The Judas Blade (12 page)

‘Help us!’ she cried, grasping the gunwale. ‘We need to get away …’ She made rapid signs to the boatman, who was gaping – whereupon she realized she still had the tray in her hand. Stifling an oath, she thrust it at him. ‘Take it!’ she shouted. But still the man stared. Then his eyes went to Alida, who spoke in Dutch. Without a word he reached out and helped Betsy clamber into the boat. Alida got in too, and the small craft
lurched, but in a moment the man had pushed them out on to the water. And even as Jacob appeared on the steps above them, Betsy knew they were safe. Breathless, she turned to Alida – and almost laughed with relief.

Her face averted, the girl was buttoning the top of her bodice. And she did not lift her head until they had left the boat and were on foot again.

The house was still in darkness when they arrived home. Having found coins to pay the boatman, Betsy ordered the man to stop some distance away, below the footbridge. The two women then walked, doubling back until Betsy was satisfied they were not followed. Only then did she turn down the familiar street, unlock the door and usher Alida inside. With a last look about, she went in, drawing the bolt firmly.

In the darkness she stumbled, but soon there came a spurt of flame, which revealed Alida holding a tinder-box. By its
flick-ering
light the two made their way into the back parlour, where the girl lit candles. The fire was still aglow and at once Betsy went to it. She was trembling, she realized, then she looked at Alida, and received a surprise: the girl was in tears.

‘
Goede hemel, Mevrouw
!’ she sobbed, while her shoulders shook. Thereafter she spoke rapidly in Dutch, not a word of which Betsy understood. The meaning, however, she guessed.

‘Cods, she thinks I’ll dismiss her,’ she muttered. ‘Because she let that servant fumble her …’ Quickly she shook her head. ‘It’s all right!’ she said, making signs, but they were of no use. The girl howled, shook her head from side to side and continued to plead.

‘Stop this!’ Betsy went towards her. ‘You’re quite safe. No harm will come.’ She struggled to form a word or two of Dutch.
‘Meneer Mullin
,’ she said. ‘Not send you away!’

Suddenly the girl stopped sobbing. ‘
Nee
?’ she asked.

Betsy nodded, then spun round. Both of them were alert in a second: someone was rattling the front door.

‘Wait!’ She shook her head, and for once Alida understood. The two woman waited – then flinched as there came more knocking, followed by further rattling of the handle – but the next moment both let out exclamations of relief, as a familiar voice shouted through the keyhole.

‘Where the devil are you? Open this door, or I’ll break it! Do you hear me?’

More knocking followed, but now Betsy drew the bolt. At once the door flew inwards, prompting her to step back in surprise. Behind her Alida let out a shriek.

For it wasn’t only Mullin who entered, looking angry and flustered; nor merely Peter Crabb, who loomed up behind. To the surprise of the women there was a third man, red-faced and terrified, who was now thrust forward into the dim light, hands behind his back. As Betsy watched he fell to his knees, grunting with pain, while Crabb turned swiftly to close the door. The hinges squealed and the bolt was drawn, whereupon the young giant stood with his back to it. In shocked silence, Betsy stared down at the man whom she had confronted not a dozen hours ago, and who had almost ended her life.

Slowly she lifted her gaze and found Mullin’s eyes upon her.

‘Well?’ he snapped. ‘Is this fellow Gorton, or isn’t he?’

T
HE QUESTIONING BEGAN
the following morning.

At first Mullin had not wanted Betsy present, but he was persuaded otherwise. She knew Gorton, but moreover she had a right to be there, if only in view of her sojourn in the canal. Or so she insisted, despite what Williamson’s letter had said about leaving Mullin to conduct interrogations.

The household had taken food and rested, except for Peter Crabb, who had kept a watch on Gorton all night. Not that the prisoner had any chance of escape, confined as he was in the windowless cellar with hands bound and his gaoler seated by the door. There Mullin would question the man until he was satisfied that he had told all he knew.

‘Whatever he says, assume first that it’s false,’ he said to Betsy. ‘Moreover, don’t speak unless I ask you to – this is my task. Do you understand?’

‘I do, but if you mean to use harsh methods, you must give me time to go out,’ she answered. ‘I’m not afraid of blood, but I prefer not to see it spilled.’

