‘Yes.’
‘I must go to them, I suppose.’ He waved at the man in black, who looked like a clerk. ‘You’d better come as well in case they want to question you.’
I drew the steward aside. He was an old man and was in his gown and with a cap on his head. He had been preparing for bed when they sent for him.
‘I’m here on the King’s business, sir,’ I said. ‘What’s happened?’
He looked wildly at me. ‘It’s Mr Milcote,’ he said. ‘He’s been arrested.’
CHAPTER FIFTY
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I went early to Whitehall. I found that the news of Milcote’s arrest had travelled before me. In the Matted Gallery, it was the subject on everyone’s lips.
Chiffinch received me in his closet. He was still in his bedgown, with a plate of rolls and a cup of chocolate at his elbow. His barber was stropping a razor by the window. He greeted me cheerfully, which was unusual, and told the barber to leave us.
‘First things first,’ he said. ‘How did my lord take it? Did he give you a message for the King?’
‘He said to tell His Majesty that he felt he was in a strange country, where few people knew him any more. But he also said he had friends, and he could not allow villainy to triumph.’
‘Strong words. But I thought he would come out fighting.’
‘The Duke of York was with him, and my lord gave him the letter to read. He was angry.’
Chiffinch shrugged. ‘Without the King’s support, what can the old man do, even with the Duke at his side? And the Duke’s not a fool. He’s the King’s heir, and he will not venture to go against him in this.’
He paused to dip a fragment of roll into the chocolate. He popped the morsel in his mouth, leaving a trail of drips on his gown.
‘Have you heard about Mr Milcote’s arrest?’ I said. ‘And the charge?’
‘Oh yes.’ Chiffinch wiped his mouth with a napkin. ‘We heard late last night. The Duke of Buckingham made sure of that. The news was probably known at Whitehall before it reached Clarendon House. The timing could not have been better for Buckingham and his party. Sodomy, eh?’ He whistled. ‘Who would have thought it? And Milcote – such a brave gentleman, by all accounts. Is there no doubt?’
‘I believe not, sir. I talked to the magistrate’s clerk last night.’ I hesitated. ‘When the constables broke in, they found Milcote in circumstances that … that made doubt impossible.’
‘How did it happen that they went there in the first place?’
‘Two men laid information against Milcote, and said that they had seen him enter the house, and that they believed he intended to commit sodomy on a man within.’
Chiffinch scratched his nose. ‘Disgusting. Still, it’s an ill wind that blows nobody good. Filth of this nature smears all it touches. It will damage Lord Clarendon greatly, for example. People will probably whisper that he knew all and condoned all. Perhaps he did – he certainly trusted Milcote – cherished the man, even. He had him living under his own roof and dining at his table. At best it will be seen as a terrible error of his lordship’s judgement, and at worst – well, you can imagine what will be said. Believe me, Marwood, this will do my lord no good at all.’
‘Both the witnesses are in the service of the Duke of Buckingham, sir,’ I said. ‘One is a clergyman named Veal, who was deprived of his living.’
‘Still – a clergyman? That will go down well with the judge, I’m sure.’
‘He’s the man who followed Lady Quincy and me into Cambridgeshire, the man known as the Bishop. He was friendly with Alderley and searched his lodgings after his death. He was looking for the silver box. He and his servant were also the men who incited the protesters outside Clarendon House.’
Chiffinch considered. ‘I shall pass on what you have said to the King. I suspect he will decide that the Duke of Buckingham’s connection with Mr Veal has nothing to do with this matter, not in its essentials. After all, sodomy is both a grievous sin and a capital offence.’ He smiled up at me with an unprecedented display of pleasure. ‘You’ve done well, Marwood, all in all. I shall tell the King so. Go back to Mr Williamson and your duties at Scotland Yard. I’ve nothing more for you at present.’
Taken aback, I stared at him.
He waved me towards the door. ‘Send the barber to me on your way out.’
