I woke in my house, and this time I could yawn, stretch, and feel moderately at ease for a while. I had no fear of officers appearing to arrest me, because I had received an assurance from the queen, via Cardinal Pole, that she would write a pardon for me and ensure that it was sent to the relevant authorities so that I would be free once more of any suspicion. The idea of renewing the acquaintance of the repellent turnkey at Aldgate was deeply unappealing, as you can imagine.
Raphe and Cecily appeared almost glad to see me return. Hector even sat at my side and placed a paw on my thigh while I ate, and although I snapped at him for form’s sake, he almost swaggered away as though recognizing that this morning I was all bark and no bite.
Cecily had grown a little less harsh in her judgement of me, and she appeared to be grateful that I permitted her and Raphe to enjoy themselves. I had enough experience of the harder realities of life, after all, and the pair of them did seem suited. She had a good brain, and was organized and efficient at cooking and maintaining the house to a good standard – and he was obedient to her wishes and instructions. The two appeared to be on good terms, which lent my house a cheerful atmosphere, and I was glad of that. When I had broken my fast, Raphe was quick to clear away the dirty crocks and indicate that he had lit a fire in my small hall, and set out a jug of wine ready for me.
I did wonder briefly why they were being so obliging and considerate – it was not their usual approach to their master – but as soon as I was seated in my chair with a wine in my hand, all thoughts of them dissipated like morning fog on a river.
Perhaps I should have been interested in why Blount had been so keen that Humfrie should assassinate de Vere, but just then it was of little concern to me. Blount rarely told me why this person or that must be killed: he merely gave his orders and I passed them on to Humfrie. At least this once he had cut out the middleman. I only hoped it would not become a recurrent policy of his. Humfrie was cheaper than my retainer, after all.
It was at least reassuring to have heard that Blount had been seeking me. Mayhap he felt now that I was a useful employee, not one to be discarded lightly? I was not foolish enough to think that Blount had sought me out because he missed my company, or from any loyalty or friendship. That was too much to hope for.
But no, my mind was more firmly fixed on Bagnall and his troll. Who was this Bagnall, and why had he confronted me with his warning to the queen?
Obviously Bagnall was operating some devious scheme of his own; plainly he had some form of antipathy towards Sir Edmund, which explained why he sought to have the knight removed. So, what was his motivation? Did Bagnall consider de Vere a rival? A rival, perhaps, in politics? Bagnall was, he declared, a loyal subject of the queen, and sought only to bring Sir Edmund’s betrayal to her ears. But he also worked for Boxall. What did that mean? He was determined to flout the Spaniard’s desire to control the throne, from all he had said, but was there some other design behind that? I could not tell, and it was that which exercised my aching head.
After all, no man with sense would want to bring about the threat of war again. And if de Vere was keen to remove the queen’s heir and replace him with a Spaniard: that did not sound well to many English minds – Blount or Lady Elizabeth, for two. It was one thing for an English-born and raised boy to ascend to the throne, but something very different to just pass it over to a Spaniard. Of course, the Spaniard was the boy’s father, so should be a less appalling regent – so long as he didn’t try to retain power for too long. But de Vere had a rational concern, it had seemed to me, that the Spanish, once holding the throne, would keep it for themselves, whereas Bagnall appeared to want to ensure that the boy himself took it and held it without foreign interference. Well, that made sense to me.
Of course, it depended on whether he lived long enough to get his arse on the throne. Which also depended on whether Queen Mary gave birth to a boy at all. Going on past experience, it was quite possible that she would not.
I pulled a face. It was too much for me. I had saved the queen, apparently – and the rest of us – from a fresh civil war, and that was good to know. The realm was safe. Lady Elizabeth was safe, and that meant my own position here in London was hopefully secure, sheltered under her protection.
In my parlour again, and settling back in my seat before the fire, another thought struck me: what if Bagnall was working on his own behalf, not that of Boxall? Was he a rival for some other reason? I had considered briefly the idea that he might have perceived de Vere as a rival in love.
