Queen's Ransom

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  That meant that when Jenkinson and I took the house rowing boat and set out on an exploratory trip to the canal alongside Hoekstraat, Blanchard couldn’t come with us. Since he regarded the expedition to collect the treasure as my business and not his, I’m not sure if he would have done so anyway, but I was glad that there was now no question of it, because it enabled me to avoid Helene’s never very exhilarating company as well.

  “I know Harvey will look after your guardian,” I said solemnly, “but it would be a pretty attention if you stayed with him, too. You could make him a posset later on.”

  “But I’d like to come!”

  “Remember,” Jenkinson told her, “that I have dangerous men on my trail. Mistress Blanchard is obliged to take part. But you can stay safely at home, and still be useful.” “

  I wish I were at home,” Helene said miserably. “St. Marc’s Abbey is home to me. I think of it all the time. I may never see it again. Very well. I will stay and make possets and pray for your success.”

  “I truly pity Helene sometimes,” I said as Jenkinson and I set off. “I knew her prospective husband when I was a child; he’s my cousin, as it happens. I didn’t like him.”

  “Helene and you,” said Jenkinson, “are two quite different people.”

  17

  Laying the Bait

  As Jenkinson rowed us along, I felt increasingly anxious. What if after such a lapse of time I couldn’t identify the place? I had only seen it once, when Gerald showed it to me after he first rented it. He had shown me the hiding place under the floorboards, and I had watched him mark them, so that he could easily retrieve anything concealed there. I thought I could remember where on the floor to look for the mark. But suppose there had been changes since then?

  I hadn’t seen the treasure hidden, although I knew that it had definitely been hidden; Gerald had told me so. But he was already feeling unwell that evening, and he hadn’t gone into details. Alarming possibilities now haunted me. Suppose the building was in use with huge heavy crates right over the floorboards we wanted? Or suppose the space under the floor hadn’t been big enough for those hefty salts?

  I knew that, at first, Gerald had considered just packing the things into crates and leaving them on the floor surrounded by other crates, empty or with unimportant contents. He had finally decided that this wouldn’t be safe enough, especially if they had to stay there for some time. But what if he had been forced to leave them out on the floor because they wouldn’t fit under it? In two years, anything could have happened to them. Even if no one else had taken the place over, unvisited warehouses attract attention sooner or later. The treasure could have been stolen long since.

  Oh, God, I said fervently, if silently. Let me know the building when I see it, and let the treasure be there. Please!

  In other circumstances, I would have enjoyed the water journey, if nostalgically. The April sun was flashing on the water, and busy, lively Antwerp was just as I remembered. Vessels were on the waterways, bringing cargoes to and from warehouses; moving in and out of repair docks: stout, tublike Netherlands traders; merchantmen from half a dozen countries; and hordes of small craft, the private transport and the ferryboats that carried people about the waterways and across the river. A glimpse of the river itself revealed a stately galleon with towering masts being rowed upstream.

  All the smells and sounds were familiar: the tang of water; the calls of the gulls that had followed the ships inland in search of scraps; the scents of leather and spices from the warehouses; the splash of ripples breaking on the banks as moving vessels sent their wakes outward; the shouts of the men winching the cranes that heaved goods on and off the decks and wharves. Once I smelled strong cheese, which reminded me of the Chaffinch.

  But I was here on business. Longman had chosen our lodgings well and we were soon into the waterway that, according to the map, ran beside Hoekstraat. I scanned the scene intently. Quays and landing stages, some with moored craft alongside; warehouses, mostly adjoining but with occasional alleyways between. The buildings were generally three or four stories high, with rows of tall, narrow windows. They were dreadfully alike. I was noting this with increasing unease, just as Jenkinson observed cheerfully that all we had to do now was find the right building, because it wouldn’t do to burgle the wrong one. I stared at him without answering, and he read my face.

  “It’s all right. Give yourself a fair chance. Think back. Can you recall any landmarks or identifying features?”

  “No. I’ve been trying! We’re going the right way,” I said, trying to steady myself. “We aren’t there yet. It’s on the right-hand bank. But . . .”