After leaving Chiffinch, I went directly to Scotland Yard. I felt strangely adrift. The investigation into Alderley’s death and its unexpected ramifications had taken up my entire life. Now the matter had been removed from me. But there was still so much I did not know. And Cat remained a fugitive. Unfinished business leaves a sour taste.
After the distractions of the last fortnight, I was woefully behind in my usual work. Mr Williamson was not in the office, which was a relief. There was much sorting and filing for me to do. The Gazette had gone out during my absence, but Williamson’s confidential letters to his correspondents up and down the kingdom had been largely neglected; the task of copying and dispatching these was usually mine.
I set to work. The other clerks tried to discover the reason for my absence but I evaded their questions. They were wary of me, I knew, because I had more than one master and spent too much time on business that had nothing to do with the office.
In the middle of the morning, Williamson arrived. He summoned me to his private room and told me to close the door.
‘You’re back at last,’ he said. ‘You will have to work twice as hard to catch up.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I know you have been looking into Edward Alderley’s death,’ he said. ‘Have you heard the latest news about it?’
‘I’ve heard nothing at all, sir.’
‘The sodomite Milcote has just confessed to his murder.’
‘Milcote? But – I don’t understand. I—’
‘He made a voluntary deposition to the magistrate,’ Williamson interrupted. ‘He admitted that he pushed Alderley into the well that night. He lured him to the pavilion on the promise of gold, expressly with that in mind.’
‘But why, sir?’
‘Because Alderley was blackmailing him, that’s why. He found out about Milcote’s sodomitical ways and threatened to expose him. Milcote had given him almost all the money he had in the world. Then something must have snapped. Even the meanest worm will turn if you tread on him hard enough.’
The evidence reshuffled itself like a pack of cards and created a different order. The blackmail, presumably, was the reason for Alderley’s apparent intimacy with Milcote, which had always puzzled me, for the two men had had so little in common. The Duke of Buckingham had not been responsible for Alderley’s sudden affluence after all, or rather not for the whole of it. Alderley had blackmailed Milcote – and he had also sold Milcote’s unhappy secret to Buckingham. This was how, at Buckingham’s bidding, Alderley had gained access to the most private apartments in Clarendon House and been able to steal the silver box.
Gorse must have been part of it, I realized suddenly. He must have known about the sodomy. That explained the flashes of insolence he had shown to Milcote, and also Milcote’s willingness to employ him in moving Alderley’s body. Had Milcote tracked him down and killed him too?
‘We must be careful how we handle this,’ Williamson was saying. ‘How much we make public, how we present it. I shall advise with my Lord Arlington.’
‘Why did Milcote confess to Alderley’s murder, sir?’ I said suddenly. ‘There was no need for him to do that. There’s no evidence against him.’
‘Even a sodomite must have an immortal soul. Perhaps he wants to make his peace with God before he dies. Why not? After all, what does it matter to him now? A man can’t be hanged twice.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
NEWCOMB’S BOY SAID, ‘He says you’ve got to go there.’
‘Where?’ Cat said.
‘Printing office. You’re to come with me directly.’
The boy had caught up with them near the end of their ro
und. Dorcas was watching and listening, shifting from one foot to the other.
‘Is something wrong?’ Cat asked.
The boy looked slyly at her. Like all printer’s devils, he was a patchwork of inkiness, fresh ink and ink faded with age over weeks and months. It had soaked into his skin and his clothes and probably into his very soul. ‘I heard the order came from Mr Marwood.’
Cat turned her back on him. ‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered to Dorcas, though she could not see how this could end well.
She followed the boy back to the Savoy. In the printing office, she found Newcomb supervising the installation of his new press. He drew her aside and told her to go to Infirmary Close. His eyes lingered speculatively on her as she left.
Marwood wasn’t at his lodging, but Sam and Margaret were. Sam had a letter for her.
‘Master didn’t want to leave it with Newcomb,’ he said. ‘There’s gossip enough already.’
‘That’s not my fault,’ she snapped. ‘It’s his, and he’s just made it worse. Tell him I don’t like being considered his mistress.’
