“You would have our church overturned and return to the butchery of Mary?” I sneered.
“I would have the country brought to the true faith. It is a man’s duty to serve God.”
“You believe He would prefer the corruption of Rome to our own good . . .”
“You blaspheme! You know nothing of the church and real faith.”
“I know enough to know you are talking out of your arse.”
“The Holy Father in Rome seeks to mediate between heaven and earth, friend. It is this new faith, Protestantism, which is wrong. Pray for your understanding, and God will enlighten you!”
“It was Catesby who taught you all this?”
“My master was a charismatic man. Bold, energetic, generous, he persuaded many gentlemen to revert to the true faith.”
“And has brought them to destruction in their turn.”
The fellow peered up at me as though he had heard something in my voice, but then he shook his head. “What can you tell of these matters? You know nothing of them.”
“Catesby died in the explosion at Holbeche House?”
As soon as they realized that their plot had been discovered, that was where they had fled, out of London and into Staffordshire. At least Guy Fawkes had the credit for courage. He had remained in London hoping to set off the powder under parliament while others chased his confederates.
He frowned. “No, of course not! Catesby died when he was shot.”
“He had been injured, though?”
“In the explosion? Yes. All in that room were hurt. When the posse came to catch us, we were drenched from a long ride, and we’d set powder by the fire to dry. A spark must have caught it, and two pounds went up, wounding everyone in the room.”
“Not you?”
“No. I was in a different room.”
“And you decided to flee?”
“There was no point remaining. It was clear that when the sheriff and his men arrived, the house must be taken. The plot had failed.”
“So you fled. And took a hundred pounds with you.”
“Christopher Wright threw it to me from his window.”
“Before the sheriff had arrived, then?”
“What?”
“You say that he threw it to you. Plainly that must have been before the sheriff and his men arrived. Otherwise they would have seen you and shot you. As they shot and killed all the others there.”
“Yes. I suppose so.”
“And all the others did die, or were captured.”
“Yes.”
He had grown quiet now, and his face was averted. It was plain to him that I knew something, from the way that he avoided my gaze. I suppose with any other felon I would have been able to remain dispassionate, but this man was different. I loathed this bastard as I had no other in all my years.
“Why did he throw money to you?”
He shrugged, a slow raising of his shoulders that nonetheless made his teeth click together and sent a shudder of anguish through his thin frame.
“You said that he wanted much of it to go to his wife?”
“Yes. But I didn’t see her.”
“So what happened to the money? A hundred pounds is a goodly sum. Especially for a mere yeoman like you!” I added sarcastically.
It made no impression upon him. I was convinced that he’d stored the money somewhere. If he had, I only hoped he would somehow get it to Martha, his wife. She would need it when he was executed if she wasn’t to be starved soon after. They had several children.
I tried another attack. “The house has been the haunt of Papists for many years.”
“It has?”
“You escaped the place in broad daylight, I have heard.”
“Yes.”
“And you rode off. You were caught on the twelfth, I understand.” He made no comment. “There were numerous shots from the house at the sheriff’s men.”
“They were attacking. I suppose the men inside defended themselves.”
“You mean they deliberately resisted arrest.”
“They protected themselves as best they might. Every man in this country has the right to defend himself.”
“Not from the King’s own lawful officials. Not when they are being arrested for treason. Be that as it may . . . there were thirteen or fourteen captured. How many others were there in the plot?”
“Others? That is all there were.”
I smiled. “You expect me to believe that you were the only menial there? What, Percy had no one he could trust? The owner of Holbeche House, Littleton, he had no servants there?”
“There was none but those you captured.”
“And you escaped from the house on horseback, passing miraculously through all the forces at the disposal of the sheriff? You must be a clever man indeed!”
“I was careful.”
“Careful! I should think you were! To elude so many men just as they were looking for you . . . perhaps you paid one of them a hundred pounds for your life? That would have been careful.”
“I did not!”
“I wonder where that cash has been stored, then.” It was nothing to me. There were greater matters. “You were caught in Staffordshire on the twelfth . . . that was four days after Catesby’s death and the arrest of the other assassins. Where had you been until then?”
“Living on the land. I spent my time in hedges during the day and rode on at night.”
He looked up just then, gazing at the grille set so high up in the wall, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang. Memories of fields, fresh air, birdsong, even the grim drizzle that had settled over the country that miserable November seemed so far from that dreadful dungeon. He was harsh indeed who wouldn’t feel sadness for a man in his plight. Then I thought again of the explosion he had tried to cause, thought of the men, women and children who could have died, and my heart was hardened against him.
“Who was with you?”
“I was alone.”
“You were the only coward?”
He flinched at that, and winced with the sudden pain. “If you say so.”
“I do. The others in the house had the courage to stand and die, but you rode off.”
