The Judas Blade (13 page)

‘God help me, I cannot!’

The prisoner gazed into his inquisitor’s eyes, and shook his head slowly. ‘I never went to any house,’ he said hoarsely, ‘and I didn’t kill this girl you speak of, nor had I any wish to kill anyone here. Do what you will, you cannot alter that. For pity’s sake, have me committed or kill me … my game’s over in any case!’

After a moment Mullin turned to Crabb, who had resumed his stolid look. Then he glanced at Betsy; and now there was doubt on his face. She nodded, for she too had come to a
conclusion
that surprised her: she believed Gorton.

‘We’ll leave him a while.’

The captain had made a decision, and the look that he now gave Crabb brooked no argument. ‘Give him water and a morsel of food, then lock him in,’ he added.

The younger man hesitated, but his anger was gone. With a curt nod, he ambled across the room and went out. Betsy followed, but in the doorway she stopped. Hearing a sound, she snapped round, and saw that Mullin had heard it too. Then she looked at Gorton and gave a start.

The man was no longer red-faced: he was as pale as linen. His hands were pressed to his chest, which was heaving. He tried to rise, then groaned and sank back, trembling. And slowly, the fear in his eyes gave way to a look of surprising calm.

‘Tell … I didn’t squeal,’ he mumbled, though his words were slurred. ‘And tell her… I always loved her….’

Then his body twitched, and the life slipped out of it.

Betsy’s hand went to her mouth, while Mullin stared. Then with a curse, he dropped to one knee and lifted the man’s hand. After letting it fall he stood and faced Betsy, his face taut.

‘Perhaps he really was sick,’ he murmured. ‘Or perhaps I begin to find it hard to tell truth from fables …’ He sighed. ‘Now we’ll never know, either way. It’s but—’

‘One of the hazards?’ Betsy broke in. ‘For the children of Judas?’

But her only answer was a shrug. Whereupon she turned and walked back upstairs to the hallway. There she stopped, her eyes fixed on nothing, as a new and alarming truth dawned.

If Gorton was truly innocent of Eleanor’s murder, then who had come to kill Betsy? And how long might it be before they tried again?

E
ARLY THAT AFTERNOON
a meeting took place in the back parlour, and from the outset tempers were frayed. For once it wasn’t Marcus Mullin who was the angriest, however, but Peter Crabb.

‘I’ll tidy up – again,’ he muttered. ‘Gorton’s body will be found floating in a canal … Folk will assume he fell in, and his heart gave out.’ He glowered at Mullin. ‘Yet we’re no nearer to breaking this conspiracy – if we ever were close. Now the one who killed Venn is dead too, I fear the whole pack of them will panic and flee. I’m tempted to throw the game up here and now, and return to England … what do
you
say?’

His question was addressed to Betsy, who had remained silent. Rain lashed the windows. Mullin, who had been pacing the room, stopped and faced her.

‘You believed Gorton, didn’t you?’ he said abruptly. ‘You don’t think he was one of these plotters – despite what he said about not squealing. Am I correct?’

‘I don’t believe he killed Eleanor,’ Betsy replied, after a moment. ‘Or that he killed Venn out of jealousy. I saw no sign, when we shared that cell, that he had any interest in me. There’s something more, that he kept back to the very end. Perhaps his last words offer a clue – tell
her
. Even Gorton had someone he loved – could it be for her that he took such risks?’

‘Well whoever the woman may be, we’ll learn no more of her now,’ Mullin said. In irritation, he turned on Crabb. ‘If you decide to abandon me and go back to Williamson, then I can’t
stop you,’ he snapped. ‘Even though there’s some damned murky business in train here, that’s brought about the deaths of three people already. It strikes me as worth taking trouble over – doesn’t it you?’

