Traitor

by David Hingley

‘Does this woman of yours follow my every move?’

  ‘What woman? Besides, it matters not. You remain in my debt and are aware of my terms of payment. Wildmoor may be away at the fleet, but you can scarcely doubt I have men on the ships. And your precious boy at Court … do not think I cannot reach him, even there.’

  Mercia leant forward, striving to soften her voice. ‘I have warned you before not to threaten my son. It was not a jest.’

  ‘Then let us discuss what you do know. After all, Mrs Blakewood, the King has you on the trail of a spy. In the course of that search you must have learnt something of value to a woman like me.’

  ‘Such fancies you have. A spy … I have never heard the like.’

  ‘Deny it all you wish. But I tire of these constant games.’ She beckoned to one of her men, her calloused fingers spinning a circle in the air. At once he sprang forward, laying his hand on the back of the chair, and although Mercia could not see it, the metallic noise she heard made clear he had drawn a knife.

  ‘Base threats, Mrs Wilkins,’ she said. ‘But I have lived through too much this past year. I shall answer your questions in my own way.’

  One-Eye chuckled. ‘You always call me “Mrs”. What makes you think I am married?’

  ‘I merely supposed—’

  ‘No, you presumed, and I have advised you before against that. Shall I tell her the story, Jink?’

  Her henchman laughed. ‘Aye, she’ll like it.’

  ‘I’m not so sure.’ Slowly, she leant back in her seat. ‘I was married once, Mrs Blakewood. Like you. Now I’m widowed, also like you. He was a smuggler, of course, always looking to be better than the rest, no matter who stood in his way.’ She pulled up her right leg, settling it under her left. ‘He wasn’t a nice man. He used to beat his … competitors, can I call them? Maim them. Kill them, even. Used to beat me too, when he wasn’t using me for …’ She smiled. ‘But unlike me, he wasn’t clever. One day, when he came for his pleasures, I bit down on him, hard, and while he was clutching his parts in frenzied pain, I took the knife by my bed, and I slashed at him. Cut him a hundred times, I reckon, in a frenzy of my own, but you see, that’s what he’d made me. And the man I paid to take the body away, I got rid of him too, drowned him in the Thames. But my husband’s men found out what I’d done, and do you know what?’ She lurched forwards. ‘They feared it. From that day, it was me who was in charge, me who handed out the profit. Small wonder I care little for the lives of others after what used to happen to me.’ She scoffed. ‘But you don’t look at the past, do you – people like you? You presume all of us here were born bad, or chose this life, but sometimes it just happens, and we make the best of what we have. So now tell me, Mrs Blakewood, do you still think it wise to cross me? Do you still think it wise to keep your secrets at bay?’

  ‘Is any of that true?’ said Mercia. ‘All I heard was a very long story.’ Then she raised her head, for she thought she could perceive a noise outside. One-Eye, too, rose to her feet and listened.

  ‘Life is a long story, Mrs Blakewood,’ she replied, looking at the door. Again, a muffled noise came from outside the house, this time more evident. ‘What has happened to you in the past twelvemonth is only a small part of yours. My life has its own story. And yours, well.’ She took a step back. ‘’Tis about to take an unexpected turn, I fancy. As might mine if—Jink. Go and see to that racket. I don’t like it.’

  Jink nodded, ordering his unoccupied fellow to follow him into the front, the door swinging shut behind them.

  ‘What do you mean,’ said Mercia, ‘an unexpected turn?’

  One-Eye ignored her, sidling to the fireplace. Setting a hand on the crude mantelpiece, she craned her neck. Her remaining man, his hand on Mercia’s chair, cleared his throat.

  And then a huge crash filled the silence as the front door was kicked in, followed by the clanging of metal and the thudding of heavy boots. From the front room Jink cried out, and a shot resounded, then a painful scream. Behind her the man keeping her captive removed his hand, and Mercia leapt up, first following his gaze and then looking to the fireplace, where One-Eye was backing towards the exit in the corner like a wary animal.

  The door to the front room crashed open. A host of armed men in the livery of the King stormed through to surround her. Behind, the other door slammed as One-Eye fled; two guards broke from the rest to pursue, but they stumbled into the closing door, impeded by their swords. Utterly disconcerted, Mercia watched in panic as two more guards tramped in, throwing the captured Jink to the floor.

