Sea Change

by Robert Goddard

  The door opened and McIlwraith strode into the room. Over his shoulder, Spandrel saw Estelle de Vries turn and stare at him in astonishment. ‘Cry out and it’ll be the last sound you make, madam.’ McIlwraith pointed the pistol at her and glanced around. ‘Where’s Zuyler?’

  The best room in the house amounted to a sparsely furnished chamber boasting a four-poster bed that seemed to belong in more spacious surroundings, a single chair, a chest of drawers and a rickety dressing-table. There were no doors to other rooms and Zuyler was nowhere to be seen. Estelle de Vries was wearing a plain dress and shawl. Her hair was awry, one strand falling across her cheek. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes red and swollen. As she pushed back the wayward strand of hair with a shaking hand, Spandrel saw that there was a bruise forming over the cheekbone. ‘You,’ she murmured, her shock turning to a frozen look of horror as their eyes met. ‘Oh, dear God.’

  ‘Where’s Zuyler?’ McIlwraith repeated.

  ‘Not …’ She shook her head. ‘Not here.’

  ‘Close the door, Jupe. Is the key in the lock?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Turn it. We’ll need warning of Zuyler’s return.’

  ‘Mr Spandrel,’ said Mrs de Vries in a fluttering voice. ‘How … did you …’

  ‘Escape from the trap you set for me?’ Spandrel hoped he sounded more bitter than he felt. She deserved every reproach he could fashion. Yet finding her as she was – distraught, deserted for all he knew – he could not help feeling a pang of sorrow for her. ‘Why should you care?’

  ‘It was thanks to me,’ said McIlwraith, uncocking the pistol. ‘Captain James McIlwraith, madam. Special representative of the House of Commons Secret Committee of Inquiry into the South Sea Company.’

  ‘The … what?’

  ‘This is Jupe,’ he went on. ‘Valet to Sir Theodore Janssen. You may have seen him before. He’s been following you. As have we.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I think you do. We want the Green Book.’

  ‘Book? What book?’

  ‘Come, come, madam. You and your paramour tried to sell it to the British Government. And now you’re on your way to Rome to hawk it round the Pretender’s court. It’s useless to pretend otherwise.’

  ‘Useless?’ She looked at McIlwraith, then at Spandrel, then back at McIlwraith.

  ‘Utterly.’

  ‘And who did you say you represent?’

  ‘The House of Commons Secret Committee of Inquiry into the South Sea Company.’

  ‘You mean the Government?’

  ‘No, madam. The House of Commons. You’re English, for pity’s sake. You must know the difference.’

  ‘Of course. I … I thought …’ She put her hand to her brow and squeezed her eyes briefly shut, then fingered away some tears from their edges. ‘May I sit down?’

  ‘By all means.’ McIlwraith pulled the chair back for her with a flourish. She sank into it. ‘Where is the Green Book?’

  To Spandrel’s amazement, she laughed, then took her handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Forgive me. It is … almost funny.’

  ‘I pride myself on my sense of humour,’ said McIlwraith, placing a heavy hand on the back of the chair. ‘But I regret to say the joke has eluded me. Where’s the book?’

  ‘I don’t have it.’

  ‘Does Zuyler?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then what’s become of it?’

  ‘It’s gone.’

  ‘Gone where … exactly?’

  ‘Into the river.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I threw it into the river.’

  ‘You destroyed it?’ put in Jupe.

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘I did.’

  ‘We don’t believe you,’ said McIlwraith.

  ‘I don’t blame you. I hardly believe it myself. But it’s true.’

  ‘You threw it into the river?’

  ‘Yes. I walked out onto the bridge down there’ – she gestured towards the river – ‘and tossed the book over the parapet. Then I watched it being borne away in the current. The river’s in spate. It bobbed along like a piece of driftwood, until the water soaked into the pages and weighed it down. Then it sank. Or I lost sight of it in the turbulence. It makes no difference. Ink and paper don’t fare well in water. There’s a sodden lump of something on the riverbed a few miles downstream, I dare say. But for the only purposes you care about, it’s gone.’

