The Judas Blade (9 page)

Betsy met his eye. ‘I was.’

‘But are you still? It would be a pity, for there’s much you can do.’

‘Do you truly believe so?’ Betsy looked doubtful. ‘Moreover, do you think Mullin really wants me here?’

‘Of course he does,’ Crabb answered. ‘You’re a lady of fashion, who knows how to converse – and better still, when to hold her tongue.’ He gave a wan smile. ‘You didn’t know it, but I was watching you in the
Bok
. You had those men fawning over you.’

‘That was naught,’ Betsy said. ‘With others, I might find myself in a quandary. I could even ruin the whole enterprise.’

‘I think not,’ Crabb replied. Picking up the mug that Mullin had left, he drank what was left. ‘I’d better be about my work,’ he said, and got to his feet. He looked disheartened, Betsy thought … whereupon a feeling stole over her: one of
resignation
, mixed with fear.

‘Oh, cods,’ she breathed. And when Crabb looked at her, she, too, stood up.

‘I said I’m in your debt,’ she told him. ‘So if not for Mullin’s sake, I’ll stay and do what I can for yours. I, too, would like to see Eleanor’s murderer found – and to know who thought I was such a threat, that I should die in my bed.’

‘Then, that eases my burden,’ Crabb said, after a moment. ‘And whatever you may think of the captain, he will be relieved – I’d swear to it.’ And with a more purposeful step, he went off to finish his grisly task.

Betsy, meanwhile, took a look around the kitchen before going upstairs to pack her belongings. She would have to manage without a lady’s maid now, she thought.

And then, as she began sorting through her clothes, tears started from her eyes, and for some reason, she was glad of it.

B
Y LATE AFTERNOON
, the three remaining members of Mr Lee’s family had moved house.

In spite of herself, Betsy had to admire Marcus Mullin’s ability to move swiftly when he needed to. In a matter of hours he’d paid a token rent on an old, tumbledown dwelling on the other side of the town, borrowed a boat and transported their baggage by canal to the new residence. It was less wholesome than the house near the Oude Kierke, and poorly furnished, but it had more rooms and boasted a cellar. Here Betsy established herself in a draughty upstairs chamber while the two men went out on business of their own. First to return was Mullin,
accompanied
by a round-faced girl in a yellow frock and a white hood, whose name he gave as Alida.

‘She’s our new maid-of-all-work,’ he announced. ‘We have to keep up appearances.’ They stood in the kitchen, which looked as if it had been unused for months. Alida made a curtsy.

‘Does she speak any English?’ Betsy wanted to know.

‘Not a word,’ Mullin said. ‘That’s why I hired her.’ He turned to the girl and spoke in Dutch, to which she nodded. ‘She’ll cook and keep house,’ he went on. ‘And accompany you outdoors, if you want her to. She knows how to serve ladies. Tonight you and I will go visiting, so you’ll need her to dress your hair.’

‘Where are we going?’ Betsy asked.

‘To the house of Franz Katz and his wife – you’ll remember them from the coach journey. It isn’t far away, I’ve discovered.
They’re having what she terms a small gathering – she was keen that we attend. And it might prove useful.’

‘Indeed?’ Betsy felt a pang of unease. ‘What makes you think so? Aren’t they merely members of the local gentry?’

‘More than that, I think,’ Mullin said. ‘Mevrouw Katz is well connected. I’ve a suspicion she’s something of a trepanner herself – for the Dutch Government, perhaps.’

‘Then why didn’t you tell me of this sooner?’ Betsy demanded, taken aback.

‘One thing at a time. It’s months since I was here – things change.’ Mullin shrugged. ‘And you should be careful who you align yourself with. Yesterday in the
Bok
you were lucky: you took a risk showing your hand, though it seems to have borne fruit. But in future, tread cautiously.’

‘That isn’t what you said last night,’ Betsy objected – then seeing the look on the other’s face, she tensed. ‘You mean, in view of what happened afterwards?’