  Then another guard entered, and the others seemed to stiffen: just a little, but enough. Their captain, it would seem. His blank face was as grim as the longsword at his side.

  ‘What is going on?’ Mercia exclaimed.

  ‘I think it’s I who’ll ask the questions,’ said the captain. ‘Caught in the act of treason. The end of your hopes, I’d wager.’

  ‘What?’ She looked about her, but even had she wished to run, the guards were too close, and too well armed. ‘I do not understand.’

  He clicked his fingers at two of his guards, pointing at Jink and the unknown other. ‘Who are these men?’ he said. ‘Mrs Blakewood. I am talking to you.’

  ‘They are … I do not know.’ She swallowed. ‘I am not sure.’

  ‘You’ll have to answer better than that.’ He waited for more, but in her confusion she could not think. ‘Shall I tell you, then?’ he said, drilling out the words as though feasting on her shame. ‘They are smugglers. They ferry illicit produce between England and the Continent. Between England and Holland, betimes. That same Holland with which we are now at war.’ He came up to Mercia and stared her in the eye. ‘Illicit produce, and illicit secrets.’

  ‘Captain, if you are after these smugglers, I can assure you I am not with them.’

  ‘Then how have I caught you here, where I was told you’d be? How do you, a supposed lady, explain what you’re doing in this reeking den?’ He pulled back his scarred face. ‘I’m not just looking for smugglers. I’m looking for you.’

  ‘I had to come here.’ Her protestation sounded hollow, and the captain knew it. ‘If I did not, then …’

  The captain signalled to the guard holding Jink. ‘Bring that one to this chair.’

  The guard pushed Jink forwards, far more roughly than he needed. Jink staggered into the chair, a line of blood seeping from his mouth.

  ‘What’s your name?’ asked the captain.

  ‘Charles Stuart,’ Jink replied.

  The captain sighed and nodded. His guard struck Jink in the face.

  ‘Jink,’ he hissed. ‘That’s what they call me. Jink.’

  ‘Your real name?’

  He wiped the blood from his reddening mouth. ‘Sam. Sam Jinkin.’

  ‘Seems as you’re caught, Jinkin. Perhaps best confess, or it’ll be the hangman’s noose not far off.’

  ‘I’ve done nothing,’ he replied. ‘We were having a talk, is all.’

  ‘You were having a talk, is all. Sam Jinkin the smuggler and a lady of the Court. No, Sam. I don’t think so.’ He looked around him. ‘Where’s your lady boss?’

  ‘Boss?’ Jink frowned. ‘What do you mean, boss?’

  ‘You’re in with the Dutch, aren’t you? Boss is what they call whoever’s in charge. Don’t you call that woman your boss?’

  ‘What woman?’

  ‘One-Eye, she calls herself. That woman.’

  Even through the dripping blood, Jink managed to smile. ‘She ain’t here, is she?’

  ‘It seems not. Answer me one question, and we might not strike you again. Not that it would much matter with your disgusting face.’

  ‘Captain,’ tried Mercia. ‘Please. Let me—’

  Without taking his eyes from Jink, he held up a hand. ‘Enough. I’ve been told not to let you speak, so keep quiet.’

  She looked between the captain and Jink. The other guards were almost an irrelevance. She knew her face was pale; she could feel the apprehensiv
e chill coursing through her cheeks. And in truth the captain scared her, for if he had orders, there was nothing she could say to dissuade him from his task. Nothing she could explain.

  ‘Now, Jinkin,’ he continued. ‘Answer me this. Why is Mrs Blakewood here?’

  ‘How do I know, you fucking princock, I’m not her—’

  The captain nodded once more. This time the guard donned a sharp iron gauntlet and slammed it into Jink’s mouth. His teeth crunched, and his cheek seemed to cave in. His eye bulged, and began to seep crimson.

  ‘Bastard,’ the smuggler managed, as Mercia looked away in horror. ‘They were talking, right? One-Eye wanted information, and she was to give it.’

  ‘No!’ Of a sudden Mercia realised how much danger she was in. ‘Captain, let me speak with Sir William Calde!’