There was a faint glimmer of light, and when I peered closely, I saw that he was giving a twisted smile, his remaining yellowed teeth showing. “You think running was cowardly? I wish I’d remained and died and been saved all of . . .” He waved a hand about him. There was a catch in his throat. “You think my end will be easier? I should have remained and taken a bullet like my master.”
“Yes. At least then you’d be considered honourable.”
“I wonder.”
“An honourable man would never have bolted, hoping to escape the punishment due to him.”
“No.”
I knew that he was close, then. I leaned forward. “Unless he had another reason to leave, of course.”
There it was again, that quick stillness I remembered so well. He was never so still as when he was guilty and sure that his secret had been discovered.
I continued: “I wonder how the King’s men learned of the plot.”
“That is plain enough. There was that letter.”
That strange letter. Yes. I had seen it and read it, and I have to confess, I thought it a fine piece of nonsense.
It had been sent to Lord Monteagle, and it advised him to keep away from the parliament because it would “recevue a terrible bloue”. Lord Monteagle professed himself to be entirely unaware of the meaning – in fact he told me he thought that it might have been a joke in poor taste – but no one would dare to conceal a potentially dangerous letter like that. He took it himself to Robert Cecil, Lord Salisbury, that same night. The King’s chief of spies.
“We know that Winter heard about the letter on Sunday twenty-seventh of October,” I said. “And he went straight to Catesby and told him that all was up. I understand they thought that Francis Tresham had sent it.”
“Perhaps they did.”
It was curious. Tresham had been ill just before he was arrested, but all had heard that he had died in gaol two days before Christmas.
“Tresham always struck me as a strong fellow,” I commented.
“Perhaps so.”
“Somehow he convinced Catesby and Winter that he had done no such thing, though. Surely, if anyone was to warn Lord Monteagle not to attend parliament, it would have been Tresham.”
“You believe so?”
“Tresham was Lady Monteagle’s brother. Any honourable man must have wished to prevent his sister becoming widowed.”
“I know nothing of that.”
“I said an ‘honourable’ man. What would you know of that?” I spat, my rage overcoming my caution.
There was a slow change in his posture at that. He turned to face me, and I saw that his leg slid down as though he was suddenly unnerved and sought to rise and escape.
I must control myself. “Being honourable, Tresham wanted to save his brother-in-law. He sent an anonymous letter to the Lord, trusting that his Lorship’s good judgement would see to it that he protected himself. And that would probably have been fine, except he didn’t read it quietly to himself. My Lord Monteagle was eating his supper, so he had one of his servants read it aloud in his hall, where all could hear. It was instantly clear that the letter was dangerous, and he hurried with it to my Lord Salisbury’s house, where he passed it over.”
“It was an act of the blindest treachery to tell anyone.”
“You would not have done any such thing?”
“No!”
The emphatic nature of his denial made me want to strike him. I could have wept to think that any man could have so lost his soul as to think of eradicating a single man, let alone the massed hordes of parliament. And he saw it as obnoxious that a man could have sought to protect his sister and her husband from widowhood and death. He was indeed a perverted figure. The sort any man should detest.
“I suppose not. You were a retainer of Catesby for most of your life, weren’t you? And he rewarded you well for your work.”
“I never gave him reason to regret employing me.”
“And any man who betrayed your master, you would see as an appalling traitor. Especially one who had been trusted.”
It was in his face again: uncertainty. He had been badly beaten. I could see now that his right eye was swollen and blinded, but his left narrowed as he gazed at me. That was little concern – he had always suffered from poor vision in that eye. He was lucky to see his laces to tie them! Still, I remained stooped so that I could remain anonymous.
“Any man would see it as an act of treachery.”
I had to catch my breath and force myself to be calm. I would not submit to my passion, there was too much at stake here. “If there had been a means of escape from Holbeche House, that would have made a man think immediately of seeking revenge.”
“How could any man escape from there?”
“There were rumoured to have been many men in there when the sheriff and his men arrived. They were shooting from the upstairs windows, from the doorway, from every available position. Even as the sheriff’s men wounded and killed the traitors inside, more took their places. And none of their servants were present when the house was taken. That is astonishing, is it not?”
“I know nothing of all this. I had ridden off before that.”
“So you say.”
“I couldn’t have forced my way past all the sheriff’s men, not knowing the country.”
He seemed to be so confident of his story that he didn’t hear my words at first.
“What?”
“I said, what of the tunnel that led from the house?”
He was silent, so I continued, “It would have been an excellent means of escape for all those retainers who were with their masters, but who chose not to stay to the bitter end.”
“You’re talking rubbish. There’s no tunnel,” he bluffed.
“No tunnel? I have walked it. It brings you out inside the mill by the river. But you knew that, of course.”
“I know nothing of all this.”
“Strange. A leather jerkin was found in there, and three men have sworn it was yours.”
“There are many leather jerkins,” he said with a repeat of that twisted grin.
