Traitor

by David Hingley

  ‘I thought you said this was a noble cause.’

  ‘Satisfaction, revenge, call it what you will. You should see it in the Barbados. Hundreds of children die there, women and men too. Thousands. Solely for being born African.’ Her fist clenched. ‘It is disgusting, against God. I will no longer see it go unpunished.’

  ‘And you think destroying the men who profit from it, raising the Duke of Cambridge to be different … that will set things right. I understand, Lavinia. I do. But death? You have killed innocent men tonight.’

  ‘Are not the men of Africa innocent? Who speaks for them?’ She leant on the table, staring into Mercia’s eyes. ‘You are a woman who has seen something of the world. You know of what I speak. Women like Lady Cartwright think these men are as meaningless as jewels, to be worn as it suits them and then tossed aside, like so much wasted flesh. But not even you know what I have seen!’

  ‘Then tell me,’ she said softly.

  ‘I knew a boy, back home, in the Barbados.’ She drew herself up. ‘When I was fifteen. I knew a beautiful, clever boy, whose crime was to be black. He worked on my father’s plantation. We used to talk, when we could, of the sun and the sea, of the plants and the animals and the stars. We danced in the fields and he beat his drum, and we laughed, and we cried, and … once we kissed.’ Her eyes clouded over. ‘But my father had set a woman to watch me. He found out I would talk with this boy, and do you know what he did? He bound his wrists, strung him on a tree, and commanded his men to whip him.’ Of a sudden, her fist crashed on the table. ‘Not just whip, but mutilate! He made me watch, Mercia. His own daughter! He made me watch, telling me, this is what the blacks are worth, pigs to be hung up for slaughter. He made me watch, blow after blow, until my boy’s skin had gone, and all that was left was blood and bone and he was dead.’ Her jaw shook. ‘He made me watch.’

  Mercia swallowed, a mixture of disgust and sorrow joining her throbbing pain. ‘Lavinia, I do not know what to say. Truly, no child should have to suffer such a sight.’

  ‘At least I live. They left him hanging to be picked at by birds, rotting in the wind as a lesson to those around him. But still my father was not finished, for he rounded up my boy’s friends, and he put them in a line, and he ordered his men to shoot them, the one after the other, for having kept his secret. And what was his secret?’ She beat at her chest. ‘He had talked with me. He had beaten his drum with me. What is wrong with that?’

  She took a deep, hysterical intake of breath. Despite all she had done that night, Mercia reached out her hand.

  ‘Lavinia. I am here. Please, try to be calm.’

  ‘How can I be calm?’ She flung away Mercia’s hand. ‘How can I be calm, when I am born to a race that thinks itself better, when all those who rule it are the worst kind of evil! My father sent me back to England to learn from my own kind. But it is they who will learn from me. I will kill them all if I can!’

  Her whole body was trembling. Mercia looked at her pale face, and felt pity.

  ‘Lavinia,’ she said. ‘You do not mean that. Murder is not the means of assuaging murder. Think on your own soul. The cycle of death has to stop somewhere.’

  ‘Not with me.’ Violently, she shook her head. ‘Thomas understands. He is close with the Quakers, do you know that? That is where I met him, at a meeting of such folk. I am not sure I am one myself, but … they understand. Or at least, Thomas does.’

  ‘You met him first, before Malvern?’

  ‘Thomas and Giles knew each other from their service in the fleet. It was in that service when they sailed to the Guinea coast, on a mission against the Dutch, where they found the forts crawling with terrified Africans and saw them being forced onto those … trading ships. They were appalled at it, and grew ever more appalled as they talked on the long voyage home. They thought it was … not English, but not many would listen. And they saw the Duke of York planning to increase his disgusting profit, and they resolved to prevent it.’ She grabbed Mercia’s hand. ‘You see, this is a noble cause. Once the Duke is dead, and the King, the child will inherit and see the truth!’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Mercia. ‘Or perhaps that is merely an ideal. Where the Duke of York and Sir Geoffrey Allcot fall, others will take their place. Wealth, Lavinia, is what encourages these men. They care nothing for who suffers.’