And suddenly it all slipped into position like a well-carved mortise and tenon. Bagnall thought of de Vere as a competitor for the affection of some woman, and decided to dispose of him so he could enjoy his lover in peace. That was possible, but unlikely. I mean to say, which young wench would think of a scrawny fellow like Bagnall, when she had a hale, hearty, wealthy suitor like de Vere as an alternative? Love is blind, or so I’ve heard it said, but women aren’t. A large house, multiple servants, small castle in Kent, or a tatterdemalion like Bagnall? I knew which any woman would choose. It was like comparing me with Bagnall. A ridiculous comparison, obviously. I had not only the wealth, the looks, the brains and …
That was when my gaze focused on the fire with a sudden, searing realization. Bagnall – he knew about Alice. Did he view me as a competitor for her favours? Had this whole matter been dreamed up by him in order to destroy me? Because Alice rejected him, preferring me, naturally, had he lost his temper and, in a rage, slain her out of hand? And then he sent me to the queen’s palace to see me thrown in gaol or executed …
No. He had the second giant with him. He would only have needed to give the order and my life would have been ended. It was foolishness. I was speculating on the impossible. It was pointless. I must put all this death and destruction behind me.
However, I did still have to discover what I could do to bring more money into my coffers. I had a small purse of gratitude from the queen for my services to her, but it was a niggardly amount, and not enough to maintain my household for long.
I had to evict Vanderstilt’s servant and find a new tenant. But then it occurred to me that while Peter was there, the place was being cleaned and maintained. It meant I could keep up appearances, and as soon as there was a new tenant, I could let the place with the minimum of fuss. I could easily have the house rented, especially since the servant Peter could be offered with the building itself.
That, I was sure, was the best option for me. Keep the house looking like a place that was lived in, and as soon as a new tenant appeared, I could either throw the old man from the place, or sell him along with it. It was the perfect scenario.
I would go and make sure he agreed. Sometimes servants can be uppity and difficult, especially foreign ones, but I was certain that this man would welcome the opportunity of remaining in a comfortable house, especially since it offered the possibility of employment in the future, and especially since any new owner, I would make sure, would be an Englishman. As a Dutchman, he must be grateful to be saved from working for another Amsterdammer.
No more Dutchmen for me. As far as I knew, Vanderstilt had been murdered by a fellow countryman. These foreign fellows are often so quick to anger, and all they think of is revenge and feuds. They are not stable and cultured like we English.
Besides, I could mix a visit to my old house with a quick look in at Susan Appleby’s – and ideally arrange another meeting with her.
The thought of a fresh bout with Susan was enough to put a spring in my step that morning, and I took up my favourite cane, a necessary precaution after the injury to my buttock (I wished I had made more of that injury in the service of the queen when I had seen the Cardinal; he might have seen fit to increase my reward) before setting off. I wore my sword and dagger, but for today I had left my handgun behind. That had been retrieved from de Vere’s saddle bags, and it was good to wear it again on the ride back to London, but it was a heavy tool to carry when going to meet a friend like Susan, and I had enough weaponry about me without it. Besides, when it dangled from my belt, the barrel would keep striking the wound in my buttock. It hurt.
I was wearing an old, dark-green suit of clothes with red piping and matching hat and breeches, and I have to admit, I cut a fine figure as I made my way through bustling streets, damning the clumsy fools who barged into me and once, nearly, knocked me into the main street itself. A dog flew past me, striking my knee, and almost made me fall into a pile of ordure, but I recovered myself, and ignored the sniggers of some nearby onlookers including two brats of low class who stood barefoot watching the crowds.
Continuing on my way, I was aware of a heightened sense of anticipation. Obviously any man wandering through the streets of London will have a degree of concern for his safety. Usually it is a simple matter of a fellow knowing that the people about him included a number of expert dippers who would thrust a hand into a prominent purse and hoick out all the coins they may, or simply cut the purse strings and take the whole lot. Today, having seen the two urchins, I was sure that my natural instincts were warning me against their predations. I walked nearer the houses, my ears straining for the sound of bare feet on the cobbles. If I had been them, I would have had one dart past me quickly, rushing on ahead, while the other dawdled a little. Then, at an opportune moment, one or the other would cause a mild disturbance, and in the midst of the reaction, the second would snatch his pelf.