  A brief silence fell. There had been such a ring of truth in what Estelle de Vries had said that the three men were momentarily struck dumb. Had she really done it? If so, only one question mattered. And it was McIlwraith who posed it. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because some things matter more than money. Such as love. Or the loss of it.’ Her head fell. ‘Pieter and I …’

  ‘Fell out?’

  ‘Everything I did was for him. For us. Our future.’

  ‘Such as murdering your husband?’

  ‘Have you ever been in love, Captain?’

  ‘Aye. For my pains, I have.’

  ‘But you’re a man. You cannot love as a woman does. Not just with her heart. But with every fibre of her being. You do not understand.’

  ‘Make me understand.’

  ‘Very well. I adored Pieter. I worshipped him. I did whatever he said we had to do to escape …’ She shuddered. ‘From de Vries. Yes, I helped Pieter kill him. And I lied to blacken Mr Spandrel’s name.’ She turned and looked at Spandrel. ‘For that I am truly sorry.’

  ‘Not as sorry as I am,’ said Spandrel, wondering if she grasped the doubleness of his meaning.

  ‘All de Vries’s money goes to his son,’ she went on.

  ‘We know,’ said McIlwraith. ‘But why should that worry someone who loves with every fibre of her being?’

  ‘It didn’t. But Pieter … said we had to have money if he was to keep me in the manner he wished to. He could not bear the thought of me living in poverty. And with the Green Book …’

  ‘There was no need to see whether your love would thrive in adversity.’

  ‘No. Exactly. We were greedy, of course. I don’t deny it.’

  ‘That’s as well.’

  ‘It wasn’t all greed, though. Not for me.’

  ‘But for Zuyler?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ She gave a crumpled little smile. ‘When we arrived here yesterday, he told me that he would have to go on alone. That the Alpine crossing would be too much for me. I assured him it would not. But he insisted. He would leave me here, travel on to Rome alone and then return to fetch me when he had sold the book. But in his eyes I could see the truth. He wasn’t coming back for me. It had all been for the money. And he didn’t mean to share it. He didn’t love me. He never had. I’d merely been the instrument of his enrichment. We argued. But he didn’t change his mind. There was, of course, no possibility that he would. He had made it up a long time ago. He went out then. He had already arranged to sell the chaise, apparently, needing the proceeds to hire a guide for the crossing. While he was out, I took the book down to the bridge and threw it into the river. It was the last thing he had anticipated. Otherwise he would have taken it with him. He did not understand, you see, how deeply I loved him. And how little the money mattered once he was lost to me. But if I could not have him, he could not have his reward. It seemed very simple to me. And I was glad to do it, glad to hurt him as he had hurt me. When he returned, I told him at once what I had done.’ She shook her head. ‘He searched the room, you know. He didn’t believe me. He thought I’d hidden it somewhere. When he realized the truth, he grew angry.’ Her fingers moved to the bruise on her cheek. ‘Very angry.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘He left. I imagine he’s in some tavern now, cursing my name and drowning his dreams of the wealth that won’t now be his.’

  ‘Nor yours.’

  ‘Nor anyone’s.’ She looked from one to the other of them. ‘Aren’t you going to look for it? You surely won’t take me at my word.’


  McIlwraith sighed. ‘No. I fear we can’t do that.’ He turned to Jupe and Spandrel. ‘You both know what you’re looking for. I suggest you set about it.’

  ‘We’re not going to find it,’ said Spandrel. ‘Are we?’

  ‘Probably not. But look anyway.’

  It did not take long. The chest of drawers contained only clothes and there were few places where such an object could be hidden. Jupe pulled a travelling bag from beneath the bed and opened it. Inside was the despatch-box. But it was empty, as Spandrel had known it would be. Then Jupe rolled aside the rug covering half the floor and crouched over the boards with the lantern, looking for some sign that one of them had been lifted. But there was none.

  ‘Congratulations, madam,’ said McIlwraith, when the search had come to its predictable conclusion. ‘The Government will be grateful to you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because the Green Book’s destruction serves them well. The guilty go free and—’ He chopped the air with the edge of his hand. ‘Love conquers all.’

  ‘We should find Zuyler,’ said Jupe grimly.

  ‘Aye. So we should.’

  ‘What will you do to him?’ asked Estelle.