‘It does,’ Crabb retorted. ‘But you’re the prize cockerel
hereabouts
– sir. If you’d taken a firm grip on the matter from the start, instead of strutting about like—’

‘Wrestler, this won’t help.’ Betsy met Crabb’s eye. ‘None of us knew what we faced when we came here. All we had was Venn’s testimony, and Mr Lee’s suspicions. But we’ve learned there was a false priest, of some sort. And since Gorton, too, turned up in Delft …’ She shrugged. ‘It can’t be coincidence, can it?’

‘I think it most unlikely,’ Mullin put in. ‘What’s more, our portly friend Lacy needs investigating.’ He faced Crabb again. ‘There are trails to be followed, and I mean to pursue them. That’s what Williamson pays me for – when he remembers. So, whether I must work alone or not—’ He broke off, frowning. ‘But there’s another thing: the attempt on your life,’ he added, eyeing Betsy. ‘Perhaps Crabb’s right, and you should return to London. I can’t watch you all the time—’

‘Cods, Mullin!’ Betsy’s anger was roused. ‘You haven’t watched me at all! It’s Wrestler who saved me from drowning, while I got myself out of Lacy’s clutches. As for Eleanor’s murder: it was sheer luck saved me from that fate. So cease your posturing, and let us form some strategy!’

And with that she sat down again, fanning herself with the edge of her whisk. Mullin seemed rather relieved, she thought, but covered it with his sardonic look. Wearing a look of some amusement, Crabb spoke up.

‘Those are brave words,’ he said. ‘You shame me, mistress – indeed I shame myself, since it was I who swore to discover Eleanor’s killer.’ He turned to Mullin. ‘So it seems we’re in your service still. Do you have a strategy, or do you not?’

‘In truth, not much of one,’ the other replied, after a moment.
‘And there’s no escaping the fact that you’re a risk,’ he said to Betsy. ‘You’ve drawn too much attention to yourself. I see but two choices: either you return home and give our esteemed master such intelligence as we have, or you remain here out of sight. In other words—’

‘What, keep to the house?’ Betsy broke in indignantly. ‘I will not, sir! In case you forget, I’m supposed to be your wife. Besides, the only undue attention I’ve attracted so far has been through getting pushed into the canal. As for Lacy …’ She paused. ‘There I’ll agree with you. He’s hiding something – and more, he regards me as a threat. Though why he should accuse of me being in Downing’s pay, I cannot know. It would be useful to find out, would it not?’

‘It would.’ Crabb was nodding. ‘But more important, to my mind, is finding this fellow who was about the
Papenhoek
. Whoever he is, he’s at the heart of it – I’d swear to that.’

All three fell silent. Betsy, though shaken by Gorton’s death, realized that she was now more determined than ever to solve this riddle. Plots hatched on foreign soil – and by Englishmen – alarmed her more than she liked to admit.

‘Would anyone care for some wine?’

Mullin’s question broke her train of thought. She looked round to see him opening the door. He called Alida’s name, added a few words in Dutch, then turned back to the others.

‘Thirsty work, all this cogitation,’ he muttered. ‘I find a cup of something strong focuses my mind.’ He sat down heavily. ‘Then, since I seem to be over-ruled at every turn, let’s lay out our stall, shall we?’ He eyed Crabb. ‘I suppose you could try and track down the false priest, but you don’t speak Dutch. I, on the other hand, could contrive to run into Lacy, get him drunk and see what he spills, while—’

‘I don’t speak Dutch either,’ Betsy broke in. ‘But Alida does. After our experience yesternight, I believe she’ll be willing to go with me and do what I ask.’

After a moment, Mullin nodded. ‘Then why not go to the
Papenhoek
again and make more enquiries? I don’t believe the old priest will tell more, but you might poke about a bit.’

‘I might,’ Betsy agreed, ‘but I’ve thought of a better idea.’ And so she had, though for the present she had a mind to keep it to herself. ‘As a gentlewoman with a servant at my disposal, I don’t believe I’ll come to any further harm in daylight,’ she added. ‘So, with your leave, sir, may I pursue it?’ She smiled at Mullin, to let him know that she cared little whether he gave leave or not.

