Marbeck and the Gunpowder Plot

by John Pilkington

  Marbeck found his purse and tugged it open. ‘Well then, will an angel serve?’

  Somewhat swiftly, MacNeish took the proffered coin. With a look almost of shame he stowed it away, then said: ‘The lord is Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland – captain of the King’s Gentlemen Pensioners.’

  ‘Yes … that I can believe,’ Marbeck said, almost to himself. The notorious ‘Wizard Earl’, one of the richest men in England, was rarely free of suspicion of one kind or another, especially with regard to his Catholic sympathies. ‘So this rent collector, the one who snoops about the Court—’

  ‘Is his cousin, Thomas Percy,’ MacNeish broke in. ‘A sly devil, hated by the Scots – but that’s not why I name him. ’Tis he you should be following – not the dandy within, who won on the black fowl.’

  He jerked his head towards the cockpit doors, prompting a wry look from Marbeck. ‘You’ve still a good eye, when all’s said and done, MacNeish,’ he muttered. Then as a thought struck him: ‘How did you know I was here?’

  ‘I didnae, John Sands. I’m here most days, if truth be told. ’Twas pure fortune … but when I saw you, I knew what I should do.’ The highlander rubbed his thick beard, then looked away. ‘You’re the only one I know who might act on Prestall’s words, spoken in drink but so ill-laden. And I may be no admirer of our wily King Jimmy, but I’m loyal – same as you are.’ He turned to face Marbeck, adding: ‘Where might I find you, if I need to? That old wreck of a place in St Martin’s?’

  After a moment Marbeck nodded, whereupon the big man bade him goodnight, threw his thick cloak over his shoulder, crammed his bonnet on his head and stalked off in the gathering gloom. He was making for Holborn, and no doubt thence to the tavern known as the Iron Kist, to carouse among exiles like himself: strangers in a country where, despite being ruled by their own king, they found themselves unloved and unwanted. Marbeck watched him turn the corner by St Andrews, then went back inside the cockpit.

  He entered to a murmur of approval from the cluster of men about the fighting table. Two new cockerels, their feathers ruffled out in defiance, were being shown by their handlers. Easing himself through the throng, he looked about for the bright mauve-pink of Ferdinand Gower’s satin-lined cloak, but couldn’t see it. Moving faster, he made a circuit of the building, scanning the entire crowd, jostled by eager gamblers, before ending up at the spot where he had stood earlier. He cursed silently: the man was gone.

  Abruptly, he went to the door, made his way out and stood once again in Shoe Lane. But the street was darkening, and there was no sign. Then he stiffened and looked round sharply. He saw nothing amiss, yet the feeling persisted: that someone had an eye on him. He glanced at the cockpit door, saw that no one had followed him out.

  Finally, he dismissed the notion and resigned himself to the plain fact that he would have to explain to his masters how he had lost his quarry.

  TWO

  In the dusk Marbeck crossed the Fleet Bridge and entered the city at Ludgate. Fortunately, the doors were only now closing, and he was one of the last to be admitted. From there he walked by Paternoster Row to the conduit, and thence to his room above a disused bowling-house in St Martins. It was the most unsavoury lodging he had occupied in years, and he planned to vacate it soon. On entering he was greeted by the sight of his landlord, a beetle-browed rogue named Skinner, seated at a table opposite a frowzy woman in a low-cut gown. The downstairs was dimly lit, strewn with stale rushes and smelling of fish, the remains of a turbot that lay on the table. The faces of both Skinner and his companion were flushed with drink.

  ‘Here’s Master Tucker – you are right welcome, sir!’ His voice thick with wine and sarcasm, the landlord leered at Marbeck. ‘Will you join us in a cup of muscadine, or have you supped?’

  ‘I have,’ Marbeck said, moving to the staircase. ‘I’ll give you goodnight.’

  ‘He gives us goodnight!’ Skinner echoed, prompting a chuckle from his guest. ‘Never one to waste his time on conversation, is our friend from the shires. What county is it you hail from, master? I never did discover it.’

  ‘Perhaps because I never vouchsafed it,’ Marbeck replied over his shoulder. Having reached the stair he put a hand to the balustrade, but at the landlord’s next words he checked himself.

