The Last Protector

by Andrew Taylor

Here she is again. A wonder greater than my lady’s white bread roll. Truly, this is a day of wonders. She’s with the old man who met Master at Fulton’s. Old man clings to her arm. Her grandsire. Ferrus doesn’t know, doesn’t care.

  Another walks by her other side, towering over her. He wears a long brown coat (colour of old shit left to dry, Ferrus knows shit if nothing else). He has a stern, narrow face, and a long sword swinging by his side in an old sheath.

  Good day, Reeves, grandpa says.

  Master looks at the shit man. Who’s this, sir?

  A friend. As he speaks, grandpa trembles like a leaf in the wind. He’ll help us.

  No need for names among friends, says shit man.

  Don’t look like he has any friends, nor wants them neither.

  No matter.

  All that matters is her. No words for her.

  Ferrus breathes faster and faster. He can’t suck in enough air when she’s there. He drowns in her. There’s a chill in the air but he’s hot and sweaty. Something inside is about to burst from his mouth and explode into a flock of doves. Joy hurts.

  No words, but Ferrus can’t stop staring. She drags his eyes towards her.

  Her face is full of wonders. His eyes want to eat her up. He swallows a great lump in his throat.

  Pox take you. Master cuffs Ferrus’s ear, so hard that his head almost snaps off his shoulders. Stop mooning. Then – in the slithery voice he uses for his own masters, he says, Ferrus here is like the proverb, sirs. A woman, a dog and walnut tree. The more you beat him the better he be.

  Only Master laughs. He cuffs Ferrus again, but more gently this time, and this time Ferrus is ready for the blow, ready to fall without hurting himself.

  He looks up at the lady, upwards and slantwise through his lashes. Joy blazes like a bonfire. Oh, there are no words for her. Or for this thing inside him.

  Ferrus. the unnaturally thin, fish-faced man, was lying where he had fallen on the wet grass and staring at Cat. His eyes made her feel uncomfortable. There was a long, bloody scab on his forehead, perhaps the result of one of the stones that had hit him outside Fulton’s last week. His cap had fallen off, exposing a mass of dark, tangled hair streaked with grey. His twisted length lay still until Reeves kicked him back to life.

  That unsettled her in a different way. Pity was a dangerous emotion. Irritation was safer.

  ‘Enough of this foolery,’ Mr Veal said in his hard, grinding voice. ‘People are looking at us.’

  The Park was busier than it usually was in the early afternoon, partly because of the fine weather, and partly because of the holiday.

  ‘Well, Reeves,’ Mr Veal said, wrenching them back to the matter in hand. ‘How are matters at the Cockpit?’

  ‘The Duke of Albemarle’s in the country, sir, and half his servants are with him, and the other half are in town.’ He chuckled, and produced another proverb. ‘You know what they say, master – when the cat’s away, the mice will play.’

  Veal stared stonily at Reeves and said nothing in reply. Reeves looked away, the grin fading from his face.

  ‘You can get us inside without difficulty?’ Hakesby said.

  ‘Easiest thing in the world. But the servant will need something more in his palm, and maybe one or two of the gardeners.’

  ‘And if we’re challenged?’ Veal said.

  ‘I said you’re cousins up from the country, sir, if you pardon the liberty. It’s usual enough to show people the Great Garden and even the state apartments when the Duke’s not in residence. But not something you talk about, if you get my meaning.’

  ‘But most visitors don’t poke about in the sewers.’

  ‘Aye, sir, but it’s all taken care of.’ Reeves glanced down at a canvas bundle on the grass. ‘That’s my tools. I’ve said we’ve had reports of a blockage further down the run of the old sewer, so I need to send Ferrus down while I’m there with you.’

  Hakesby looked at Ferrus and wrinkled his nose. ‘Can you trust the fellow? Seeing him here, I have my doubts.’

  Ferrus wilted visibly in the face of the attention. He was taller and younger than Reeves, and with a far longer reach. Reeves was built like a badger, with great strength in his upper body and short, thick arms.

  ‘He won’t say a word, master, I told you that.’ Reeves prodded Ferrus, who recoiled. ‘In truth, you’re as dumb as a post, aren’t you?’

  Cat said, ‘Look. They’re here.’