I was ready for them. I saw the first quickly move ahead of me, and it was done so smoothly and professionally, I never saw him so much as glance in my direction. Then he was past, and I had gripped my purse more firmly in my left hand, my right hand on my dagger.
It didn’t take long in coming. I was only able to take six more paces before I knew the lad was there. I whirled, fast as a striking feline, and found myself not staring at the face of a short, alarmed, beggarly thief, but the belt buckle of a man. When I turned my gaze upwards, I realized it was the troll once more.
It was enough to make me groan.
Now, as you know, I had been thinking about these two – the troll and Perkin Bagnall – and had not yet reached a firm conclusion about their interest in me, nor their reasons for wanting to see Sir Edmund destroyed. However, I was perfectly certain that whatever it was they wanted, it was likely not to be to my taste.
I have a simple rule of thumb in such situations, as I had demonstrated before in the matter of being chased on the way to my renewal of affectionate relations with Susan last time, and I was no more keen today to become embroiled in Bagnall’s schemes. However, the troll was impervious to discussion, and although I did think of fleeing, the pain in my buttock, not to mention my headache, meant flight would be troublesome. Rather than a gallop, all I would manage would be a rapid hobble, and I didn’t think that would be adequate to escape even a brute as slow as this fellow. Meanwhile, although I carried a stick, I felt sure that it must break over his head without making any sort of impression, and that would leave me without my favourite stick, and confronted by a furious troll. I could draw my sword, but his leathery hide would probably blunt it. Or, more likely, I would strike a blow that would only serve to enrage him. Killing quickly with a sword takes more skill than I possessed.
I decided to go with him.
At least it was not a long journey.
Perkin Bagnall was sitting in a comfortable, high-backed settle by a fire in the Dog and Fox, a pleasant enough little tavern just a short distance from Cheapside, and when I saw him, I marched to him, sat at his side, took up his cup and sank half its contents. I refilled it from the blackjack on the table and turned an enquiring eye to him.
‘I do not have time to spend all my days with you, Bagnall. I am a busy man, and I do not appreciate interruptions every hour. If you want me, you can send a note to me at my house, and not waylay me.’
‘My apologies, Master Blackjack,’ he said with an infuriatingly deferential manner. He appeared and sounded so meek, I was forced to lift my chin slightly and look down on him. It’s best always to let such people know their own place in the world, and this fellow was several levels below mine.
‘Well?’
‘I understand you was successful stopping the knight from launching his attempt at rebellion?’
‘Of course.’
‘That is good. Interestin’ you could do that. I ’ad to ask around about you. And I started hearing that Sir Edmund might not ’ave been your first – well, job, as it was. Of course, now there are other matters which require your attention.’
‘Such as what? I doubt you have any issues that concern me!’
‘Oh, but I do, sir. You see, Sir Edmund might not have been the only schemer.’
‘I know. He had accomplices up and down the country.’
‘Yes … and there might be others, an’ all. Men who’d want to have the other religion foisted on the kingdom again. Old King Henry’s new church.’
‘Who?’
‘That’s the thing, you see. De Vere was trying to protect her heir and Church against other forces, and that was why he had the weapons collected. I suspect Cardinal Pole will soon realize there’re others determined to bring back the Church of England. And you stopped de Vere from protecting the Catholic faith, you see. It would be grim, if he decided to bring some form of punishment down on your head.’
I stared at the poltroon and wondered how hard I would have to stab him to silence him forever. Yes, I am not a natural-born murderer, I know, but there are times when even I can be moved to violence. Still …
‘What are you talking about? He wanted to wrest power from government. You told me so!’
‘Yes,’ Bagnall agreed, toying with his cup. ‘But, you see, he was working for other people. These people wanted to ensure that the queen was secure in her position, and that, when she died, her full authority would be maintained by her husband and his associates. They wanted to make sure that her child was recognized as king, under a regent with the full power and authority necessary.’