She tore open the letter. There was no salutation.
The warrant for your arrest has been cancelled. You are free to go back to Mr Hakesby whenever you wish. JM
She crumpled the note and thrust it in her pocket. ‘The warrant against me has been cancelled. I don’t understand.’
‘Haven’t you heard, mistress?’ Sam grinned broadly at her. ‘The sodomite Milcote killed Alderley. He’s confessed it all.’
The Drawing Office was at once familiar and strange. It didn’t match the place in Cat’s imagination, the place she had hungered for during the two weeks of her exile. Hakesby and Brennan greeted her with a mix of wariness and enthusiasm.
Hakesby was sitting by the fire. He told her to sit on the stool beside him and took her hand in his. ‘This is a warning to us,’ he said. ‘The sooner we are married, the better. If you are my wife, I can protect you.’
Cat bowed her head in submission. The idea of Hakesby protecting anyone seemed faintly ridiculous, but she knew there was value in being his wife: she would no longer be a stray young woman living under a name that was not her own: she would acquire a place in the world.
‘We have much work on hand, even without Clarendon House,’ he said. ‘Dragon Yard, of course, and the Jerusalem chapel. Dr Wren was asking after you yesterday when he called to see how I did. He said you have a remarkably steady hand for the finer detail. I said, is it so strange? Women have a delicate touch as part of their birthright. Think of the embroidery they do.’ His grip tightened convulsively. He looked at her with hunger in his face. ‘Think, my dear. Think what we can achieve when we are married and living together under this roof.’
In the evening, Cat went back to Infirmary Close in the hope of catching Marwood there. She was fortunate. He had returned from Whitehall to change his clothes before going out to the playhouse. She found him in the parlour.
‘What is this about Mr Milcote?’ she demanded as soon as she entered.
He rose. ‘You’ve heard then? He confessed to Alderley’s murder. He made a voluntary deposition to the magistrate.’
Tears pricked her eyelids. She turned away, fighting for control.
‘Are you well?’ Marwood asked.
She felt a spurt of anger. She swung round. ‘I’m quite well, thank you. Merely surprised, and a little sad. There was much to like about the gentleman.’
‘It appears that your cousin was blackmailing him, and that led to his murder. I applied to have the warrant against you lifted immediately, and there was no difficulty about it.’
‘Thank you,’ she said coldly.
He looked at her, his eyes narrowing. ‘It was honourable of Mr Milcote, was it not? Despite everything.’
His stare made her uncomfortable. She said, ‘And the other matter, sir?’
‘The other matter?’
‘Concerning my Aunt Quincy.’
‘I have nothing to do with that now. Or with her.’ He paused. ‘Will you and Mr Hakesby marry soon?’
‘Yes, sir.’ She refused to look away. ‘We discussed it only this afternoon. He is a most benevolent man. He’s not concerned that I lack a dowry.’
‘I daresay you bring him something in return, one way or another. Anyway, perhaps you will have a claim on Alderley’s estate, if it’s worth anything.’ Marwood’s face suddenly changed. He tapped the table beside him. ‘And you also have those trinkets I found in your cousin’s lodging.’
He opened the door and shouted for Sam. When the servant arrived, Marwood gave him a key and told him to bring down the satchel hanging at the back of the locked closet in his chamber. In silence, they listened to Sam’s irregular progress: despite the crutch and his missing leg beneath the knee, he managed stairs with marvellous speed and agility. A series of thumps above their heads revealed that he had reached the bedchamber.
Gratitude is not an easy emotion, Cat thought, and nor is pity. She wondered whether Marwood was grieving, for the fool might well have nursed hopes of Lady Quincy’s hand.
‘No doubt you yourself will marry soon, sir,’ she said. The words came out more curtly than she intended.
‘I doubt it.’
‘Why? It is natural for a man to want a wife.’ Unless, she thought, the man is like George Milcote. ‘You have the means to marry.’
‘I have disadvantages, too.’
Sam was slowly descending the stairs.
