Traitor

by David Hingley

  Now the three women were alone. Rising to her feet, her hair unfinished, Lavinia’s eyes had grown wide and uncertain. On the table behind her, unused cochineal sat ready to be applied, but the unannounced visit had rendered it unnecessary, her cheeks blushing as ferociously as a red-hot sun.

  ‘My Lady!’ she stammered. ‘It is an honour to receive you.’

  Lady Castlemaine snorted. ‘A shame you did not say as much when you first arrived at Court.’

  Lavinia’s eyes darted to Mercia as though beseeching a friendly face. But the force inherent in Lady Castlemaine was too compelling. Like a planet entrapping its satellites, there was nowhere to look but at her.

  ‘My Lady,’ said Lavinia, recovering herself with an awkward curtsey. ‘I did not know then that—’

  ‘Scarce matter now.’ Lady Castlemaine snapped her fingers, jabbing them at the seat Lavinia had vacated. ‘I suggest you sit back down.’

  Lavinia complied, but Lady Castlemaine remained standing. Positioned beside her, Mercia kept to her feet as well.

  ‘And so.’ Lady Castlemaine jutted out her chin. ‘You have played quite the game since you arrived amongst us.’

  ‘I cannot think what you mean, my lady.’

  ‘Then ask Mrs Blakewood, who can think.’

  The power in Lady Castlemaine’s roaming eyes drew Lavinia’s gaze towards Mercia.

  ‘Mrs Blakewood?’ she said.

  Deeply uncomfortable, Mercia cleared her throat. ‘Well, I …’

  ‘Speak, woman!’ ordered Lady Castlemaine. ‘Make your accusation!’

  ‘Accusation?’ frowned Lavinia.

  Of a sudden, Mercia’s dress felt unnaturally heavy. ‘Lavinia,’ she began. ‘I am obliged to ask you a question.’

  Lavinia’s hand reached for her unfinished hair, but she paused midway, returning it to her lap. ‘About what?’

  ‘About a man you have been seeing.’

  ‘And there are plenty enough of those,’ purred Lady Castlemaine. ‘No, Lavinia?’

  There was no response. Mercia glanced at Lady Castlemaine, and chose to sit down.

  ‘You know Julien Bellecour, I believe,’ she said. ‘We talked of him briefly before.’

  Lavinia’s cheeks blanched. ‘I … suppose I do. What of it?’

  ‘My God, Miss Whent, if you are normally this nervous, ’tis a wonder you seduce any men at all. What in heaven’s name do you and Sir Peter talk of?’ Lady Castlemaine folded her arms. ‘But then I think we know.’

  The gleam in her eyes was malicious and self-satisfied, jarring with the purity of her pristine dress. But then Lavinia sat up, took a long breath, and the simpering facade fell away.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, much more confident. ‘I know Monsieur Bellecour. ’Tis scarce a crime to enjoy the company of attractive men.’ Deliberately, she turned her head, meeting Lady Castlemaine’s mocking gaze with newfound assurance. ‘Or I doubt you would be long from the gallows yourself.’

  The sudden insolence was staggering. Mercia gasped, looking on Lavinia with shock. But Lady Castlemaine merely laughed, holding thumb and finger a quarter-inch apart.

  ‘Miss Whent, you are this near to the Tower. I advise you not to rile me.’

  ‘I doubt that is possible, my lady.’

  ‘My, my.’ Lady Castlemaine shook her head. ‘The vixen leaves her den at last. Continue, Mrs Blakewood.’

  How do I do this? thought Mercia, frankly panicked. On the march to Lavinia’s chambers through the palace, she had protested to her patron how she had no skill in interrogation, worrying that the wrong approach could cause Lavinia to keep her silence, be she guilty or no. But Lady Castlemaine had responded barely a word as she brushed courtiers aside to force their passage.

  ‘Lavinia,’ she recommenced. ‘Could you tell us how long you have known Monsieur Bellecour?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Please.’

  She sighed. ‘I do not know. Two months, perhaps three? But I would not say I know him.’

  ‘You just did,’ said Lady Castlemaine. ‘Not two minutes since.’

  ‘I know who he is, is what I meant. I know some of what he likes. I do not know what he thinks, or all that he does.’

  ‘But you have spoken with him often?’ said Mercia.

