by Graham Brack
It was clear from the look on James’ face that he recognised the handwriting. ‘You must believe that I had no knowledge of this,’ he began.
‘Oh, I do,’ Charles told him, ‘for if it were otherwise you would be the basest, most disloyal rogue of a brother a man ever had.’
‘I will discharge him at once,’ James announced.
‘Do so,’ Charles ordered. ‘And no payment nor any sinecure. If he argues, let him know that his choice is to go quietly or to face a public trial.’
‘On what charge?’ James asked.
‘He has had access to naval secrets, has he not? I’m sure we’ll find one that has leaked out somewhere.’
‘If I may withdraw?’ James asked, and was waved away.
I raised a hand to attract attention like a little schoolboy.
‘Yes, Master?’ said Charles.
‘Your Majesty, before Mr Coleman leaves it would be good to ascertain whether he was behind the silversmith’s false allegation.’
‘Indeed it would! James, tell him to report to Arlington before he leaves. Arlington, there’s a man at the Tower of London who is skilled at extracting the truth with a bit of mechanical help, if necessary.’
They all have them. I had seen one at work, and I never wanted to see it again. Having seen Coleman, I expected we would have a confession about half an hour after the torture master started work, if not earlier.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
How quickly things can change. When he woke up that morning, Edward Coleman had a well-paid job as a secretary to the Duchess of York with access to some of the greatest men in England. By midday he had lost that job and all hope of another like it, and by mid-afternoon he was sitting in his undershirt strapped to a chair while one of the Constable’s men heated a poker and a branding iron in a brazier. You will understand that I did not see this for myself, but it was explained graphically by the Constable when he made his report to Arlington the next morning.
‘Was it necessary to use such torture on him?’ I asked.
‘No, bless you, sir,’ said the Constable. ‘He was confessing before I got the fire properly lit. I just got the irons good and hot to check that he wasn’t keeping anything back.’
‘And was he?’ Arlington enquired.
‘I don’t think so, My Lord. By the time the poker was glowing, I knew more than his confessor.’
‘What did he tell you?’
‘He admits that he instigated the attempt to incriminate the Dutch gentleman, though he did not personally do anything in the street. He also says that he can tell us nothing about the murder of the other Dutch gentleman and swore on the souls of several dead relatives that he really knew absolutely nothing about it.’
‘And his accomplices? Does he incriminate Paston, for example?’
‘He said that Paston was a fervent supporter, My Lord, but he did not admit him to their closer counsels because he thought him unreliable.’
‘Unreliable? Why?’
‘Because he is stupid, sir. He thought Paston might betray them by accident.’
‘Yes, that rings true,’ Arlington smiled. ‘Were others named?’
‘I have a list here, signed by Mr Coleman. I’m afraid the signature is a little shaky, but I couldn’t do much about that. The gentleman was fearfully moved, particularly when I ordered his drawers pulled down.’
I could well believe that. I think I would sign any list I was presented with when faced by a torturer with a red-hot poker, even if my drawers were fully up.
Arlington perused the list before handing it to me. ‘No one of any account there,’ he said. ‘But I think we might round them up and take them to the Tower, Constable. See if they know anything about the murder of Mr Wevers. Try not to inflict any lasting damage just in case they are innocent. It is impolitic; hanging a maimed man may excite misplaced sympathy for him.’
I have not seen many executions — strictly, I have seen none, because if I have been near to one I have always closed my eyes at the crucial moments — but I hope I would feel some sympathy for any man about to have his life snuffed out, maimed or otherwise. However, I could understand Arlington’s argument.
There were no names on the list that I recognised, so I handed it back to Arlington.
The Constable was dismissed to begin the arrests of the men named. In view of the urgency, it was agreed that this should be done as soon as possible, even if they had to be arrested at night.
‘It proves to the miscreants that we mean business,’ Arlington explained. ‘It is always more terrifying to be arrested at night than in the day.’