‘You mean this?’ she touched the side of her own face. ‘The scars?’ Suddenly, and mysteriously, she felt furious with him. ‘You’re a fool, sir. They are barely noticeable, except to your mind’s eye.’
Marwood turned his face, presenting her with his undamaged right profile. Sam entered the room and laid the satchel on the table in front of his master.
‘This is yours,’ Marwood said, pushing the satchel towards her. ‘It doesn’t add up to much, but at least you won’t be entirely penniless when you marry Mr Hakesby.’
She unstrapped the satchel and picked through the contents. There was a fine gold bracket clock that she remembered from Barnabas Place. It had belonged to her uncle. A purse containing three pounds, ten shillings. Her aunt’s set of French forks, which had been imported from Paris and used only on special occasions. A pocket watch without a key to wind it. In a pretty wooden box, a quantity of nutmeg worth five pounds or more. And then this—
The portrait of her mother, with Coldridge, the house that should have come to Cat, in the background. But the eyes of the face had been mutilated. She looked up. Marwood was watching her.
‘It was hanging on the wall of Alderley’s lodging,’ he said. ‘He must have poked at the eyes with a dagger. Is it your mother?’
She nodded, unable to speak.
‘She was beautiful.’ He hesitated, and then said, ‘I – I daresay a skilled painter could repair the damage if you wished. They can do such marvels nowadays.’
Cat swallowed and said, ‘I’m glad to have it, sir; thank you. My father had the likeness made on his marriage. It is in fact a double portrait, and painted on wood, as you see.’
She ran her fingers around the frame until she found the two catches, one on the right, one on the left. They moved easily. The frame separated into two, the front lifting away from the back. She took out the wooden panel within. She turned it, bringing the reverse to the fore.
There was the companion portrait: her father, Thomas Lovett, as a young man; soberly magnificent in his wedding finery; every inch the wealthy stone mason of the City of London.
There was something else: a folded paper that fluttered to the floor. Marwood stooped to pick it up. She held out her hand for it. But, to her surprise, he turned away and carried it to the window.
‘Sir,’ she said. ‘What are you doing?’
He had already unfolded the paper. He glanced at the contents. He looked not so much at her as through her. His face was blank. ‘I must go back to Whitehall.’
&nb
sp; CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
IT WAS NEARLY midnight by the time I saw the King. On this occasion he summoned me into the drawing room where he had been playing cards the previous evening. Others were playing at the same table, with piles of gold in front of them. Their faces seemed flushed and ill-tempered. Perhaps the game never stopped.
‘What is it, Marwood?’ The King sounded dreadfully weary. He beckoned me to whisper in his ear.
‘Sir, I have found something you must see.’
He looked up at me, and my expression must have convinced him of my urgency. He stood up. ‘Follow me,’ he commanded.
He took me out through his private apartments to the river. It was like a building site in this part of the palace, for he was engaged in remodelling his own quarters. A servant set a lantern beside us and withdrew. The wind was blowing upstream. I shivered. For the first time I sensed the approach of winter.
I took out the paper I had found in the damaged double portrait. ‘This, sir. I believe this was in the silver box stolen from my Lord Clarendon. Alderley hid it in the frame of a picture in his lodging.’
The King took it from me. He laid it on the parapet and read the contents by the light of the lantern. There was music from the palace behind us, and before us were the sounds of the night and the river. He turned it over and read the direction on the back.
‘Has anyone read this but you?’
‘No, sir. Apart from Alderley, that is.’
‘Can you be sure of that?’
‘I can. No one since he stole it.’ And before Alderley, I thought, probably no one, even the King, had seen it since my Lord Clarendon, with a lawyer’s circumspection, had confiscated the letter and silver box from Lady Quincy in Bruges.
‘Until a few weeks ago, I thought it had been destroyed.’ The King dug his fingers into his waistcoat pocket and brought out the silver key that fitted the lock of the silver box. He held it up so the light of the lantern shone through the fine filigree of the monogram. ‘Have you worked out what these entwined initials are?’
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