  ‘Have more faith, Mercia. Or at least, say nothing of us. Let us succeed!’

  ‘Lavinia, murder is never the way, whatever the reasons.’

  ‘Not even for this?’

  ‘Not when there is a young man in a Harwich inn who is dead tonight.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I knew nothing of the world until I saw it. I knew nothing of the peoples that live in it. But then I travelled the ocean, and saw the smallest amount, and now I know. That is how you change things, Lavinia. By talking to people, by sharing the truth and convincing them of its worth. Not by killing and death!’

  ‘Then you are against us.’

  ‘It is not as simple as that.’

  ‘It is to me.’ She reached down for the gun she had dropped when she arrived. ‘The powder may have failed at the inn, but I will not fail now. When the Duke falls this night, so too will his brother. He must.’ She nodded to herself. ‘Events must be forced, to make matters right. But I cannot leave you here. You will have to come with me.’

  ‘Lavinia, please,’ she begged. ‘Think on what you do.’

  ‘Oh, I have. Ever since the martyring of my beautiful boy. My Charles.’ Waving her pistol, she beckoned Mercia to follow her out. ‘Strange, no? That he shares his given name with the King? And now the King will join him in the places beyond, although he shall not go to heaven. If he thinks this night to elude the death of which I have long dreamt, he is mistaken.’ She stepped onto the beach. ‘Come, Mercia. Come and watch me kill the King.’

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  A hidden wave crashed against the beach. Leaves rustled in the unseen trees.

  ‘Lavinia,’ implored Mercia, following along the shore. ‘Please stop this.’

  Lavinia tightened her grip on her gun. ‘Have you forgotten that man on the beach? All I need do is call out and he will come.’

  ‘I doubt that. There is no man, is there?’

  There was no reply.

  ‘Then where are we going? Lavinia! Put down that gun and let us continue to talk.’

  ‘Why?’ She swivelled round. ‘Stay back. I should rather not waste my shot.’

  Mercia looked at the pistol. It was difficult to make out now it was dark, but it did not seem to be cocked. It may not have even been loaded, but for the moment, she did not want to take that chance.

  ‘Then tell me what you intend,’ she said.

  Lavinia gestured in front of them. ‘Over there is a fort. Landguard, it is called. Giles says it is due for repair, but for now, it is little more than so much crumbling earth and splintering wood. Yet that is where the King was taken after he was swept from the inn.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘Suffice that I do. Whenever the King leaves London, there is always some device planned to rush him away should his whereabouts turn unsafe. The powder may have failed, but this is more pleasing. I shall be able to see him as I shoot.’

  ‘Lavinia.’ Mercia was panting, struggling to keep up. Her whole body was aching, and the nausea had returned. ‘If you kill the King, you will burn for treason. And not only that.’

  ‘It does not matter. Things will only change if people take notice. I intend to make them take notice.’

  ‘You will be portrayed as a madwoman. A madwoman who will be burned at the stake, most like not even strangled to ease your pain, on view for all the mob to despise. How does that help your poor boy?’

  ‘Then I will die as he did, in defiance of those who would deem his death right.’

  ‘Lavinia, you will not even—’

  ‘No more talking. Else I call for the shooter.’

  They fell silent, continuing along the seafront. Not
far out over the waves, a lost gull called its monotonous cry, adding its low pitch to the whispering of the sea. Holding herself together, Mercia stumbled over pebbles until soon a dark structure loomed into view, lit here and there by a number of quivering torches. Lavinia sidled behind an outcrop of rock, signalling that Mercia join her.

  ‘That is Landguard,’ she said. ‘Just inside, a tent has been erected for the King’s accommodation. He was to come here tomorrow to witness the battle, as much as he could until the fleets sail further out. But now he has arrived sooner, and so have I.’

  ‘Lavinia, this is madness. You will not be able to walk in there and shoot the King! He will be guarded.’

  She gripped the rock with one hand, her pistol with the other. ‘Most of his guard remains at the inn in Harwich, ordered to deal with the explosion. The purpose at Landguard is not to guard the King, but to hide him somewhere safe. Or where he thinks is safe.’ She brandished her gun. ‘And so we wait until he comes out.’