  ‘’Tis pity … but since you’re in such a hurry, I almost fear to speak of the message that was left for you.’

  Slowly, Marbeck turned. ‘A message … was it verbal, or otherwise?’

  ‘Verbal?’ Skinner was enjoying himself: impressing his guest, it seemed, and giving vent to his dislike of the tenant who never troubled to pass the time of day with him. ‘Well, ’twas brought by a servant with a limp, as I recall … or was that the fishmonger’s boy? I forget … but no matter. The message was not verbal, sirrah, but otherwise: in short, a letter without a seal.’ He paused for effect, then added: ‘But I forbore to read it. I’m a man of discretion, who respects another’s privacy.’

  ‘Where is it?’ Marbeck asked, his voice flat.

  ‘Yes … now where did I place it?’ Putting on a puzzled look, Skinner made a show of scratching his head. ‘This afternoon it came … I was at my prayers.’ He grinned at his companion, who laughed aloud.

  Marbeck waited, keeping his temper with an effort.

  Finally, aware that the jest had worn thin, Tucker slapped a hand to his head. ‘Of course – I put it under your door, Master Tucker! How could I forget … I was distracted, thinking of my sweet guest and the joy she brings me.’ His smile broadening, Skinner lifted his cup and saluted the woman, who smirked before taking up her own drink. The two of them soon forgot Marbeck, barely registering his footsteps ascending the stairs.

  In his chamber he found the paper on the threshold, lit a candle and sat down on the bed. Unfolding the letter, he leaned close to the flickering flame, and his heart stirred; it was from Meriel, whom he had not seen in months. He knew the hand before he read.

  He paused briefly to wonder how she knew where he lodged. They had parted in the summer, when he went to France … a hasty farewell, with hurt on her side and impatience on his. She was still living at her sister’s then, but had spoken of returning home in obedience to her father. He looked at the writing and saw but a single sentence:

  Come this night to my father’s house in Crutched Friars, and wait by the gate where I may see you.

  It was signed with an M, its tail extended into a pattern of descending loops.

  Lowering the letter he stared into the candle’s flame, seeing her face when they had last been together. It was important; she would never write otherwise. Questions rose in his mind, but were unanswered. He’d intended to get a night’s sleep, then go to Levinus Monk first thing in the morning. His spymaster would be angry at his having lost Gower, but there was now the matter of MacNeish’s testimony …

  In agitation he stood up. Though poorly furnished, the room was large, spanning the bowling alley beneath. The beams under his feet creaked alarmingly; the building was unsafe, though it was more on account of the uneven floor – something hotly denied by Skinner – that it had long been shunned by gamesters. Marbeck paced to the window and back, knowing he must go at once to Crutched Friars – how could he not? It meant a walk the length of the entire city, almost to the Tower, and he would have to explain his presence to the watch. But he would bluff, as always; the urgency in Meriel’s words was plain.

  Stowing the letter inside his doublet, he took his cloak from a peg and went out. Downstairs, he ignored Skinner’s sneer and left the house in haste.

  Crutched Friars, the street backing on to London’s east wall by Aldgate, was in darkness. A few lights could be seen at the windows of large houses with walled gardens, the dwellings of noblemen and others of wealth and status. Marbeck knew which one belonged to Meriel’s father: the city lawyer Thomas Walden, soon to be knighted it was said. Approaching the iron gates, as expected he found them padlocked. But there was a torch burning in a sconce on one of the pil
lars. He peered through the ironwork, scanning the house – and immediately he knew. A light showed at a window on the ground floor: she was there, looking out for him, because she knew he would come.

  Stepping into full view before the gates, he stood motionless and waited. And in less than a minute, a door opened and a cloaked figure moved through the garden towards him. She reached the gate and stopped, putting a hand on the bars. For a moment neither of them spoke. In the semi-darkness he could barely see her face … He touched his hand to hers, taking her fingers around the cold iron. But to his surprise, she drew them away.

  ‘This is no glad reunion, Marbeck.’ Her voice was taut, controlled. ‘I have news for you, and when I’ve delivered it you should leave and not try to see me again.’

  He blinked. ‘Your father …?’ he began vaguely, but she cut him short.