  “You said it had a landing stage. Wood or stone?”

  “Wooden,” I said. “And—yes—there were double doors painted blue—though that could have changed, I suppose.” I thought again and to my relief, some more details surfaced. “Just beyond the warehouse we want,” I said, “was a bigger one, with a stone jetty and steps, very weedy. Green with weed and slippery. When Gerald brought me, a ship was unloading there and a man slipped on the steps and fell in, along with the box he was balancing on his head. There was another man at the top of the steps, cursing enough to make the heavens fall, and shouting at the sailors on the ship to get the box out before it sank . . . and they weren’t to mind the fool who fell in; if he couldn’t swim, let him drown. He actually shouted those words. I’ll always remember that.”

  “And did he drown?” inquired Jenkinson with interest.

  “No,” I said. “He scrambled out onto the steps, cursing even louder than the other fellow.”

  Jenkinson laughed. “We should be able to find it! In fact—are those the blue doors, just ahead? Is that the place?”

  “Yes. Yes! I can see the wooden stage and there’s the stone jetty just beyond!”

  Excited, I half rose and Jenkinson yelped at me to sit down again before I capsized us. “We’ll go on a little farther and take a good look. Just keep calm.”

  Slowly, we slid level with the blue doors. I recognized the faded blue paint at once, and the yellowish stone of the walls. The ground-floor windows were barred and the doors looked as though they were still securely shut.

  But gaining entrance was not a difficulty. “We could go in at once,” I said. “I have a key. I have the right. My husband paid the rent for five years in advance.”

  “We’ve no tools for lifting floorboards and no sacks for putting the treasure in. We might get in without causing comment but imagine coming out in broad daylight with gold and silver plate all flashing in the sun! It is mostly plate, isn’t it?”

  I had given the full description only to Queen Catherine. Now, I said: “There are salts as well, two very fine ones. I keep thinking that someone else may be using the place and perhaps they’ve put racks or piles of boxes all over the floorboards we want.”

  “We will come back tonight,” said Jenkinson soothingly. “We will come under cover of darkness, with tools, and plenty of time to move or dismantle anything that’s in our way, and put it all back afterward. And since we have to do all that, and the treasure may well be heavy, we may need extra hands and even an extra boat. We’ll bring Longman and young Sweetapple. Even Blanchard could lend a hand if he’s willing.”

  At the lodging, we found Blanchard out of bed and eating. He was interested to learn that we had found the warehouse but declined to join us that night, or to allow any of his men to do so.

  “It’s not my enterprise,” he said candidly. “Helene and I are leaving for England as soon as possible, and I don’t wish to get arrested for robbing a warehouse, or to allow any of my men to get arrested either. I am sending Sweetapple and Arnold back to France with you out of care for your safety, Ursula, but that’s as far as I’ll go. Our passages have been confirmed, by the way, both to England and to St. Germain. A message came from Sir Thomas Gresham while you were out. This is Thursday. The Leopard, under Captain Drayton, sails for England on Monday; Captain Ericksen and the Brit
ta sail for France the day after that. Both captains advise us to be aboard the previous night.”

  It was only what I expected from my father-in-law. I shrugged and said nothing. Jenkinson, however, merely said that the news about our passages was excellent and then asked what everyone’s plans were for the afternoon. “I have things to buy, including tools for getting floorboards up, and some food.” Klara’s larder was well provided with shelves but there wasn’t very much on them. “Will you come and help me, Mistress Blanchard?”

  “If you wish,” I said smoothly. “Do you want to come, Helene? We could buy you some wedding clothes. You and I could do that while Master Jenkinson buys the other things.”

  “I’m tired. I’d rather rest,” Helene said.

  “You tire too quickly for a girl of your age,” said Blanchard disapprovingly.

  “Well, you and I will go together, Mistress Blanchard,” Jenkinson said. “There’s a lot to do. As I said on the way back this morning, I think we should hire a second boat, a bigger one, in case the treasure is very heavy. Longman could do that, and row it back here, ready for tonight.”

