The Black Friar

by S. G. MacLean

  ‘She’s had a hard blow, Nathaniel. A second time in her life and worse, this time, because she had hope. She’ll survive, though, Dorcas.’

  Nathaniel stroked the dog’s head and chewed at his lip. Seeker could see that he was troubled.

  ‘What is it, Nathaniel? What was it at the Black Fox that troubled you?’

  ‘It’s something that was there. I have to tell you something that I never told you before, because Gideon told me not to.’

  ‘Gideon was dead before I ever came to know you, Nathaniel, or you me.’

  Nathaniel swallowed. ‘I know it. But it wasn’t just about you, it was about anyone like you, Mr Thurloe’s men. He told me I wasn’t to tell any of Mr Thurloe’s men.’

  There it was again. Blyth’s distrust of Thurloe’s department, of his networks. Seeker felt like he was trying to balance a heavy coin on the finest of threads. He feared almost to speak too loud lest the balance be lost. ‘Tell me what it is.’

  ‘That thing, that salt you were talking of, you and Mistress Wells. It was me who left it there, by her sign at the Black Fox.’

  Seeker had not expected this. ‘You, Nathaniel? But how could you come to have the thing? And why did you leave it at the Black Fox?’

  Even in the dim light of the nascent fire, the relief on Nathaniel’s face as he began to unburden himself was clear. ‘It was the last time I saw Gideon. He’d gone out less than an hour before, off up Crutched Friars, all in dark clothes. When he returned he seemed very agitated and was in a great hurry for something. His hands were all dusty, with soot, and he had something rolled up in a dirty old blanket under his arm. When I asked him what it was, he said it was better that I knew nothing, for what I didn’t know could not be forced from me, and,’ Nathaniel was downcast, ‘I think he knew I was no good at lying.’

  ‘There’s no shame in being a poor liar, Nathaniel. Go on.’

  ‘Well, he pushed back his bed then and took out paper and pencil that he kept there. He scribbled a letter.’

  ‘Did you see who it was to, what it said?’

  Nathaniel shook his head. ‘Gideon had been teaching me my letters, but he’d always taken care that they be written neat and clear – this was like a scrawl, a dozen scribbled lines. I could make out none of it, and he put no mark on the outside when he folded it and sealed it with wax from our candle. He shoved it inside his shirt before the wax can have been properly cooled. Then he turned his back to me and put what he’d been hiding in a sack and told me that if he hadn’t come back by dawn, I should take it up to the Black Fox Tavern as soon as I was able, and leave it in some prominent place there, without being noticed if I could. He told me that if anyone on the street questioned me as to what I carried, I should say it was fire irons for Dorcas Wells.’

  ‘And Gideon didn’t return before dawn, did he?’

  ‘No,’ said Nathaniel, ‘nor ever again. I went up to the Black Fox as soon as I could get away, and waited until the street outside was very busy, and quickly hooked the bag to the sign when one of the trained bands was jostling past on the pavement on their way to the artillery grounds.’

  Seeker smiled in admiration. ‘I think we might make an agent of you yet, Nathaniel. You know, most people would have tried to go there when the street was very quiet and they thought no one around. And they would surely have been remarked, for the streets of the city are rarely as deserted as they seem, and there is always a pair of eyes at a window, somewhere. Not many would have the sense to hide their deed in a jostling crowd.’

  ‘Truly?’ The idea that he had done something well seemed briefly to lift Nathaniel’s spirits.

  ‘And Gideon never told you what was in the sack, or where he had got it from?’

  Nathaniel shook his head. ‘No, and I didn’t mean to look, but the sack fell open when I had to jump a ditch at Billiter Lane, and I saw the crest the same as on the green door up Crutched Friars. I still didn’t know what it was,’ he added. ‘Mother keeps our salt in a pot with a lid and when we are permitted to have it it is set on the table in a small bowl, and how much you take watched very carefully.’

  Seeker did not doubt it. It would not surprise him to learn Elizabeth Crowe considered the enjoyment of food rather than simply its consumption to be a sin.

  ‘And that was all you knew of this salt, and the last you saw of Gideon Fell?’