  ‘We … did not much talk.’

  ‘No. But you talked a little. What about?’

  ‘About me, mostly. Mercia, I do not understand the purpose of these questions.’

  ‘Forgive me, but we will come to that. Tell us what you talked of, other than yourself.’

  ‘But that is what he wants to know. If ever I ask about him, he smiles and turns the conversation back to me. He is interested, is all. For once a man places me above himself.’

  ‘Sir Peter does not?’

  ‘Peter treats me well enough, but he cares little for my opinions. At least Julien does care. He likes to hear me talk.’

  A sinking feeling was settling in. ‘About …?’

  ‘About the Court and the people in it.’

  ‘Including Sir Peter?’

  ‘From time to time.’

  ‘And Sir Peter’s work? His role on the war council?’

  Lavinia pulled a strange face. ‘You know, Mercia, how it is. When a woman is mistress to a powerful man, there are always other men, younger men, who want to prove they can win those same mistresses for themselves. You must have had the same, being with Sir William. I have seen you with Henry Raff. Of course, that attention excites us too.’

  ‘And do you tell him, then, this younger man – Bellecour – what Sir Peter tells you?’

  ‘Peter has a need to boast his importance. He need not do it, but I think he fears I will lose interest if he does not. But Julien says I am worth more than all those affairs of state we discuss. Frankly, I like to hear it. What woman would not?’

  ‘Lavinia.’ The sinking feeling had grown acute. ‘Are you saying you speak to Monsieur Bellecour of matters that pertain to the workings of the state?’

  ‘What?’ She batted the question away with her hand. ‘You cannot think … none of what I discuss with Julien could be harmful. Besides, the French are on our side, are they not?’

  ‘You fool,’ snapped Lady Castlemaine, as Mercia closed her eyes. ‘Tell her, Mrs Blakewood. There is only one bed she is sleeping in tonight, and it is not Bellecour’s, nor any at Whitehall.’

  ‘Mercia?’ The pallor in Lavinia’s cheeks was worsening. ‘I do not understand. What is this torment?’

  ‘What my lady says is true,’ she said, looking on Lavinia with a twinge of sadness. ‘Julien Bellecour is working for the Dutch.’

  ‘No!’ Her eyes widened. ‘That is not true!’

  ‘I have seen him myself. But he is merely a conduit, acquiring information from a spy at the Court. A female spy.’ She sighed. ‘Lavinia, you know I sailed to America on a mission for the King. Now I am here at Court on another such task, to find this woman out.’

  ‘Mercia, I … I grow confused. What has this to do with me?’

  ‘Bellecour was with Lady Allcot, at Hampton Court on the day she was murdered. I believe he was trying to seduce her into betraying her husband.’

  ‘With Lady Allcot?’ Suddenly, her eyes seemed unable to focus. ‘But I thought he—’

  ‘And now we learn that he has charmed you also, else you have charmed him.’

  ‘But you cannot think I …’

  ‘That you have spoken to him of matters Sir Peter has shared with you.’

  ‘Mercia, whatever I told Julien, it was not out of malice.’

  ‘But it is true? That you have passed secrets to this man?’

  ‘Hardly secrets, but … no! You cannot be accusing me of—’ Her words were assured, but behind them her voice was shaking. ‘This is absurd!’

  ‘I find it hard to believe you are this naïve, Miss Whent,’ scoffed Lady Castlemaine. ‘How do we know you have not orchestrated the whole affair and this act is merely a pretence?’

&nbs
p; ‘My Lady, I swear. I would never betray my King. My country.’

  ‘And which country is that?’ She bestowed her with a look of total supremacy. ‘Mrs Blakewood, fetch the guard. I shall remain with this treasonous slut and make sure she does not flee.’

  ‘But these accusations are baseless!’ Frantic, Lavinia leapt up. ‘I have done nothing wrong!’

  ‘Miss Whent, I suggest you retake your seat. And you, Mrs Blakewood – I gave you a command.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’ Mercia backed towards the door, staring at Lavinia as she slumped in her chair in shock. Was this innocuous woman before her the unknowing victim she was making herself out to be? Or was she the devious spy Lady Castlemaine’s scepticism seemed so readily to believe?