  ‘What, out here?’ Mercia looked around; the only land between their outcrop and the fort was an exposed segment of shoreline. ‘Why should he do that?’

  ‘Because this is the best view of the bay. He is a man, Mercia. When the battle starts, he will come out to watch. And that, I am told, will be just before dawn.’

  ‘I still do not know how you know all this.’

  ‘No?’ She smiled. ‘I am sure you will work it out.’

  They waited the long hours in silence. Mercia’s headache had grown steadily worse; perhaps she had inhaled more smoke than she had thought. Her eyes were continually drooping, and from time to time she was sure she fell asleep. But every time she came round, Lavinia was alert, a focussed zeal in her eyes she recognised well enough from others she had known before.

  ‘Why Virgo?’ she said of a sudden, to try to keep awake.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why choose that for your code name?’

  ‘Why not?’ Lavinia never wavered from her watch. ‘Because it amused us. I am an unmarried maiden, so Virgo. Giles and Thomas together make Gemini.’

  ‘And yet … you are hardly a maiden, Lavinia.’

  She laughed. ‘You will not rile me into giving this up. I am what my father’s attempts to constrain my life have made me.’

  ‘Then do not let your father destroy your life now.’

  ‘I shall see my father in hell. I shall enjoy watching his torment.’

  A brief quiet descended. From the fort, the wind carried over snatched murmurs of activity. The half-moon shone its rays across the silvered shore. Mercia’s head felt as though the powder from the inn had been exploded in her mind itself, but she could see no other recourse than to try to keep Lavinia talking. At the least, she might learn more.

  ‘When you were with Bellecour,’ she tried again. ‘When you passed him your information. Were you learning all you knew from Sir Peter Shaw?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘It matters when Sir Peter is still in the Tower. It could be the difference between his survival and his execution.’

  ‘Do you think I much care?’ She sighed. ‘No, he is no part of this. But he is a foolish and lonely man. It is very easy to make such men speak when they feel flattered. Especially an older man who is scared he has lost his appeal.’

  Mercia sidled an inch closer. ‘And yet I cannot imagine he told you whatever you asked. I begin to think there may be another involved in your scheme.’

  Lavinia’s eyes were ever forward. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Because ’tis convenient, is it not, that you have a position in the Duke of Cambridge’s nursery? If his father is killed in battle then ’tis nobody’s fault, and as he grows up, he thinks nothing but good on all those who helped him. Men never forget those who were kind to them as a boy.’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘And when he is older, and needs male tutors? I wager someone is already thought of for that task. And who will rule the regency while he is a child? Someone must.’

  ‘Those matters are not for me to choose.’

  ‘Then let us consider Mr Malvern. ’Tis convenient, too, that he was the very man tasked with following Bellecour. And Mr Howe, granted at some short notice a commission aboard the Duke’s very flagship. It seems to me, Lavinia, that someone most elevated must be complicit in this endeavour. I wonder.’ She grabbed her pounding head: her hypotheses were making her mind hurt. ‘When you were arrested, how were you so easily released?’

  ‘You need speak of arrest.’ Finally, she turned to face her. ‘I have known why you are at Whitehall for longer than you probably assume. We have suspected it ever since the death of Lady Allcot. You think we did not question her murder?’

  ‘It was you who made it appear she was Virgo. My uncle has told me of the letter he was left. Clever, Lavinia, until it led to her death.’

  For an instant, she glanced down, but not long enough: no chance for Mercia to seize her gun. ‘That … was not meant to happen. We knew Bellecour was hoping to use her, in the same way he thought he was using me. It would have been a useful distraction if ever he had been caught. But … I did not realise your uncle was so taken with his hatred for you that he would kill her. I am still not sure I know why. But it meant we discovered your involvement.’

  ‘So it seems. But I think there was someone pleading your case, when you were taken yourself. In the end, that piteous confession too must have been a sham, designed to throw your pursuers until it was too late. And … oh!’ She clutched at her head. ‘How it hurts …’

  She fell back against the rock, fighting to settle her wild breathing. Lavinia looked to the fort, and they spoke no more.