‘Who would that be?’ I asked, trying to follow his reasoning.
‘The King, of course.’
I shrugged. ‘That is what De Vere told me, but you said that he was seeking the throne to sell it.’
‘But you killed him,’ Bagnall said.
There was an unsettling look of admiration on his face. I didn’t like that.
He continued, ‘Yes. The boy will be his son, and the birth of the young king may well mean the end of the queen’s life, but that would not prevent his inheriting his throne. And with his father protecting him, he would be secure. Secure as any Spanish bastard!’
‘But …’ I could feel a huge lump of ice forming in my belly at this news.
‘Yes, my apologies. I may have midguided you,’ he said with a movement of his lips that was more a sneer than a smile.
‘You mean … you say that I killed the man who was protecting the queen’s legacy? He was raising an army to protect her son? With the help of the Spanish? I thought he was trying to overthrow her!’
‘Please, keep your voice down, Master Blackjack. We don’t want others to take an interest in us, do we?’ he said with a sly little smile.
‘But you mean I’ve …’ I stopped. I was too appalled to be able to express myself.
‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully, finishing the last of the wine. ‘You’re in a troublesome situation, master. Of course, you can protect yourself. Perhaps I can help. I work for those who’d prefer not to have a Spanish prince rule our country, whether he be called king or regent. Titles ain’t my concern. What me and my friends want is the future of the realm. Like you.’
‘Your friends like Master John Boxall, I suppose?’ I said, and was rewarded with a nod of admiration.
‘So, you’ve been learning about me, too.’
‘I have good reason to know who you are,’ I said. My mind was wandering along several deeply unpleasant pot-holed paths just now, and all of them appeared to end up in Tom’s undercroft with a burning brazier and collection of pincers and brands and hammers. ‘What does Boxall want?’
‘Perhaps the same as the queen. If she has an heir, it is possible she will need a regent to protect the boy. But the queen has shown signs of motherhood and giving birth before, of course.’
‘She has been unlucky,’ I said loyally.
‘Either that, or God ’as marked her for ’er sins,’ this worthy stated. And now his eyes took on a hard edge and he leaned forward to me, his voice low and hard. ‘But the country needs a strong man to rule. Not a Spaniard, an Englishman, someone who can control the barons and keep the population under control. A man who can take back Calais and the empire for the English crown.’
‘Who?’ I said, bewildered. ‘If the queen does die, surely her sister would take the crown?’
‘Ah, well, of course, it’d be better if Lady Elizabeth was not in the way.’
‘Yes, I suppose,’ I said, and then gaped as his words and his tone struck home. ‘You mean you want someone to kill my Lady Elizabeth?’
‘Your voice, master. Keep it down. That would certainly be a task o’ great service, yes. And not a difficult one for a man so experienced in such affairs,’ he added with a sly little smirk. ‘You’ve murdered Sir Edmund, after all. But yes. I’m a devoted supporter of the queen and her heir. We don’t want Spaniards coming and running our kingdom. But Elizabeth, she’s a constant threat to the queen’s line. Just like Lady Jane Grey was. She has to be taken off the board so she doesn’t threaten our queen any more.’
I could have stabbed him there and then. But the fact is, I would still have to contend with his troll, and I did not feel able to fight against him as well.
‘You know,’ he said thoughtfully as he rose to his feet. ‘I thought at first you was just a pipsqueak of a pocket-dipper. I was going to blackmail you to keep your past secret. And then I realized you was a bit more valu’ble. That’s how you got your money and your big houses. So now, you see, I think we can come to a decent arrangement, like.’
It was a deeply pensive Jack who walked from the tavern some little while later, and all the way, uppermost in my mind was the fact that I had to leave London. I could not think of harming Lady Elizabeth or anyone, and the idea that I should be considered suitable assassin material by yet another man was appalling. How could I escape?
Like an old mare who has lost her rider, I allowed my feet to take me where they wanted without thinking, and it was only when I stood outside my old house, opposite the Applebys’ dwelling, that I realized I had walked in the wrong direction.
