvern, unable to pick hazel, was forced to make do with the red-upholstered seat behind the desk.

  ‘Now we are here, Mrs Blakewood,’ he said, ‘I can properly applaud you.’

  She straightened out her dress, caught on the leg of the extensive seat. ‘I am not sure there is much to applaud.’

  ‘But there is. You have helped silence Sir Peter Shaw and Lavinia Whent. Nothing further shall pass to the Dutch from their careless lips.’

  ‘That at least is good news. Is Lavinia well treated?’

  ‘We shall come to that in a moment. I fear there is less welcome news to broach first.’

  She glanced at Nicholas. ‘News you can share?’

  ‘I have been ordered to do so, Mrs Blakewood. I did not want to tell you this in the coach, in case you became affected.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Affected?’

  ‘But now you are back in the palace, I have to tell you that Julien Bellecour is dead.’

  ‘When?’ An involuntary gasp escaped her lips.

  ‘You are sure you wish to hear?’

  ‘Mr Malvern—’

  ‘Then he was found yesterday. Face down in a bucket at a stables in Southwark, but the knife in his neck might have been a more pertinent cause of death.’

  ‘Only a day after we …’ She looked up. ‘Do you know why?’

  ‘Our presumption is to ensure his silence. Perhaps by his Dutch contact. Or whomever was meant to read the papers you obtained.’

  She thought of the affable Frenchman pouring her wine. ‘Did he have a wife? A family?’

  ‘We do not know. Now Bellecour’s role is clear, the King can no longer pretend the matter does not exist, but as for the French, they tell us nothing. They prefer to say he was acting alone, and we are forced to believe them, for the King will not delve further into it, for risk of upsetting a needed alliance. Both sides want to forget Bellecour existed.’

  ‘Most convenient.’

  ‘But understandable.’ He reached to his side, unlocking a drawer to retrieve a sheet of paper. ‘It seems some of my own work is complete. As for yours, I have been instructed to reveal to you the content of the message you found. There were some who were not best pleased at that decision, but Sir William argued the case, and the King must have agreed.’

  She inclined her head. ‘His Majesty is gracious.’

  ‘The code is the same we know from earlier interceptions, including that which alerted my masters to Virgo in the first place. It seems the Dutch are not aware we have broken that particular cipher, for which we can be thankful.’

  She glanced down at the paper and frowned. ‘This is the whole message?’

  ‘You are … wondering why it seems shorter than the coded version you saw, no doubt.’

  ‘I was wondering that, yes.’

  He smiled. ‘Most of that was simple padding. Letters that translated to nothing to hide the real message, but our men know the technique.’

  ‘Nothing at all, then, to do with keeping most of the message for yourselves?’

  ‘Quite. Would you like to read the translation?’

  His eyes remained focussed on the paper. Shaking her head, she read out loud so Nicholas could follow.

  ‘Nothing of import from Virgo this week, but she promises fleet movements next. Her proposal to engage other women largely unsuccessful: attempt on Allcot aborted through her death while Whent has proven unreliable. Blakewood may be …’ her head jerked up ‘… Blakewood may be possible, given family history, but seems now in King’s favour. Gemini about to join his ship. Following report will thus be extensive.’

  ‘Well?’ said Malvern, studying her closely. ‘What do you think?’

  She reread the message to be sure. ‘You are certain this is accurate?’

  ‘Our men do not make mistakes.’

  ‘Then this means Lavinia Whent cannot be Virgo.’ She sighed. ‘Damn that woman, whoever she is. She mocks us yet.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand,’ said Nicholas.

  She turned to him. ‘The note speaks of Lady Allcot and Lavinia Whent as two other women Bellecour was hoping to recruit. Other women. And so not Virgo.’

  ‘It seems you were right about Virgo’s active role in this intrigue,’ said Malvern. ‘She and Bellecour have been playing quite an operation – one that almost passed me by. Attempting to draw in Lady Allcot, Lavinia Whent – and now you.’
He looked at her. ‘You should have told me the two of you had talked.’

  ‘At the time, you were sharing little with me, Mr Malvern. What should you have done in my place?’

  ‘I suppose I have no defence to that accusation.’

  ‘Then let us forget it. Could she have killed Bellecour? Virgo?’

  ‘I suppose it is possible. It would mean she knew he was watched. Perhaps even that you are watching for her, Mrs Blakewood. You must take care. Greater than you have taken to date.’

