Standing in the hallway, she tried to weigh the risks. She didn’t trust Lacy; indeed, she feared him. Was he inviting her and Mullin, or her alone? Surely he couldn’t have known she was on her own in the house … She frowned. Her instinct was to send the boy away, and berate Alida for answering the door. But soon her adventurous side began to assert itself and, as usual, it was more persuasive.
She had no way of knowing how long Mullin and Crabb would be out; perhaps all night. It was likely they were on a wild goose-chase in any case – whereas she might be the one who learned something to their advantage. Though she could imagine what Mullin would say, once he learned of her rashness….
‘Well, cods!’ she said aloud. ‘Let him rant all he likes. I’m not his servant, nor even his wife!’ And with that she turned to the link-boy, who was growing impatient.
‘I’ll come,’ she said. She pointed to the letter and nodded. ‘Let me get a cloak.’ She mimed it to Alida, pointing out to the street. After a moment the girl nodded and went off, whereupon Betsy nodded again to the boy, who nodded back to show that he had understood … Then she remembered something else: she would be leaving Alida alone. No, that would not do. What’s more, she reasoned, if the girl accompanied her the two of them would be safer together. So, when she returned bearing Betsy’s cloak and hat, another exchange of signs took place. The outcome was that a few minutes later three people left the house: two cloaked women and a boy with a torch.
The journey didn’t take long. Once he had turned the corner the boy broke into a steady trot, forcing Betsy and Alida to hurry. They skirted the canal into which she had fallen only that morning, prompting a shudder which had little to do with the chilly wind. Then they crossed a footbridge and followed another street. The canal here was wider and bent in an arc, and now there were lights, and people on foot. Boats moved on the water, their stern lanterns aglow. Soon they were passing large houses with private frontages on the waterside, and here at last the link-boy stopped. Turning to Betsy, he gestured to a pillared portico, then without further ado climbed the steps and banged on the double doors. They were opened by a stolid-looking manservant, who was quickly joined by another figure, his portly frame blocking the light.
‘Mistress Mullin, welcome to my house!’
‘You’re most kind, sir.’ Betsy picked up her skirts and ascended the steps. As she did so, she indicated Alida. ‘I’ve brought my servant. She’ll wait, then accompany me home.’
Thomas Lacy, dressed in a flowered suit and yellow silk stockings, had stood aside to admit her, but when both women came in his broad smile faded.
‘Of course … Jacob can take her to the kitchen.’ Turning to his own servant he spoke rapidly in Dutch, whereupon the man regarded Alida with some interest. Then, indicating that she should follow him, he made a rapid retreat.
‘Your link-boy, Mr Lacy,’ Betsy said, ‘will he light our way home?’ But when she looked round, the lad had vanished.
‘Never fear, madam, there are dozens like him!’ Lacy’s smile was back. After closing the front door he gestured to a doorway at the rear, from where candlelight flooded.
‘Please come in,’ he said in a hearty voice. ‘I’ve been so looking forward to this conversation.’ So Betsy entered the room – only to stop in her tracks.
She had heard that Lacy was wealthy, but she had not expected the sight which greeted her. Her first thought was that this was a treasure hoard, then she realized it was a showroom. Three walls were hung with maps and portraits, while shelves of fine blue-and-white china lined the fourth. There were tables covered with Turkey carpets, on which lacquered boxes and silverware lay. Faced with such riches, it took an effort not to look subdued.
‘Oh, how charming!’ she gushed. ‘I guessed you were a man of taste, sir, but this array robs me of speech.’
Lacy inclined his head. ‘I’m but a humble collector.’
‘And how is your friend, Mr Churston?’ Betsy enquired, by way of gathering her wits. She had just caught sight of herself in a gilded mirror, and was alarmed to see how tense she looked.
‘He’s unwell, madam, as I think you perceived,’ came the reply. ‘But please, shed your cloak and be seated. Have you dined?’
‘I have, sir,’ Betsy replied; though her supper had consisted of a stew and stale bread, while Mullin and Crabb had eaten virtually nothing. ‘And your wife, Mr Lacy?’ she continued. ‘Will I have the pleasure of meeting her?’ But when she glanced round, the man was closing the door. Suddenly she was on her guard: any moment now they would drop the formalities, and she must dissemble to the last.