  At that moment, she did not know. Sweat down her back, it was all she could do to tear herself away, but she managed to abandon the charged scene for the coolness of the silent corridor. In her muddle, she forgot to curtsey.

  But Lady Castlemaine paid the slight no heed, far too pleased with her vanquished prey to pay Mercia any notice.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Matters moved quickly after that. The guards Mercia alerted were hesitant at first, but when she dropped Lady Castlemaine’s name they stiffened and followed, taking a distraught Lavinia Whent into their custody. Next, Lady Castlemaine led Mercia to an audience with the King himself, crowing at her protégée’s efficacy where her uncle had supposedly failed: before the hour was out, Sir Peter Shaw, too, had been arrested on suspicion of treason, for whether Lavinia were Virgo or not, his loose tongue had imperilled the realm. Third, a royal command was sent to the constables of London and to the officers of the ports, ordering that Julien Bellecour be arrested on sight. Finally, in the face of the evidence, the French ambassador was summoned at last, but of that conversation Mercia learnt nothing, save the French professed to be as stunned as the English that one of their own could be complicit with the Dutch.

  Meantime, the King’s codebreakers made swift progress translating the message Nicholas had retrieved from the whorehouse. Barely a day had passed before Sir William had convinced them Mercia deserved to know its contents. But before she met with the shadowed elite, she realised she needed something else.

  She realised she needed a break.

  Just a short one, of course. A few hours at most. But Lady Castlemaine’s ferociousness in attacking Lavinia Whent had so drained her spirit that an afternoon outdoors was an urgent respite. No matter that the sky was strewn with grey, or that the wind was more chill than she liked. And Henry Raff had been delighted to be asked.

  ‘I knew you would come for me,’ he said. ‘At least, so I hoped.’

  ‘It is kind of you to accompany me here.’ Refusing his arm, she looked at the trees and the greenery around her. ‘I realise I have never much seen Hyde Park.’

  ‘Not even the May Day parade? A shame. We come here often, as does the King. There is space for our carriages to ride the paths, or to walk in even such weather as this.’

  ‘The gallants,’ she smiled. ‘A colourful display for the people.’

  ‘You talk as if you disapprove.’

  ‘Not at all. I am as fascinated as anyone to know the latest fashions.’

  ‘And do you approve of mine?’ He twirled on the spot, opening his jacket to reveal the purple silk lining, the blue doublet beneath, the crisp white shirt. His breeches were similarly slashed, a long scar running down each leg; the light wind billowed through the material, causing the two large ribbons to flap.

  ‘Indeed, it is most handsome. A shame you will be unable to wear such clothes when you leave to serve on the ships.’

  ‘No, but I fancy we will still outsmart the Dutch, in clothes as much as in battle. We officers, at least.’ He held up his hand, waving at the latest finely attired gentleman to descend from the procession of carriages arriving the one after the other: the same friend, she thought, she had seen with Raff when he had spoken with her in St James’s Park.

  ‘Are all the men of the Court off to war?’ she asked. ‘Your friend there, for instance.’

  ‘James will be. It will be a pleasant change, a relief to escape the boredom. But not all will have a chance to serve with the fleet. There is word, too, that the King and his council will travel to the coast to witness the departure for themselves.’ He grinned. ‘To wave off the Admiral, the Duke of York. They wish to fete their valiant champion before he commands us in battle against the evil Dutch.’

  ‘You sound like a news pamphlet, Henry. Have you fought before?’

  His jauntiness faltered. ‘No, but I know what I must do.’

  ‘Let us hope the Dutch do not. Was it your master who gained you your commission? The Earl of Clarendon?’

  ‘Mercia, all I want is to enjoy this afternoon with you, a last treat before I depart. Shall we walk down to join the rest?’

  ‘The question is, why you would have such a wish? There are many younger women at Court.’

  ‘None so alluring. Come, let us take our place in the parade, and prove the most dazzling of them all.’

  She laughed; normally his self-assurance might annoy her, but after all she had suffered there was something about his confidence she found attractive, and she fell in beside him amongst the procession of gallants and ladies, as a number of Londoners stood on to watch the peculiar courtly display, a weekly occurrence for many. Even the arrival of Lady Cartwright and her minions did not impede the revelry, bereft of her boy Tacitus today.

