In a corner to our right, a twisting stone staircase led up to what presumably were bedchambers overhead, and a door by the side of the stairs was evidence that there were other downstairs rooms, perhaps a parlour and no doubt a kitchen. In the panelled wall, there was an aperture, about five feet high by four feet wide, the foot of it one panel up from the floor. Within, we could see vague movements and a gleam of light.
‘There,’ said Wyse, pointing, and as he did so, two of Ryder’s men, the younger one carrying what looked like one of Ballanger’s own silver candlesticks, complete with a lit candle, emerged from the aperture, stepping over the awkward panel and crouching to avoid bumping their heads.
‘We tapped the panelling,’ said Wyse, ‘to see if any sounded hollow and a section there did. Then Robin there’ – he pointed to the young man with the candle – ‘started pushing and pulling, and all of a sudden, there was a grating noise and a whole patch of panelling just slid.’
‘There’s a room in there,’ said Robin, grinning. He was no more than eighteen by the look of him, and was boyishly pleased with himself. ‘Not big, but it is a room, not a cupboard. It’s got a grating, high up – must be set in an outside wall, because there’s daylight coming in, kind of greenish, as though it’s overhung by a creeper. It lets in air, anyway. There’s no musty smell. Will you come and see, sir?’
‘Yes,’ said Ryder, leading the way. ‘Wyse, fetch Julius Ballanger.’
The room was as Robin had described it. It was a stone cell, perhaps eight feet square inside and quite lofty. It was clean, as though it had been recently swept. It was also completely empty. As Robin had said, the air was fresh, although I thought I could detect a faint, aromatic smell which seemed vaguely familiar though I couldn’t identify it. I wondered if the place had been used to store spices.
There were sounds of indignation from outside and Julius Ballanger was thrust roughly through the entrance to join us. He had to catch at the side of it to keep himself from tripping over the low panel. ‘What is all this? Why am I being hustled about in my own house? And why have I been brought here?’
‘Oh, come, Master Ballanger. This is a secret room,’ said Ryder. ‘Just the place to hide a priest, newly arrived in England and needing a place of safety. Wouldn’t you say?’
‘No, sir, I would not. I took these premises over three years ago and found this room already here. Since then, I’ve used it as an extra store, although I have no need to do that just now. What my predecessors used it for, I neither know nor care.’
‘I see,’ said Ryder pacifically, and signalled that we should all move out, which we did with some relief. With so many people in there, the place had felt uncomfortably crowded.
Back in the dining chamber, we found some more of Ryder’s men, ready to report on what they had found, or not found, in other parts of the building. They had upset some womenfolk, who were clustered at the foot of the staircase and muttering indignantly together, but they had discovered nothing of significance. Only the enigmatic little space behind the sliding panel suggested anything untoward.
Ryder turned to Ballanger. ‘You may continue your business for the time being. But I advise you not to attempt to leave Dover. We may well want to talk to you again.’
Our visit seemed to be over. We found ourselves trooping back through the loom chamber, watched by the nervous but resentful eyes of the weavers and the presumed Ballanger assistant, and then we were out in the warm late August afternoon. It seemed that Ryder and his men, like us, had arrived on foot. We began to walk along the street together.
The youthful Robin suddenly observed: ‘Captain Ryder, I did notice something in that funny little room. At least, I think I did.’
Ryder stopped short. ‘Noticed something? Why didn’t you say so before? What did you notice?’
‘I wasn’t sure. I’ve kept thinking it over. But I don’t think I imagined it. I keep remembering it. It was very faint, but …’
‘What did you notice, young Robin?’ I was a little amused to notice that even though Ryder was here in charge of a semi-military group, he still had his old fatherly way of speaking to juniors. He did not address the lad as soldier, or trooper, or use any other military term. It was young Robin, as though he were a father speaking to a son or at least a schoolmaster addressing a pupil.
‘It was a smell, sir,’ said Robin. ‘A … a fragrance. Just a trace, but I thought I recognized it.’
I said, ‘I thought I smelt it, too, but I couldn’t put a name to it.’