  She bit her lip. ‘Will Miss Whent be released?’

  ‘Not yet. She will have to be questioned further, and most certainly chastened. She will have to leave Court for a while, I suspect.’

  ‘And in the meantime Virgo remains at liberty. Dear God, Lady Castlemaine will be furious.’

  He sighed. ‘To speak true, I am more concerned with this Gemini the note mentions. A spy at the heart of the fleet whose existence we knew naught of until now.’

  ‘You infer that from this one reference?’

  ‘And that is why you are here, Wildmoor,’ he pursued.

  Nicholas looked up. ‘Me?’

  ‘Some of what the pamphlets say is true. The Dutch fleet has already departed, and we expect a battle soon. If Gemini can get messages to Virgo or the Dutch, they could learn of our plans for attack and defence. Which officers are in charge of which crew. Put simply, men could die. Thousands of pounds of ordinance, to say nothing of the ships themselves, could be lost.’

  ‘What has this to do with Nicholas?’ said Mercia.

  Malvern leant back. ‘Just as Lady Castlemaine placed you at Court, we want to place a man in the fleet who should arouse no suspicion likewise. A common tar, if I may, to live in the bunks with the other men, all the while working for us. A man, moreover, already versed in this affair that is known to so very few.’

  Nicholas stared. ‘You want to use me?’

  ‘You must admit, placing a man who was a sailor himself is a sensible choice. An advantage we do not think it wise to reject. And so I must ask you this, Mrs Blakewood. Do you trust your man to be true?’

  ‘Why, yes, but—’

  ‘Then it is agreed.’

  ‘Hold a moment, Mr Malvern.’ She held up a hand. ‘Could you not take this part yourself?’

  He shook his head. ‘There is only one surgeon on board each ship, and I cannot be spared from mine. Besides, neither Virgo nor Gemini can be surprised if Wildmoor is pressed to the fleet. He is needed. We are at war.’

  ‘At war, indeed. What say you of this, Nicholas?’

  ‘He does not have a choice,’ said Malvern. ‘This has been agreed at the highest level.’

  She looked sideways. Nicholas seemed pained, sucking in his lower lip as if he were keeping himself from speaking, and she suspected well enough what he wanted to say, that he was hesitant to leave London with One-Eye Wilkins untamed. But they could hardly talk of that here, much less dispute his commission, and so instead she turned to Malvern, seizing a chance of her own.

  ‘Nicholas was never paid when he last left the fleet. Would there be some means of turning this service to his advantage?’

  ‘Is not duty cause enough? I promise nothing, but I can propose it. Well, Wildmoor. Are you ready to serve?’

  ‘I serve Mrs Blakewood,’ he replied. ‘If this helps her task, then I like it well enough.’

  A proud feeling of fellowship came over her as he spoke those words, of moments enjoyed together and suffered, of happy and sad times beside firesides and rivers.

  ‘Thank you, Nicholas,’ she said. ‘I know you will do well.’

  Malvern nodded. ‘We want you to join the Royal Charles, Wildmoor. The King’s name but the Duke’s command. It has recently joined the rest of the fleet.’

  ‘The flagship?’ he said, more enthused. ‘We saw it when we arrived into Southampton. A beautiful ship. Huge!’

  ‘As fine as the Royal Sovereign, if not finer. Larger, for certain. Used to be called the Naseby until it carried the King home from his exile and the name had to be changed.’ He shook his head. ‘Forgive me, Mrs Blakewood. Sometimes I … get carried away.’

  ‘You are a true man of the fleet, Mr Malvern.’

  ‘There is much truth in that.’ Finally, he smiled. ‘All manner of men are being recruited to the ships, but Wildmoor’s past makes it easy for him to fit in. Whereas some of the newer recruits are not what I would call proficient.’

  ‘Some of the lads like a bit too much rum,’ agreed Nicholas. ‘But then, don’t we all?’

  Malvern looked at him. ‘You will take a hammock with the rest of the men. You will serve as the master orders, and in the meantime you will hunt for Gemini. I will give you a signal you can use to call for aid if you need me. My own ship will be part of the same guard.’

  ‘Do you have any idea who Gemini is?’ he asked.

  ‘Alas, no.’

  ‘But you must think he’s on the Royal Charles. Or why put me there?’

  ‘Very astute. But do not ask me why we think that, just accept that we do. Now, with Mrs Blakewood’s permission, you will leave tomorrow.’

