The Judas Blade (11 page)

‘If he’s killed once, he may do so again,’ Mullin countered. ‘More, we don’t know what drives him. Perhaps they have a hold over him that forces him to such deeds …’ He trailed off, and a wary look came over his face. He was looking at Crabb – and when Betsy followed his gaze, she too stiffened.

‘There’s one thing you forget,’ the young man said softly. ‘I, too, have a memory of the man – enough to pick him out in a crowd, I think. So, who is in more danger – him or us?’

‘Now listen, Crabb,’ Mullin said, after a moment. ‘Whether that cove killed Eleanor or not, this is no time for taking revenge. We need to puzzle out who his associates are.’ He let
out a sigh. ‘If they haven’t flown the coop already, of course.’

‘Yet, if we did find Gorton …’ Suddenly, Betsy was hopeful. ‘Aside from Mr Crabb, he’s the only one who can identify me from the prison. With him out of the way, I’d be just someone who was assaulted in the street. If asked, I could merely say I was robbed.’

‘Perhaps,’ Mullin conceded. ‘But if he’s revealed your
presence
here to others, we’re still tied. We can only—’

‘Captain.’

Startled, Mullin turned to see Crabb on his feet, towering over them both; one look at him was enough.

‘You said we were wasting time,’ the young man said. ‘And so we are – for whatever scheme you may think up next, our first task seems clear: to find Gorton before he flees, by
whatever
means we can. And I for one won’t rest until I’ve found him, even if I have to scour the whole of Delft!’

In silence Betsy gazed at him. Mullin opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it.

‘Very well,’ he said finally. ‘But we go together, after dark, and you follow my orders. I know the town and you don’t. Though short of entering every house, I can’t see how we’ll winkle him out.’

He gave another sigh, and got to his feet. ‘Now, I need a glass of strong water,’ he added. ‘And I don’t mean the sort that comes from a canal!’

T
HE TASK WAS
impossible, of course. Mullin and Betsy knew it, even if Crabb refused to face it. But having no better plan, the captain was as good as his word. After dark the two men left the house, leaving Betsy in a state of some unease.

For a while she sat in the parlour with Alida, until the girl made signs that she would go and prepare a posset. Whereupon, relieved to be alone, Betsy lay down upon a
worn-out
couch and tried to think. But her thoughts were so jumbled, she found it hard to unravel them – apart from one sobering notion: that her foray as Joseph Williamson’s only female
intelligencer
had not, thus far, been a success. In fact, she thought ruefully, she had come close to ruining everything.

After a while she rose and walked the bare room restlessly. Outside a breeze had got up, and the windows began to rattle. She was about to fetch a shawl, when she was startled by the sound of loud knocking. She hurried out to the hallway to see Alida unbolting the front door.

‘Don’t answer it!’ she called. But she was too late, and in any case the girl didn’t understand. With a screech the door swung inwards to reveal a skinny young boy on the step, holding a flaming torch. A rapid exchange of Dutch followed, whereupon Alida turned and beckoned.

‘What is it?’ Warily, Betsy came to the door and gazed at the boy, who made a clumsy bow, fished in his pocket and produced a folded sheet of paper.

‘Meneer Lacy,’ he mumbled, and held it out. After a moment Betsy took it, whereupon the boy jerked his head, pointing up the street. As she unfolded the letter, he lifted his torch for her to read. The paper bore a single, scrawled sentence:

At first taken aback, she was now both uneasy and intrigued. Her choice was stark: accept Lacy’s invitation, which might reveal important intelligence; or play safe, and remain here as she’d been instructed. To go might mean danger, of course. Whereas staying indoors meant … what?

Standing in the hallway, she tried to weigh the risks. She didn’t trust Lacy; indeed, she feared him. Was he inviting her and Mullin, or her alone? Surely he couldn’t have known she was on her own in the house … She frowned. Her instinct was to send the boy away, and berate Alida for answering the door. But soon her adventurous side began to assert itself and, as usual, it was more persuasive.

She had no way of knowing how long Mullin and Crabb would be out; perhaps all night. It was likely they were on a wild goose-chase in any case – whereas she might be the one who learned something to their advantage. Though she could imagine what Mullin would say, once he learned of her rashness….

‘Well, cods!’ she said aloud. ‘Let him rant all he likes. I’m not his servant, nor even his wife!’ And with that she turned to the link-boy, who was growing impatient.

‘I’ll come,’ she said. She pointed to the letter and nodded. ‘Let me get a cloak.’ She mimed it to Alida, pointing out to the street. After a moment the girl nodded and went off, whereupon Betsy nodded again to the boy, who nodded back to show that he had understood … Then she remembered something else: she would be leaving Alida alone. No, that would not do. What’s
more, she reasoned, if the girl accompanied her the two of them would be safer together. So, when she returned bearing Betsy’s cloak and hat, another exchange of signs took place. The outcome was that a few minutes later three people left the house: two cloaked women and a boy with a torch.

