Hearts of Darkness (21 page)

I knocked loudly before stepping back to the middle of the street. When she opened the door I spotted the flash of delight upon her face before she hid it behind a scowl.

‘I’m back,’ I said.

‘So you are.’ She looked up and down Bread Street. ‘Why are you standing over there?’

‘I’ve come from Colchester,’ I whispered hoarse, so none else might hear.

Her belly was definitely rounder than I remembered, but I had not the expertise to tell if it was sign of a child, else the consequence of eating too much pudding. She always ate more when I was away. She said my presence affected her appetite. The smell of incense drifted out from inside the house.

She scanned my filthy clothes from foot to head with sharp green eyes. ‘You’ve been to Essex and now you’re returned?’ she asked, eyes narrowed. ‘What be that black mark?’ she pointed at my forehead.

‘A bruise,’ I replied.

‘A big bruise,’ she said, suspicious. ‘And what is that in your pocket? A pipe?’

I dug out the leaves and held them up in the air. ‘To protect me from plague.’

She leant forward, squinting. ‘Where did you get them?’

‘Culpepper gave them to me. The apothecary.’

She peered. ‘You smoked that in your pipe?’

I nodded.

‘Looks like seer sage to me.’ She stood straight, arms folded. ‘Have you been seeing things?’

‘What sort of things?’

She watched me close. ‘You have, haven’t you? Bright lights? Shimmering shapes?’

‘Perhaps,’ I said, slowly. I looked down at the innocent looking pile of dry foliage in my palm.

She smiled, and I saw the end of her tongue. ‘You said you knew about plants.’

Enough. I tucked the leaves back into my pocket. ‘I came to see how you are.’ She opened her mouth to say something, but I dared to interrupt. ‘Are you with child?’

Her arms fell to her sides, all thought of plague forgot. ‘You noticed that yourself?’

‘Aye,’ I replied. ‘
Is
it a child?’

‘Yes,’ she replied, eyes wet.

A tennis ball appeared from nowhere and stuck in my throat. I
wanted to take her in my arms, but dared not approach closer. ‘I am glad,’ I said, fighting back the tears.

‘
Glad?
’ she exclaimed, lines furrowing her brow. ‘What are you glad about? You have no job and spend every day in the Mermaid.’

‘I have decided to become an apothecary,’ I replied. ‘That’s why I’ve been seeing Culpepper. He’s going to sell me his shop. I will be a good father.’

She gaped in most sarcastic fashion, ducking her head and staring from beneath her brow. ‘You will share with him your worldly wisdom, no doubt,’ she blustered, trying to hide the wetness of her cheeks. ‘Teach him a trade and set a fine example of outstanding moral behaviour.’

‘It might be a girl,’ I muttered.

‘Boy or girl.’ She wiped her face and lifted her chin. ‘Do you plan to marry me?’

‘I …’ It seemed a silly question. I shrugged. ‘Would you
want
to marry me?’

‘How can you ask?’ she sobbed, wringing her apron between her hands, staring at me with a wistful expression I had ne’er seen before.

I wasn’t sure if she meant yes or no, but her gaze was so tender I could only assume she quite liked the idea. Now seemed like the time to embrace, but fear I might carry the Pest prevented it.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ I confessed.

‘Sort out your affairs with Lord Arlington and come back to me healthy,’ she cried. Then she clasped her hands to her mouth, turned and slammed the door closed.

It was a good thing, I screamed silently. Imagine how worried I would be had she ran across the street and thrown her arms about
my neck. Who knows what might have happened to the baby? Yet I yearned to hold her tight.

Her face appeared at the window and she waved. I thought to tell her I loved her, but decided to leave that until next time. I waved back and hurried to meet Dowling at Clarendon’s house.

The Earl was getting old. Once advisor to Charles I, then Lord Chancellor to Charles II in exile, he paraded the court like the King’s own father. He built himself a magnificent house on Piccadilly, casting a long shadow all the way to the palace itself, a mark of his influence. It was a bigger house than any man could need. Built three storeys high with two long wings, Clarendon could house the entire court inside its walls if he so wished.