They were standing in the hallway. A murky greyness showed at the windows: rain had started in the night. Betsy had slept for some hours, having been too exhausted not to. That was after she had given Mullin a full account of her experience at the hands of Thomas Lacy. But to her relief the captain was too elated by the capture of Gorton to be annoyed with her for her rashness; or with Alida, who had kept well out of sight ever
since. And it turned out that, by contrast to Betsy’s, his night’s work had been almost mundane.

‘We went first to places I knew,’ he had told her. ‘I tracked down a few unsavoury fellows, the sort who’d inform on their own mothers for a guilder. But nobody knew anything about your friend, or if they did they weren’t talking. In the end I would have given up the search, if not for Crabb. It was he who suggested the
Bok
, where the landlord’s been known to hide men for a price. Sure enough, there we found our quarry, cowering in an attic. When he saw Crabb, he almost soiled his breeches. If he’s a paid assassin, he’s the feeblest one I’ve ever encountered – skulduggery’s not his
forte
at all.’

Now, as the two of them descended the stairs to the cellar, Mullin brought the matter up again.

‘He won’t have slept much, he’ll be afraid and weak from hunger,’ he said. ‘Remember, we’ve told him nothing. He knows you and Crabb from the prison of course, but he doesn’t know me from Adam. So whatever cock-and-bull tale I spin, mark it well – you may need to use it yourself.’

Betsy murmured assent, yet her thoughts were elsewhere. And when they both entered the store-cellar, which was lit by a single lantern, her first reaction was one of pity. Gorton was sitting in a corner, and he was a sorry sight. He looked haggard and dishevelled, his clothes dirty, his stockings torn. Crabb had removed his shoes and loosened his bonds so that he could drink, though on Mullin’s orders the man had been given no food. When they came in Betsy’s one-time cellmate stiffened, and spoke immediately.

‘Thank God you’re safe!’ Wide-eyed, he gazed at her. ‘I wished only to escape, when I—’ He swallowed. ‘See, I was confounded. God smite me if I meant you any harm—’

‘Stop that babble!’

At Mullin’s snapped instruction, the man fell silent. He watched as the captain put down the stool he had brought in, and sat down facing him. There was nothing else in the cellar
apart from another stool, on which Crabb sat without
expression
. Betsy preferred to remain standing.

‘So, I understand your name isn’t Gorton, while you’re here,’ Mullin said, sounding amiable all of a sudden. ‘But I’ll use it anyway, or perhaps I’ll dispense with formalities. What is your first name?’

Nervously, Gorton lifted his hands and rubbed his forehead. Though the cellar was cold, he was sweating. ‘It’s James, sir,’ he answered.

‘Well, James …’ Mullin frowned, as if perplexed. ‘Tell me, how on earth did you get yourself clapped up in the King’s Bench?’

‘A gambling debt,’ the other replied quickly. ‘A man may easily over-reach himself at the cock-pit.’ He attempted a glassy smile, which didn’t work. ‘I see you’re a man of the town, sir, you know how things are.’

‘Do I?’ Mullin exchanged glances with Crabb, who remained expressionless. ‘Well, even if you speak the truth, that too matters little. What interests me more is why you killed a man called Venn. Slit his throat with his own pocket-knife, I heard. Most unpleasant.’

At that, Gorton gulped audibly. ‘Please hear me, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ll not lie – I know I’m at your mercy, as I know what the wrestler here could do to me. Though quite what this is about, and how this … this lady comes to be a part of it, I swear I’m at a loss to know. So ask what you will, I—’

‘Now you’re starting to bore me, James,’ Mullin broke in. He gave a long yawn, which fooled everyone except Betsy. ‘As for lying, I’ll judge whether you do or not. I’ll ask you again, and this time I want an answer: why did you kill Venn?’

But Gorton coughed, and his eyes went to a mug which stood by Crabb’s feet. ‘For the Lord’s sake, let me have water,’ he breathed.

‘Later, perhaps …’ Mullin waved a hand. ‘It depends on the answers I get. Indeed …’ He leaned forward, making the other
flinch. ‘Did I forget to mention that your very life depends on that too, James? Pardon me if it slipped my mind.’

Gorton’s eyes flew from Mullin to Crabb, then finally settled on Betsy. There was a pleading look in them, as if he believed his hopes rested on her.