  I was tired myself by the end of the afternoon, for the shopping expedition was intensive, and it was a good thing that Helene and her trousseau hadn’t formed part of it. Jenkinson needed my help. Longman, who I now realized had quite a good command of the local language, went to find a boat, while Jenkinson and I set about spending Gresham’s five hundred pounds as wisely as we could.

  “If this evening’s effort fails,” Jenkinson said, as we returned home, heavy-laden, “I’ll dispose of some of the costly little gewgaws in my baggage, and buy some of these items off you, Mistress Blanchard. Then you can redeem your jewelry from Gresham. I daresay I’ll turn a profit on these goods once I get them to England.”

  He was a businessman, too.

  We had not neglected the matter of food. In the lodging once more, I helped Jenkinson to fill Klara’s larder shelves, while Klara watched us, her watery eyes full with gratitude, as she realized that when we sailed away, quantities of cheese, dried fruit, dried fish, rice, and bacon would be left for her, plus a good supply of wine. She even managed to thank us in English, of which it seemed she had a few words. Longman had obtained a suitable second boat, and everything that we would need was piled into it. All was ready and we had only to wait for nightfall.

  Until then, I could rest. But the time dragged, and also, it was disturbed. Helene was nowhere to be seen when we returned and Sweetapple told us that she had gone out after all, with Jeanne, to the cathedral, to pray for us “in what she calls the right atmosphere,” he said. She woke me up on her return, just as I had fallen into a doze. After that, I got up. The evening found me in such a state of nervous tension that my teeth kept wanting to chatter.

  “You need not come, any more than Helene,” Jenkinson said quietly, as he entered Klara’s somewhat gloomy parlor, where I was sitting with my book of poems in my hands. “There may be danger. If there is an attempt to seize the treasure, it could be made here but it’s more likely to come, I think, on the canal, which is full of very cold water and where there is nowhere to take shelter. Longman and I can take your key and fetch the treasure if you can tell us exactly where to search for it.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t. Gerald left a mark but it was very tiny and I need to be there myself to find it. It won’t be easy to see by lantern light. Besides, it’s my responsibility.”

  “No one in the world would blame you, a young woman, for sending men on your behalf.”

  “You might still have trouble finding the right part of the floor. No,” I said. “I have to come.”

  “And I might take off into the blue with the booty and use it to trade with the Shah of Persia,” said Jenkinson, nodding wisely. “I quite understand.”

  “Of course I don’t think that! Sir Thomas assured me—”

  “So you took up my references? Quite right,” said Jenkinson bluntly. “You’d have been a fool not to. Gresham spoke the truth,” he said candidly. “I’m trustworthy, as it happens, but where gold is concerned, it’s wise to trust as few people as possible.”

  “It has nothing to do with not trusting you, but I must come. You need me, and anyway, if I don’t come, I shall go frantic with worry, waiting for you to return.”

  “Very well. I will say no more. We shall take all the care that we can. You may as well go and get dressed. But do make sure,” added Master Jenkinson, “that you put your breeches on the right way round. I mention it, because you seem to be trying to study the works of Thomas Wyatt and Henry Howard upside down.”

  I laughed shakily, and realized that it was true. For half an hour, I had been staring at a page of print without even noticing that I couldn’t read it. I had been too busy thinking.

  We had decided that I would be more comfortable in men’s clothes and our shopping had also included a shirt, a pair of dark brown breeches, and a matching doublet, in sizes to fit me. Dale, who always rode astride, wore breeches when traveling as a matter of course and more than once, during my adventures on behalf of Sir William Cecil, I had thought that they would serve me better than skirts. I had never tried them before, however. I was surprised at the sense of freedom they gave me. Movement was suddenly easy. Dressed like this, I could climb a fence or swarm up a tree, leap up and down steps or in and out of boats with no fear of catching a heel in a hem. I had already stitched a pocket quickly into the doublet and transferred the contents of my hidden skirt pocket to it. My key ring was among them.

  We set out at last. Klara had gone to bed, but the others all gathered at the river entrance to wish us luck. “Have we got everything?” I asked, finding myself inclined to whisper. “Cloaks? Lanterns? Bag of tools?”