‘Two sharp noses are better than one, perhaps,’ said Ryder. ‘Robin evidently does think he could put a name to it. Well, Robin, what did you think it was?’
‘Incense,’ said Robin.
TWENTY
Untimely Sunset
We walked on in silence through the warm afternoon until we reached the Safe Harbour. Before parting from me and the Brockleys, Ryder drew me aside.
‘I do realize, Ursula, that you want me to question Roland Wyse at once, and I know why. The Brockleys have so much to lose – Roger’s freedom and perhaps his life. I know.’
‘You have discretion,’ I said.
‘I know. But I am no skilled questioner. There is something to be said for carrying Wyse back to London for interrogation.’
‘Isn’t there anyone in Dover Castle who could undertake that?’
‘Perhaps. I will give you my decision tomorrow. I need to think. We shall remain in Dover for a while. We’ll probably do another swoop on the Ballanger household, just on the off chance that we find the hidden room occupied this time. Then we’d have a catch, and they’re hard to come by.’
He made a wry face. ‘The Dover port authorities do investigate the baggage of any likely suspects in case they find Popish vestments or other things of that sort, but we suspect that incoming priests get their regalia supplied by sympathizers here. And, of course, arriving passengers always have convincing documents with them and good reasons for coming to England. No, we’re by no means finished with Julius Ballanger. I trust young Robin’s nose; he’s shown its worth before and this time, he has you to back him up.’
‘How did Robin’s keen nose help you before?’ I asked, intrigued.
‘Oh, when we were in Hertfordshire and making our stealthy approach to the house where we caught the household at Mass, we nearly blundered into a sentry. We’d silenced the dogs but they’d posted someone on watch instead. Robin stopped us just as we were creeping along a path towards a side door, which we hoped our obliging strolling player had unbolted for us. Robin whispered that he could smell something. So we all froze into the bushes alongside the path, and after a moment, sure enough, a man came pacing past, holding a pike. He’d eaten onions for supper and as he went by, I smelt his breath myself. But what Robin smelt must have been a trace he’d left when he went along the path before. We watched till we understood that he was on a beat between the side and front doors. Then, when he was at the front door end of it, we dodged out of the bushes, found the side door open, went in and made our catch. Robin has a nose like a bloodhound!’
‘A useful man,’ I said. I gave Ryder my hand. ‘Till tomorrow, then. But I do hope …’
‘I know. I will tell you then. Promise.’
‘Thank you.’ I thought it best not to explain that the real reason why I wanted Wyse questioned while we were all still in Dover, was because Dover was a port, from which the Brockleys might escape from England.
We passed a pleasant enough evening, walking down to the harbour to look at the shipping and watch a beautiful vessel bearing the name of La Topaze glide into port under oars. Then we sauntered back to the inn to rest and tidy ourselves and take some supper.
After supper, we went to bed, tired from our long ride, the exciting nature of our visit to the weaving shed, and the sea air. It was a stuffy night and I left my window unshuttered and partly open, wanting coolness. It looked to the west and when I suddenly awoke from my first sleep, I thought at first that th
e glow outside was a magnificent sunset. Then as I shook the sleep from my brain, I realized that a hubbub had aroused me. And also, the sunset was flickering oddly, and I could smell smoke.
I threw myself out of bed and ran to the window. A moment later I was flinging off my night-rail, hauling on some clothes and pulling on a pair of shoes. Having done so, I rushed out, intending to rouse the Brockleys, but met them on the gallery that linked our rooms. They, too, had flung on some clothes and were coming to find me.
‘It looks like the weaving shed,’ Brockley said. ‘No danger to us here, I’d say, but we’d best see what’s happening. I think Ryder’s out there; I’m sure I heard his voice.’
Downstairs, doors were banging, people were shouting to each other or exclaiming in alarm. The whole inn seemed to be awake. We raced down and joined a crowd of inn servants and guests as they were jostling out into the street. Brockley was right; it was the weaving shed. Timber-built, full of wool and cloth and floating fibres, it was burning briskly and though the Safe Harbour was still at a good distance, the houses to either side of the blaze were in danger. Our landlord, who had his own well, was organizing a bucket chain, and was bellowing for extra hands and buckets, and against the dreadful glow, I could see men scrambling up ladders to the roofs of the houses adjacent to Ballanger’s, and throwing water on to them to protect them from windblown sparks.