The journey didn’t take long. Once he had turned the corner the boy broke into a steady trot, forcing Betsy and Alida to hurry. They skirted the canal into which she had fallen only that morning, prompting a shudder which had little to do with the chilly wind. Then they crossed a footbridge and followed another street. The canal here was wider and bent in an arc, and now there were lights, and people on foot. Boats moved on the water, their stern lanterns aglow. Soon they were passing large houses with private frontages on the waterside, and here at last the link-boy stopped. Turning to Betsy, he gestured to a pillared portico, then without further ado climbed the steps and banged on the double doors. They were opened by a stolid-looking manservant, who was quickly joined by another figure, his portly frame blocking the light.

‘Mistress Mullin, welcome to my house!’

‘You’re most kind, sir.’ Betsy picked up her skirts and ascended the steps. As she did so, she indicated Alida. ‘I’ve brought my servant. She’ll wait, then accompany me home.’

Thomas Lacy, dressed in a flowered suit and yellow silk stockings, had stood aside to admit her, but when both women came in his broad smile faded.

‘Of course … Jacob can take her to the kitchen.’ Turning to his own servant he spoke rapidly in Dutch, whereupon the man regarded Alida with some interest. Then, indicating that she should follow him, he made a rapid retreat.

‘Your link-boy, Mr Lacy,’ Betsy said, ‘will he light our way home?’ But when she looked round, the lad had vanished.

‘Never fear, madam, there are dozens like him!’ Lacy’s smile was back. After closing the front door he gestured to a doorway at the rear, from where candlelight flooded.

‘Please come in,’ he said in a hearty voice. ‘I’ve been so looking forward to this conversation.’ So Betsy entered the room – only to stop in her tracks.

She had heard that Lacy was wealthy, but she had not expected the sight which greeted her. Her first thought was that this was a treasure hoard, then she realized it was a showroom. Three walls were hung with maps and portraits, while shelves of fine blue-and-white china lined the fourth. There were tables covered with Turkey carpets, on which lacquered boxes and silverware lay. Faced with such riches, it took an effort not to look subdued.

‘Oh, how charming!’ she gushed. ‘I guessed you were a man of taste, sir, but this array robs me of speech.’

Lacy inclined his head. ‘I’m but a humble collector.’

‘And how is your friend, Mr Churston?’ Betsy enquired, by way of gathering her wits. She had just caught sight of herself in a gilded mirror, and was alarmed to see how tense she looked.

‘He’s unwell, madam, as I think you perceived,’ came the reply. ‘But please, shed your cloak and be seated. Have you dined?’

‘I have, sir,’ Betsy replied; though her supper had consisted of a stew and stale bread, while Mullin and Crabb had eaten
virtually
nothing. ‘And your wife, Mr Lacy?’ she continued. ‘Will I have the pleasure of meeting her?’ But when she glanced round, the man was closing the door. Suddenly she was on her guard: any moment now they would drop the formalities, and she must dissemble to the last.

‘Alas, she is indisposed,’ her host replied, turning to face her. ‘She seldom keeps company.’

‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ Betsy said. Then, seizing the moment, she added, ‘Yet it may be that our discourse is best kept secret, unless I mistake your reasons for inviting me after dark, without my husband.’ She raised her eyebrows – but the next moment, her heart gave a jolt.

‘I don’t think you mistake anything, madam.’

Lacy had stopped smiling. In fact, he had discarded all pretence at courtesy so abruptly, Betsy almost shrank from him. His cheeks were flushed, as she had seen him first in the
Bok
, but his eyes were blazing. Pulse quickening, she struggled for some reply when another sound startled her: the click of a key turning in the lock. Her eyes flew to the door, then back to Lacy, and now she knew what a fool she had been. Her instinct was to shout, until she saw how useless that was.

‘You may scream if you like.’ Lacy stood with his hands at his sides. ‘The house is very solid, and my neighbours are absent. As for your servant, I expect she has other things to concern her just now.’

Betsy caught her breath. ‘What have you done with her?’ she cried. ‘If you dare to—’

‘Sit down, Mistress Mullin – or whatever your name is!’

The order came like a whipcrack; but Betsy remained on her feet. Lacy, however, was unperturbed. With a shrug he sat himself in an armchair, folded his arms and fixed her with a look of near contempt.

‘You’re not married to him, are you?’ he said drily. ‘Nor are you devoted to any cause. Do you think I believed that tale? Men like Mullin don’t change, any more than women like you appreciate fine objects such as those that surround you. Where did he find you, in some bawdy-house in St Giles? Or are you one of his friend’s cast-offs?’

Stung, Betsy didn’t answer.

‘Well, no matter …’ He gave another shrug. ‘Silence won’t serve either. Soon you’re going to tell me who sent you and why – and don’t try my patience with more lies. If I have to call Jacob in to question you, I will, but you’d be most unwise to force me to it. He has skills learned in the Dutch Army, that even I prefer not to dwell upon.’