  ‘I don’t know.’ McIlwraith looked at her. ‘Whatever it is, I doubt it’ll compare to what you’ve already done to him.’

  ‘Tell him …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That he’s lost something more valuable than the Green Book.’ She gazed into the guttering fire. ‘And there will come a time when he regrets it.’

  ‘Did you believe her, Spandrel?’ McIlwraith asked as they walked away from the house a few minutes later.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Me too. Jupe?’

  ‘She may be lying. She may be more cunning than you think.’

  ‘You have no soul, man. “Heaven has no rage, like love to hatred turned, nor Hell a fury, like a woman scorned.” Mr Congreve had it right, I reckon.’

  ‘I’m a mere servant, Captain. What would I know of a playwright’s moralizing?’

  ‘Enough. If you wanted to. But to business. I doubt we’ll have to look far for our despondent Dutchman.’

  He was right. They found Zuyler in the third tavern they tried, a loud, smoke-filled establishment that was clearly as much a brothel as a drinking den. Zuyler seemed to have availed himself of both of the commodities on offer. He was leaning back in his chair at a corner table, with a girl on his knee and two bottles, one empty, one nearly so, in front of him. His left hand held a goblet, while his right was cradling one of the girl’s ample breasts, barely concealed by her bodice.

  ‘A charming scene, don’t you think, gentlemen?’ McIlwraith declared, dragging the girl to her feet and telling her to be on her way, which she promptly was. ‘Mijnheer Zuyler!’ Zuyler looked around in slack-jawed confusion, apparently uncertain where or why the girl had gone. ‘Perhaps you prefer to be called Kempis. Or Kemp.’

  ‘Who … are you?’ Zuyler slurred.

  ‘Surely you know Spandrel here.’

  ‘Sp-Spandrel?’ Zuyler gaped at him, his eyes visibly struggling to focus. ‘That can’t …’ He tried to rise, then slumped back. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re not …’

  ‘Oh but he is. Why don’t you tell him what you think of him, Spandrel?’

  ‘What would be the point?’ Spandrel shook his head dismally.

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ said McIlwraith. ‘An enemy in his cups is a contemptible thing. We have a message for you, Zuyler. From Estelle.’

  ‘Estelle?’ Zuyler spat. ‘Die zalet-juffer.’

  Suddenly angry, Spandrel stepped forward and hauled Zuyler out of his chair. Then, staring into the eyes of the man who had all but condemned him to death, he realized how empty the prospect of revenge was. He pushed Zuyler away and watched him fall against the chair, then slide to the floor, toppling the table as he went.

  ‘What did he call her?’ asked McIlwraith, as the bottles rolled to rest at his feet.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Spandrel. ‘And I don’t care.’

  ‘Is that so? For a moment, I thought you did. We’ll forget the message, then, shall we?’

  ‘He would.’ Spandrel looked down at Zuyler where he lay, spilt wine dripping onto his face from the table. ‘Even if we delivered it.’

  They walked down to the river gate. McIlwraith tipped the gateman to let them through the wicket and they made their way to the middle of the bridge. The river was lost in mist and darkness, but they could see it spuming round the cutwater by the light of the gatehouse lanterns at either end and could hear the roar of it as it swept on round the bend to the north.

  ‘This isn’t how I’d expected the chase to end,’ said McIlwraith. ‘And it’s far from what my superiors will want to hear. But hear it they must.’

  ‘I’m still not convinced,’ said Jupe. ‘They may have lodged the book at a bank and be waiting for us to give up before retrieving it and carrying on to Rome.’

  ‘You said yourself, man, that they’ve hardly set foot outside the house since arriving. So, they couldn’t have known Spandrel and I were here. Are you suggesting they contrived all this just in case we came calling?’

  ‘No,’ Jupe admitted. ‘I suppose not. But I shall keep my eye on them till their intentions are clear, none theless.’

  ‘A wise precaution, no doubt.’

  ‘I’ve been away from the house too long as it is.’

  ‘Don’t let us detain you.’

  ‘I shan’t. This is all very … unsatisfactory, you know.’ There was a reproachful edge to Jupe’s voice.

  ‘Aye, aye. Life often is.’

