The Best of Men (32 page)

“Soldiers, my lady,” she cried.

Diana hurried over. Horsemen were trotting into the courtyard; they had the orange sashes of Parliament about their waists, with cockades of the same colour in their hats. They dismounted, and an officer wearing a polished steel breastplate approached the house while the others stood at ease, inspecting their surroundings.

“Margaret, fetch Sir Robert,” she said. “We should go down.”

“No,” said Isabella, who had remained seated. “Let them come to us.”

They waited, hearing the clink of spurs below, until a servant arrived with the officer, whom he announced as Colonel Goodwin. “My Lady Stratton,” said the Colonel, as he removed his hat and bowed, “please forgive me for intruding. I come on the authority of Lord Say, Lord Lieutenant of the county of Oxford.”

Robert now burst in upon them. “Colonel Goodwin,” he said, “if you wish to know my decision as to the terms you offered –”

“No, no, sir. We promised you time to consider how you would dispose of your merchandise, and the word of Parliament may be relied upon. I am here for another reason altogether. I received news of an incident in town this afternoon. A woman was importuned in her coach by some of our troops, who have since been detained and shall be strictly disciplined for their misconduct.” Goodwin eyed Isabella with polite mistrust. “It appears that the coach in which she was travelling bore the Earl of Bristol’s coat of arms. It is, I believe, the same vehicle that I saw just now in your courtyard. Madam, might I ask your name?” he inquired of her.

“Mistress Isabella Savage, sir,” she said, regarding him demurely.

“I should like to know whether Lord George Digby accompanied you on your journey and might at present be in this house.”

“He is not,” Robert said. The Colonel seemed dissatisfied with his response, looking from him to Isabella, who did not speak, to Diana, who was baffled by the whole exchange. “You may inspect every corner,” Robert told him, “if you wish to confirm the fact for yourself.”

“Madam, do you make a habit of roaming the country alone?” Goodwin asked Isabella.

“I am used to making journeys by myself when I must,” she said in her low drawl. “I had not anticipated that Parliament’s troops would treat me with anything but respect. Yet I have seen my error, and I shall be sure to correct it in future.”

“From whence were you travelling?”

“Nottingham, sir.”

“I must search whatever baggage you brought with you.”

“Whose orders are these?” Robert demanded, “and to what end?”

Goodwin ignored him. “Mistress Savage, are you a courier for Lord Digby?” When she did not reply, he addressed Robert. “Surely you know that Lord Digby stands accused of treachery against the realm. Now, Mistress Savage, would you please answer me?”

Diana expected her friend to quake with fear, yet Isabella seemed unconcerned. “I am no one’s courier,” she said, “but by all means search my things. I would ask, however, that your men do no damage to the Earl of Bristol’s property.”

“We must impound the coach and horses,” said Goodwin, less politely. “Have your belongings brought in here. And I must trouble you with further questions, while the search is conducted.”

“I shall complain to Lord Say,” shouted Robert.

“It is upon his order that I act.” Goodwin produced a sealed roll of parchment and offered it to Robert, who did not open it.

“Sir Robert,” said Isabella, “I thank you for defending me, but we must let the Colonel do his duty.”

Once her belongings had been carried in by his soldiers, Goodwin motioned for Diana and Robert to leave, and closed the door.

“If they find what they are looking for, we shall be undone,” Robert said, drawing Diana into the garden. “Goodwin could impound not just the coach and horses but everything we own!”

They paced up and down in terrified silence. Then at last a soldier arrived to summon them back to the courtyard. Goodwin had completed his search.

“Please see that Mistress Savage does not leave the house,” he said to them. “We shall post a guard around it, just in case. And tell her to send out no messages.”

“Have you any evidence to support the accusations you levied against her?” Robert asked.

“No, but I may well find it hidden somewhere in Lord Digby’s coach. And if so, I shall have to take her into my custody. Good day to you both.”

The soldiers mounted and followed the coach as it rolled away; and only when all was quiet did Robert and Diana go back indoors. In the parlour, they found Isabella examining the floor, which was strewn with her garments. A jewellery box also lay there, without its lid, its silk lining ripped to shreds, disgorging a tangle of necklaces and earrings.

“Such boors,” she commented disdainfully.