  After ten minutes strolling, or strutting perhaps, a seemingly never-ending number of cocksure gentlemen eyeing each other up, another carriage arrived, depositing someone she had not expected.

  ‘Giles,’ she wondered out loud. ‘What is he doing here?’

  ‘Who?’ said Raff, following her gaze. ‘Oh, him. Well, I have the pleasure of your presence today, so he will have to wait.’

  ‘It is not a competition, Henry. But he does seem to be coming this way.’

  She watched as Malvern made his way along the line, a purpose in his steps as he made directly for her. He gave Raff barely a nod of acknowledgement before turning to speak.

  ‘Mrs Blakewood.’ He bowed. ‘I was told I should find you here.’

  ‘Mr Malvern. Told by whom?’

  ‘By your man. Fortunate, for this concerns him as well as you.’

  ‘Malvern is your name, is it?’ said Raff. ‘Well, friend Malvern, your business, such as it may be, can wait.’

  Malvern ignored him. ‘Mrs Blakewood, I am afraid I must speak with you.’

  ‘Here?’ she said.

  ‘I should rather we return to the palace.’

  Raff put himself directly between them. ‘Cease bothering this lady, or I shall—’

  ‘You shall what?’ Malvern glanced up at the taller man. ‘I think Mrs Blakewood can see through your swagger, Mr Raff.’

  ‘You know me, churl?’

  ‘Of you, yes.’

  ‘Then I suggest you address me with more deference. I do not know you.’

  The two men stared at each other, as if they were a miniature recreation of the civil war. Raff’s long hair fell to his shoulders, his costume grand and stylish; although handsome, Malvern’s outfit was more practical, shorn of flourishes and silk, his hat and jacket plain.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ said Mercia, ‘I can speak for myself. Mr Malvern, you may have a few minutes of my time. Mr Raff, I shall return forthwith.’

  ‘I must insist we retire to the palace,’ said Malvern. ‘I do not like to ask, but’ – he lowered his voice a semitone – ‘I have been sent to discuss matters pertaining to our mutual interest. Ours, and Lady Castlemaine’s.’

  Raff frowned. ‘Lady Castlemaine?’

  ‘Nothing of significant import, Henry.’ She sighed. ‘Very well, Mr Malvern. You had best return me to Whitehall in your coach.’

  ‘No.’ Raff laid a hand on Malvern’s shoulder. ‘Who are you to interrupt our day?’

  Malvern tensed. �
��Kindly remove your hand, Mr Raff.’

  ‘I shall place my hand where I see fit. Mrs Blakewood and I are enjoying the afternoon, and I do not take kindly to some rogue arriving in his coach and insisting that she leave.’

  ‘Perhaps you would do better to make ready for your commission.’ Malvern shrugged off the other’s hand. ‘I hear we depart for the fleet in short order. But then I am sure noble officers such as yourself need little preparation, unlike we lowly … churls.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Harsh metal scraped as Raff drew his sword. Around their small group, an intrigued murmuring started up. An eager group of ladies flocked as if from nowhere to form a tight semicircle of encouragement.

  Remarking their presence, Raff made a show of flicking his blade. ‘Draw,’ he said, ‘and let us see who fights best.’

  ‘I should be delighted, Mr Raff. But I do not have the time.’

  The ladies booed. ‘Be no coward,’ called one, and ‘shame,’ another, who promptly laughed.

  ‘Henry,’ said Mercia, ‘there is no need to impress.’

  But by then it was too late, for the semicircle had become almost whole, the men joining the women in urging Raff on. His friend James threw Malvern his sword.

  ‘Very well.’ Malvern reached for the dropped weapon. ‘Let us be quick.’

  He looked to one side, and then in sudden, unexpected action, he lunged at Raff, striking the nobleman with the tip of his sword. But Raff’s brazenness was not mere talk; he held firm, retaliating with an upward swing, pushing Malvern back.

  ‘God’s truth,’ said Mercia. ‘What way is this to behave?’

  ‘The way your husband behaved, I am told,’ said a voice. ‘Men are men, after all.’

  ‘Lady Cartwright,’ she said as she turned. ‘And your earnest companions.’

  ‘It is true, is it not? What I implied?’

  ‘That my husband died from a sword fight? It is not a scene I wish to see replayed.’