Heart pounding, Betsy kept her eyes on his face. She had already seen that there was no other exit from the room, and she
imagined the windows, which were heavily curtained, would be secured too. There was no one to help her, nor did Mullin or Crabb know where she was. For the second time that day she was in trouble, and she had no one to blame but herself. Trickery was her only weapon, she knew – whereupon
something
else occurred too.

‘There’s no Mrs Lacy, is there,’ she said quietly.

At that, her host – or rather the one who was now her captor – grew impatient. ‘Much as I adore gossip,’ he snapped, ‘I have no inclination for it now. I want to know who sent you here …’ Then he stiffened. ‘Why, you’re one of Downing’s flock, aren’t you?’

Downing? In an instant, Betsy recalled Mullin’s account of the new ambassador. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said.

‘Don’t lie!’ Suddenly Lacy was on his feet. ‘You came to this town to snoop, woman! So answer me!’

‘Did I?’ Thinking fast, Betsy tried to judge the man’s strength. His girth meant that he would be slower on his feet than she, yet he was nearer to the door. She glanced about for a likely weapon.

‘We’ll speak of Venn first,’ Lacy said, taking a step towards her. ‘How did you learn of his death?’

‘What does it matter?’ Betsy countered quickly. ‘More
important
to my mind, is who killed him—’

‘Precisely!’ Lacy glared at her. ‘So – who did?’

‘I think you know that,’ she replied. And now she did take a step back, which merely brought her up against a table’s edge.

‘Let’s say that I don’t,’ the other threw back. ‘And more, let’s say that if you want to remain alive, you tell me all you know – now!’ And with that, he stepped closer.

‘It was Gorton,’ Betsy said quickly. ‘And I think that name is known to you!’ But a puzzled frown crossed Lacy’s features.

‘Who’s Gorton?’ he snapped. ‘And what’s he to you? Tell me!’ And he would have seized her, had Betsy not moved.

Her hands were at her back, feeling along the table-top, and
now her right hand closed on something cold and solid. Without thinking she grabbed it and swung her arm round, driving the object against Lacy’s head. Then she ducked aside and looked: she was holding an ornate silver tray. Without pause she raised it again, and slammed its edge into his face.

There was a moment, which seemed to last a long time. Panting, Betsy looked into the face of her interrogator … then blinked. A livid streak had appeared on Lacy’s forehead, while at the same time blood spouted from his nose. With a look of amazement, he staggered backwards and sat down on the floor. There followed a clang, as Betsy dropped the tray. Then,
stumbling
over her gown, she ran to the door and banged on it.

‘Come quick!’ she shouted. ‘Your master’s sick!’ Nothing happened, so she banged again, then bent and put her mouth to the keyhole. ‘Jacob!’ she cried. ‘Come here!’

She straightened up, and risked a look round, but to her relief Lacy hadn’t moved. Blood ran from his nose and down his flowered coat. Stupidly he stared up at her … Then the dazed look on his face changed to one of fury.

‘
Jacob
!’ he shouted. ‘
Kom! Haast u
!’ Clumsily he put out a hand and tried to raise himself, whereupon again Betsy acted on impulse. The tray was lying where she had dropped it, so she ran and picked it up. But even as she lifted it there came the sound of a key turning. The door opened to reveal Jacob, looking startled.

‘Please, Mr Lacy is hurt!’ Thinking rapidly, Betsy pointed to her chest and made gestures to indicate a seizure. The tray she thrust behind her back, but luckily Jacob hadn’t noticed it. With an oath he hurried to his master, only to stop short when Lacy shouted out in Dutch. At once the servant whirled round, but Betsy was ahead of him. In a moment she had covered the short distance to the door, got herself through and slammed it behind her. Then she turned the key in the lock, and leaned breathlessly against it.

‘
Mevrouw
…?’

With a gasp she looked round. Alida was standing in the hallway, an odd look on her face. At first Betsy read it as one of alarm – then caught her breath: the girl was embarrassed! And at once she saw why: she was not only uncloaked: the top buttons of her bodice were loose.

‘Cods!’ she cried. ‘I thought …’ Then she sighed. ‘Never mind, let’s get out of here!’

Alida’s face had reddened. Quickly she began to button her bodice, but the next moment such a thudding and banging began that she flinched.

‘We’re going – now!’ For once, Betsy’s meaning was clear enough. With a swift glance at the closed door, which was shaking alarmingly, the girl followed her across the hallway. Mercifully the front door was unbolted, and the key was in the lock. In seconds Betsy had opened it and the two of them were flying down the steps. From the house there came a crash of splintering wood, followed by a shout.

‘Come on!’ she cried, grabbing Alida by the arm. Whereupon the two women began stumbling along the street. A man who was walking past stopped and stared.

‘A boat … we need a boat!’ Heart thudding, Betsy halted and looked down at the canal. To her relief, there were two or three small craft moored by the landing steps. She called out, and was rewarded to see the man in the nearest boat look up. But at the same time, there came a cry from the doorway of Lacy’s house. Both looked round to see Jacob on the top step – and in a moment he had spotted them. Still holding on to Alida, Betsy lurched down the steps.