Some called it ‘Holland House’, for they suspected it was built from the proceeds of Dutch bribes. The taller rose the house, so further crumbled what popularity the Earl still enjoyed. The years had passed, and Charles was no longer a boy. Where once the King
relied upon his older mentor, now he resented the moralising and nagging. Some at court even dared mock the old man, though not to his face. Clarendon’s star was on the wane.

Piccadilly was wide and paved, a quiet oasis ploughing a furrow through green parkland. People paraded on Pall Mall, waved their mouchoirs and exchanged vain pleasantries. Others sat and enjoyed the morning sun. Dowling waited for me hid behind a tree.

‘What news?’ he asked.

‘She’s pregnant,’ I replied, sitting next to him.

He pounced, smothering me against his sweaty chest. I pushed myself away and escaped his flailing arms. He smiled wetly, like an old woman regarding young lovers.

‘Have you seen Josselin?’ I asked, seeking to distract his attention.

‘He’s not come out,’ Dowling replied awkwardly, settling himself.

It was easy to see who came and went, for the path from door to gate stretched fifty yards. We sat across the road, with fine view between the gateposts.

‘Do you want to go and see Lucy?’ I offered.

‘Later,’ he replied, more sober. ‘When I have worked out what to tell her.’

Unlike him, I thought. He hadn’t seen her for a week.

Two servants hovered outside Clarendon’s front gate wearing smart, blue suits and tall hats festooned with ribbons. Large, young men, lithe and strong, posturing for the ladies.

‘So we sit here all day,’ I muttered, watching them preen.

‘Else go for a ride upon the Spanish donkey,’ said Dowling.

I recalled the horror and disgust upon Jane’s face when first I told her of our mission to extract Josselin from Shyam. What would she think of our new mission; to wait for Josselin to step into a trap?
‘We collude in an innocent man’s death.’

‘What do you suggest?’

‘Speak to Clarendon. Josselin says he is committed to peace.’ I thought aloud.

Dowling slapped his hands on his knees. ‘Did you not hear what Arlington said? We are to wait for Josselin and report his arrival.’

‘I heard,’ I answered, standing. ‘But if we comply with that instruction, then what next? Kill a man?’ I had already severed a man’s finger. ‘If we fail, then I will take Jane away, out of England if need be.’ It sounded desperate even as I said it, yet we could not sit idly by.

‘I don’t want to leave England,’ Dowling protested.

‘God will watch over you, won’t he? I doubt he is impressed to see you just sitting here.’

Dowling raised himself slowly, face contorted in indecision.

The two servants noticed our approach when we were still but halfway across the street. The tallest watched with a supercilious sneer etched upon thick lips, black brow curled above dark eyes. He raised a wooden cane and pointed it at my chest, as if defining the boundaries of an invisible territory.

I brushed the end of the stick aside. ‘We work for Lord Arlington. We have news for Clarendon.’

‘What news?’ The taller man smirked. ‘Get thee gone, vagabonds, before we stick you like pigs.’

My throat constricted and fire smouldered in my belly. ‘Tell him we spoke to James Josselin. Tell him Josselin is in London.’

The shorter man regarded me seriously, eyes wandering from my tangled, greasy hair down to the toes of my ruined boots. ‘If I deliver such a message and it rouses his interest, then he will throw you into
a dark place from where you may never emerge, should you speak false.’

Dowling lurched forwards with clenched fists. ‘We don’t speak false.’

The guard opened the gate and slipped through, still suspicious. The other guard bid us come closer, afraid we might flee now the message was to be delivered. We waited beneath the climbing sun in silent anticipation. The guard returned but a short time later, beckoning with his sword, brisk and serious.

‘I will come with you.’ I pointed at Dowling. ‘He will stay here.’

Dowling’s jaw dropped as he prepared to protest. Then I saw him stop, recognising how important it was that one of us remain outside to watch for Josselin. The tall servant hesitated a moment before harrying me forwards beneath the gaze of forty windows.

‘Move along.’ The guard shoved me. ‘Don’t mistake yourself for a guest.’

He opened the door upon the most opulent of interiors. The marble floor sparkled white beneath my feet like a great mirror. Rich, new tapestries hung upon wood-panelled walls, depicting scenes of woodlands and fields, and lots of French peasants. The central staircase twisted an intricate path from the floor up into the shadows of the silent interior.

