Deliver us from Evil (6 page)

The militiaman glanced round. He answered Captain Foxe's smile, then stood to attention. 'This is our man, sir,' he said with a wave of his hand. 'He's the one who sold the cart.'

The journeyman scowled and shrank back. '
I
haven't done anything wrong,' he muttered.

'No one is saying you have,' replied Sergeant Everard pleasantly. 'The Captain here just wants to have a word with you, that is all.'

Captain Foxe, meanwhile, had wandered to the front of the cart. He reached out beneath the awning, and ran a finger along one of the boards, then held it to the light. 'Mud.' He frowned and, turning back, inspected below the covering again.
'A
great deal of mud.'
He
stared at the journeyman. 'How did it get there?'

The man shrugged uneasily. 'That was what he wanted taken.'

'Mud?'

'Well - soil. Earth. In boxes. Some of it must have spilled.' 'Why did he want earth carried?' asked Sergeant Everard. '
I
don't know,' said the journeyman, clearly surprised that it should be considered any of his business.

'And this "he" - what was his name?' Again, the man shrugged.

'He must have given you a name,' said Sergeant Everard
dis
believingly. 'Where he was staying, at least, where you could contact him.'

The journeyman shook his head. 'He just paid in coin, and
I
took it.
I
barely had a look at him.'

'But could you remember his face?', asked Captain Foxe urgently. 'If you saw him now?'

The journeyman shrugged yet again. Captain Foxe, suddenly losing his patience, took him by the arm and dragged him across the yard. The journeyman began to shout angrily; but Captain Foxe merely tightened his grip.
'
I
want to show you something,' he said quietly; and the journeyman, sensing something in his captor's tone, allowed himself to be led into the Council Hall without further complaint. 'Here,' said

Captain Foxe, unlocking the door to a small, paper-littered room and crossing to the far corner. 'Was this the man who bought your cart?'

He lifted a purple cloth to reveal the painting which Mr Webbe had removed from Wolverton Hall. The journeyman studied it. He shuddered suddenly, then shook his head.

'You are certain?'

The journeyman shook his head again. 'The man
I
saw, his beard was very curling and thick.'

'Might it not have grown since this portrait was painted?'

'No, sir - the face is quite different. And the man
I
met with - he was dressed very strange - like a foreigner, sir. Didn't speak like an Englishman at all.'

This news startled Captain Foxe. He continued to frown, and stare at the portrait.

The journeyman glanced at the picture again nervously. 'Can
I
leave now?' he asked.

Captain Foxe waved his hand. Tire journeyman muttered an exclamation of relief and, turning on his heels
at
once, clattered down the stairs. But Captain Foxe barely heard him go; he continued to study the painting, his frown deepening, his knuckles whitening as he clenched his fists. At length, he bent down, and turned the portrait to the wall. He swathed it in its cloth; then he shut the door on it, and secured the padlock on the bolt.

Robert sat hunched by the river bank. He felt oddly unsettled, which annoyed him, for by rights he should have been feeling pleased with himself. He had only been fishing for half an hour, and already he had caught more than enough for his family's supper - two plump chub, laid out neatly on the grass. He sighed and shifted, and glanced about him. All was calm. The river flowed by with a glassy quiet, the bare-boughed trees were still beneath a silver sheen of frost. To Robert's right lay the grey-stoned tower of Broadchalke church, and beyond the trees thin plumes of smoke wisped from the village hearth fires, rising almost straight into the clear blue sky. It was a scene of wondrous, hushed beauty; and yet still Robert felt uneasy, and he did not know why.

He inspected his hands. They looked clean enough; but even though he had washed them again and again, he still seemed to feel the dirt behind his nails and on his skin. He wished he had never clambered on to the cart. It was as though the filth it had been carrying had clung to him. He bent down to wash his hands again, then dried them on the grass of the bank. He closed his eyes; and at once, he imagined that the dirt was still on his skin, thickening, feeding, like some living thing. He looked down in horror - but saw that his hands were as clean as before. He shook his head and sighed, then rose to his feet. As he did so, he heard the clattering of hooves on distant stone.

Robert clambered up the frozen mud of the river bank.
A
lawn stretched away from him, and at its far end stood the Old Rectory, the Broadchalke home of Mr Aubrey, who two weeks before had found the corpse on Clearbury Ring. Robert crept forward, using bushes and trees as cover, until he had reached the stables by the side of the house. He peered out at the yard, and saw his father standing with Mr Webbe. They had their backs to him, and were greeting the horseman who had clearly just arrived. Robert recognised him at once. He frowned. What was Colonel Sexton doing here? He was an important man: in command of the militia for the entire county and beyond. Clearly, Robert thought, his father's business was more urgent than he had ever dared to think.

He watched as the three men crossed the yard, and passed through a low door into the house. Robert scurried after them, then crept along the side of the garden-facing wall. He had gone half-way when he passed a large window and, peering in, saw the glow of a fire. He watched as his father walked into the room; then Colonel Sexton and
Mr
Webbe.
A
fourth man rose from a chair, where he was surrounded by books and stacks of papers; as he was introduced to Colonel Sexton, Robert recognised Mr Aubrey.

The four men took their places at a long oaken table. Kneeling outside, Robert made himself as comfortable as the cold would allow. Then he pressed his ear to the window-pane.

