‘Edward Yuill?’
William nodded. ‘We . . . we tried to manage things, between us, for the other boys, after Dr Evans started to get a bit . . . wandered in his mind, and before Mr Jones came. Edward left me to see to the younger ones that day, and he went out looking for Dr Evans. Found him at St Giles’s, listening to the preacher-woman and shouting at her in Welsh. The woman’s daughter helped Edward bring Dr Evans home.’
‘And did the daughter stay awhile? Or ever come here again?’
‘Not that I knew,’ said William. ‘But Edward got a bit secret after that.’
‘And it was after that that you saw him out with a stranger, practising archery on Conduit Fields?’
William nodded.
‘And this man was not with her when she helped William bring Dr Evans back from St Giles’s?’
‘Not that I saw.’ William’s brow furrowed. ‘You think she knew the man that took Edward?’
Before Seeker could answer, Rhys Evans, who had been becoming increasingly agitated, leaned suddenly forward and grabbed Seeker by the front of his doublet. ‘Ashpenaz!’ he almost spat in Seeker’s face. ‘Ashpenaz!’
He held the front of the doublet a moment longer, staring into Seeker’s face while William Godmanson sat rooted in his seat, too horrified to intervene. But Seeker gently released the old man’s grip, and Evans sat back, spent. The old schoolmaster’s eyes lost their focus, and he began murmuring to himself once more.
‘Ashpenaz’. The name Elizabeth Crowe had also told him. Neither Cypher Office nor Dorislaus knew of anyone going by the alias of Ashpenaz, but Seeker realised suddenly that it might be a thing more simple than that. ‘Bring me a Bible,’ he said to William Godmanson.
And there it was, in the Book of Daniel, the favourite text of Goodwill and Elizabeth Crowe and all their like who looked for the imminent reign of Christ on Earth.
And the king spake unto Ashpenaz the master of his eunuchs that he should bring certain of the children of Israel . . . children in whom there was no blemish, but well favoured, and skilful in all wisdom, and cunning in knowledge, and understanding in science, and such as had the ability in them to stand in the king’s palace . . .
It was an injunction to find the fairest and most gifted children in the land, and to train them to be attendants and advisors of the king. Daniel had been chosen, and along with him three other children, given the names Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. Seeker said the names out loud, and Rhys Evans echoed him, nodding, pleased that he had been understood at last. Every one of the missing children whom Carter Blyth had tried to find – the schoolboy Edward Yuill, Anne Winter’s housemaid Charity Penn, the girl Isabella from the Black Fox, and Jed, the gardener’s boy from Lincoln’s Inn – had been talked of as ‘fair’, ‘beautiful’, ‘of great intelligence’, ‘gifted’. Something lifted within Seeker: for the first time since he had understood that Carter Blyth had been following the mystery of these disappeared children, he glimpsed the possibility that they might not be dead. Patience Crowe and the man known to her mother, and to Rhys Evans too, as Ashpenaz, had selected and taken children to be trained by the Fifth Monarchists to be the servants of the coming Christ. And Patience Crowe, the shallow, self-serving Patience Crowe, who cared little for the word of God and paid only lip service to her parents’ creed, had done this for the game, the fun of it. She had done it with an accomplice to assist her, but Seeker did not believe for a minute that the scheme had been hers.
He left the Three Nails as quickly as was possible after that, having assured William Godmanson that a matron would be sent that day to care for them, a guard placed on their door, and the families of each child written to come and take their sons away. It was the best that could be done. As for Dr Evans, some hospital would be found for him. In the meantime, Seeker had to see Elizabeth Crowe.
‘I’ll fetch her,’ said the warden wearily without waiting to enquire who it was that Seeker wished to see this time. ‘She’s worse than ever, you know; even the vermin stay away from her.’
Whatever the warden had meant, Goodwill Crowe’s wife certainly looked the worse for her stay in the cells. Her normally pristine linen cap and tucker, like the cuffs on her black sleeves, were becoming stained and grimy. Her pale lips were dry and cracking, and a sty appeared to be forming in her right eye. As soon as she was brought into the room, moreover, Seeker got the unmistakable aroma of the gaol, which hung about her now, claiming her as its own. Seeker had been in many gaols, interviewed many prisoners in worse states than this, but the smell, coming off Elizabeth Crowe as it did, almost caused him to gag.
