At last a man approached carrying a lantern. He wore a buff coat, the orange sash of Parliament, high boots, and a good beaver hat. “I am Corporal Giles Draycott of the London Bands,” he informed Laurence, in a courteous, educated voice. “Who are you and what were you doing on this barge?”
“Corporal Draycott, there’s been a mistake,” Laurence said, in a brusque though somewhat friendlier tone than he had used with the militia. “I applaud the vigilance of your troops, but they’ve arrested the wrong man.”
Draycott set the lantern on the deck, and squatted down. In the flickering light, Laurence discerned intelligence and gentleness in his face, and a likeable straightforwardness in his eyes. They were perhaps the same age. “Pray explain, sir,” he said.
“You must keep what I tell you between us. I’m an agent of Parliament returning from Oxford. I was in haste to report vital news to the Committee of Safety at Derby House. That’s why I took passage on your barge. Don’t bother to ask my name – I’ll give you a false one, on the instruction of Mr. Pym himself.”
“Heavens above,” murmured Draycott. “But why did you claim to be an excise officer, and then try to flee?”
“Why would I admit who I am to a common trooper? I tried to flee because I knew I’d be delayed and questioned.”
“If you won’t give your name, are you carrying any credentials?”
“Credentials? Sir, there are enemy spies everywhere, including among our militias, who would not hesitate to cut my throat if they found me out. I’ve put my cover at risk by telling you even this much. I’m not well known yet in England, which has been an advantage to me thus far,” Laurence went on, inspired by Digby’s portrait of the butcher. “I was away, fighting in the wars abroad. Now, untie me, and you must let me off as soon as the barge docks.”
“How can I, when for aught I know, you might be an enemy spy?”
Laurence sighed, thinking. “Corporal, did you hear of the King’s plot for a revolt in London this spring?”
“The whole City heard.”
“I helped to detect it, when I first came back from the Low Countries. If you want proof of who I am, ask me anything you want about it.”
Draycott seemed to consider. “Tell me how Lady d’Aubigny and Lady Murray smuggled in the King’s Commission of Array authorising the revolt. Their coach was thoroughly searched when it entered London.”
Laurence could provide a bit of the truth for a change. “The document was hidden down the front of Lady d’Aubigny’s dress, where she assumed no gentleman would search, and none did. I was warned she had it on her, and I followed her, the day she delivered it,” he added, less truthfully.
“To Sir Edmund Waller’s brother-in-law.”
“No, to a man named Chaloner, who later passed it on to him.”
“The ladies were fortunate to be spared a public trial,” Draycott remarked.
No idle observation, Laurence suspected. “They were saved by their rank and their sex,” he said, feigning scorn.
“Yes – for so-called rebels, we behaved ourselves scrupulously towards them. They were shielded from the common view throughout, to the disappointment of most Londoners. Lady d’Aubigny was rumoured to be exquisite in appearance – tall and flaxen-haired,” Draycott said, his eyes watchful.
“Lady d’Aubigny is exquisite, though she’s small in height, and her hair is dark brown,” said Laurence, amused: he could have offered a more intimate description of her charms. “Rumour confused her with Lady Murray, who is tall and blonde, and less exquisite.” Draycott’s face relaxed, hinting to Laurence that he had survived a test and won a measure of trust. “I’d be pleased to satisfy your curiosity at length on another occasion,” he went on, “but I swear, if you don’t free me tonight, there may be grave consequences. Where is the barge to dock?”
“Lambeth,” Draycott said. “I must convey the troops to Captain Harper, who’s in charge of the fort at St. George’s Fields. I’ll ask his permission to accompany you back across the Thames, to confirm with Pym that you are his agent.”
“And blow wide my cover? Pym won’t thank you for it.”
“Then supply me with some token of proof to take to Pym, in confidence. You’ll be kept but a few hours at the fort. You have my word, sir.”