  Elizabeth Cromwell was walking towards them along the ornamental water. She was arm in arm with Mistress Dalton. An elderly manservant trailed behind them.

  When Elizabeth saw Cat, she broke away from Mistress Dalton and ran towards her with hands outstretched. ‘Oh God be thanked,’ she said. ‘I feared you wouldn’t come.’

  Cat allowed herself to be embraced by Elizabeth’s soft, scented arms. I wouldn’t be here at all, she thought, but for my husband’s blind folly.

  ‘My father’s with Buckingham,’ Elizabeth whispered. She seized Cat’s hands and squeezed them. ‘They came for him in a coach yesterday evening and took him away. I’m so afraid that someone will betray him.’

  Hakesby bowed so low to Elizabeth that he almost fell forward. ‘Your servant, mistress. Did your father give you the directions? We can do nothing without them.’

  Elizabeth glanced at him and then back at Cat. ‘I’ll tell you. Privately.’

  She drew Cat aside. Mistress Dalton and her servant had stopped about fifty paces away from them and were staring at the ducks on the water.

  ‘You’re the only one I trust,’ Elizabeth said. ‘How can we be sure that those men won’t steal what they find?’

  ‘They won’t if I have anything to do with it.’ Cat glanced at the four men. ‘My husband would never cheat you or your father, I can vouch for that. The mazer scourer’s man will do as he’s told by his master. I don’t think there’s any malice in him. As for the mazer scourer, he’s greedy enough, but he’s being well paid already, and Veal will make him cautious. Veal’s a clergyman of sorts and he serves God and Buckingham. He may be a fanatic but I doubt he’s a thief.’

  Elizabeth looked over her shoulder at them. ‘I’ll tell you, and then I’ll leave you to decide how and when you tell them.’

  ‘And afterwards?’

  ‘It will be best if we come to you, I think, or send word to Henrietta Street about where to meet. This place is too public for us to linger. May God speed us all. I’ll go back to Mistress Dalton’s to wait, and pray. Come closer, Catty. Let me whisper in your ear.’

  The Duke of Albemarle’s footman allowed them to pass through the garden gate. He showed a studious lack of curiosity in their movements, turning aside to slip the coins Reeves had given him into his purse. If he thought that Reeves had a strange set of cousins from the country, he gave no sign. Nor did he seem surprised that Reeves intended to combine unblocking a sewer with showing visitors the Great Garden of the Cockpit. Once he had bolted the gate, he entered the lodging by a side door. He had not once looked at their faces.

  Hakesby peered about him. ‘It’s much changed. I barely recognize the place.’ Bewilderment spread across his face. ‘The garden was larger when I was last here. It was laid out quite differently.’

  Reeves walked quickly down a gravel path between hedges planted with box. Ferrus trailed behind, close as a shadow. Cat took her husband’s arm and drew him after them. Last of all came the slow, deliberate footsteps of Mr Veal.

  It was unexpectedly warm, for the garden was sheltered and faced south. The Duke of Albemarle’s lodging was a sprawling place dominated by the octagonal bulk of the Cockpit itself to the north. Most of the apartments that faced the garden were newly built, or at least equipped with modern facades to match the new work. The big windows reflected back the sun. It was all too easy to imagine there might be watchers on the other side of the glass.

  Reeves reached the range of buildings along the south side of the garden. These were lower pitched than the rest, and partially screen
ed by trees and a high hedge.

  ‘Where’s he going?’ Hakesby asked in a voice that was almost a wail.

  ‘Hush,’ Cat said, pointing to the right-hand end of the range. ‘I think the old kitchen garden must have been over there. Near that door.’

  Reeves glanced furtively over his shoulder and raised the latch of the door. The others followed him down a short flight of steps into a long, poorly lit chamber. Apart from two small and heavily barred openings near the ceiling, the only light came from the doorway. Hakesby stumbled over a roll of canvas on the floor. He would have fallen if Cat had not caught his arm and steadied him.

  Veal was the last to enter. The ceiling was so low that he could not stand to his full height.

  ‘Leave the door ajar, sir,’ Reeves said. ‘We need the light to see.’

  ‘What’s all this rubbish?’ Veal said.

  A bust of a man wearing a laurel wreath glimmered in the gloom, next to a column made of wood that had at some point in the past been painted to resemble stone. A pair of faded cherubs floated in the centre of a sky-blue screen pockmarked with holes; it looked as if someone had stabbed it frequently but unsystematically with a sword.