‘Alas, she is indisposed,’ her host replied, turning to face her. ‘She seldom keeps company.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ Betsy said. Then, seizing the moment, she added, ‘Yet it may be that our discourse is best kept secret, unless I mistake your reasons for inviting me after dark, without my husband.’ She raised her eyebrows – but the next moment, her heart gave a jolt.
‘I don’t think you mistake anything, madam.’
Lacy had stopped smiling. In fact, he had discarded all pretence at courtesy so abruptly, Betsy almost shrank from him. His cheeks were flushed, as she had seen him first in the Bok, but his eyes were blazing. Pulse quickening, she struggled for some reply when another sound startled her: the click of a key turning in the lock. Her eyes flew to the door, then back to Lacy, and now she knew what a fool she had been. Her instinct was to shout, until she saw how useless that was.
‘You may scream if you like.’ Lacy stood with his hands at his sides. ‘The house is very solid, and my neighbours are absent. As for your servant, I expect she has other things to concern her just now.’
Betsy caught her breath. ‘What have you done with her?’ she cried. ‘If you dare to—’
‘Sit down, Mistress Mullin – or whatever your name is!’
The order came like a whipcrack; but Betsy remained on her feet. Lacy, however, was unperturbed. With a shrug he sat himself in an armchair, folded his arms and fixed her with a look of near contempt.
‘You’re not married to him, are you?’ he said drily. ‘Nor are you devoted to any cause. Do you think I believed that tale? Men like Mullin don’t change, any more than women like you appreciate fine objects such as those that surround you. Where did he find you, in some bawdy-house in St Giles? Or are you one of his friend’s cast-offs?’
Stung, Betsy didn’t answer.
‘Well, no matter …’ He gave another shrug. ‘Silence won’t serve either. Soon you’re going to tell me who sent you and why – and don’t try my patience with more lies. If I have to call Jacob in to question you, I will, but you’d be most unwise to force me to it. He has skills learned in the Dutch Army, that even I prefer not to dwell upon.’
Heart pounding, Betsy kept her eyes on his face. She had already seen that there was no other exit from the room, and she imagined the windows, which were heavily curtained, would be secured too. There was no one to help her, nor did Mullin or Crabb know where she was. For the second time that day she was in trouble, and she had no one to blame but herself. Trickery was her only weapon, she knew – whereupon something else occurred too.
‘There’s no Mrs Lacy, is there,’ she said quietly.
At that, her host – or rather the one who was now her captor – grew impatient. ‘Much as I adore gossip,’ he snapped, ‘I have no inclination for it now. I want to know who sent you here …’ Then he stiffened. ‘Why, you’re one of Downing’s flock, aren’t you?’
Downing? In an instant, Betsy recalled Mullin’s account of the new ambassador. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said.
‘Don’t lie!’ Suddenly Lacy was on his feet. ‘You came to this town to snoop, woman! So answer me!’
‘Did I?’ Thinking fast, Betsy tried to judge the man’s strength. His girth meant that he would be slower on his feet than she, yet he was nearer to the door. She glanced about for a likely weapon.
‘We’ll speak of
Venn first,’ Lacy said, taking a step towards her. ‘How did you learn of his death?’
‘What does it matter?’ Betsy countered quickly. ‘More important to my mind, is who killed him—’
‘Precisely!’ Lacy glared at her. ‘So – who did?’
‘I think you know that,’ she replied. And now she did take a step back, which merely brought her up against a table’s edge.
‘Let’s say that I don’t,’ the other threw back. ‘And more, let’s say that if you want to remain alive, you tell me all you know – now!’ And with that, he stepped closer.
‘It was Gorton,’ Betsy said quickly. ‘And I think that name is known to you!’ But a puzzled frown crossed Lacy’s features.
‘Who’s Gorton?’ he snapped. ‘And what’s he to you? Tell me!’ And he would have seized her, had Betsy not moved.
Her hands were at her back, feeling along the table-top, and now her right hand closed on something cold and solid. Without thinking she grabbed it and swung her arm round, driving the object against Lacy’s head. Then she ducked aside and looked: she was holding an ornate silver tray. Without pause she raised it again, and slammed its edge into his face.