Her first question was the inevitable one. ‘Have you found my daughter?’
‘No we have not. Nor have we yet found the others.’
‘Others?’ she said, attempting to raise her chin in defiance, but much of the fight had gone out of her and her head sank down again. ‘I have no interest in any others.’
‘What? Not even the special children, those you selected and abducted, to be trained for service?’
There was silence in the room, and then, ‘I don’t know where they are.’
Seeker felt his fingers clench. ‘But you know the children of whom I speak?’
She nodded, still without looking at him. ‘The girl from that Royalist woman’s house on Crutched Friars, the boy from the school on Holborn, the serving girl from the tavern on Broad Street.’
‘What about the gardener’s boy from Lincoln’s Inn?’
She turned down her lip. ‘I know nothing of any such boy.’
Perhaps the boy Jed had, after all, simply run off to sea. ‘The other three though? You took them?’
‘We were preparing,’ she said, her voice dull, ‘preparing for the Lord. We were going to train them to be hand servants of Christ, for when he should come to reign. When we had overthrown the usurper Cromwell, removed him from the Palace of Whitehall and from power, and instituted the rule of the godly.’
‘What happened?’ asked Seeker.
She shook her head. ‘I was much busied with my preaching, and too well known about the city. Patience said she would find suitable children who would not be missed, and bring them to me.’
‘And she brought those three?’
Elizabeth Crowe’s shoulders were hunched. ‘I don’t know. I never saw them. She said she had them somewhere secure, that another had helped her, someone of influence whose name she wouldn’t tell me but whom she said would tell her important things, things about Whitehall, things that could be of use to us.’
‘A man?’
She nodded. ‘She would not tell me his name, but she called him Ashpenaz. She laughed at the idea he should be named for a eunuch.’ Patience’s mother raised a face filled with contempt to Seeker. ‘I think my daughter was becoming something foul.’
*
Seeker had only just left Bridewell when a messenger from Whitehall came at speed towards him from the direction of the Fleet Bridge. The man was almost as breathless as was his horse. ‘You’re to lose no time in coming back to Whitehall, Captain. The Rat’s been brought in, and Mr Meadowe wants you there when he’s questioned.’
*
Anne Winter’s servant was seated on a chair in a small room at the far end of the secretaries’ corridor. There were two guards behind him, two to the side of him, and another two on the door. Philip Meadowe sat behind a table a few feet away from the prisoner. Each of the Rat’s legs was shackled – one to the chair on which he sat, the other to the ankle of the huge guard to his left. His hands were cuffed behind his back. He made a show of grinning broadly when Seeker entered the room, but Seeker could see the ghost of a grimace of pain, he could see the burst lip, the swollen eye, the torn knees.
‘You should see the other fellow,’ rasped the Rat, maintaining his grin. Seeker had, or at least he’d seen the two the Rat hadn’t killed. The other two soldiers who’d tried to arrest this Royalist agent were lying dead at the foot of a cliff in Kent, the rocks havin
g put to an end what a stiletto through the back of the head in one case, and through an eye in the other, had begun.
Whatever response Seeker might have been tempted to make was forestalled by Meadowe, who got up instantly on seeing him and ushered him out of the interrogation chamber and into his own room.
‘We didn’t get him,’ said Meadowe, having first firmly closed the door to the corridor.
‘Didn’t get . . .?’
‘Charles Stuart,’ said Meadowe grimly. ‘The agent – the “Rat” as your men call him – spotted the party we had sent to Thanet to bring him in. He had a brazier lit in seconds, and the small boat that had been headed for the shore turned around quick smart and headed back out to sea. We had no decent ships close enough to pick it up – he’ll be well on his way back to Flanders by now.’ Meadowe’s shoulders sank and he rubbed the back of his hand over exhausted eyes. ‘We could have had him. He was so close, and we could have had him.’
Seeker cursed softly.