‘What are you waiting for?’ growled the guard, poking me in the back. He prodded me left, down the darkest corridor, naked of wood, bare plaster heralding the wing of the house yet to be completed.

I stepped carefully past a pile of planks and a long row of open doorways, until reaching a small plain door tucked around a corner, nestled in a small recess. The guard turned the key in the lock and held it open. Beyond was darkness.

‘Is that a dungeon?’ I stepped back. ‘I came here of my own free will.’

‘So you did,’ the man replied. ‘Now you are subject to his lordship’s will. Get inside.’

He raised his sword and his partner appeared behind him, face alive with curiosity. I saw no choice but to step into the bare stone corridor.

Light shone weak from around the corner. To my surprise the sentry followed, pushing me along the curved passage towards a large, square room, bright but damp. An open doorway led outside to a brick stairwell, but it was barred with an iron grille, as were the windows. I stopped upon the threshold, wary, but the guard kicked me in the back of my right knee and shoved me forwards, slamming closed a second iron grille, leaving me trapped, like a bird in a cage.

‘Don’t worry,’ the guard said in low tone. ‘If you be telling the truth then you will walk back the way we came. If not.’ He shrugged. ‘You were warned.’

He slipped back into the gloom, footsteps echoing down the passage.

I touched the wet stone with my fingertips. The staircase outside was straight and narrow. At the top of the stairs grew green bushes and trees. Creeping vines fell down the walls. We were at the base of a damp pit, a strange cell without obvious purpose. I shook the iron grille. It was locked tight. This was Clarendon’s house, the place he lived. Why should he build a prison in his own private residence?

More footsteps, again from the corridor behind, heavier this time. A man appeared at the bars, tall and stern, a handsome fellow with shiny, black hair. Green eyes stared like a hungry cat.

‘Open the door,’ he snapped to someone behind.

The key turned in the lock and he stepped inside, padding softly like a big lion. He descended upon me without fear or caution, stood more than six feet tall, broad and solid. Not old man Clarendon. He went to seize one of my ears, but I slapped him away. He smiled, teeth glinting in the wet sunlight. ‘Tell me your name,’ he said, utterly at ease.

‘Harry Lytle,’ I replied quickly, not for a moment contemplating a lie.

‘Perhaps I have heard of you,’ he frowned slightly. ‘Though I cannot recall in what context.’ He seized one of my hands in his own before I could move, inspecting my fingers. ‘You have soft hands,’ he remarked, piercing eyes probing mine with fascinated curiosity. He rubbed the lapel of my jacket between finger and forefinger. ‘Why have you come here, Harry Lytle?’

‘To talk to Clarendon,’ I replied, unable to keep the tremor from my voice. He stood too close. Though his clothes were of the finest quality and every hair upon his head lay in immaculate order, ne’ertheless he gave off a rank odour, like a beast that eats raw meat and makes no effort to cleanse itself.

‘Persuade me you deserve his attentions,’ he demanded. ‘Else I will bury you in his garden.’

I couldn’t think. I tried to remember why I came, my objective. ‘Has James Josselin come here?’

He cocked his head and frowned, folding his arms behind his back. ‘Why do you ask?’

I wished I’d kept my mouth closed.

‘Speak,’ the man commanded. ‘What do you know of James Josselin?’

‘I know he is accused of treachery and killing the Earl of Berkshire,’
I answered, nervous. ‘He denies both.’

‘How do you know?’ he asked, eyes dull and angry.

‘He told me,’ I replied.

The big man regarded me like I was a mysterious puzzle. ‘Josselin has fled to Shyam, beyond Colchester. Shyam is plagued.’

‘He is no longer in Shyam,’ I said. ‘He’s come back to London. He said he would come here to seek protection. He says only Clarendon shares his desire for peace.’

He reached out a hand to touch my hair. ‘We worked on the same deputation, though I work for Clarendon and they worked for Arlington.’

I smacked at his hand. ‘Do you think Josselin killed Berkshire?’

‘No,’ he replied, eyes darkening. ‘They were the best of friends. They knew each other since childhood.’

‘Who killed Berkshire?’ I asked.