‘Mistress, you’ll heed me, won’t you?’ he said. ‘You know I’m not a murderer! Those dreadful hours we spent in that stinking prison, sharing our last morsel, our last drop of water … You know me! I’m just a man who fell foul of the law, as you did.’

He flinched, as Mullin raised a hand quickly. It appeared as if he meant to lash out at the prisoner, but instead he scratched idly at his scalp. ‘That’s better,’ he sighed, adjusting his periwig. ‘I’m not a man who likes to repeat himself, James,’ he went on. ‘So I advise you to cease prating and tell me something that interests me. This woman’ – he pointed over his shoulder – ‘I’m afraid she can’t help you, but I can.’ He paused dramatically. ‘So answer truthfully, and you may not only live, you may even leave here unharmed. Do you see?’ Then deliberately, he threw a glance at Crabb. A look passed between the two men which Betsy realized was a signal. On cue, the young giant spoke up.

‘I don’t think we can promise that,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘Not if he’s the one who killed Eleanor too …’ He eyed the prisoner. ‘It was you who got in and stabbed her, at the house near the Oude Kierke – wasn’t it?’

Slowly the colour drained from Gorton’s face while his fingers worked nervously at his bonds … and suddenly, the wretched man was in tears.

‘Good God, will you believe naught I say?’ he whimpered. ‘Whoever – whatever you think I am, you’re sorely mistaken. I know nothing of a house near the Oude Kierke. I know nobody here from anywhere but the prison, which is why I was so confounded when I ran into her!’ He pointed at Betsy. ‘So you may break me and burn me, and do what you will, but I can’t tell what I don’t know! God-a-mercy, sir, won’t you listen?’

The last part was directed at Mullin. Though he and Crabb
remained impassive, Betsy was torn. She had felt anger against Gorton a moment ago; now he looked so forlorn, that she was suddenly filled with doubt. Either he was a better actor than she had imagined, or he spoke the truth.

‘Dear me, what a speech!’ Mullin let out a sigh, of mingled weariness and disdain. ‘Do you think I care a jot for your weasel words? I simply want answers, James, which you seem
determined
not to give. Now, shall I try again, or must I ask your old friend the wrestler to break a finger or two?’

‘He’s no friend of mine,’ Crabb put in casually. ‘I’ll gladly break all his fingers – and his wrists too, if you like.’

A tense silence fell. It was turning serious, as Betsy had expected, and all at once, she saw both Crabb and Mullin in a different light. She thought she knew them, yet she had not seen them at this most brutal of tasks. It was a side of their work that wasn’t to her liking.

‘I’ll go back upstairs,’ she said.

There was a stir, and for a moment she thought Mullin was angry; she had disobeyed his order to keep silent. But when he swung his gaze to her, she was surprised to see him smile.

‘Perhaps it’s best,’ he said. ‘A woman shouldn’t witness this.’ Abruptly he turned back to Gorton, who was a picture of terror. Sweat ran down his face, while his hands shook.

‘Please, won’t you speak for me?’ he begged, staring at Betsy. ‘I’m a sick man – I swear it. I cannot bear this! God smite me if I lie to you—’

‘I’m afraid God isn’t here, James,’ Mullin said. ‘And sick or not, you’ll soon feel a deal worse. Now, if you won’t speak of Eleanor’s death, or of Venn’s, I’ve no choice but to—’

‘Damn you then – I killed him! I killed Venn!’

It was almost a shriek, and it took even Mullin by surprise. He and Crabb gazed at the snivelling figure. Betsy was shaken, but suddenly, now the words were out, memories rushed back.

‘So you
were
the trepanner – the cross-biter in our cell!’ she cried. ‘I said so before you struck me!’ And ignoring Mullin,
who turned in irritation, she went on, ‘He told me he knew someone was watching him. I didn’t think you had the nerve, but I was wrong. You’re one of them – you and Thomas Prynn and—’

‘Be quiet!’

In a trice Mullin was on his feet. ‘Or be gone,’ he added. ‘This man’s in my charge, and I’ll choose how to proceed. Now, will you go, or will you hold your tongue?’

Breathing hard, Betsy mastered herself. ‘Your pardon,’ she said finally. ‘I’ll stay.’

‘Very well!’ Impatiently Mullin turned back to his prisoner, but remained standing. ‘Well, at last we come to the nub of it, James,’ he said, gazing down at the man. ‘Not that the matter was in doubt. Now I want to know
why
you killed Venn, or rather, on whose orders. And don’t waste any more of my time!’