  ‘He’s absent, else I could not come out here like this. I’m almost a captive.’ She shivered suddenly; the night was cold. Drawing her cloak about herself, she added: ‘No matter – it’s best this way.’

  ‘Best?’ He stared at her. ‘What can you mean? I know it’s a good while since I sought you out, but you know what I—’

  ‘It isn’t that.’

  She cut him off abruptly, avoiding his eye. Deliberately, he put his hand through the gate until finally – reluctantly, it seemed – she took it. He squeezed, but she did not respond.

  ‘So, have you tired of me at last?’ he asked quietly. ‘Or of this intelligencer’s life, which blights both of us? If it’s the latter, I’ve a mind to throw it over and—’

  ‘Oh, indeed – and how many times have you said so?’

  She was sharp, even bitter. He pressed forward, forcing her to look at him in the gloom. Finally, eyes shining in the torchlight, she met his gaze.

  ‘It’s too late in any case,’ she said at last, in a calmer voice. ‘I’ve taken this chance, while my father is away, to tell you what’s occurred since we last parted. The matter is, I’m to marry soon.’

  Marbeck was silent.

  ‘My husband-to-be is a lawyer – a widower, Richard Verney. He’s a good man: a neighbour, and a long-standing friend of our family. I’ll be mistress of my own home thereafter and put an end to this constant warring between my father and myself. It’s the best way … You must see that.’

  Still he said nothing. And when she spoke again it was too quickly, her words spilling over themselves in haste.

  ‘We’ll never have a life together! You live like a moon-man, riding who knows where, coming to me penniless and blooded like a beggar, as you did once at my sister’s. You claim you’ve never lied, but you would if the need arose – I’ve seen it in your face, even as you lay with me. The scars you carry, within and without … Fine swordsman or no, one day it’ll be your heart that’s pierced—’ She stopped, rather quickly, and pulled her hand away.

  ‘Well,’ he breathed. ‘It sounds to me as if you’ve been saving that speech up.’

  She made no reply.

  ‘This Richard Verney … A widower, you say?’

  ‘He’s without issue – is that what you were going to ask?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t …’ Taken aback by her sharpness, he stared, trying to frame questions; then it hit him. ‘You’re carrying my child.’

  She looked at the ground.

  ‘By the Christ … why did you not send word?’

  He sounded angry; though what he felt, with a rush, was a mix of emotions in which anger was but a minor element. Gripping the gate with both hands, he said: ‘You found me at that shambles of a bowling-house – you could have found me sooner! Do you think I wouldn’t have come to you? That I’d abandon you like a trull—’

  ‘Aye – perhaps I did!’ Fiercely, she looked up. ‘Have you ever used me otherwise? As you did the Lady Scroop – before she was widowed, and after – until she put an end to it? You, who could return to your family’s estate, marry and live like a gentleman, yet choose to court risks like a fool, matching wits with your enemies – what does it avail you? Answer me now, while you have this chance!’

  He shook his head, fumbling for an answer.

  ‘See – you cannot!’ Her tone was almost triumphant. ‘Since you ask, it was Gifford who told me where you lodged, before he went away – how else could I know? And while I speak of Gifford, what was I to you but his cast-off, to be passed on like a suit of clothes? Yet you’ve known me better than he did … known my most secret parts … I even thought …’

  Once again she stopped herself. She was as close to tears as Marbeck had ever known, which unsettled him almost as much as anything she’d said. But she spoke the truth, and both of them knew it. A bleakness rose inside him, borne of the knowledge of the past seventeen years, back when he had taken to the intelligencer’s life with relish. Now, at thirty-five, he was no longer that strutting youth … He swallowed and found the words.

  ‘I’ll do it – I swear. I’ll take you away, as far as you like … to the Indies, even. I’ll tell Levinus Monk he can go hang himself – him, and his crookback master, and the whole whoreson Council. And your father, too …’ He banged his fist on the gate, startling her. ‘Your father, and your upstanding husband-to-be – this widower he’s persuaded into taking you off his hands. How much is the dowry?’

  She caught her breath, but made no answer; why should she, when the facts were plain enough? His chest rising, he thrust his hand out again, seeking hers; to his surprise, she took it.

  ‘What else is there, Marbeck?’ she said, weary all of a sudden. ‘What other course do I have?’