If they all proved as pliable as Coleman, it was possible that we should have a goodly number of confessions by bedtime. Purely out of curiosity, I wondered whether each would have his own brazier and poker, or whether one red-hot poker would suffice for all of them, but it seemed unduly inquisitive to ask, so I shall never know.
At my request, Arlington had me conducted to Mr Coventry, who received me very civilly. He dismissed his confidential secretary and instructed that we were not to be disturbed.
‘I understand from your questions last evening that you are interested in Mr Morley, Master,’ he said.
I thought it best to frame my questions to exclude extraneous matter. ‘I am, Mr Coventry, but I do not want to trespass upon the secrets of the realm any further than I must.’
‘Thank you,’ said Coventry, ‘that is helpful. May I ask how Mr Morley came to your notice?’
‘Certainly. You will, I think, be aware that one of our party was murdered some days ago. I was informed by Lord Arlington that he was being followed by Mr Morley who, unfortunately, had lost sight of him at the critical moment. I was able to obtain an interview with Mr Morley, who was seated behind a screen and who spoke through Lord Arlington, and who told me that he saw nothing of any value to my investigation. I did not have the opportunity to ask who set him on.’
‘And as I indicated last night, I did not know. But I have made enquiries, and I am somewhat wiser. The request to observe Mr Wevers came from the Navy Office.’
‘Forgive me, but I must be clear. Did this information come from the Navy Office, or from Mr Morley?’
Coventry permitted himself a small smile. ‘Ay, there’s the rub! There is no written request, and it was not authorised by any of the competent officials here. I therefore asked Morley why he was following Wevers, and it was he who informed me that it was requested by the Navy Office. It was informal and highly irregular, and I have reminded him that he takes his orders from this department and no other.’
‘Did he explain why the Navy Office was suspicious of mijnheer Wevers?’
‘Yes, he said that they had been informed that he had been showing interest in the work of His Majesty’s dockyards.’
‘I see.’ I sat for a few moments in silence, then I decided to chance my arm. ‘I don’t believe him,’ I said, ‘and you don’t either, do you?’
‘No,’ said Coventry candidly. ‘By their nature, spies are unruly men. Like a young stallion they must be curbed at all times, and they know it. Of course, they must use their own initiative on occasion, but I have never known a man in our pay to undertake unauthorised work in this land. Morley could not remember exactly who commissioned him, except that he said he was of the Navy Office. I have made enquiries there, and no-one admits to that act. Indeed, I am assured that no fear of espionage existed, the bulk of the Navy having been moved out of London for the duration of your visit and the guard on the London yards having been strengthened.’
‘Thank you for so full an answer,’ I said. ‘I appreciate your frankness. But perhaps I may presume upon you a little more. How, then, did the King and Lord Arlington know what Morley had been doing?’
‘That intrigued me too,’ Coventry confessed. ‘My Lord tells me that he was informed of Morley’s presence by the Sergeant whose men were summoned by Mr Pepys. When the Sergeant announced that all present were to be taken to the watch house f
or examination — excepting your party, of course — Mr Morley drew him aside and revealed his identity, saying that Lord Arlington would vouch for him.’
‘Lord Arlington? He did not ask for you to be informed?’
‘Apparently not; but then, consider that he knew Lord Arlington would be informed of Mr Wevers’ death and may have felt that His Lordship would be as able as I would to vouch for him.’
That was true. It may have simply been the easiest way of having himself spared detention for a while; but so far as I knew, nobody who had been at the scene had been detained for long.
I drew myself out of my reverie. ‘I am sorry. I am sitting here thinking and wasting your valuable time. This is not my world, Mr Coventry. I do not understand how spies work, and therefore I do not know when they behave in a strange way, since all their actions are strange to me.’
Coventry smiled that curious slight smile of his again. ‘Master, I am familiar with the ways of spies, and some of their actions here are strange to me too.’