  ‘I’ll bid you good night, then. You know where to find me.’

  ‘And you us.’

  McIlwraith and Spandrel watched Jupe walk away along the bridge until he had vanished into the shadow of the gatehouse arch. Several more moments passed with nothing said. The river rushed on below them. Then Spandrel asked plaintively, ‘What are we to do now?’

  ‘Now?’ McIlwraith clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘There’s only one thing to do in a situation like this.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘We follow Zuyler’s example. And get roaringly drunk.’

  As McIlwraith and Spandrel walked up through the mist-filled streets of the city towards the Drei Tassen inn and the lure of its tap-room, Jupe was climbing the stairs of the Pension Siegwart. His room was on the third floor. But his climb ended at the first. There he paused, as if pondering some course of action, before heading along the landing to the door of the room taken by the couple known to the landlady as Mr and Mrs Kemp, where a light was still burning.

  He knocked at the door with three soft taps. A moment later, it opened and Estelle de Vries looked out at him.

  ‘Mr Jupe,’ she said, with no inflexion of surprise. ‘You’re alone?’

  ‘Yes, madam.’

  ‘McIlwraith and Spandrel?’

  ‘Have gone.’

  ‘Do you think they were fooled?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Jupe nodded. ‘Completely.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Blood and Vanishment

  THE MIST HAD all but gone by morning. The sun was up in an icy blue sky, glinting on the giant horseshoe of the Aare, within which were clustered the spires and turrets and jumbled rooftops of Berne. Spandrel looked down at the river from a high, buttressed terrace behind the cathedral. A line of broken water marked the course of a weir linking the southern bank to a landing-stage and dock away to his left. Smoke was rising from a mill adjoining the dock and the sound of sawing from a woodyard carried up to him through the clarified air. A man with a fowling-piece under his arm was walking across a field on the opposite shore, a dog trotting beside him through the patches of snow. The world went on its way. And so did the people in it.

  The thoughts filling Spandrel’s head were not those he would have expected in the wake of his con
frontation with the two people who had saddled him with the blame for a murder. Many times, languishing in his cell in Amsterdam, he had wondered what he would do if he ever set eyes – or laid hands – upon them. And never once had it occurred to him that he would simply walk away and leave them to their own devices. But what else could he do? They had worked his vengeance out for him. They had undone themselves. Estelle de Vries he now saw as beyond condemnation, Pieter Zuyler as beneath contempt. They hated each other more than he could contrive to hate either of them.

  For Estelle he felt in truth no hatred whatever, rather a perverse kind of admiration. To risk all – and to lose all – in the name of love was somehow magnificent. Spandrel did not care that she had destroyed the Green Book. He faintly approved of the action. And he could not help worrying what its consequences would be for her. Zuyler’s capacity for violence might yet cost her dear. She should leave Berne without delay. She should return to England and put behind her the follies and the evils Zuyler had tempted her into.

  Whether she would he did not know. It had seemed to him, listening to her account of herself in that mean little room at the Pension Siegwart, that he could almost taste the blackness of her despair. She had abandoned her old life and now her new life had abandoned her. What would she do? ‘She might drown herself,’ McIlwraith had said at some late and drunken stage of the previous night, ‘before Zuyler does it for her.’ This suggestion, half-jest though it was, had lingered in Spandrel’s mind, till he had convinced himself that something of the kind was horribly possible, that it might, indeed, have already happened.

  It was to shake off the depression that this idea had plunged him into that he had left McIlwraith breakfasting morosely at the Drei Tassen and walked aimlessly about the streets of the city as it stretched and yawned and came to its Saturday morning self.

  But he had not succeeded. The depression remained. And gazing down at the river, on which a barge had just now put out from the dock, he realized that there was only one way to be rid of it. He would have to return to the Pension Siegwart. And make some kind of peace with Estelle de Vries.

  The door was answered by a twinkle-eyed butter-ball of a woman whom Spandrel took to be Frau Siegwart. Her command of English was evidently little greater than his of German and he did not help his cause by asking for Mevrouw de Vries. Once he had laughed that off and specified Mrs Kemp instead, there was a glimmer of understanding and he was invited to enter.