‘Why of course, my dear.’ The captain threw her a wry look. ‘In which case, I’d better blunder into Lacy.’ But it was clear that his customary spirit was returning. When the door opened and Alida appeared with a tray, he brightened visibly. ‘However, you, too, have become rather a familiar sight in Delft, Crabb,’ he observed. ‘Where do you propose to venture?’

‘I said I’d go where Beatrice goes,’ the young man answered. Though there was unease on his face.

‘It’s all right, Wrestler,’ Betsy said. ‘I’ll be safe – please go where you will. If I don’t return by nightfall, you might come looking for me at the
Bok
.’ And with that she turned to Mullin, and waited for him to pour the wine.

Having got her way, she couldn’t help feeling elated. But less than an hour later she was on tenterhooks again, as she stepped out of the rain and entered the inn where she had first met Thomas Lacy.

To her relief he wasn’t there – but someone else was, who knew her at once. Seated at the same table where she had sat before was Lacy’s friend, the down-at-heel poet Henry Churston – and the moment he saw Betsy, he started like a nervous rabbit. ‘Mistress Mullin …’ The man got to his feet as Betsy drew near. Alida was behind her.

‘Mr Churston.’ Betsy smiled brightly. ‘An unexpected pleasure … May I buy you a glass of something?’ Whereupon the fellow blinked, and sat down again. Beside him was a
ragged young woman, the sorriest-looking slattern Betsy had ever seen. At once she scowled, but when she looked past Betsy, her mouth fell open.

‘Alida!’ she exclaimed, getting to her feet. Betsy looked round to see her servant looking uncomfortable – and realization dawned. Here was an explanation for how Mullin had managed to hire her so quickly: from among the sort of women best known to him.

‘I see my maid and your friend are acquainted, Mr Churston,’ Betsy said drily. ‘Here’s a half-guilder … why not tell them to go and share a mug?’

Churston hesitated, then muttered some words in Dutch. Betsy, meanwhile, met Alida’s eye and nodded. Without a word the girl jerked her head to Churston’s friend, who moved off with a final glare. Ignoring her, Betsy took the vacant stool and seated herself. When the drawer appeared, she pointed to a glass. But when she turned to Churston, she saw him eyeing her suspiciously.

‘If you seek Lacy, he’s not here,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I haven’t seen him all day.’

‘That’s no matter, sir,’ she answered: it was not Lacy she had sought at all. ‘I’m merely eager for the company of my compatriots. Indeed, I’ve a weakness for poets – and playmakers too,’ she added, smiling. ‘Are you acquainted with Mr Shadwell, or Mr Wycherley? They’re friends of mine.’

‘Oh?’ Churston frowned. ‘How is that?’

‘Why, I’ve seen them at the theatre,’ Betsy answered. ‘We’ve often conversed together after a performance.’ Whereupon she gazed into the distance, and recited:

‘Are the lines familiar to you, sir?’

‘Perhaps.’ The man coughed, then turning away, spat heavily. Betsy blanched, but kept her smile.

‘It’s generous of you to pay for my drink,’ he resumed, without much warmth. ‘Yet I fear I’ll be poor company. I’ve lost touch with England. As for London’s literary men …’ He gave a weary sigh. ‘They would scorn you for spending time with me – if any of them remembered me at all.’

‘Come sir,’ – Betsy put on a reproachful look – ‘you an Oxford man? Why, Mr Lacy himself said he’s never known such a learned one as you.’

‘Lacy says a lot of things.’ There was an odd look in Churston’s eye. ‘And with your leave, madam, I don’t care to discuss him.’

Betsy nodded, then decided to strike. ‘Then there are other things you and I might speak of, sir,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘One of them being the prison you were unfortunate enough to get yourself into. Which one was it? My own brief holiday was spent at the King’s Bench.’

Churston stiffened, but made no answer.

‘Forgive my boldness, but I recognized the look,’ Betsy went on. ‘I saw it on the faces of many, not knowing if they would eat that day, or the next …’ She paused. ‘A friend of mine was even killed while I was there. A man called Venn, found in the jakes with his throat cut….’