  ‘Didn’t I tell you to keep quiet? Now, Jinkin, what were you saying? Did this woman, here beside you, give One-Eye information?’

  The guard raised his gauntlet. ‘Not yet!’ slurred Jink, wrenching a tooth from his ruined mouth. A gushing of blood drained to the floor. ‘But she said she was going to. She was going to tell us something about the fleet.’

  ‘You are certain of this?’

  ‘Course I am,’ he snarled. He looked around, and Mercia could tell he was calculating how to leave the building alive. ‘I was there, weren’t I, when she promised? And now she’s back tonight to deliver her side of it. Course, if she hadn’t come, One-Eye would’ve—’

  ‘That’s enough, Jinkin.’ Abandoning the smuggler, the captain turned round. The force of his hatred made Mercia quake.

  ‘There’s men fight in the army for their King, Mrs Blakewood. Men with nothing but their wives and their children, nothing but a tiny home. And then there’s folk like you with everything, who live in the palace with all your pretty finery, who want to betray us all. Folk who care nothing if men like me die.’

  ‘Captain, please, speak with Sir William yourself. Ask Lady Castlemaine. They know that is not true!’

  ‘But then you’ve been caught out here, in the middle of not much anywhere, plotting with these smugglers exactly as I was told you’d be. What should I think? Besides, ’tis not my place to question, just bring you back. Right, men. Get these out of here.’

  Immediately the guards complied. All the fight had gone from Jink; he allowed them to lead him away, but his unknown friend was less receptive, until a heavy boot kicked him hard in his stomach and he was dragged through the door on his knees. Left alone with the captain, the crackling of the fire seemed unnaturally loud.

  ‘Captain,’ she begged. ‘It is the other way around. I am here to find a spy, not act as one. Please, ask Sir William Calde.’

  He took her by the forearm. ‘I shouldn’t hope for much comfort from him. Time to go.’

  ‘But Sir William—’

  ‘Listen.’ The captain narrowed his eyes. ‘I was at your father’s execution. I cheered, loudly, when his head was cut from his body. You understand? I despise traitors like you.’ He looked ready to lash out. ‘None of my men know this, but I’ve been told the truth. About the spy at Court. The woman spy, goes by the name of Virgo.’

  ‘Yes! That is who I am seeking.’

  The captain laughed. ‘He said you might say that. Well, I do believe there’s a spy. I believe we’ve caught her.’

  She looked at him and gasped. ‘You cannot think—’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ His eyes were full of loathing. ‘Caught about to pass secrets to smugglers who sail to the coasts of the Dutch. This Virgo exists, no doubt, except she’s right here with me.’ He pulled on her arm, forcing her to the door. ‘You are Virgo. The traitor is you.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  There was no sense in struggling. Dazed, she allowed the captain to lead her from the smugglers’ lair, where out in the open she was pushed into a waiting carriage. The driver who had brought her there was nowhere to be seen, his own horse and carriage long gone.

  Two subordinates accompanied the captain as escort for the short journey to London, but none of the guards responded to her entreaties, and she soon gave up trying, pondering with mounting anxiety the trouble she was in. She was not Virgo, and Sir William knew it, but would the King much care when she had been caught talking with smugglers, apparently on the verge of committing the very act for which Virgo was being hunted herself?

  No matter she had not intended it. No matter she was hoping to pass on untruths. Her only hope was to convince Sir William why, and trusting that he would believe her.

  But even if he did, would that be enough?

  The ride seemed briefer than when she had come. Brutal fright had replaced her anxiety, and that may have spurred her mind to lose its sense of time. But when the horses were reined in, and the carriage door yanked open, it was clear they could not have travelled as far as Whitehall Palace.

  Disdaining the hand of a guard outside, she tugged the hems of her dress over her boots and made sure to climb down with dignity. But then her eyes widened, and her head began to swim, for she could now see where she had been brought.

  Huge stone walls, peppered with menacing turrets. A vast moat, a series of drawbridges and gates. A massive square-shaped keep at the heart of the enormous complex, the whole lit by hundreds of torches. Waiting to take charge, a party of uniformed warders armed with long partisans, a man she recognised from a visit last year standing tall in their midst.