I did not wish to sit down with the steward of Vanderstilt and discuss the options I had set out for him. No, better by far to leave those talks for another time. However, it was still possible that I might have an opportunity to speak with Susan and, just then, a supportive feminine ear was what I craved. Someone who could listen to me without the encumbrance of political interest or other irrelevancies. And perhaps offer some physical condolences after all my trials.
When I knocked at her door, it was a while before I could hear the steward’s steps in the hallway. He was ever lackadaisical when I knocked, and I wondered whether it was his reaction to me alone, or whether it was his usual inept effort. He was a most incompetent servant, in my opinion. I would have dispensed with his services – but then again, I still suffered under the inefficient and laggardly Raphe, so perhaps I was no better than Susan and Saul.
‘Master,’ he said, without mentioning my name. He was that sort of insulting churl who enjoyed limiting his politeness, as if my name was beneath his contempt. I knew why, of course. He was one of those types who always feels jealousy in the presence of a man like me, who possesses money, status, and the ability to impress women.
‘Where is your mistress?’
‘Out.’
Not even a vestige of politeness. Just a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth as though giving me as little information as possible was the highlight of his day. ‘Ah, then I can enter and wait,’ I said.
‘No, master. It would be a poor servant who would allow strangers into his master’s hall. Without Master Appleby’s permission, I cannot let you in.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! You know me well enough!’
‘Aye, I know you very well, Jack Blackjack!’ he said, and this time there was a snarl in his voice that quite shook me.
I retreated a pace or two. Not, of course, from any fear of being struck, but because it would be unseemly for a gentleman to engage in a brawl with a vagabond like him in the street. I gave him a haughty frown, mentioned that I would be sure to discuss his rudeness with his mistress and master, and was somewhat disappointed to see that he gave an even more disdainful grimace and advised me to do so.
‘I know what you have been doing with the mistress,’ he said.
Now, often when I have heard words of that nature, I have been inclined to treat them with the scorn that they deserve. However, it was true that, first, I had been enjoying the companionship of his mistress at various inns about the city; second, that I had been suspected of that before, by Saul, her husband; and third, that the previous time I had been threatened with death and other very dire and potentially painful punishments as a direct result of Saul’s discovering and paying two henchmen to bring condign justice upon me. I had, by dint of hard effort and quick talking, managed to persuade him that he was entirely mistaken, and indeed deluded in considering me to be so disgraceful in my behaviour, and in thinking his wife so faithless and disloyal. My words had worked their magic on him, and he had ended by apologizing profusely, but that did not mean that all his suspicions had been eradicated. I knew all too well that a man’s doubts, once established, can all too often be rekindled.
That being so, I attempted to mollify this miserable excuse for a man.
‘Come, now, I have done nothing but enjoy the company of an intelligent and witty woman. You are fortunate to have such a kind, understanding mistress.’
‘Oh, aye. I know how kind she is to you!’
Now this was the point at which my concern grew into a definite, focused alarm. Yes, of course I had valid reason to be worried. If Saul were to discover that I had indeed been playing sheath the dagger with his wife, he would be justifiably annoyed. And a small amount of annoyance in the mind of a wealthy London fellow like him could all too easily translate into copious quantities of money paid out to lowly churls who would be more than happy to spend their time investigating the inner workings of a Blackjack body.
‘I don’t know what you mean!’ I said hotly. ‘But were you to tell such untruths to your master, it would not benefit you. I would ensure that your lady’s good name was defended properly, and such lies and calumnies denied!’
‘I know all about you, Master Blackjack,’ he said with that same, nasty tone. I was willing to bet he had no idea what my professional occupation was, but that was by the by. ‘You are a foul womanizer, swiving my mistress, cuckolding my master, and all the while seeking out other female prey. Oh, yes, I know all about the wench up near the gate. And when I tell my mistress, do you think she’ll want to have more to do with you?’
It was plain to me that he was talking about poor Alice. ‘I have no idea what you mean, fellow! What woman, what prey?’