I hate being unable to comprehend something. I first noticed this when I was at school and struggled to understand geometry, but it has dogged me all my life since then. It exasperates me, particularly when I feel I ought to know it. I recall reading an Anabaptist pamphlet and knowing in my heart that it was complete rubbish without being able to put my finger on exactly why. That same feeling was clouding my thoughts now. For a couple of days I had had the idea that the solution was almost within my grasp, but I could not quite nail it down.
Oh, I knew how the killing had been done. That was trivial. I also knew who had done it, but not why, and until I could show that, I had only my unsupported deduction (and a bit of guesswork) to put before the King. However keen he was to see a guest’s murder properly investigated, I doubted he would hang anyone on my word alone, nor should he.
Nevertheless, I was not without options. I could trudge around London a little more with a view to finding out what I could about a couple of people, and I began by asking at the gatehouse for some directions.
When I arrived at Seething Lane, Mr Pepys was at home and immediately received me. He sent at once for some wine and invited me to sit in his office where we would not be disturbed.
‘You took quite a chance coming here without notice,’ he said. ‘Not that I mind, of course, but I am often from home. As it happens, I am today attending to Trinity House business, and it is more convenient to have it brought to me here than to journey out to Deptford.’
‘This Deptford,’ I asked, ‘is it far?’
‘Two hours’ walk, and that only if you can force your way through the crowds on London Bridge. But I am sure you did not come here to ask me about Deptford, Master.’
‘Indeed, no. I was hoping that you could help me with some further information about the night when Wevers was killed. I know the Dutchmen who were there, of course, but I did not perfectly understand who the Englishmen were, and since you assembled the party I hoped you could help me with that.’
‘I am not sure that I can, Master. There was Mr Dawkins, of course, who works for me. I’ve known him for some time. He was a clerk at the Admiralty until last year, when he became a surveyor of lights and a river pilot. Few men know the Thames as well as he does. Then there was Mr Laurel, who is a tutor at a school I have some connection with. Both being unmarried, they were game for a frolic at short notice. And I believe you met Robert Buckie, a gentleman from Scotland.’
‘I did not understand how Mr Buckie was employed.’
Pepys laughed. ‘Few of us do. I don’t think he is. He has a pension from the King for services rendered shortly after the death of the King’s father.’
I said nothing, but I may have raised an enquiring eyebrow.
‘When the King was hard-pressed, Mr Buckie supplied him with money and horses.’
‘He was a rich man, then?’
‘No, he was a thief. But His Majesty was not in a position to be too choosy in 1650. Buckie risked his neck on several occasions on His Majesty’s behalf.’
‘And Captain Hallow?’
‘Hallow is a captain of the militia, it seems. I don’t know him well, but I have seen him about Whitehall a few times. Dawkins knows him better than I do, though I recall his saying that Hallow invited himself once he knew we were supplied with money, for Dawkins would not have judged him fit company.’
‘Did he say why?’
‘Only that Hallow sometimes makes himself disagreeable.’
That I could well imagine. The man had had a face like a half-sucked prune all evening.
I could think of nothing more useful to ask, so I thanked Mr Pepys for his time and took my leave. I paused to admire the Tower of London from a very safe distance — knowing what business was carried on there, I did not choose to venture too close — and thought the calm of a church might help me muster my thoughts. I found a fine old church with beautiful carvings very close to Mr Pepys’ house and slipped inside.
Since nobody was in sight, I dipped my hand inside my shirt to collect my rosary from the inner pocket and began to say my prayers, expecting to be safe from any interruption. And so I was, until I interrupted myself.
I was about three-quarters of the way through when a thought impressed itself on my brain. Someone inside the palace was pulling the strings.
How did Hallow know that a jaunt was being planned in order to invite himself? Certainly I had seen him around the place, but only at the general audiences. And why did Dawkins permit him to join us unless there was already some acquaintance between them, and, if so, how?