With the briefest of nods, Mullin turned to Alida again and spoke. The girl bobbed and answered him.

‘She’ll sleep in your chamber with you,’ he said to Betsy. ‘I’ve told her you don’t speak Dutch. Also that we won’t need supper tonight—’ He broke off as a loud squeal came from the passage, followed by a curse. Crabb appeared in the doorway.

‘That door needs oiling,’ he said. Then he caught Mullin’s look, and stiffened. ‘Or, perhaps not.’

For a moment Betsy was puzzled, then she too understood: if anyone tried to gain entry that way, they would give themselves away. ‘You mean the assassin might return?’ she asked in alarm. ‘But who would know we’re here? Unless …’ She caught her breath. ‘Do you think we’re being watched?’

Neither man answered.

Meneer Franz and Mevrouw Marieke Katz dwelt in a rather grand house facing one of the larger canals. Though
narrow-fronted
, the place stretched back for a long distance, and had
many rooms. Here after dark the Mullins arrived: the captain in a plumed hat and a black coat with lace cuffs showing, Betsy in her best blue gown with a dove-grey whisk. Alida had wound her hair into side-spirals, in the Dutch fashion. Thus attired, the two actors stepped forth arm-in-arm – and it wasn’t long before they were performing.

‘Welcome!’ Madam Katz, wearing a splendid gold dress, greeted Betsy in the entrance hall. Beside her stood the smiling figure of her husband, in a loose suit of black silk. ‘I’m glad we were able to meet again so soon. I trust you are settled
comfortably
in Delft?’

‘Very comfortably, madam,’ Betsy answered quickly. ‘And the town is pleasant. I look forward to exploring it further.’

The lady smiled, but this time when those piercing blue eyes bored into hers, Betsy merely returned her gaze. Beside her, Mullin cleared his throat.

‘
Goedenavond, Meneer en Mevrouw
,’ he murmured, greeting both hosts. Switching to English, he added, ‘We’re honoured to be invited. Are there others from my country here?’

‘There are indeed, Captain Mullin,’ Madam Katz replied, and waved her hand towards the inner rooms. ‘Please, let our home be yours.’ And with a somewhat quizzical glance at them she turned to greet other guests, allowing the two to move away.

‘Trivial talk only, remember.’ Mullin spoke under his breath. ‘And if anyone asks, we married in London, back in August. At St Botolph’s by Aldgate.’

‘Indeed?’ Betsy maintained a broad smile. ‘When did you decide that? No – never mind,’ she added. ‘Just tell me where we met, and anything else you think I ought to know.’

‘I hadn’t thought on it,’ Mullin answered, somewhat testily. ‘I’ll leave it to your imagination.’ He flinched, as Betsy squeezed his arm. ‘What’s the matter?’

She didn’t reply immediately. Instead she allowed her gaze to sweep the candlelit room they were entering, which was quite crowded. Elegantly dressed men and women stood conversing,
while servants moved among them with refreshments. In one corner a lutenist was playing a gentle air.

‘It’s Lacy,’ she whispered. ‘The man I met in the
Bok
.’

‘Where?’ Mullin’s eyes scanned the assembly.

‘By the chimneypiece, in the embroidered coat.’

‘I see him. By God, the fellow’s grown fat….’

Just then a servant arrived, bowed and proffered a tray. With a haughty air, the captain took a glass and sipped. ‘As I thought – gin, mixed with some vile cordial.’

Betsy too accepted a glass, then waited until the serving-man had moved away. ‘What’s Lacy doing here?’ she asked quietly. ‘More, what will I say when he sees me?’

‘You must improvise,’ Mullin replied, with studied
nonchalance
. ‘After all you’re new here, and don’t know anyone. Whereas I …’ He raised his glass and drained it. ‘I think it best if I work my way round,’ he added. And with that he placed the vessel in her free hand and turned away. But, as he moved off, he bent close and whispered, ‘You’re on, Brand – don’t disappoint me.’