  ‘Yes.’ Nathaniel’s voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. ‘I should have followed him. I shouldn’t have left him alone.’

  ‘No, lad,’ said Seeker, making Nathaniel look into his face. ‘You would have endangered yourself and he would never have let you. You did the thing that he needed you to do, and somehow I will get to the bottom of this, but for now I need to get back to Whitehall.’ Seeker was about to leave when he thought of something else. ‘What happened to the blanket Gideon had the salt hidden in when he came in here?’

  Nathaniel was dejected. ‘I don’t know, he took it with him when he left with his note.’

  ‘Ah, well,’ said Seeker. ‘It’s of little consequence, no doubt. I’ll come again as soon as I can. Hold fast, and look after the hound, will you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And don’t fret for your sister. She’ll be found.’

  Nathaniel didn’t look up from the hound whose ears he was stroking. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I suppose she will.’

  Twenty-One

  The Question of Shadrach Jones

  Seeker spent the night at Whitehall, in his room near the Cockpit, and woke early. Already, the place was a moving warren of officers, secretaries, couriers, marching along corridors or scurrying; their movements had purpose, but in their purposefulness was an air of satisfaction, an assurance that Seeker was not sure was yet merited. It was too soon for any news of the Rat, but there was plenty of work to be done in cross-checking the files of suspect persons in the area to which the Rat was known to have travelled. Even so, Seeker’s thoughts kept returning to the events and revelations of the previous day. Too many things he had heard at the Black Fox and Gethsemane troubled him, and something he had read over casually in Elias Ellingworth’s journal was now nagging increasingly at his mind. As the work on the Royalist files drew to a close, Seeker excused himself to Meadowe and returned to his chambers.

  The small hide-bound journal that Thurloe had returned to him the previous evening was in a locked drawer in his desk. He took it out and began to go through its entries once more. So taken up had he been with Dorcas’s story of her stolen daughter, and Nathaniel’s strange tale of Anne Winter’s salt, so taken up had he been, in fact, with trying to comprehend the clandestine activities of Carter Blyth, he had almost forgotten the other girl lost to Dorcas Wells: her serving girl, Isabella. Isabella had been at the Black Fox on Blyth’s first visit, gone by his second. But Isabella had appeared somewhere else in the tangle of his investigation, if not by name. Seeker turned the pages of the journal carefully, and still he almost missed it, so little attention had he paid it when first he’d read it. He found Ellingworth’s entry telling of his first encounter with Shadrach Jones, at an evening lecture at Gresham College on Bishopsgate:

  I . . . treated him to a jug of good wine that I could not well afford at the Black Fox on Broad Street. I noticed how he paid attention to the young girl serving there . . .

  Entered a few weeks later, after the disappearance of the girl Isabella, Seeker read again,

  I had hoped to sup at the Black Fox on our way to Gresham, but Shadrach was averse to the idea, strange, I thought, since he had been so much taken with the place on our previous visit. I was sorry for it, for I had noticed go in up ahead of us George Downing with his clerk Pepys, who is always good company, and some other young and well-dressed fellow, all three of them warmly greeted by Dorcas, who knew them all by name. There were several matters I would have liked to confront Downing with, but Shadrach was very much against it . . .

  Seeker sat back and read over the two entries again. What had it
been – the missing girl, or Downing? Shadrach Jones had kept his distance from the Black Fox that night because of one or the other. A trip to Holborn would be required, and Seeker would have the truth of it from the New England schoolmaster before the day was out, on that he was determined. But before Holborn, he had to pay a visit to the Exchequer.

  Westminster was busy, as ever, the shopkeepers and booksellers of the Great Hall spilling into the yard, primed to make the most of whatever shift in political or military matters the day might bring. The wants of a Protectorate Secretary were not so different from those of his Royalist predecessor, the needs of the soldier who might follow him through a shop door much the same as those that had fought for the King. Only from the tenor of the books and pamphlets filling the shelves of the bookseller’s premises would a visitor know who was in power.