It was more than Laurence could have hoped for: Lambeth was not far from Mistress Edwards’ house; and during those hours at the fort he might exert his powers of persuasion on the Captain to release him before Draycott could reappear and unmask his lies. “Very well, Corporal. Until we dock, please ensure that none of my property goes astray – especially my pistols.”
“They are a splendid brace – they must be worth a great deal.”
“They were a gift from a friend who was killed in battle at Newbury. I value them as a memorial of him, not for their worth,” Laurence said, with absolute honesty, thinking of Falkland.
“I’m sorry for your loss, sir. I heard it was a terrible fight, though I did not witness it.” Draycott settled back on his heels and cast Laurence a rueful smile. “I haven’t seen action, thus far. I was a lawyer before I enlisted this summer. I dealt mostly with crimes of fraud, cheating spouses, petty theft – and the odd murder.”
“You moved fast through the ranks, to be made a corporal.”
“My learning and profession got me where I am. For how long did you serve abroad?”
“S-six years,” said Laurence, his teeth beginning to chatter.
“You must be cold, sir,” said Draycott.
“Frozen would be closer to the truth.”
“We thought you might have messages sewn into your cloak or your doublet. I’ll have them returned to you.” Draycott rose, picking up the lantern, and walked away; and a militiaman soon came with the garments. After Laurence put them on, his bonds were refastened, and again he was left alone.
As the barge neared Lambeth, he could distinguish the imposing silhouette of the Abbey and the outlines of Westminster Hall and the Palace of Whitehall across the river. The men were jostling for a view, talking more cheerfully among themselves, obviously keen to get home after their day’s patrol in bad weather.
“Who’s for a flagon at the Dog and Duck tomorrow?” one of them shouted out.
“Can’t afford it on our pay,” grumbled another.
“What pay? We’re owed since August.”
“Hush and ready yourselves, boys,” Draycott told them.
Laurence braced himself, hanging onto the iron ring as the barge lurched to a standstill. A militiaman freed him and cut the rope from his ankles, leaving his wrists tied, and hustled him onto the pier where Corporal Draycott was supervising the stragglers. Then they marched along empty streets, meeting a sole nightwatchman who saluted them with his torch. Ahead Laurence saw more lights, and the fort, a new, solid construct with bulwarks on all sides.
“Corporal,” he said to Draycott, at the entrance, “I’d appreciate your discretion about me.”
“Captain Harper will want to know why we took you prisoner.”
“You’re a lawyer, aren’t you? Be economical with the facts.”
Draycott chuckled. “I’ll do my best.” He guided Laurence down a chilly passage to a room where an officer was warming himself by the hearth. “A good evening to you, Captain Harper,” Draycott said, in a different, rather hostile tone.
Harper had a bulbous nose, his gut overhung the orange sash about his waist, and his mouth was pinched tight as an arsehole. His piercing close-set eyes resembled a pair of currants stuck in a bowl of dough; and they fixed at once on the rope around Laurence’s wrists. “Who’s he?” he said, jerking a hand at Laurence.
“He was apprehended on our barge, as we were setting out from Chelsea,” Draycott replied. “I told him we would have to keep him here while I go to Derby House and confirm his account.”
“What account?”
Draycott glanced at Laurence, half apologetically. “He informs me that he is an agent in Mr. Pym’s service,
on vital business for the Committee of Safety, and can reveal no more about it. He can’t even state his true name, on Mr. Pym’s command.”
“Scurvy, black sort of a rogue, isn’t he,” said Harper, studying Laurence up and down. “Mongrel blood, I’d wager.”
“Untie my hands, and give me a pen and paper,” Laurence said to Draycott. “I’ll write you a message for Mr. Pym.”
Draycott obliged, and Laurence scribbled out some meaningless lines of code; he was starting to fear that he would not convince Harper. Sure enough, as he was giving Draycott the message, Harper said, “Lock him up before you go, Corporal.”
“You’ve no need to place me under restraint,” Laurence objected. “I pledged to Corporal Draycott that I would wait for him.”
“He answers to me, sir. And you shall wait in one of the cells.”