It was likely that the villain Coleman was the person responsible, I decided, and so abandoned my prayers with a muttered apology to God, who must be getting quite used to my sudden interruptions by now.
Not without trepidation I presented myself at the gate of the Tower of London and asked if I might speak to the Constable. After a short while I was conducted within, though I admit that I shuddered just a little as the great gate clattered shut behind me. I watched anxiously to see whose pocket the key went into.
The warder and I climbed some steps and entered at the foot of a building where some stairs took us to a bright chamber. The Constable entered through a door at the rear. I noted with concern that he was wiping his hands vigorously on a cloth.
‘Master Mercurius, what brings you here?’ he said cheerfully.
I have found that sadists are often cheerful. They whistle happily as they turn the rack or apply the thumbscrews. That, I presume, is because they enjoy their work so much. They must feel it keenly when they have no customers for their trade.
‘Is Mr Coleman still here, Constable?’
‘As it happens, he is, Master. His Majesty is keen that he should depart the realm as soon as possible, but at the moment he is recovering himself in one of the chambers upstairs.’
‘By your leave, may I speak with him? You are very welcome to stay.’
The Constable chuckled. ‘Bless you, Master, I think we can trust you not to do him any harm. With his wickedness he’s bound for Hell anyway. Nothing you or I can do to him will make any difference to that.’
I was about to launch into a theological argument about the redemptive power of unearned suffering but decided this was not the time or place. I can rarely resist a good argument, but to my credit I bit my tongue and followed the Constable through the back door and up another flight of stairs. There was a guard outside a door who stepped to one side as the Constable unlocked it.
Mr Coleman looked up as he heard the key. To my surprise, he was in quite a good condition physically. There were a few red marks on his wrists and ankles from the ropes that had bound him, and I suspected that under his shirts his ribs were probably a little tender, judging by the hunched position he had adopted and the wince he produced as he tried to stand. The scars, such as they were, were mental. The man was plainly terrified.
‘I’ll leave the key in the lock on the outside,’ the Constable said. ‘Some
times men facing execution have been known to attempt to fling themselves on a warder’s halberd to have a quick death, and we can’t have that, can we?’ He addressed Coleman directly. ‘I trust you’ll comport yourself as a gentleman and not attempt to pervert this man’s mind with your papistry. Just remember that we’ve warmed the irons to entertain your friends below, and I’ll warrant they’re still glowing, so you’ll be on your best behaviour and answer the gentleman truthfully.’
Coleman nodded. If his eyes had opened any wider, they would have fallen out on his cheeks. It was clear that the sight of the hot irons had made a lasting impression on his memory. ‘I had hoped for a Catholic priest to offer consolation, sir,’ he croaked.
‘I haven’t come for any spiritual reason, Mr Coleman,’ I replied.
He looked downcast, and I took pity on him. I was taking a great chance, but I could not ignore a soul, even a black one, in torment. Maybe a black one needs consolation even more than a saint’s. ‘I will take you into my confidence, sir,’ I whispered. ‘I am secretly a Catholic priest, and before I go I will hear your confession, if you will undertake not to tell anyone my secret.’
Coleman looked doubtful, so I retrieved my breviary from my inner pocket and showed it to him. He grabbed my hand and fervently kissed the breviary. I hope he did not notice as I wiped it on my gown before returning it to its hiding place.
‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,’ he began.
‘You certainly have,’ I answered, which is an unusual way for a confession to start, but it seemed justified in the circumstances. ‘But that is not what brings you here.’
‘I believed, and believe still, that an alliance with France is the best course for my faith and my country,’ he said. ‘I have, it seems, lost that argument.’
‘So it seems. And I understand that you were responsible for the attempt to make out an innocent man to be a thief.’
‘I will seek God’s forgiveness for that. I thought that if the party were disgraced, it would gain me more time to make my case to the Duke of York and encourage him to deny his daughter’s hand to your master.’