  A thunderous roar ripped apart the night. In and out of troubled sleep, or troubled unconsciousness, Mercia jumped. Out at sea, bright lights shot across the sky, and a series of frenzied, cacophonous bangs rent the air itself.

  ‘It has started,’ said Lavinia.

  ‘Dear God,’ said Mercia. ‘Let those men survive.’

  The clamour was unbearable. Fire swarmed the dark, sparks of orange and white bursting from a thousand cannon. The fleet was too far out to see the ships themselves, but that scarcely seemed to matter.

  Mercia winced at the pain racing through her. ‘The noise! They will hear this in London.’

  ‘Perhaps it will serve to wake them from their slumber. And look, I was right. Here they come.’

  As hell rained down at sea, a group of figures poured from the fort, heading for the spot opposite. Torches bobbed in their midst, and as they drew closer, a tall man at their centre came into view – the King, a number of his guards around him. But in the din of the battle, they were less concerned with keeping close than with running to the shore.

  ‘May God have mercy on us,’ she thought she heard him say.

  And then as the King was looking out to sea; as his guards were dodging each other in the hopes of an impossible view; as the cannons roared their power across the burning night – Lavinia stole from behind the outcrop and began to creep towards him.

  Mercia jumped to follow, but she almost fainted, her head hammering with the ferocity of what had happened that night. She opened her mouth to call out, but nothing sounded but an agonised croak. The more she tried to raise her voice, the hoarser it became.

  ‘Lavinia,’ she rasped. ‘No!’

  Voice muted, she had little option but to try to run. Ignoring the rush of dizziness without and within, she pushed from the outcrop and pursued as swiftly as she was able. But the gap between them did not lessen, and by now Lavinia was in range of the King.

  And still, all his guards were looking out to sea. Still, the violence of the cannon fire was masking Lavinia’s approach. Still, Mercia pressed on, calling on the depths of her strength to grant her one last effort. Then as an enormous bang seemed to split earth from sky, Lavinia raised her arm and cocked her gun.

  Finally, the nearest guard turned his head and swore. But by then it was too late. The King
was directly in her sight.

  ‘Stay back,’ she ordered, although it was uncertain who could hear. ‘Stay back!’ she repeated, louder now, as a second’s silence calmed the sea. The guard held up his hands in a signal of compliance and moved away.

  Her finger was on the trigger, but she did not fire. As the rumour of her presence made its fast circuit, the King turned from the sea-fire and seemed to gasp, standing utterly still. Then the guard beside him raised his musket, but Lavinia thrust out her pistol and he was ordered to hold.

  As battle raged behind them, nothing further happened. Guards held steady their weapons. One or two were cocked. And then the cannons fell momentarily silent.

  ‘Miss Whent,’ called the King, his voice carrying on the wind. ‘Put down the pistol, and we can talk. See, my guards are lowering their own.’

  ‘He is not,’ she shouted back, aware of the soldier beside him.

  ‘Then it is one against one. Let you both disarm together, and we shall talk.’

  ‘Do as he says,’ said Mercia, now within reach, coming as close to Lavinia as she dared.

  The King flinched. ‘Mrs Blakewood!’

  ‘Lavinia,’ she said, ignoring him. ‘Please, do as he says.’

  She held her weapon steady. ‘Come nearer, Mercia, and I will fire.’

  Mercia held up her hands and backed slowly away. Out at sea, the ships remained mute.

  ‘The fleets will be sailing in lines,’ called the King. ‘Taking the measure the one of the other. But battle will soon recommence. There is some little time to talk.’

  ‘You will not shoot,’ said Mercia, her eyes on Lavinia. ‘Do you want the others to be taken? Because I know now, Lavinia. I know and I will speak.’

  ‘Then I shall kill you next.’

  ‘You know you have only one shot.’

  ‘Do you not recall the man at the beach? He is still here, Mercia. He has followed us.’

  ‘I do not think so. Please, put down the gun.’

  Lavinia’s jaw began to shake, and her eyes grew fearful. Her free hand curled up into her side.