‘Why didn’t you ask Josselin?’

‘I did.’ I clenched my fists. ‘He said it was Arlington.’

He flicked at a fine wisp of hair that had fallen upon his cheek and carefully placed it back behind his ear. ‘Arlington’s spy walks into Clarendon’s house and asks questions. What makes you think anyone will reply?’

‘Lord Arlington told us to watch from outside the gate and let him know when Josselin arrived.’ Anger welled inside my breast. ‘I am not supposed to be here at all.’

‘Really?’ he exclaimed, doubt clouding his eyes. He watched me like I was a strange animal, something to be feared, or squashed. ‘I am supposed to believe that?’

I blew out through my cheeks and dug my fingers into my scalp. ‘Whether Josselin killed Berkshire or not, Arlington will see him die for it, and for his treachery besides.’

‘I know what Arlington says,’ the man said. ‘I don’t know why you come here to tell me it.’

‘Where is James Josselin?’ I insisted.

He shrugged. ‘I assure you he is not here, nor has he been. You said you spoke to him. If you spoke to him, then you know where he is.’

‘I spoke to him in Shyam,’ I replied. ‘I said I would meet him again here.’

The man stepped away, wiping his palms upon the seat of his breeches. ‘You entered Shyam? Then you may be plagued.’ He reached for his sword.

‘I am not infected,’ I replied with a confidence I didn’t feel. ‘I took precautions.’

‘Why are you here?’ he barked. ‘You barge in here headstrong, like a fool. Is this some crude scheme of Arlington’s?’

‘Make of me what you will,’ I said, raising my voice, ‘but don’t suspect me of the same malignant treachery with which you seem so familiar. Josselin ran from London when he was accused of murder, yet you know he is innocent. Why did Clarendon not protect him?’

He watched me carefully, eyes devouring mine. ‘He fled immediately, before anyone could help.’ I realised what question he was about to ask just before he asked it. ‘Where is Galileo?’

I felt my cheeks burn and I avoided his gaze. ‘Withypoll killed him,’ I replied. ‘On the road out of Colchester. Dragged him behind a horse.’

The man stared like he would punish me for it. ‘You left with Josselin?’

‘We left by ourselves, after Josselin,’ I replied. ‘He said he would come here first.’

He cracked his knuckles. ‘What else did he tell you?’

‘He said we should ask ourselves why the Dutch must fall.’

‘They must fall because we are at war,’ the tall man answered. ‘Peace or war. Now it seems the war will continue.’

‘Why so?’ I demanded.

He pursed his lips. ‘It is no secret, after all,’ he considered. ‘I am surprised Arlington has not told you himself.’

‘He said only that Josselin had sabotaged peace. That he betrayed his country, killed Berkshire and fled.’

Small lines of disdain appeared about the edges of his mouth. ‘You have heard of De Buat?’

‘No,’ I replied, feeling foolish.

‘Of course not.’ The man smiled without sincerity and glanced at the gate that led back into the house. ‘De Buat is a French nobleman who grew up in Holland. He held a post in the Orange court. The Princess Dowager appointed him to represent the House of Orange as envoy to De Witt.’

I was lost and the tall man saw it.

‘De Witt is the leader of the Dutch,’ he said, as if talking to a small child.

‘I know that,’ I growled, ears burning. ‘I am not a fool.’

‘De Witt is determined the provinces shall never again be subject to sovereign rule,’ which I also knew. ‘The House of Orange is determined that the Prince of Orange shall assume his rightful position. There has always been the possibility of civil war between De Witt and the House of Orange, a possibility that has obsessed Arlington these last few years.’

‘And so this Frenchman De Buat runs between Holland and the House of Orange, like you and Josselin ran between England and Holland.’

The tall man bowed as if in deference to my great wit. ‘Quite so. We came across De Buat often, for he is the Orangists’ ambassador to Holland.’

My head started to spin again.

‘Clarendon sought peace with the Dutch; Arlington sought civil war. Arlington sought to provoke the House of Orange into declaring war upon the Dutch so that England might make a treaty with the new government, on terms most favourable.’ The tall man spoke seriously now. ‘De Buat was in Arlington’s confidence. His spy within.’