  Her anger had drained away, and in silence they gazed at each other. Somewhere nearby a watchman called the hour; the ringing of his bell was as the clang of doom. When, for some reason, her eyes strayed to the gate that stood between them, Marbeck said: ‘We’ll leave now, if you like. You think I couldn’t pick a toy like this?’

  He fingered the iron padlock, and for a moment Meriel looked as if she would laugh. It was almost reminiscent of happier times … but she shook her head sadly.

  ‘You know it can’t be. I won’t fly like a fugitive. It may be my fancy, but of late I believe I’ve felt the child move. I will not endanger her.’

  ‘Her?’ His brow knitted. ‘How can you …?’

  ‘Call that my fancy, too. But Goody Joan says it’s a girl … our oldest servant, who’s given birth to seven of her own and claims she can tell. She’ll be my midwife, when I’m confined.’

  ‘But, how long do you think—?’ Feeling utterly helpless, Marbeck broke off.

  Meriel gave him her most brazen expression, letting him know that he could reckon the time well enough. ‘Three months,’ she answered finally. ‘It will show soon, and then everyone will know. Hence, Richard and I will marry within a month. The first banns have been read.’

  He let out a breath. ‘You’re resolved, then.’

  She gave no answer.

  ‘And you’re certain of this?’

  Their eyes locked, and for a fleeting moment his hopes rose … only to vanish at once. ‘I have to be,’ she replied. ‘I want a good life for the child, and for those who might follow her. They will never know they are different—’

  ‘What – so you too will lie, if need arises?’ His anger erupted again. ‘To your own children? Have you lied to Verney – no, of course you haven’t. Widowed and childless – he and your father have made a fitting arrangement, and all of you will keep to the tale. Heaven forbid that anyone should know your child’s true sire is a shiftless cove who serves their King in secret, for whatever payment he can wheedle out of the Council …’

  ‘Marbeck, for pity’s sake!’

  He stopped, suppressing a curse. She bit her lip, looking at him in anguish – and in that moment he knew her feelings for him had not changed; if anything, they were even deeper. A few women had loved him, but not as Meriel did. And none had conceived a child by him; he was as certain as he could be. He opened his mouth, then saw her shiver a
gain, quite violently this time.

  ‘You should go inside,’ was all he could say.

  She gave a nod and wrapped her cloak tightly about her. ‘Swear you will let it be,’ she said softly. ‘Whatever it costs you, it cannot be more than what it costs me. Swear now … I pray you.’

  But slowly he shook his head. ‘I can’t.’

  So she left him, swinging her body away without another word. Head down, she walked back through the gardens to her father’s house.

  He heard a door close, but didn’t move. Instead he stood at the gates, hands on the bars like some Newgate felon. Soon he saw the light in the downstairs room vanish and knew she had retired for the night. Perhaps the matron Goody Joan was her chamber companion now. One thing seemed clear enough: never again would Marbeck share her bed.

  He stayed there a while longer, long after the torch on the pillar had burned itself out. He heard a bellman call again, not knowing if it was the same one. Finally, numb with cold, he forced himself to turn away. In the pitch dark he walked off blindly, finding himself eventually in Aldgate Street, heading towards Cornhill.

  His fingers had lost all feeling, but he didn’t notice.

  THREE

  The skiff hit Parliament Stairs with a thud, prompting the waterman to let out an oath. Cursing his own clumsiness he swung the boat round, gripped the jetty post and threw an apologetic look at his passenger. ‘Your pardon …’Tis a fierce current today.’

  The boat lurched as Marbeck stood up, and he had to grip the gunwale as he fished out a coin. The waterman took it and touched his cap. ‘My thanks to you, sir … shall I wait for your return?’

  He shook his head and clambered on to the stairs, slippery with mould. The morning was cloudy, with an autumn damp that seeped through his clothes. Once on the pathway, with Westminster Abbey looming ahead, he made his way to the Old Palace Yard. The Whitehall village, a community in itself, was astir with Crown servants and military-looking men, some of whom looked keenly at him. But he walked briskly on, past the Jewel Tower, before turning a corner and stopping at a low door studded with square-headed nails. He knocked in the familiar pattern and went in.