“Is it true?” Robert exploded. “Are you Lord Digby’s courier?”

Diana saw her friend’s face alter, as though she had been asked to indulge some immodest query. “Since when has it been a crime to offer assistance to one of His Majesty’s most favoured counsellors? But as I am in your debt, Sir Robert, and have brought this grief upon you, I shall tell you: Colonel Goodwin will find nothing to compromise you when he searches that coach.”

“Will you swear on your honour?” he said, with open sarcasm.

“On my honour,” Isabella said, her tone frigid.

S
lipping on the wet flagstones and splashing through puddles, Laurence hurried across the dark quadrangle and banged on Dr. Clarke’s door.

“Mr. Beaumont,” Clarke said, opening for him, “you look like a drowned rat. Were you questioned by the soldiers at the gatehouse?”

“No. I waited for them to go off duty.”

“Why are they here at all?” groaned Clarke. “As if a bunch of old men and boys would pose any threat to Parliament! Those who wanted to fight have already enlisted. Enter, sir, and pray dry yourself by the fire.”

“Thank you,” Laurence said, stripping off his cloak, and then his soaked boots and doublet. Clarke was surveying him with evident distaste as he left pools of water on the floor.

“Might I borrow a cover of some sort?” he asked courteously, determined not to quarrel with the man this time.

After his reluctant host disappeared into the bedchamber, he looked around. The main room, unlike Seward’s, was free of academic clutter. Rich tapestries hung on the walls, chairs were sociably positioned about the blazing fireplace, and on a table napped by a Turkey rug stood a chessboard with pieces disarranged. “I interrupted you in
the middle of a game,” he remarked, as Clarke came out and tossed him a blanket.

“Against myself. For the most part I have no trouble winning, with one side or the other. Tonight I arrived at a stalemate. Do you play?”

“I do, yes.” Laurence peeled off his shirt and wrapped himself in the blanket; Clarke was still inspecting him as though he had just made some shameless display of himself. “Dr. Clarke, I have to see Seward. You must tell me where your house is.”

“Near Witney, in a village called Asthall, about thirteen or fourteen miles’ ride from Oxford,” Clarke said, grudgingly.

“How is he?”

“Well enough. I was there with him, until my servant arrived to say that the enemy had taken Oxford. I rushed back as fast as I could. Thank God the rebels had not tampered with my rooms.” Clarke paused, his fat face very grave. “I learnt, however, of a dreadful event that happened here last week. A boy named Illingsworth was murdered. His corpse was found in a corner of the stables. His throat had been severed to the bone. His breeches were about his ankles, and a broom-handle had been stuck up his nether parts.”

Laurence sighed and sat down by the fire. The boy was a little sneak, but he did not deserve that. It must be Tyler’s work, as bestial as the man had sounded in conversation with Poole and Mr. Rose.

“There is more,” Clarke added. “In his fist was a ring with Seward’s initials on it. Seward must have given it to him at some point, though I never saw him wearing it. Perhaps the killer found it in his pocket.”

“Seward is under suspicion, even though he was away at the time?”

“Yes. The College Warden, Nathaniel Brent, has always hated him. Brent is encouraging the boy’s parents in the idea that Seward enjoyed unnatural relations with their son, who may have threatened to expose him and was therefore dispatched on his order.”

“Is there any proof against him, apart from the ring?”

“None but idle rumour, yet the Warden is demanding that he attend the inquest. Brent has sided with Parliament, which reigns here currently in all matters. The inquest is bound to find against Seward, and if he stands trial, the charge of sodomy alone might be sufficient to ensure his execution. My servant went to Asthall to warn him.”

“What a disaster. I hope to God he stays hidden.”

“You are also implicated.” Clarke fixed Laurence with a glare. “Someone has bruited it about College that Seward received several visits from you recently. There might even be suspicion that you were his accomplice in the murder.”

Laurence was tempted to laugh: how much worse could things get? He rose and wandered to the table. Selecting a black knight, he slid it across the board. “Your king will have to move.”

Clarke came to see. “Where to?”

Laurence picked up the white king and set him in a sheltered square. “You can’t abide me, can you,” he said.

“If you want the truth, I can’t. By the look of you I would hazard a guess that you were much the same to Seward as was young Illingsworth – what would it be – fifteen years ago.”