  Reeves glanced over his shoulder. ‘It came from the old theatre, sir.’

  ‘What theatre?’

  ‘They used the Cockpit for plays. Back in the old king’s time.’

  ‘Works of the devil,’ Veal said. ‘Where’s this sewer?’

  ‘Over here.’ Reeves tugged at the screen. ‘Ferrus? Take the other end. Not like that. Push, you poxy dolt.’

  Between them they manoeuvred the screen to one side, exposing a dusty wooden hatch set in the floor. In its centre was an iron ring. Without waiting for orders, Ferrus unstrapped the bundle he had carried down with him, took out a crowbar and pushed it through the ring. He levered up the hatch, grunting with effort, and slid it to one side across the floor. A waft of foul air drifted upwards.

  ‘Smells better than I expected.’ Reeves sniffed, as if to prove the point. ‘Almost sweet.’ He glanced at Hakesby. ‘I told you, sir – the new mazer takes most of it from here. Just as well for us, eh?’

  Hakesby squeezed Cat’s arm. ‘Tell him then, tell Reeves where to find what we’re here for.’ His voice sharpened. ‘And hurry.’

  ‘I won’t go down myself, sir, if you don’t mind. Not if it ain’t necessary, and me in my holiday clothes and all.’ Reeves nudged his assistant. ‘Ferrus can follow instructions, can’t you?’ He nudged him again. ‘And you can go places I can’t, eh?’

  Ferrus shrank away.

  ‘He’s not as stupid as he looks,’ Reeves said. ‘He understands a good deal, especially about sewers and what’s in them, as long as you speak clearly and don’t take any nonsense.’

  Cat removed Hakesby’s fingers from her arm. She moved closer to Ferrus, closer to the smell of him, and the competing smell that rose from the dark square among the flagstones. ‘It’s all right,’ she said, as if soothing a dog or a child.

  For the first time he looked directly at her, with his left eye at least, for the other stared somewhere over her shoulder.

  ‘Down in the mazer, you must go that way.’ She pointed south, away from the Cockpit and the main apartments of the lodging attached to it. ‘For about twenty paces. As you go, look at the brick courses on the left-hand side at the height of about two feet.’ Again she used her hand, this time her left, to show her meaning, measuring the height against her body. ‘Look for a brick with a mark like this.’ She crouched and drew with her forefinger in the dust on the hatch: xXx. ‘Three crosses, and mark this: the one in the middle is much bigger than the others. They’re not scratched, either – they are cut into the brick with a chisel. You understand?’

  Ferrus nodded. Meanwhile Reeves crouched to unroll the bundle. There was a scrape of flint on steel. He cupped his hands and blew on the tinder. The spark caught almost at once, and a wavering flame glowed behind his fingers.

  ‘When you find the brick,’ Cat went on, ‘Count three bricks further on’ – she held up three fingers – ‘and then two up from there’ – she held up two more fingers – ‘and scrape out the mortar from around that brick and the one above. It should come out easily. Take out the bricks. And bring us what you find in the hole behind them.’

  She repeated the instructions slowly. She watched the muscles twitching in his cheeks. It was as if he were chewing the meaning of what she was saying, as a preliminary to digesting it.

  ‘Do you understand?’ she said.

  He smiled at her, his face splitting in two, and nodded.

  Reeves lit a candle from the flame, nursed it for a moment and set it within a small iron-framed lantern. He handed it to Ferrus, along with an iron spike. ‘Dig out the mortar with that. Off you go.’ He put his face very near the other man’s. ‘Don’t fail us, will you? You know what that means.’ He gave him a push. ‘Go.’

  Ferrus slipped away and slithered into the shaft leading to the sewer. Cat stepped closer and watched. He was letting himself down slowly, feeling for the footholds cut into the brick, and holding on to a vertical iron rail fixed into the wall of the shaft. The floor of the sewer was six or seven feet below the level of the flagstones above. The light from the lantern glinted on moisture. Ferrus glanced up at her. For an instant she thought he was still smiling, but that seemed so improbable that she dismissed it as a trick of the light.

  Crouching, he moved slowly out of sight. She straightened up. Below them, Ferrus’s dragging footsteps grew fainter.