Brockley went at once to join the bucket chain. Dale and I stood anxiously in the midst of a murmuring crowd, knowing there was nothing we could do. Suddenly, Ryder was beside us, hastily dressed, just as we were, his face smudged with smoke. ‘I thought you’d come out. We saw it from the castle and Captain Yarrow ordered his men out to help. I brought mine as well.’
‘Captain Yarrow?’ I asked.
‘Deputy Constable. The constable’s not here – paying a visit to his estates, I understand. Things always happen when the top man isn’t there; I think it’s called the Devil’s law. Yarrow and some of the men we brought are round at the back of the shed; the fire hasn’t got there yet or it hadn’t just now. The living quarters are mostly stone and the wind’s blowing the flames towards the street, which is a mercy.’ He stopped to cough as a billow of smoke swept towards us. Through the coughing and with streaming eyes, he said: ‘I sent Wyse to look for another well and start a second chain but … oh, there you are, Wyse! Christ, this smoke! What luck?’
Roland Wyse, grimy and out of breath, waved smoke out of his eyes and panted: ‘I’ve got another chain going and I think the houses on either side will be saved, but there won’t be much left of that weaving shed by the time this is over.’
‘How did it happen?’ I said.
‘Arson!’ snapped Ryder. ‘And Yarrow’s arrested two men – one of them is that hulking fellow that was brandishing an axe this afternoon. He’s a carder. The other’s a fuller. We saw them in the street, laughing and slapping each other on the back and we’ve not much doubt that it was those two who set light to the place. Dear God, if there’s anyone killed tonight, they’ll be for the rope! What’s this?’
A small group of people were coming towards us. Three or four were women, clutching shawls round them and mostly in tears. With them were men in castle livery, who were dragging a couple of captives, though they were not the arsonists, since one was Ballanger himself, shouting and protesting. I didn’t recognize the other, who was small and slight and not resisting, but marching stiff-backed in the grip of two burly soldiers. But when he caught sight of Wyse, he shouted: ‘Roland! Roland! It’s me, Gilles Lebrun! Make them let me go! Roland, help me!’
Gilles Lebrun. I had heard that name before. I was still wondering when and where, when the man in charge of the group, a dark, wiry fellow carrying a drawn sword, snapped at Lebrun to be quiet and strode up to Wyse. ‘I shouldn’t try to help him, my friend.’
Of course. The wine merchant’s agent and Wyse’s friend, who had comforted him when Norfolk died. Wyse, sounding frightened, was saying: ‘Why not? What’s wrong? How did he get here?’
‘We were in time to rouse the household,’ said the dark man. ‘They didn’t even know there was a fire! Wind was blowing it away from the house and they were all fast asleep in bed! They’d have been roasted in the end, though, but for us. Only, this Gilles Lebrun wasn’t fast asleep in any proper bedchamber!’
He sheathed his sword and rubbed his hands together in a pleased manner. It was somehow a distasteful gesture. ‘We woke him up with all our racket,’ he said gleefully. He had a high-pitched voice for a man. ‘We caught him climbing out from behind a sliding panel in the dining room. And when we had a look in there … well, guess what we found!’
‘You found the secret room, Captain Yarrow,’ said Ryder.
‘Indeed we did, but not just that. Lebrun’s a Catholic priest,’ said Yarrow happily. ‘In fact, from a Jesuit seminary. And in that room was all his paraphernalia. So I wouldn’t recommend anyone to speak for him, Mr Wyse. Straight to London and the Tower, that’s where he’s bound.’
Wyse was now gaping. ‘Gilles … a Jesuit? I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it! Gilles! When did you arrive?’ Lebrun’s captors had brought him up to us by now and Wyse was able to speak to him without shouting. ‘What were you doing in that hidden room? You weren’t a Jesuit when I last saw you, the day my brother died!’