She was alone, but only for a moment. With growing unease she saw that Thomas Lacy had spied her, and was already moving in her direction.

‘Dear Mistress Mullin – once again, this is an honour.’

‘Mr Lacy.’ Betsy smiled. ‘What brings you here?’

‘Perfidious curiosity, madam, nothing more.’ The man smiled back. His eyes were very bright, Betsy saw, as she noticed a
tautness
in his voice. All at once, it struck her that it might be he who was at a disadvantage. How many others, she wondered, knew of Lacy’s affiliations? In fact, the man looked very
uncomfortable
. Might he be regretting what he’d said in the inn the day before? He wasn’t drinking, she noticed, and kept his hands at his sides.

‘Does your wife accompany you this evening?’ she enquired.

‘I regret not,’ the other replied at once. ‘But where is your spouse? Didn’t I see him a moment ago?’

‘You did. He’s gone off somewhere.’ Ill at ease, Betsy looked
away. The man was gazing at her intently – and his next words caught her off guard.

‘Then, what’s to prevent you and I doing the same?’

Slowly she turned to him. ‘I don’t think I follow you, sir,’ she said, raising her eyebrows. But the other was unabashed.

‘I have a coach outside,’ he said, leaning close. ‘Why not let me entertain you?’

‘I’m well entertained already, Mr Lacy.’ Betsy assumed her primmest voice. ‘And I’ve no wish to step into a married man’s coach, flattered though I am—’

‘For pity’s sake, madam!’ Lacy was signalling with his eyes, though his meaning was unclear. Uneasily, Betsy gazed back.

‘Did you think
that
was all I wanted?’ He kept his voice low, but irritation showed on his florid features. To collect her thoughts she took a drink, realizing she still had Mullin’s glass in her other hand. In confusion she looked round and caught the eye of a servant, who hurried up. After disposing of the glass, she eyed Lacy.

‘Your pardon, sir. I’m … well, I’m fearful,’ she said under her breath. ‘I may have spoken rashly at the inn. I was tired from travelling, and—’

‘Evidently so.’ Lacy glanced round to make sure no one was in earshot. ‘I had a mind to cheer you, that was all,’ he went on. ‘But since you seem to think the worst of me, perhaps I should forgo your company.’ And he would have turned away, had Betsy not stayed him.

‘No, wait – I’m at a loss here,’ she said quickly. ‘I cannot tell friend from foe …’ Suddenly, she was gambling again. ‘I … I even fear I’m being watched.’

Lacy hesitated. ‘Why do you think so?’

‘I’m uncertain.’ Betsy was thinking fast. ‘But it’s the reason my husband and I left England. One of our acquaintance warned us—’ She broke off, as if regretting her words. ‘See now, my tongue’s run away with me again,’ she added. Then she took another drink, and waited.

‘One of your acquaintance?’ Lacy echoed. ‘Might I ask who that was?’

Whereupon throwing caution aside, she spoke the words that would either help her – or condemn her.

‘His name is Venn,’ she said softly. ‘Or, it was: he’s dead.’

All at once, the murmur of voices seemed to drop. Feigning mild interest Betsy looked round, but saw nothing amiss. In the corner the lutenist still played. Madame Katz was now in the room, the centre of a group of ladies as prosperous looking as she. But when Betsy turned back to Lacy, she was surprised to see him appear unconcerned.

‘You knew Venn?’ His voice was low, so she had to strain to hear. But her heart gave a flutter: once again, she thought, Lacy was sounding her out. She nodded.

‘And do you know how he died?’ he asked softly.

‘He was murdered, in the King’s Bench.’ Betsy managed a frightened look. ‘But perhaps you knew that already,’ she went on. ‘And if you knew it, then—’

‘Please – no more.’ Lacy’s tongue appeared, and he wet his lips. ‘You should have accepted my offer to get in the coach,’ he went on tautly. ‘We can’t talk here.’