'My
great Grandfather, Will: Aubrey, and he were Cousins, and

intimate acquaintance. Dr. A.'s country-house was at kew, and

J.
Dee lived at Mortlake, not a mile distant .. . Among his manuscripts, were several letters between him and john dee, of Chemistry and Magical Secrets.'

John Aubrey,
Brief Lives

‘
I
trust,' said Colonel Sexton, leaning forward in his chair, 'that you
I
have brought me to this place for a purpose.
I
will not
conceal
from you that
I
was reluctant to come. There are great disturbances abroad in the Commonwealth, of which none of you yet can have any idea.'

'There are lives at stake,' replied Captain Foxe shortly, 'perhaps many lives. It is my hope today that we may attempt to save them.'

'Then that is purpose enough,' said the Colonel. He nodded, and gestured with his hand. 'Proceed.'

'
I
believe,' said Captain Foxe, after a lengthy pause, 'that there is a great residue of evil which waits in the darkness of the long-forgotten past, in the stones, and tombs, and ancient places hereabouts, which may seem to be silent and yet, for our sins, is sometimes not.'

Colonel Sexton stirred uneasily. 'Perhaps you are right,' he muttered, 'but such considerations are scarcely the business of a militiaman.'

Captain Foxe ignored the reproof. 'You have read my report, of course,' he asked, 'on the murders committed these past two weeks?'

'Of course.'

'And you recall the dates, and their significance?'

Colonel Sexton waved his hand disdainfully. 'Fancy, as
I
have warned you before, the merest fancy

'No.' Captain Foxe spoke quietly, but with such cold intensity that he froze his superior's words upon his tongue. Both men stared at each other; and for a moment they seemed like blocks of ice, lit only by the flickerings of colour from the fire. 'She was a child, sir,' whispered Captain Foxe at last, 'unborn, ripped from her mother's womb - an innocent, murdered on Innocents' Day. And then my son's tutor - an old man killed when the year itself is nearest death, on the Winter Solstice, the feast-day of Yule. Fancy, sir? No.
Such coincidences are more than mere coincidence.'

Colonel Sexton met
his
captain's stare. 'What, then,' he asked at length, 'if not coincidence?'

'You know, sir, full well.'

'You have proof, Captain, beyond the mere fact of these murders and their dates?'

'Of witchcraft, sir? Of the worship of demons and blood-steeped, ancient gods?' Captain Foxe glanced across the table at Mr Aubrey. '
I
do.'

'Then produce it. For you know full well, Captain, and have often argued so yourself, what terror the charges of witchcraft can inspire, and what persecutions of the innocent, whom we are charged to protect. Be very careful before you press your accusations.
I
beg you.

John.' Colonel Sexton leaned forward. 'Be wary what you say.'

'You are right, of course, sir' - Captain Foxe bowed his head - 'to counsel caution. But
I
am certain of my case. For you see -
I
would never have spoken of witchcraft to you, had
I
not known already who the murderer was.'

'You know?' The Colonel stared at him in disbelief. 'How?'

'The cloaked rider we saw by Clearbury Ring - my son has since seen his face and has
ident
ified it with an authenticated portrait of the man.'

'And who was it?'

Captain Foxe swallowed. He glanced at
Mr
Webbe. 'Sir Charles Wolverton,' he said.

There was a sudden silence, save only for the crackling of the fire.

impossible,' said Colonel Sexton at last. 'Quite impossible.' Despite himself, he ran his hands through his hair. 'Sir Charles has been dead these past fifteen years.' He jabbed a sudden finger
at
Captain Foxe. 'You, John, your company, you reported him dead.'

Silence settled on the room again. Then Mr Aubrey cleared his throat,
I
count myself a not unenterprising historian of these parts,' he said hesitantly, 'and yet, alas,
I
must confess it -
I
have never heard of any Sir Charles Wolverton.'

'You were young,' answered Captain Foxe shortly, 'before the war broke out - otherwise you would certainly have heard of him. But since the war, his name has been buried. Men do not speak of it. No, sir, please
...'
He raised his hand, seeing that Mr Aubrey had reached for his pen. 'Do not make notes, for the oblivion which has descended upon Wolverton's memory was all too well-deserved. And yet, in truth, why should
I
stop you? For now his name, like his body, walks abroad once again.'

'And how can this be, Captain,' asked Colonel Sexton ominously, 'that Sir Charles has risen from his grave?'

'Because, sir' - Captain Foxe glanced at Mr Webbe, then bowed his head - 'he was never laid in it.'

'What?' exclaimed Colonel Sexton.

'The fault was mine.'

The Colonel glanced round in surprise, for it was Mr Webbe who had spoken. He did not meet Colonel Sexton's stare. Instead, he sat hunched over the table, gazing distantly into the depths of the fire. '
I
would not be a judge over a fellow man,' he murmured at last,
I
would not condemn, and kill in cold blood. For what was it
I
had been fighting against, if not the power of the King's men to commit such crimes? How could
I
have been so wicked and arrogant as to judge what was sin, and what was not?'

'How indeed, sir?' Colonel Sexton spoke with icy restraint. 'Even though Sir Charles Wolverton was rumoured to have satisfied his lusts through torture and vile cruelties - yes, even against children, as was later discovered. Would you not call that sin? And yet what are you telling me?" He stared at Mr Webbe in disbelief. "That you had the man, and then set him free?'

Mr Webbe continued to stare into the fire. '
I
did not know then what was later proven true,' he whispered in a distant voice. He buried his face in his hands.
'
I
did not know.'