There was a moment, which seemed to last a long time. Panting, Betsy looked into the face of her interrogator … then blinked. A livid streak had appeared on Lacy’s forehead, while at the same time blood spouted from his nose. With a look of amazement, he staggered backwards and sat down on the floor. There followed a clang, as Betsy dropped the tray. Then, stumbling over her gown, she ran to the door and banged on it.
‘Come quick!’ she shouted. ‘Your master’s sick!’ Nothing happened, so she banged again, then bent and put her mouth to the keyhole. ‘Jacob!’ she cried. ‘Come here!’
She straightened up, and risked a look round, but to her relief Lacy hadn’t moved. Blood ran from his nose and down his flowered coat. Stupidly he stared up at her … Then the dazed look on his face changed to one of fury.
‘Jacob!’ he shouted. ‘Kom! Haast u!’ Clumsily he put out a hand and tried to raise himself, whereupon again Betsy acted on impulse. The tray was lying where she had dropped it, so she ran and picked it up. But even as she lifted it there came the sound of a key turning. The door opened to reveal Jacob, looking startled.
‘Please, Mr Lacy is hurt!’ Thinking rapidly, Betsy pointed to her chest and made gestures to indicate a seizure. The tray she thrust behind her back, but luckily Jacob hadn’t noticed it. With an oath he hurried to his master, only to stop short when Lacy shouted out in Dutch. At once the servant whirled round, but Betsy was ahead of him. In a moment she had covered the short distance to the door, got herself through and slammed it behind her. Then she turned the key in the lock, and leaned breathlessly against it.
‘Mevrouw…?’
With a gasp she looked round. Alida was standing in the hallway, an odd look on her face. At first Betsy read it as one of alarm – then caught her breath: the girl was embarrassed! And at once she saw why: she was not only uncloaked: the top buttons of her bodice were loose.
‘Cods!’ she cried. ‘I thought …’ Then she sighed. ‘Never mind, let’s get out of here!’
Alida’s face had reddened. Quickly she began to button her bodice, but the next moment such a thudding and banging began that she flinched.
‘We’re going – now!’ For once, Betsy’s meaning was clear enough. With a swift glance at the closed door, which was shaking alarmingly, the girl followed her across the hallway. Mercifully the front door was unbolted, and the key was in the lock. In seconds Betsy had opened it and the two of them were flying down the steps. From the house there came a crash of splintering wood, followed by a shout.
‘Come on!’ she cried, grabbing Alida by the arm. Whereupon the two women began stumbling along the street. A man who was walking past stopped and stared.
‘A boat … we need a boat!’ Heart thudding, Betsy halted and looked down at the canal. To her relief, there were two or three small craft moored by the landing steps. She called out, and was rewarded to see the man in the nearest boat look up. But at the same time, there came a cry from the doorway of Lacy’s house. Both looked round to see Jacob on the top step – and in a moment he had spotted them. Still holding on to Alida, Betsy lurched down the steps.
‘Help us!’ she cried, grasping the gunwale. ‘We need to get away …’ She made rapid signs to the boatman, who was gaping – whereupon she realized she still had the tray in her hand. Stifling an oath, she thrust it at him. ‘Take it!’ she shouted. But still the man stared. Then his eyes went to Alida, who spoke in Dutch. Without a word he reached out and helped Betsy clamber into the boat. Alida got in too, and the small craft lurched, but in a moment the man had pushed them out on to the water. And even as Jacob appeared on the steps above them, Betsy knew they were safe. Breathless, she turned to Alida – and almost laughed with relief.
Her face averted, the girl was buttoning the top of her bodice. And she did not lift her head until they had left the boat and were on foot again.
The house was still in darkness when they arrived home. Having found coins to pay the boatman, Betsy ordered the man to stop some distance away, below the footbridge. The two women then walked, doubling back until Betsy was satisfied they were not followed. Only then did she turn down the familiar street, unlock the door and usher Alida inside. With a last look about, she went in, drawing the bolt firmly.