  It seemed fitting that next to this whirlwind of exchanging coin and promissory notes should be the power that managed the wealth and poverty of the realm. This was not where the money was made – for that was the city – but here the decisions were made about how much would be taken for the state, and how it would be spent. Between Westminster Hall on the one side, and the Exchequer on another, the battle for the base-metal soul of the nation was never-endingly played out. Seeker stepped into the Exchequer, a fitting sphere of operation, he thought, for the ambitious, ruthless, puritanical Downing. The doorkeeper did not so much as question him, and the first usher he found in the high-ceilinged, echoing hallway looked like he would rather be swallowed down the neck of his own shirt than deal with Seeker. He was very sorry indeed, but Mr Downing had not been seen that morning. Perhaps Mr Pepys could be of assistance? Seeker was about to draw a forceful analogy involving puppets and their masters when he stopped. Yes, Pepys would do just fine, to begin with.

  Downing’s clerk walked confidently towards him less than two minutes later. Seeker had heard of him as something of a libertine, too frequent a visitor of taverns and a womaniser of growing reputation, yet the man who presented himself before him was prompt and businesslike. Seeker had seen and heard this Pepys ingratiate himself with others who favoured such an attitude, but was glad that he didn’t waste either of their time by attempting to do so with him.

  ‘How can I be of help?’

  ‘Firstly, you can tell me where your master is today, and what business he is about.’

  Pepys took a moment. ‘Mr Downing is at home in his house in Axe Yard. As to his present business, I don’t know, although I imagine the rumoured pursuit of suspect persons will be exercising his mind in some way.’

  ‘I expect it will,’ grumbled Seeker. ‘You can accompany me to Axe Yard then. I have some questions for you also.’

  The clerk didn’t look remotely perturbed. ‘Should I bring anything in particular with me? Ledgers? Bills? Reports from the Mint?’

  ‘I am not here about the business of the Exchequer.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Pepys carefully. ‘I see.’ The expression on his face suggested that there were indeed many other possible aspects to George Downing’s interests, few of which his clerk would find it comfortable to discuss. This suited Seeker very well, and the short walk to Axe Yard took longer than it might have done.

  Seeker didn’t beat about the bush. ‘Tell me what you know of any connection between your employer and a man named Shadrach Jones.’

  Pepys registered some surprise but didn’t for a minute pretend he had never heard the name. ‘The schoolmaster on High Holborn? Yes, he has taken a great deal of interest in him, since first he came across the name in Mr Thurloe’s files.’

  Seeker had seldom heard such a brazen admission. Of course Downing had rifled Thurloe’s files at every opportunity, but he had not expected the man’s clerk to volunteer the information so readily. Clearly Pepys felt no great liking or loyalty for his employer. Pepys continued quite cheerfully as they crossed King Street, deftly sidestepping muck on the street and any horseman that crossed their path, happy, it seemed, to be of help, and utterly devoid of any visible awe of Seeker. It was an experience Seeker had rarely had, and he found himself for a moment watching the clerk rather than listening properly to what he said. ‘. . . at Harvard. Bad feeling between them. Mr Downing was not best pleased to see him turn up in London, I can tell you.’

  ‘Downing and Jones know each other?’

  ‘Well yes,’ said Pepys, stopping almost in the way of a carriage transporting two of Cromwell’s daughters through the King Street gate out of the palace, and managing somehow to sidestep it just in time while making his bow to the ladies. The carriage driver looked sorry to have been deprived his casualty, and Pepys continued, apparently untroubled by the interlude.

  ‘That is what I’ve been saying. Shadrach Jones was apparently a student at Harvard when Mr Downing was a teacher there – before he came here to fight for Parliament, of course. I have a suspicion that Jones may have been in some way responsible for Mr Downing having left his position at Harvard so suddenly, and exchanging it for that of a ship’s chaplain in the Caribbean.’

  ‘Downing has told you all of this?’

  Pepys made a slightly pained face. ‘Well – some, the rest I have deduced from comments he has let slip, and from hearsay amongst others come over from Massachusetts. But I do know that he does not like this schoolmaster, and would dearly love to find some reason for his removal.’

  Seeker found that he was not in such a hurry to get to Downing as he had first thought, and sensed that there might be more of use to be had from the clever clerk than from the ambitious minister. He told Pepys that he was hungry, and asked him to step into the Axe Tavern with him while he took his dinner.