But another expression had come over Gorton’s face. He was still shaking, especially as Crabb looked angry enough to fly at him, but there was something else too: a look almost of resignation.

‘Nobody ordered me,’ he said, wiping his face with the back of a hand; his tears had ceased as quickly as they had begun. ‘I loathed the fellow. I saw him talking close with Beatrice – if that’s her name.’ He threw a dark look at Betsy. ‘I … we all believed her to be a whore, yet she did nothing but taunt us. I caught Venn alone, and he scorned me.’ He gave a shrug. ‘I was jealous, that’s all.’

‘And you expect me to believe that?’ Before the other could reply, Mullin raised a hand and pointed at him. ‘You drive me too far!’ he shouted. ‘You’re a damned conspirator – one of a piss-hatch group of traitors who are up to mischief. And in case you hadn’t guessed, I’m here to unpick it! Now, my patience is gone. I want the names of your fellows, though we know those of Prynn and Phelps already – and the late Mr Venn, of course. So if you want to save yourself a deal of pain, I advise you to begin talking. Mr Wrestler…?’

He eyed Crabb, who also stood up, whereupon Betsy decided it was time to leave after all. But, as she started for the doorway, there came a yelp and as always, her curiosity overruled her. She looked round to see Gorton also struggling to his feet, his back against the wall.

‘You’ll get nothing more from me!’ he cried. ‘I’ve admitted I killed Venn, so hand me over to whomever you will. The gallows will be a blessing, believe me …’ he made a choking sound, between a cough and a sob. ‘Press me all you like, you’ll find I’ve never heard of Prynn or Phelps, whoever they are. As for being part of a conspiracy …’ He shook his head, as if the idea was too ridiculous for words.

‘What about Eleanor?!’

Crabb towered over Gorton, his fists clenched. But when Mullin looked at him sharply, he raised a warning hand.

‘Back off, Captain,’ he said gently. ‘It’s my turn.’

‘Wait …’ Mullin read the look in the young man’s eyes. ‘Rein your anger in,’ he ordered. ‘We want intelligence, not a corpse on our hands.’

‘Why not have both?’ Crabb replied – and without warning he lurched forward and seized Gorton by the throat. The man gave a strangled cry and grabbed his wrist, but to no avail. Though he wriggled like an eel he was held fast, and would remain held until Crabb had had his way.

‘You killed Eleanor,’ he muttered, bending so that his face was close to his victim’s. ‘You thought it was her mistress’ – he jerked his head to indicate Betsy – ‘but you went to the wrong room. In the dark you found a woman in the bed, and you stabbed her – three times, by my reckoning. You think I’m going to let you hang, without wringing every word out of you first?’

Once again the room fell silent. Mullin said nothing, and Betsy, standing by the doorway with heart thudding, guessed why. She knew Crabb’s action was spontaneous, but she saw too that it might bring results. As if to confirm it the captain
stepped back, caught up his stool and moved it away. Sitting down beside Betsy, he folded his arms and waited.

Gorton’s face, meanwhile, had turned an alarming shade of red. Still he gripped Crabb’s wrist, panting and struggling. But he was weakening visibly, as the young giant’s fingers remained clamped about his throat. A hissing came from his mouth, he kicked out wildly, but the blow to Crabb’s shin was as nothing.

‘Eleanor was an innocent girl,’ the giant said, through his teeth. ‘Admit you killed her, and I’ll let you breathe. Then tell us why you came to kill her mistress!’

‘I can’t …’ Gorton was purple now, his eyes popping. Sweat dripped on to his collar, and suddenly he sagged. His eyes rolled, his arms fell, and he went as limp as a rag. With a muffled oath, Crabb let him fall. Whereupon with an oath of his own, Mullin stood up.

‘Water!’ he snapped.

Breathing heavily, Crabb stooped, picked up the mug from the floor and dashed its contents into Gorton’s face. The result was instantaneous: a gasp, and the man’s eyes flew open.

Mullin stepped forward and dropped to his haunches. ‘You know this can all end, James,’ he said, calm again. ‘You must excuse the wrestler: the girl who died was his friend. But tell me why you came to kill, and I’ll yet be lenient.’