She looked up as the drawer appeared with a jug and cups. After he had gone, she looked deliberately at Churston again. The man was staring at her, and now there was no mistaking the fear in his eyes. Seizing the jug he slopped wine into a cup, spilling some on the table, then picked it up and drank greedily.

‘Your pardon,’ Betsy sighed, and filled her own cup. ‘I’ve stirred bad memories. I meant only—’

‘Who
are
you?’

The question startled her. But taking a sip of the strong red wine, she faced the other calmly. ‘I’m the wife of Captain
Mullin, sir,’ she began – then flinched. Churston’s hand had shot out to seize her arm.

‘No, you’re another of them! Come to get me soused, then play me like a bagpipe, have you? Well you’re wasting your time. I know nothing about anything, and I care even less!’

Carefully, Betsy put down her drink and glanced about the smoky room. Then, when no one seemed to be looking, she leaned close to Churston’s unwashed face. ‘I’ve a poniard strapped to my thigh,’ she said gently. ‘If you don’t let go of my arm, I’ll stick you with it.’

But the other did not let go. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he breathed. ‘Any more than I think you’re a gentlewoman who’s married to that rakehell Mullin.’ He stifled a cough, and it was all Betsy could do not to gag at his sour breath. ‘So I ask again: who are you, and what do you want with me?’

‘Very well!’ With an effort, Betsy met his eye. ‘I’ll speak plain if you will,’ she said. ‘But I know you’ve been in prison as I have. And let’s leave Mullin out of it – he’s nothing to me. I want to hear what you know about Thomas Lacy – a man you despise even as you let him pay for your drinks.’ Then she frowned. ‘And what did you mean,
you’re another of them
– another of what?’

A moment passed before, to her relief, Churston let go of her arm. Taking up his drink again, he drained what was left and banged it down. ‘I thank you for the wine, madam.’ He placed both hands on the table and leaned forward. In a moment he would be gone and this chance lost. So, on impulse, Betsy placed her hand firmly on top of his.

‘If you go,’ she murmured, ‘I’ll tell Mullin you put your hand up my skirts. I think a man of your sensibilities may imagine what he will do.’

Without looking at her, Churston swore profanely. But when he tried to withdraw his hand, Betsy pressed on it harder.

‘What do you want of me?’ he spat. ‘I’m nobody – I have nothing you want! You’re not the first rummager to come here
from England – the Provinces are riddled with them. Now, let me be!’ And with that he gripped her hand and thrust it away – but at that moment something caught her eye. It was only a brief flash of silver at the man’s neck, but it was enough.

‘In fact there’s another man I seek,’ she said. ‘He dressed as a priest once – yet he was no priest, but a rogue. He hid himself in the
Papenhoek
for a while – an area I think you know well, Mr Churston. Who’s your confessor, Father Martins?’

But at that Churston jerked back, gazing at her wildly. ‘You can’t know what you speak of,’ he said, with a sudden twitch of his face. ‘You’re angling in the dark … and if you value your life, you’ll get out of this country – take ship for England, today! Now go away and leave me be!’

He lurched to his feet, sending his stool flying. ‘I may live in the gutter here, mistress,’ he cried, ‘but I’m a free man! So do your worst and—’ Then suddenly he doubled up, coughing uncontrollably. People stirred and, as Betsy stared in alarm, the drawer appeared, a frown on his face. When he spoke to her in Dutch, she spread her hands. Churston coughed and coughed, leaning on the table. Finally he retched and sank to the floor, wheezing.

‘
Wat gebeurt hier
?’ the drawer said sharply. Betsy shook her head, looking round. One man was getting to his feet. Uneasily she scanned the room – whereupon there was a shout. To her alarm, a figure came hurrying out of the tobacco smoke: the ragged-looking woman who had been with Churston. The next moment she was in Betsy’s face, shrieking at her like a fishwife.