Draycott led Laurence out, along a flight of stone stairs, to a cell bare except for a necessary bucket. “I’ll be as quick as I can,” he said.
Laurence’s stomach constricted as the door closed and the outer bolt squealed shut, leaving him in total darkness. It brought back memories of his hellish weeks imprisoned in Oxford Castle where he had suffered torture almost to breaking point. He had only just managed to keep silent, then, to protect Lord Falkland from calumny. He felt no such allegiance to the present Secretary of State.
II.
Diego Sandoval could pass for English, with his curly auburn hair and freckled complexion. He was short in stature, and though well proportioned, a trifle round-shouldered, as befitted a scholar. Neatly apparelled in his dark suit and hose, a small white ruff at his throat, he looked the picture of a keen young valet, yet the impish gleam in his eyes hinted at a wayward streak as dangerous as his collection of banned books.
“Don Antonio,” he said, “I cannot express my gratitude to you for this opportunity to broaden my horizons.”
“You are not travelling with me for your own pleasure but for mine.” Antonio locked the door of his private office; he wanted no interruptions. “I hope your bags are packed, because we leave at dawn.”
“It’s been a while since I was last in Madrid,” Diego commented, smiling.
“We are not bound for Madrid.”
Diego’s smile faltered. “But my uncle told me—”
“Shut up and listen. And if you breathe a word of what I am about to tell you, I’ll have the Inquisition on you like a pack of hounds before you can say a Hail Mary. Is that clear?” Diego nodded. “We’re to ride for Cádiz, instead, from whence we’ll take ship for England.”
“Has King Philip already dispatched to you the funds for King Charles?” Diego queried, seemingly unflustered by Antonio’s threat.
“No. We’ll collect them in Cádiz, together with diplomatic papers, to ensure my safe passage.”
“I’d suggest that you carry two sets of papers, Don Antonio, one genuine and one false, that you can present according to the situation in which we find ourselves. Vessels departing from our ports may be boarded and searched these days, given our war with France. Also, the rebel English Parliament has seized control of King Charles’s navy, and your mission to England is anathema to Parliament’s interests. As soon as we cross into English waters, we may be in very hot water, and those funds could fall into rebel hands.”
Antonio had an urge to smack Diego’s impertinent face. But the advice was sound. “Aren’t you a clever monkey. And how would I obtain my false papers?”
“I have some skill at forgery,” replied Diego, with a modest lowering of his lashes.
“Could you provide me a sample of your work tonight?”
“If I might borrow paper and writing instruments from your office. Don Antonio, it would further assist me if you could be more … truthful about the purpose of our voyage,” Diego went on, his eyes still lowered.
Antonio started to laugh. “I might, if you teach me a little English. For instance, how do you say, un paso en falso, y acabo muerto?”
“If I put a foot wrong, I shall end up dead,” Diego responded, without hesitation.
III.
As the cell door swung open, Laurence squinted into the flame of a torch. Harper’s bulk loomed over him. “Come with me.”
“Have you heard from Mr. Pym?” asked Laurence.
Harper did not reply.
Sweating and dry in the mouth, Laurence went ahead of him upstairs. Draycott was standing by the fire in a weary attitude. “There has been a mistake, sir,” he said to Laurence. “I spoke with Mr. Pym’s secretary. We must beg pardon for the delay we caused you.” Draycott frowned at Harper, who flushed. “Mr. Pym is pleased to receive you, sir,” Draycott added, to Laurence. “A guard from the fort will escort you to Derby House, lest any further mishap interfere with your duties.”
“I won’t require the guard, Corporal, only my belongings.” Draycott handed Laurence his saddlebag, and he checked that the pistols and knife were inside. He smiled at Draycott, and grinned nastily at Harper. “Thank you and goodnight to you both, gentlemen.”