  “It’s all aboard, mistress,” Longman assured me. “Master Jenkinson doesn’t forget things,” he added reprovingly.

  “There’s another testimonial for you,” said Jenkinson gallantly, and handed me into my boat.

  It was a cool night. There was light from a waxing moon and from flambeaux mounted on poles, though the buildings on the bank cast deep shadows. There were a number of dwellings on the banks of this particular stream. Now and then, we saw candlelit windows and sometimes music and laughter drifted out across the water. A number of small boats were about. Our two boats blended into this world. Rowing along, Jenkinson and myself ahead and Longman following, we were neither hindered nor remarkable.

  I wondered if the warehouse doors would still look blue after dark, but as we drew near, I saw that one of the flambeaux on poles was just beside our destination and the flame, streaming in a light breeze, showed the blue paint clearly. “There it is,” I said.

  Jenkinson peered back over his shoulder. “There’s a craft coming toward us. When it’s gone past, the oarsmen will be facing our way. We’d better get into the shadow on the opposite side and wait until it’s out of sight.”

  My stomach was churning with impatience and fright. It was anguish to be so near, yet still have to linger. The other boat was crammed with people who must have been to a party. They were singing. They broke off to call raucous good nights to us as they went by and we shouted cordial good nights back. Then Jenkinson steered us into a patch of deep darkness opposite the warehouse. Longman, glancing back for guidance, followed. We found a landing stage, and looped both painters around a bollard while we waited for the partygoers to recede far enough for safety.

  They seemed to take forever, and of course, as soon as they had gone, two more craft appeared, going the other way. As they passed through the pool of light under the flambeau, I read the name of one of them, Anna, painted on its side. We had to wait for what seemed like a further century, until they, too, were out of sight.

  After that, we still didn’t move. “What are we waiting for?” I whispered.

  “The watch,” said Jenkinson. “I can see his lantern coming along the walkway. The authorities keep an eye on the warehouses after dark. He’ll have dogs.�
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  Another century or two went past before the man with the lantern and the two leashed mastiffs had paced steadily along the walkway from the farther end and gone past us. “He’ll go the length of the walkway, and then come back by way of the street on the other side of the warehouses,” Jenkinson said. “Let him get a little farther.” Again, we waited. The lantern receded. “Now!” said Jenkinson, unlooping our painter.

  We pulled out into the stream. Longman came after us with the second boat. We crossed the waterway and bumped gently into the wooden landing stage attached to the warehouse we wanted. “Best move round to the side of the stage away from the light,” Jenkinson said softly, and hauled us hand over hand into the shadow that lay between our wooden platform and the stone jetty of the next-door warehouse, only a few feet away.

  With both boats safely moored in the gap and virtually invisible to any passing craft, we climbed out onto the stage. “The key,” whispered Jenkinson.

  I brought out the key ring. I could scarcely see it, but the key of the warehouse was a massive iron object with decorative wards, and bigger than any of the other keys on my ring. I found it by feel. Advancing on the warehouse door brought me into the light again. I made doubly sure that the key was the right one, and then pushed it into the lock.

  The gleam of fresh new metal around the keyhole should have warned me. The key refused to turn.

  Somebody had changed the lock.

  I let out a sigh. I had kept the secret of my unlikely profession so long and so carefully, but now I could keep it no longer. While Jenkinson was saying: “We’ll either have to break the lock or get the door off its hinges and either way, I’m afraid it’ll make a noise,” I was fishing again in my pocket and bringing out the lock picks that had traveled all the way from England with me and had come on this expedition in my doublet’s pocket.

  “Just a moment,” I said, and slid the wires into the keyhole. It was a long time since I had had occasion to use this particular skill, but it came back to me at once. Closing my eyes, I tried to see with my fingers, as I had been taught to do by the unkempt locksmith, gambler, and probably petty criminal who had been hired by Cecil to instruct me. I moved, pressed, jiggled, pressed again, and felt the lock yield. I slid a second wire in and then came a satisfying click and the door was open.