‘Mind,’ said Meadowe, cheering slightly, ‘it could have been worse, all the same. He could have made land without our knowing it. Had you not uncovered their plans, Charles would be on his way to London by now in the guise of a yeoman farmer or some such. The Sealed Knot would be tightening itself around throats all over England. The Protector wouldn’t be safe on the . . .’ Meadowe had only just managed to stop himself saying ‘throne’, but the word hung there between them a moment until Seeker broke its spell.
‘But he didn’t land, and they’ll be as rattled by their failure as we have been by how close they came. The discovery of Anne Winter’s place will have set them back considerably, and they’ll have to start on a new scheme, without Lady Anne and without her Rat.’
‘True,’ said Meadowe. ‘Meanwhile, we must see whether we can make him squeal somewhat. Downing was particularly keen to be allowed a go at the other fellow.’
‘The other fellow?’ queried Seeker.
‘Aye,’ said Meadowe. ‘Jones, the schoolmaster from Holborn. We’ll find out who brought him over here, who their contacts are. The man is an engineer, not a spy; he’ll break in there in a few minutes.’
Remembering what Jones himself had told him of the history between the two men, Seeker did not doubt that Jones would break soon, but he wanted the breaking to be before him, and not George Downing; Jones’s role in the schemes of the Sealed Knot was becoming clearer by the minute, but Seeker needed to know what he had to say on the matter of Patience Crowe before Downing or the Committee of Examinations rendered him useless. Seeker took a breath. ‘I have a request, sir.’
Meadowe flicked a hand. ‘Of course. What is it?’
‘Get rid of Downing awhile. Tell him Mr Thurloe wants him, that Barkstead at the Tower wants him. Tell him the Lord Protector out at Hampton Court wants him. Just let me have half an hour with Shadrach Jones before George Downing gets to him.’
Curiosity passed through the younger man’s eyes, but he didn’t ask why. ‘All right then,’ he said slowly. ‘I’ll send him across to the Tower, tell him I’ve had intelligence that the security of the Mint is at threat. That’ll keep him away a good while and out of your way – and mine.’
‘Thank you.’
Meadowe was already turning. ‘But I need you in with the Rat, now. I wouldn’t trust a fellow like that not to get out of a locked room with four armed men sitting on top of him. I’ll go and get rid of Downing and be with you in a few minutes. I’ll send a clerk to take notes until I get there.’
Seeker suppressed a smile. Thurloe would have been proud. A note must be made of everything, no comment, be it ever so casual, left unrecorded. Meadowe could send whom he wished: Seeker wouldn’t need any note to remember whatever the Rat might have to tell him. He pushed open the door of the guarded room and found the Royalist agent as he’d left him, bloodied, and smiling, as if he had just played the perfect trick on his opponent. Seeker knew it for a bluff. The man had failed, as had Anne Winter, as had the rest of the Sealed Knot. In his mind’s eye, Seeker could see that Knot unravelling, Thurloe, enticed away from his fireside in Lincoln’s Inn to the cheerless damp cells of the Tower, gently tugging at its loose end, like a cat, expert at the game and with little fear of the most sleek of rodents.
‘About time,’ said the Rat. ‘I have places to be.’
‘You have nowhere to be,’ said Seeker, ‘this side of Hell.’
‘True, perhaps, but on the other side – what work I have to do, to make the place ready for Cromwell and the rest of you. But enough of the pleasantries.’ He straightened himself as best he could, adopted the look, ludicrous in his position, of a man of the world. ‘We must to business, must we not? Will you trade, Seeker?’
‘Your life is hardly worth a trade, Richard.’ The name seemed altogether too noble for one who lived in the half-light, made his way in the shadows, the gutters, who did the bidding of others, of higher birth, and no doubt their killing for them also. And yet, there was a nobility there, Seeker could see it in the Rat’s eyes. This Richard had found a cause and did not scruple to do what had to be done to further it. He did not allow himself the luxury, the compromise, of conscience. He did not pretend loyalty for loyalty’s sake, but did his job because it was what he could do well.
The Rat curled a corner of his lip in amusement, a sharp white tooth catching the light from a candle just out of his reach. ‘My life? I wouldn’t trade my life for a sack of coal, if I were you, Seeker, it’s worth less. But I have information.’
‘And will you give it?’