His knees were shaking on the way out; it had been far too easy. In the street he stopped to get his bearings, and pulled his hood over his head. As he took a step forward, a tall, thickset man in a long, flapping coat and wide-brimmed hat burst from the shadows on the opposite side of the street and hurried towards the fort. Although the man’s face was invisible, the sheer determination in his gait suggested danger to Laurence. The man slowed, raising his arm as if to aim a pistol. Hastily Laurence swerved into the closest alleyway, and began to run eastwards to Southwark.
IV.
“I don’t know what he is to the Committee of Safety, Corporal, but I wouldn’t trust him to empty my pisspot,” muttered Harper. “You should follow him with some of our boys – see which way he went.”
“Captain,” said Draycott, “I’ve been to Derby House and back, in godawful rain, to establish the fact that our prisoner was none other than Mr. Pym’s agent, Clement Veech. I might have spared myself the journey. I knew he was telling the truth, on that barge. Even if I lack your years of soldiering, from time to time my legal skills have their uses.”
“Oh yes? And how’s that?”
“When I questioned him about the Royalist plot, he provided details with which few people are acquainted. For example, that Chaloner received the Commission of Array before Waller got possession of it.” Harper appeared suitably mystified. “And he gave me an exact description of Lady d’Aubigny and her friend, Lady Murray.”
“Friends of yours, are they, Corporal Draycott?” Harper sneered.
“No, Captain, but I happened to be taking a deposition at the Tower when they were brought in as captives of Parliament. No one had been allowed to see their faces, but once inside the Tower precincts they had to remove their veils. Veech could not have described her so well, unless …” Draycott broke off as the door banged open.
A man stood in the entrance, his long, baggy, foreign-looking coat slick with rain, water trickling from the brim of his hat, a matchlock pistol in his right hand. “Who was it that went out of here just now?” he demanded, in a rich, sonorous voice.
“Who the devil are you?” exclaimed Harper.
The man surveyed Harper and Draycott as though they were piles of dung upon the pavement. “Clement Veech, servant to Pym.”
Draycott and Harper exchanged stares. “What?” cried Draycott, to Veech. “But Pym’s secretary was sure that he was Veech. My description fitted him perfectly.”
“How did you describe him?”
“As tall and dark, with an authoritative manner,” Draycott said, realising that Veech was neither as tall nor as dark, nor of the same build. And he was much older, his broad, full face creviced with lines, whereas the other man had a thin, high-cheekboned, foxlike visage.
“What else, Corporal?”
“I …” Draycott quailed beneath Veech’s gaze. “I recounted what he had said to me: that he had served some years in the Low Countries before returning
to England, and was presently coming from Oxford under cover with vital news to report to Pym.”
“The last part should have given him away: I’ve never been in Oxford. What colour were his eyes?” asked Veech, pointing a finger at his own, which seemed to Draycott a fathomless black.
“They were extremely pale in shade – a … a greenish yellow, I believe.”
“You fools – you let go Laurence Beaumont, Lord Digby’s chief spy.” Veech turned on his heel. “Call out the troops, Captain Harper. If we move fast, we may still catch him.”
V.
Laurence could barely see through the downpour. His breath came in uneven gasps as he tore through the desolate lanes, his nerves working like a quarried beast’s, his heart thumping. He imagined he could hear the splash of boots behind him, over the ceaseless wash of rain.
It was not his imagination: the boots were gaining on him; and now he heard the rattle of steel, and shouts. Slithering into a doorway, he flattened himself into the shadows, and cocked one of his pistols. He must be only a short distance from the south end of Blackman Street, where there was another, even bigger fort than the one he had left. Mistress Edwards’ house lay to the north of the street, in a narrower section crowded with tenements. Somehow, he must get past the fort and up the street.
He launched out of the doorway. “Stop or we’ll fire,” voices bellowed immediately; and fire they did. He bent low and raced on. Halfway up Blackman Street, a ball singed his cloak. Fear made him reckless. He whipped around and fired, with no idea who or what he might hit. An agonized howl rang out, and he recognised Draycott’s voice crying, “Dear God, no!” and Harper bawling, “Damn you, men! After him!”
The Licence of War Page 5