In the darkness she stumbled, but soon there came a spurt of flame, which revealed Alida holding a tinder-box. By its flick-ering light the two made their way into the back parlour, where the girl lit candles. The fire was still aglow and at once Betsy went to it. She was trembling, she realized, then she looked at Alida, and received a surprise: the girl was in tears.
‘Goede hemel, Mevrouw!’ she sobbed, while her shoulders shook. Thereafter she spoke rapidly in Dutch, not a word of which Betsy understood. The meaning, however, she guessed.
‘Cods, she thinks I’ll dismiss her,’ she muttered. ‘Because she let that servant fumble her …’ Quickly she shook her head. ‘It’s all right!’ she said, making signs, but they were of no use. The girl howled, shook her head from side to side and continued to plead.
‘Stop this!’ Betsy went towards her. ‘You’re quite safe. No harm will come.’ She struggled to form a word or two of Dutch. ‘Meneer Mullin,’ she said. ‘Not send you away!’
Suddenly the girl stopped sobbing. ‘Nee?’ she asked.
Betsy nodded, then spun round. Both of them were alert in a second: someone was rattling the front door.
‘Wait!’ She shook her head, and for once Alida understood. The two woman waited – then flinched as there came more knocking, followed by further rattling of the handle – but the next moment both let out exclamations of relief, as a familiar voice shouted through the keyhole.
‘Where the devil are you? Open this door, or I’ll break it! Do you hear me?’
More knocking followed, but now Betsy drew the bolt. At once the door flew inwards, prompting her to step back in surprise. Behind her Alida let out a shriek.
For it wasn’t only Mullin who entered, looking angry and flustered; nor merely Peter Crabb, who loomed up behind. To the surprise of the women there was a third man, red-faced and terrified, who was now thrust forward into the dim light, hands behind his back. As Betsy watched he fell to his knees, grunting with pain, while Crabb turned swiftly to close the door. The hinges squealed and the bolt was drawn, whereupon the young giant stood with his back to it. In shocked silence, Betsy stared down at the man whom she had confronted not a dozen hours ago, and who had almost ended her life.
Slowly she lifted her gaze and found Mullin’s eyes upon her.
‘Well?’ he snapped. ‘Is this fellow Gorton, or isn’t he?’
Chapter Thirteen
THE QUESTIONING BEGAN the following morning.
At first Mullin had not wanted Betsy present, but he was persuaded otherwise. She knew Gorton, but moreover she had a right
to be there, if only in view of her sojourn in the canal. Or so she insisted, despite what Williamson’s letter had said about leaving Mullin to conduct interrogations.
The household had taken food and rested, except for Peter Crabb, who had kept a watch on Gorton all night. Not that the prisoner had any chance of escape, confined as he was in the windowless cellar with hands bound and his gaoler seated by the door. There Mullin would question the man until he was satisfied that he had told all he knew.
‘Whatever he says, assume first that it’s false,’ he said to Betsy. ‘Moreover, don’t speak unless I ask you to – this is my task. Do you understand?’
‘I do, but if you mean to use harsh methods, you must give me time to go out,’ she answered. ‘I’m not afraid of blood, but I prefer not to see it spilled.’
They were standing in the hallway. A murky greyness showed at the windows: rain had started in the night. Betsy had slept for some hours, having been too exhausted not to. That was after she had given Mullin a full account of her experience at the hands of Thomas Lacy. But to her relief the captain was too elated by the capture of Gorton to be annoyed with her for her rashness; or with Alida, who had kept well out of sight ever since. And it turned out that, by contrast to Betsy’s, his night’s work had been almost mundane.
‘We went first to places I knew,’ he had told her. ‘I tracked down a few unsavoury fellows, the sort who’d inform on their own mothers for a guilder. But nobody knew anything about your friend, or if they did they weren’t talking. In the end I would have given up the search, if not for Crabb. It was he who suggested the Bok, where the landlord’s been known to hide men for a price. Sure enough, there we found our quarry, cowering in an attic. When he saw Crabb, he almost soiled his breeches. If he’s a paid assassin, he’s the feeblest one I’ve ever encountered – skulduggery’s not his forte at all.’
Now, as the two of them descended the stairs to the cellar, Mullin brought the matter up again.
The Judas Blade Page 11