  She had been brought to the gates of the Tower of London, and the man was its Lieutenant.

  She was taken to the Bell Tower, locked in a comfortable room with a bed, writing desk and cupboard. It was spacious for a prison, much larger than the Newgate cell she had endured for one night the year before, but the Tower was grand, a repository for captives of much more elevated status. Water and a platter of chicken and vegetables were waiting on a table beneath an arrow-slit window, and although she was not hungry, she gulped down the water to slake her eager thirst.

  There was little to do now but wait, or else sleep. And so she slept, barely, until the light of dawn seeped through the narrow window to break her dozing state, the brightening sun stark contrast to the darkness of her mood. Hunger had come, and although the chicken was cold, she tore it from the bones and chewed the welcome meat.

  There was a Bible in the cupboard and she turned to its strength, taking comfort in the creases of its leather-bound cover, reading from the New Testament as she sat on the bed, the letter to the Romans. If only Sir William would come, she hoped, for surely he must soon be apprised of her detention. If only Sir William would come, she repeated, her prayers mixed with the teachings of Saint Paul.

  Finally, the door opened. She looked round to see a guard, and somehow she knew it would be him, a sarcastic smile on his ugly face.

  ‘Still here?’ she got in first, before he could start.

  ‘Well, well.’ The warder folded his arms. ‘I had to see it for myself. After all, you’re right back where your daddy was.’

  ‘I will not be here long, Dicken. Do not grow smug.’

  It was the guard she had struck at the very beginning of her adventures, the act that had placed her in Newgate for that equally anxious night.

  ‘Like father, like daughter, eh? Traitors both.’

  She set down her Bible. ‘Do you have some purpose here, or have you come to gloat?’

  ‘To gloat.’ He grinned. ‘And to bring someone in I know you so like.’

  He stepped aside as another figure passed through, one not dressed in armour or the striking uniform of the yeoman warders, but resplendent in fine Court attire. The look on his face was one of total satisfaction. His cane clunked on the floor in measured, slow thuds.

  ‘So it comes to this, my niece,’ said Sir Francis. ‘Guard, you may go.’

  Dicken leered at her, but he left, pulling the door shut. As they heard his footsteps fade, Mercia returned to her uncle’s heartless stare.

  ‘I should have known you would come. But your mo
ckery is premature. When Sir William arrives—’

  ‘Sir William will not come.’ Sir Francis could not stop smiling. ‘I shall see to that.’

  ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘Do you ever? But now I do, and soon so shall the King.’ There was nothing but delight across his face. ‘Sir William will find himself in the same predicament as Sir Peter Shaw. Held to determine what he may have told you.’ He laughed. ‘If only you had listened when I summoned you last year, the day after your father’s execution. Had you accepted your fate, you could have been content. Instead you find yourself here, in this lonely room, learning at last that to betray me is to lose all.’

  ‘This is absurd.’ She got to her feet. ‘We both know I am guilty of nothing, and nor is Sir William.’

  ‘I do not know about him. But you, yes. You are guilty of being Virgo. I should think that is enough.’

  She stared at him. ‘How can I be Virgo when I have been abroad these several months? You cannot believe that, even you.’

  ‘And yet you have been caught about to pass on secrets. Why should you not be Virgo?’ He bobbed on his cane, incapable of keeping still. ‘This whole time the answer was obvious to see, if we would only look through your twisted fakery and deduce how all was upside down. Yes, you are Virgo, and have been all this time. You have proved yourself a traitor as much as your father ever was.’

  ‘My father was falsely accused, and you and the King know it. Your argument is meaningless.’

  ‘We thought we knew. But it seems you have followed his example, ready to descend to any method to delude His Majesty and destroy his realm.’ He drew himself up. ‘You must have thought it such luck when Lady Castlemaine sought your help in seeking out your own crimes! You hoped to live at the very heart of Court, passing your secrets through that smuggler witch, but you did not reckon with me. And that cur you have been dragging around. Wildmoor. What will he say of you now?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Uncle, I am not Virgo and I am certain you know it. You merely hope to discredit me through this chance turn of events and render my loyalty uncertain.’