“So there are. But when you were captured you had an old tunic and cloak, no jerkin. That seems strange. Where did you lose it?”
“I left it behind in London.”
“Ah, but you see there was no mention of it in the inventories. I know: I have checked. And it wasn’t in the house itself. The sheriff’s report was very detailed about everything they found there.”
“Perhaps it was stolen, then.”
“And perhaps this is a wafer of lies. You escaped along that tunnel with your comrades, and then made your way from there.”
“It means nothing. I escaped then; I was caught later.”
“Yes. You were caught later. Four days later.”
He grunted and turned away again. “This is tedious. Is your questioning intended to torture my mind as your men have already broken my body?”
“Four days would have been enough time to ride at speed to Rushton.”
“What of it?”
“Why, strangely enough, that was where Tresham was. He went to his house to put his papers in order before he was arrested and died.”
“He thought he might escape.”
“He knew that his part in the plot must become known. Poor man! He wanted to help because he was an idealist, and then he inherited all his family’s wealth and realized that life was too precious to expend in foolish ventures.”
“He was a coward and a fool! He betrayed all of us. If it weren’t for him . . .”
“Yes, if it weren’t for him, his sisters would have been widowed. Lady Monteagle and Lady Stourton would have lost their husbands. They might themselves have died. You would have orphaned his nephews and nieces.”
“He was all for it!”
“Before he was wealthy, yes. It was only because he was rich that Catesby decided to approach him, wasn’t it? Catesby needed money, and was happy to take it from one who’d declared himself for the Pope. It was just that a man desires nothing more than change all his life until he becomes changed himself. When a fellow has money, life is all the sweeter. And a decent man would detest to cause his sister’s husband to die, either by his actions, or by his inactions.”
“He convinced Winter he was innocent and didn’t send it.”
“Winter was infallible? You don’t believe Tresham was innocent any more than I.”
“No. Tresham sent that letter, and by so doing he signed our death warrants.”
“You signed your own. He had no part in it until the end. You all chose to set your faces against your lawful king and his government. You chose treason and murder.”
“We killed no one.”
“Did you not? I say you did! You murdered at least one man.”
“Who?”
“Francis Tresham. You rode to his home, you met him there, and you gave him poison. You said that he would soon be captured, and that his name would be dishonoured forever. His sisters would be tainted with his guilt, their husbands would be ruined by their association with your conspiracy, and Tresham must surely be an object of contempt. A co-conspirator without the guts to carry through his part in the crime, who lacked even the courage to warn those whom he loved in an honourable manner. He was a figure of ridicule. And you made him see it.”
“I didn’t poison him.”
“No. You gave him the means to kill himself and sat there until he took it, I suppose?”
He put a hand to his face, covering his good eye and turning upwards as though the sun could shine through the thick walls and warm him. “Yes. I went there, and I gave him the poison. I had thought it would work faster . . . but it was better that it took so long. The revenge was delicious
.”
“You watched him take it?”
“Yes. His servants thought he had a belly-ache from the food he’d taken earlier that day. I was hidden behind the tapestry when he started crying out to them, but he didn’t know I was still in there and didn’t denounce me. The servants hurried in, took one look, and carried him up to his bedchamber. I just sauntered out to my horse and left him. I’d meant to get to Stafford, but they found me too soon. So here I am.”
“Here you are. You killed him in punishment for trying to save lives.”
“He betrayed us to Salisbury! Damn him! He sold us, and for what? Two paltry lives which were not worth one Catesby or Winter! Just to protect his sisters, you say? What of them? Two harpies whose sole claim to significance lies in their loins and wombs. For them Tresham was prepared to see my master . . .” he choked a little, and for a moment I feared that he would suffocate, but then he caught himself and rested his skull against the wall, eyes closed.
“What of them?” he repeated. “I apologize, sir, if my coughing alarmed you. It’s the instruments they use in here. First there was the beating, then knives, pliers and pincers, then the heated bars and last of all, the rack. Well, when all your limbs have been wrenched from their sockets, you know the meaning of pain. I do. I have suffered – and for why? Because I seek to change my country from this heathen existence and bring her back into the fold of the holy Mother church. I have seen a man killed in that ambition, but if we had succeeded we would have benefitted all the poor souls in the land. You tell me with horror that I should have cared for those two women? I tell you I would have strangled them both with my bare hands, aye, and their whelps too, if it would have assisted in even a tiny part of our scheme to bring this kingdom back to the Church of Rome. It is where we all belong.”
“Tresham did not die so quickly, though.”
“No. He survived to be arrested. It is good. He suffered greatly.”
“Especially here in the tower.”
“I heard him,” he said cruelly. “It made me smile, even when they pulled the nails from my fingers, I smiled to hear him groaning.”
“You are an evil man.”
“I am a man of conviction. You could not understand.”
The Mammoth Book of Jacobean Whodunnits Page 8