  No one spoke. Reeves glanced towards the door. Frowning, Hakesby picked at something invisible on his sleeve. Veal stood apart from them, his face expressionless. Cat wondered why he – or his master Buckingham – had thought it necessary for him to be here at all. It was Richard Cromwell that mattered to Buckingham, not whatever valuables that old Mistress Cromwell might have concealed before they ejected her from the Cockpit nearly nine years ago.

  Veal cocked his head. ‘Someone’s coming.’

  Even as he spoke, Cat heard the crunch of running footsteps on the gravel. Veal’s hand fell to the hilt of his sword and he drew back behind the screen. Hakesby began to tremble violently. Reeves swore under his breath.

  The footman appeared in the doorway. ‘Get out. Now.’

  ‘What?’ Reeves took a step towards him. ‘Why?’

  ‘Castlemaine’s coming to walk in the Duke’s garden. She doesn’t like to be overlooked, not when she has a mind to be private. You must go. Quick.’

  Veal emerged from behind the screen. ‘Very well.’

  He took Hakesby by the arm and urged him towards the door. Reeves followed. The footman was already outside.

  ‘But Ferrus?’ Cat said.

  ‘Leave him be,’ Reeves said as he left. ‘He probably won’t show himself, and if he does, he won’t say a thing.’

  ‘Run,’ the footman called. ‘I can hear my lady at the gate.’

  Cat turned and crouched over the hatchway. ‘Ferrus? Can you hear me? You’re to stay down there for a while, and keep very quiet, until Mr Reeves comes back and calls you.’

  She heard faint, moist scuffling somewhere down in the darkness. She stood up and walked quickly towards the cellar door, which was still open. She stopped abruptly on the step below the threshold. A woman was talking angrily outside.

  The doorway of the cellar could be seen from much of the garden. Cat’s escape was cut off. She assumed the others had had time to escape into the Park, but if she went outside now, she would probably be seen. She dared not run the risk. Besides, the gate to the Park might have been bolted again.

  Even closing the cellar door was out of the question, because Lady Castlemaine might hear the sound of the latch or see the door moving. Cat retreated into the cellar. She had no other choice. She skirted the open hatchway and slipped behind the screen.

  If she peered through one of the holes in the screen, she had a view of the doorway. Her pulse was beating rapidly but she
told herself there was no need to panic if she kept quiet. After all, there was no reason why Lady Castlemaine or her companions would come in here. Even if someone came to the doorway and looked in, Cat was hidden from sight.

  The woman’s voice was becoming louder and, by the sound of it, angrier. ‘How can you treat me so?’

  A man answered, his voice low and soothing. Cat could not make out his words but the couple could not be far from the door.

  ‘It’s abominable!’ the woman screeched. ‘Such a small thing to ask.’

  The voices continued, lower in volume, first hers then his. Cat’s mouth was dry. They must move away in a moment, she thought, for this end of the garden was in shadow; they would grow chilly if they lingered.

  Suddenly there was a new sound, or rather a multitude of them: something came running into the cellar; claws scrabbled on stone and brick; then barking, high and excited, and snuffling; and the creak of the hinges, the clatter of the door against the wall and a man’s voice shouting, ‘Devil take you – come here, you little rascals.’

  She saw the man then, through the hole in the screen, a tall, ugly gentleman with a thin moustache and a black peruke. He was dressed in a long shabby coat.

  If the woman is my Lady Castlemaine, then this man—?

  Cat saw one of the dogs, too, a fluffy spaniel wreathing around his master’s legs, and still barking frantically. As she watched, it ran down the steps into the cellar, where the other dogs were scurrying about.

  ‘Pray be quiet, Barbara, you’ve excited these poor dogs beyond all reason with your chatter. Now I’m obliged to hunt for them down here.’

  Cat wriggled across the floor and dangled her legs into the shaft of the sewer. She found the handrail and swung herself on to her belly, feeling for a foothold. With luck, the noise of the dogs would cover the sounds she was making.

  ‘Here, damn you,’ the man shouted, though he sounded more amused than angry. ‘Jollyboy! Dido! Flurry! By God, it stinks like a cesspool in here.’

  The hatch was too heavy for her to move back in place, over her head, even if she could have done it without making a noise. She would have to leave the shaft open.