  ‘That soon?’ she said.

  ‘I fear so. Wildmoor, you will have licence to roam the port as long as the ship is there and do whatever is required to find this man. When battle is joined, you will sail with the rest of us.’

  He nodded. ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘Good fellow. I am sorry to take him from you, Mrs Blakewood, but you understand the import of this task. Do not be concerned. He will be safe.’

  She smiled a sad smile. ‘Battle is never certain, Mr Malvern.’

  ‘Come now.’ He winked. ‘We are English, are we not?’

  The reassurance helped; she found herself slapping the arms of her chair.

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘We are!’

  Chapter Twenty

  Nicholas left the morning after, not before she had reassured him she would abstain from taking unneeded risks – but then that, of course, would depend on what occurred. She found she missed his flippant presence immediately he had gone, in that unsettling way that can seize those left behind when someone familiar is suddenly absent, if only for a short number of days. But her son was still close by, and as ever his youthful laughter brought her pride and comfort.

  Not that she minded time alone. Indeed, she welcomed the chance to think, no longer enduring the loneliness of despair she had inflicted on herself after the deaths that had transpired in America. With a great sense of elation, she realised how the depths of her old melancholy were passed. And so she sat at her table with parchment and quill, wrote the letter to her friend Nathan she had so long postponed, and happy with its contents, she sealed the flap, waiting until she could send it on its long voyage to New England to be opened in three or four months.

  By when, she hoped, Whitehall Palace would be behind her, and she would be returned in triumph to her manor at Halescott. But the restoration of her house still hung by a silken thread, for her uncle could yet strike to retain what he had stolen, and his actions could be unexpected, his associates powerful and rich. Yet she too had her allies, and not all as grand as Sir William or Lady Castlemaine. Not all as scheming, either.

  She pressed her lips together to expel a vocal puff of air.

  ‘B,’ she pronounced. ‘A straight back, and a half-circle at the bottom. That is the letter b. And then the next you remember, I think?’

  She looked at the teenage boy sat cross-legged at her feet. He studied the paper in his lap, a simple rhyme she had asked Daniel to write out.

  ‘A circle,’ he said. ‘O. And then …’ He screwed up his forehead. ‘It looks like … two v’s together.’

  ‘Yes, Tacitus. And that is called w, remember?’

  ‘W.’ He sat back. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Although why ’tis “double-u” eludes me, when ’tis more akin to “double-v”. But that is complicating matters. What does that word spell?’

&
nbsp; ‘B,’ he said. ‘O. And w. B … o … w – bow.’ He pulled back his right arm, clenching his fist, while holding his left out before him.

  ‘Excellent,’ she said, as the clock struck eleven. ‘Although now I teach you this, I realise how confusing language is. The same word is a weapon, and a rod with which to play the viol, and a flourish of material women wear in their hair, or men on their clothes. Pronounced differently, it means the front of a ship, or to lower your head, but then I suppose they all have something of bending in common, or curving, and—’

  By now Tacitus’s frown had grown very deep.

  ‘By the Lord, I am an awful teacher,’ she laughed. ‘Ignore me utterly, Tacitus. B – o – w. Bow.’

  In the corner, Phibae smiled. ‘You are a good teacher, my lady.’

  ‘And you are kind, Phibae. Tacitus is a quick pupil.’

  ‘I am trying,’ he agreed.

  ‘You will learn. One day you will pass from simple words and children’s rhymes to … Wroth’s poetry or that fellow – what is his name? – Milton. Milton’s texts. Although that might be thought of as disloyal.’

  ‘Yes, my lady,’ he humoured her. ‘But for now I am happy with b – o – w … bow.’

  ‘Now make another attempt of those first two lines, and we will come back to it later.’ She stood and paced the room, rotating the stiffness out of her neck. ‘One thing I will say – bowing my head to look at the paper is aching work.’ She rubbed at a tender spot above the line of her dress, where a small mole decorated her neck. ‘Although it is a pleasure, not work. I wish everything were as enjoyable.’

  Phibae looked up from her needlework. ‘Is there anything I can help you with, my lady?’

  ‘Not in this, Phibae. Besides, you have your own duties to perform.’

  ‘My duties are to assist you, my lady. That is what I was told, that Lady Castlemaine herself expected it. Now Nicholas has had to leave, are you … sure there is nothing I can do?’

  There was something in her eyes that made Mercia wonder.

  ‘Phibae, if you wish to say something, say it.’