  Seeker made short work of a roasted woodpigeon with a cranberry jelly, while Pepys, looking on with envy, settled for a venison pasty. There was little conversation as Seeker ate, but once he had pushed aside his trencher and wiped his hands, he said, ‘Tell me what you know of the Black Fox.’

  This was, he could see, unexpected. ‘The Black Fox? On Broad Street?’

  Seeker, taking a draught of his ale, nodded.

  Pepys puffed out his cheeks, in an effort to show due consideration to the matter. ‘It is a well kept and congenial place. The tap is clear and the food honest. No, more than honest – it is good. There used to be a very pretty girl worked there, but sadly, I haven’t seen her for some time. Isabella, her name was . . .’ His voice tailed off wistfully a moment and then he came back to himself. ‘I wouldn’t wish to tangle with the landlady, mind you. Well, that is . . . I would not wish to fall out with her,’ he clarified, venturing a lewd smile which he soon realised had been misjudged.

  ‘How often have you been there with Mr Downing.?’

  ‘With Downing?’ repeated Pepys, the very familiar environs of the Axe having made him relax more than the occasion warranted. ‘Only once. Mr Downing is of a peculiarly puritanical shade, and we seldom socialise together.’

  ‘And why had you gone there that once?’

  ‘Marcus Bridlington – you know, the clerk you, ahem, relocated to the message office – was going up to the lecture at Gresham – he has a great interest in matters scientific, Mr Downing less so. But Downing is very keen to advance himself with those close to the Protector, and desirous of becoming more familiar with Marcus’s uncle, Major-General Goffe. I believe there have been hints of an invitation to Marcus’s uncle’s hunting lodge.’

  Seeker’s already low opinion of Downing dropped further. For someone of his standing to pander to an inept if well-connected clerk in the hope of currying favour was something that should have been swept away with the head of Charles Stuart.

  ‘Shadrach Jones was not far behind you going up Broad Street that night, in the company of Elias Ellingworth.’

  Pepys raised his eyebrows till they were almost hidden by his luxuriant fringe. ‘Indeed! Had Mr Downing noticed that, he would have had much to say about it.’

  ‘So none of you did notice them?’

  Pepys was
emphatic. ‘No. Had Mr Downing seen them, a fairly distasteful scene would have ensued, I am certain of it. But we went into the Black Fox and took our supper untroubled.’

  ‘And the lecture?’

  ‘The lecture?’

  ‘That you were all going up to Gresham College to hear?’

  ‘Ah.’ Pepys coloured a little. ‘Well, I didn’t go. You see, there were a couple of musicians came into the Black Fox – with a lute and a fiddle – and they were uncommonly good. And Mistress Wells has the most beautiful singing voice – do you sing at all, Captain?’

  ‘No,’ said Seeker.

  ‘No, no,’ conceded Pepys, already looking as if he regretted asking the question, ‘perhaps not. Anyhow, I made my excuses, and remained in the tavern, and I’m afraid I abandoned poor Bridlington to the pleasures of Mr Downing’s company alone.’

  ‘And of the pretty girl you spoke of, Isabella, there was no sign?’

  ‘No,’ said Pepys, nonchalantly wiping the last crumbs of his pasty from his chin. ‘None, which is a pity, because she was an uncommonly pretty girl, and clever, too.’

  ‘Clever?’

  ‘Mmm. Took a great interest in what the young men who had been to the science lectures had heard. Engaged in talk about it so much that Dorcas would roundly scold her, although secretly I think she was pleased to have such a bright girl in her place.’

  ‘You’re sure it wasn’t the young men themselves she was interested in?’

  Pepys shook his head. ‘I tried her more than once – I am not, you understand, without success in the matter of charming serving girls, but she had no interest in my conversation, saying she preferred to talk of mechanics than of music. Ah, well!’

  *

  Shadrach carefully drew the last line and appraised his work. Those final adjustments would perfect the thing. The boys would still be finishing their dinner, and then, once the parlour was cleared, he’d take them out to the field and let them play football. The early frost had gone and the day was still fine – it would be a release for them, and for him, from the tension they had been living with for the last few days.