‘Indeed not.’ Betsy’s pulse had quickened, and again she drank to cover it. ‘But perhaps you have news to share with me?’ she ventured. ‘And with my husband, of course. He would be most interested.’

But an odd look came over Lacy’s face. ‘Would he?’ he enquired. ‘I confess I hadn’t thought Captain Mullin was attached to any cause. Though he’s no doubt one of us, I always saw him as … well, little more than an adventurer.’

‘Perhaps he had that reputation once,’ Betsy said, assuming a dry tone. ‘But he is loyal, sir – and I mean to a cause dear to both you and me. Since we married I’ve confided my innermost thoughts to him. I believe he is coming round to my view of the world.’

Lacy seemed to relax a little. ‘Then we will speak further,’ he
said after a moment. ‘And you’re correct that the
Bok
is not the place. I, too, spoke unwisely yesterday. I’ve fallen into the ways of some of our countrymen here – I drink to numb the bitterness of exile. When a newcomer appears from our
home-land
, I—’

‘Please, no excuses are needed,’ Betsy broke in. ‘We are all impatient for change. And this time, Mr Lacy, it’s you who have lifted my heart. Need I say more?’

‘You need not, madam.’ At last, the man smiled. ‘Indeed, perhaps you and I have spent long enough together. Yet at my house we can converse freely – I’ll send a message soon.’

‘I look forward to it, sir.’ She returned his smile. And with that, Lacy made a quick bow and left her. Soon he had returned to the chimneypiece where two or three gentlemen were conversing. He did not look at her again.

‘At last … I thought he’d never go.’ From nowhere Mullin appeared, another glass in his hand. ‘Was any of that useful?’

‘It might be,’ Betsy answered, with a sigh of relief. Suddenly she realized how hungry she was. ‘You spoke of a supper,’ she added. ‘Where might that be?’

‘Upstairs, I think. Would you like to partake, my dear?’

‘I would.’ Betsy eyed him. ‘And if I’m not mistaken, Mullin, you’re looking very pleased with yourself. How so?’

‘Perhaps I am,’ the captain admitted. ‘I’ve just had a most rewarding conversation – with a pastor.’ But when Betsy gave a start, he shook his head. ‘Not of
that
persuasion – remember the Calvinist company we’re in. And yet, talking to him helped me hit upon a solution to our immediate difficulty.’

‘Indeed? What’s that?’ Betsy asked suspiciously.

‘Why, your next role. One that shouldn’t tax you too heavily. You need only play it briefly. I’ve even thought of a name for you: Mistress Cathleen O’Donnell.’ And when Betsy stared at him, Mullin’s smile widened. ‘Yes, you’ll be an Irishwoman. A devout Papist, passing through
en route
from a journey you’ve made … a pilgrimage, perhaps. Naturally you’ll be wanting
confession, so you’ll visit the
Papenhoek
in search of a priest … Now, shall we take some supper?’

By the following morning it had been decided upon, but that didn’t mean Betsy Brand was pleased with the arrangement; quite the opposite, in fact.

‘I’ve never done an Irish accent,’ she said. ‘Someone might see through it.’

‘Cods, madam,’ Mullin replied amiably. They sat in the chilly back parlour of their new house, beside the fire Alida had lit. ‘Priests here don’t speak English,’ he added. ‘They wouldn’t know an Irishwoman from a Margate cockle-girl.’

‘But either way, we’ll take no further risks.’ Peter Crabb spoke up, from where he sat stolidly apart. ‘Beatrice must not be alone again. Wherever she goes, I’ll be with her.’

‘I suppose it’s best,’ Mullin allowed. ‘Though you stand out like a sore thumb. We’ll need a reason for your proximity—’

‘Forgive my intrusion,’ Betsy broke in, ‘but I’m not even sure of my disguise yet. I’ve already been seen about the town.’