‘I came in this evening on La Topaze,’ said Lebrun. He was using English though with a strong French accent. ‘As for the last time I saw you, I was in training then for the Jesuit ministry but I knew you wouldn’t sympathize! Though I sympathized with you, if you recall, over the death of the duke. I wasn’t ready then to take up my duties. I am now and that’s why I’m here.’
He flung his head back in an attempt at defiance but I could see that he was trembling. ‘I haven’t come to harm anyone! Only to bring comfort to people not allowed to take their sacraments openly; only to offer salvation to people lost in darkness. Roland, old friend, you must speak for me! You work for Walsingham! You—’
‘Quiet!’ barked Captain Yarrow, and one of Lebrun’s captors struck him, a backhanded blow to the face. Lebrun’s head jerked back from the blow and he let out a whimper.
‘There’s no need for that,’ said Yarrow reprovingly to the soldier. He then added to Lebrun: ‘Not that you’ve much to complain about yet. You’ll whine louder than that in the Tower.’
‘I can’t help you!’ Wyse was looking Lebrun as though his friend had turned before his eyes into something repulsive and not human, such as a giant slug.
‘Why not?’ Lebrun was angry as well as afraid. ‘I helped you when you wanted me to! Didn’t I give you the idea you said you were grateful for? Though I gather it hasn’t done you much good. Did you ever put it into practice or did you lose your nerve?’
‘It was too dangerous!’ said Wyse. ‘And this is no place to discuss it!’
‘You always were timid, under the surface.’
‘No more timid than you are now!’ Wyse snarled back.
‘That’s enough!’ said Yarrow, stepping in between them. ‘You two will be taken to the castle and … yes?’
Ryder had stepped forward and laid a hand on Captain Yarrow’s arm. He spoke rapidly into the captain’s ear. We waited, noticing that the flames were at last dying down, as the fire ran out of fuel. The bucket chains were still at work, but had more than enough men to keep them going. Brockley rejoined us.
‘There’ll be nothing left of that weaving shed,’ he said, ‘but it looks as if the house behind it hasn’t come to much harm. The Ballangers will still have a home. If they’re left free to live in it!’
The colloquy between Ryder and Yarrow ended, and Yarrow barked out some orders. Lebrun’s captors marched him and Ballanger away and two more men stepped forward to take hold of Wyse, who tried to resist but was also marched off, shouting a demand to know why he had been seized and where he was being taken. Ryder came over to us.
‘I’ve put Wyse under restraint. He evidently kno
ws Lebrun well and, by the sound of it, there’s been something going on between them. I can’t leave him free – even if he did protect Walsingham’s reputation! You three should go back to the inn and rest. Tomorrow, I will fetch you to the castle. I think we may learn something. Have your horses ready by nine of the clock.’
Ryder fetched us as he had promised. Soberly, we rode with him along the sunlit street which nevertheless held the smoky smell of last night’s catastrophe. I asked Ryder whether Ballanger had remained under arrest.
‘He’s being held for questioning, like Wyse. His chief assistant is, as well. We let the women and their maidservants go. They’ve gone back to the house to see what sort of a house it still is.’
‘Who are we to see at the castle?’ Brockley asked. His voice was wary. ‘Are we being brought there for some sort of questioning, as well?’
Ryder laughed. ‘No. You’re witnesses. I’ve confided fully in Captain Yarrow and so has the queen’s messenger – a good man, that; he was in a bucket chain last night. Captain Yarrow is very interested in the – shall I call it the fog? – of vague suspicion surrounding Roland Wyse.’
‘He tried to marry me,’ I said thoughtfully.
‘That’s suspicious, too. Once married to him, you would have been largely under his control.’
‘And at his mercy,’ I said grimly.
‘Precisely. And now, of course, we find that he and Lebrun know each other and Lebrun seems to have advised Wyse to take what Wyse appears to think was a dangerous course, though we don’t know what it was … There’s a lot that needs clarifying. We are setting out now to clarify it. I think we may be in for an interesting morning.’
A Traitor's Tears Page 23