The Rat sat back a little, lifted his chin as he made a show of assessing Seeker, assuming the upper hand. ‘That depends what you have to offer in return, doesn’t it, Captain.’ He managed to invest the last word with as much derision as Seeker had done his name, but Seeker was in no humour to waste any more time in sparring with the man. He pulled out the chair across the table and leaned towards him, but as he did so, he saw the Rat’s eyes lift to the door and a look of recognition come into his eyes, followed by the now familiar crinkle of amusement.
‘Well, well, well, I would never have guessed it.’
Seeker had not heard anyone come in, but now turned his head, following the direction of Richard’s gaze: standing in the doorway, writing box in his hands and a sheaf of blank paper under his arm, was Marcus Bridlington.
Seeker’s instinct was to tell him to get out, but the Rat’s curious reaction, and Bridlington’s demeanour – stock-still in the doorway and the colour draining from his face – made him hold his fire. Bridlington became aware of him in the room then, and made an effort to recover himself. ‘I . . . the . . . Mr Meadowe sent me, to make notes.’
As well send the cook’s boy, thought Seeker, but didn’t say it. He pointed to the seat beside him. ‘Set up there, and keep your thoughts to yourself.’
‘Oh,’ said the Rat, affecting to enjoy himself, ‘I’m sure he will, although those must be some desperate thoughts, eh, Marcus?’
Seeker bypassed the boy. ‘How do you know this clerk?’
Richard snorted. ‘Oh, come, Seeker. I know you think us stupid, but really we are not, and even a halfwit would have spotted this fop milksopping his way around Aldgate, trying to look like he wasn’t spying for Thurloe.’
‘But how do you know his name?’
The response was derisive. ‘Because he told it to Lady Anne in front of you, along this very corridor, not three weeks ago, if I recall her telling of it right. Dear God, and I thought some on our side incompetent. Are we done?’
Seeker could have cursed his tongue for allowing him to look so stupid in front of the Rat. In all that had happened since Anne Winter had first come to Whitehall to seek help in the finding of Charity Penn, he had forgotten that exchange outside Thurloe’s room between Anne Winter and the boy Bridlington. He shifted, ready to resume the interrogation, but the Rat wasn’t finished amusing himself over Bridlington.
‘And where is your lady-love today, my fine young G
alahad?’
Bridlington reddened, and a glint of anger flashed across his eyes. Seeker noticed his hand shake on the inkpot that he had just set down. ‘I—’
‘Oh, come, don’t be shy. The captain and I are men of the world. We too have known passion.’ He glanced at Seeker. ‘Well, I have, at least. Though never with such a siren. And one so well set to take after her mother.’
Bridlington, only just seated, began to stand up again, but Seeker put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. ‘Sit down.’
Never loosening his grip on the young clerk’s shoulder, Seeker leaned towards the Rat, looking straight into his face. ‘What girl?’ he asked.
Puzzlement showed on the Rat’s face. ‘You’re more interested in this than anything else I might have for you?’ He looked almost disappointed, as if Seeker had somehow fallen in his estimation.
‘What girl?’ Seeker repeated.
‘Oh, if you’re thinking it was Charity Penn—’
‘I’m not,’ said Seeker, and a third time, ‘What girl?’
This time the Rat knew he was in deadly earnest, and all trace of humour, dissembling, went from his face. ‘Some Puritan girl. Her mother’s that shrivelled she-troll that preaches her venom out of the weavers’ houses at Gethsemane.’
Seeker was just in the process of turning towards Marcus Bridlington when he felt the clerk’s teeth sink into the skin of his right hand. Unthinking, he let go Bridlington’s shoulder and the clerk was up and making for the door before any of the guards in the room realised what was happening. Seeker was on his feet, the chair beneath him knocked over. As he ran through the door he shouted at the guards not to leave the Rat. Bridlington was remarkably swift on his feet, and had already sent a clerk carrying a three-inch-high pile of papers stumbling into a scullery maid bearing a tray of empty pewterware, scattering papers and mugs in Seeker’s path. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, Bridlington’s flight smashed to a halt against the broad barrel chest of George Downing, who had just stepped out of Philip Meadowe’s room. ‘Seeker!’ he bellowed. ‘What in God’s name is going on here?’
The Black Friar Page 30