“Which do you find the most distasteful, that I might share Seward’s inclinations or that I involved him in something that threatens his life?”

“
That
you most certainly have!” snorted Clarke. “And both are connected. I always thought desire led him astray.”

“It’s led me astray, too, but I wasn’t his boy. I like women.”

Clarke lowered his eyes for a moment, then raised them again, accusingly. “You already knew about the murder, didn’t you. You seemed not a bit surprised when I told you.”

Laurence hesitated, unwilling to trust someone who so obviously loathed him. “Yes,” he admitted, and he told Clarke about his visit to the Black Bull, in Aylesbury, and the conversation he had overheard.

“Dear me, Mr. Beaumont,” said Clarke, when he had finished. “Such a pity the regicides escaped you. What did Colonel Hoare have to say to you afterwards?”

“He wasn’t pleased. Nor can he be happy that I gave him the slip, on the march towards Stafford.”

“Was that altogether wise? If he has the Secretary of State’s authority to treat you as he wishes –”

“It was a necessary risk.” A thought occurred to Laurence, and he shivered beneath the blanket. “I’m almost certain that Tyler’s still in Oxford. He killed the boy not just to incriminate Seward but to flush me out, too. I can’t go to your house now, or I might lead Tyler straight there.”

Clarke nodded warily. “What will you do, then?”

“Find him, of course. He spent months trying to catch me abroad. It’s about time for
me
to catch
him
.”

Clarke disappeared again into his bedchamber and emerged carrying the Toledo sword, gingerly, as if it might spring up and attack him. “You may want this,” he said, handing it to Laurence. “Seward left it with me, but I haven’t much use for it in my profession. Are your clothes dry yet, sir?”

“Dr. Clarke,” Laurence said, with another sigh, “I regret having to trespass on your hospitality, but I’ve got work to do and I need a place to stay until it’s done. Someone must have seen Tyler at the College. It may not be safe for me to ask, but
you
could. He’s easily spotted,” Laurence went on, and gave Clarke a brief description of him.

“I shall make inquiries,” Clarke agreed. “And now, sir, before I retire, why don’t we finish this game.” He plodded over to the table and motioned for Laurence to join him. “Black or white? I think black has the advantage.”

“White, thank you,” Laurence said, yawning. “I’d rather lose quickly and get some rest.”

The next day, Clarke departed for breakfast to glean what he could from the other scholars while Laurence investigated the site of the murder. He knew one of the grooms at the stable, who showed him where Illingsworth’s body had been dumped behind a tall bale of hay. “Butchered, he was,” the groom said, with morbid fascination. “We couldn’t scrub out all the bloodstains.” He pointed to some brownish traces splattered across the stone wall.

“Was it you who found him?” Laurence asked.

“Thank God no, sir. It was my friend Laythrop. He was so shaken by it that he quitted the College the same day. He said he won’t come back until they catch the murderer.”

“Have you ever seen a big, tall fellow around here, with a cast in his eye?”

The groom shook his head. “You might ask at the porter’s lodge, sir.”

Laurence took his advice, and discovered from the porter on duty that a man resembling Tyler had visited Merton but a month ago, exactly when Seward’s rooms had been invaded. Unfortunately, that was the last time any of the porters had seen him, yet Laurence knew from experience that there were ways of breaking in and out through the ground-floor windows.

“You be careful, sir,” the porter said ominously. “There’s a lot of gossip circulating about you and Dr. Seward. If I were you I wouldn’t tarry here. The authorities are eager for an arrest.”

Clarke returned to his rooms some hours later, his expression grim. “No one that I spoke to has glimpsed hide nor hair of Tyler,” he told Laurence. “But one thing is certain: you are far from safe at the College, Mr. Beaumont. I suggest you take lodgings in town, if you wish to continue your hunt. I am already sheltering a wanted man at my country house. I cannot shelter you as well.

It is bad enough in Brent’s eyes that I am Seward’s closest friend.”

“I understand,” Laurence said, and he fastened on the sword, collected his pistols, and bade Clarke goodbye.

When he went to fetch his horse at the stable, he found the same groom talking with another College employee, probably a cook, to judge by his grease-stained apron. “Soldiers, eh?” the cook was muttering. “What’d they do for their sins?”