‘A maid. You know whom I mean, I’ll warrant! The poor maid who died only a few days past, and who …’ He gave a nasty smile. ‘Oh, yes. I know about the poor maid who was killed. And no one has been caught for her execution yet. But one man had been swiving her regular, hadn’t he? You!’
‘How did you come to … to think this? It is untrue, and a terrible slander on my nature! You must have been told this – who told you such an invention? Who could have persuaded you that I was such a man?’
‘Your secret is not so secret! I was told by a man who knew you, and I was happy to give him your new address,’ the fellow said.
‘Then he must have been the murderer!’ I exclaimed. ‘Why would I slaughter a maid I was enjoying!’
A fleeting uncertainty crossed his face. A passing thought had assailed him – surely a rare and inconvenient occurrence for the miserable peasant – and another had come to me.
‘Who was this man? What did he look like?’
Really, I dislike demeaning people, or putting them down, but this was a different matter. This man had risked my life, and was prepared to do so again. My life, my home – everything could be at risk. It was insupportable. ‘Who told you?’ I said again.
He gave another of his slyly contemptuous little smiles, and this time I had endured, I felt, more than enough.
I pulled out my sword and set the point on his throat. Even as his eyes widened in quick terror, I pushed my way inside the house.
I was not of a mood for lengthy inquisition. I kicked him hard on the shin, and he squeaked and fell backwards in pain as I slammed the door behind me. ‘Speak, and speak quickly!’ I commanded with the authority vested in me by virtue of the two and a half feet of steel held unwavering at his throat.
It has often been said that I have a masterful nature about me, but rarely have I had such a speedy response. In my own time I have had moments of – well, not fear, of course, but of needful reflection, when others have held knives or swords at my throat. It is a time for careful consideration, I have always felt.
He fell back, his horror all too evident. There was a soggy sort of sound, and from a glance at his hosen, I could see that he had successfully emptied his bladder. I held the blade to his nose, and he was transfixed by the sight of the blue-grey steel. A faint gibbering sound came from him.
‘I will say this once again. Your mistress is an honourable woman, and I am too. No, I’m a decent man, I mean! Stop your caterwauling and tell me, who said to you that I was having an affair with her or with Alice?’
‘It was the man. He came here to ask me about you.’
‘I thank you for that. So you were happy to send a murderer to destroy me!’ I said, and I confess that when I spoke my face must have betrayed my anger, for his registered sheer panic. He was convinced I was about to push my weapon into him – and in truth, I am not sure I wouldn’t.
It is not a lack of gentlemanly reserve that drove me to such an extreme, but simply the anger that he had put me in danger. That kind of behaviour is unforgivable. My life could have been ended, and this dreg from a filthy privy must have known that.
‘Who was it?’ I hissed from between my teeth, and he began to talk, exceedingly swiftly.
I listened dumbfounded, for there was no doubt who he was describing. A slight man, with two enormous guards behind him – it had to be Perkin Bagnall and his (then) two trolls. If they had meant me harm, I could have died. And this useless imitation of a steward would have been responsible. I swear, it is good fortune that I was not holding my pistol, because in my anger I could have pulled the trigger there and then by accident. As it was, I was tempted to thrust with my sword.
But my good sense and better manners came to his rescue.
‘You should be grateful that I am a gentleman,’ I said, and I think my chilly tone was cutting. He cowered back once more. ‘I will let you live, for now! But if I hear of any insinuations or … or other things you’ve been saying about your mistress – or me – I will be back. I will find you, and you will not escape my vengeance again. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes, master.’
‘Good!’ I said, and carefully removed the blade from his throat, thrusting it home into the scabbard with a flourish. ‘I shall be gone now, but remember, I know everyone in this street. I will hear if any rumours or gossip are being spread about me and my business.’
‘Yes, master.’
I walked from the house and into the street. About to return homewards, I stopped. On a whim, I crossed the way and knocked on my own door. There was a period during which I began to swear about the laziness of the modern class of servant, no matter how successful the master of the house. It was definitely not a day for knocking on doors even here, in this moderately exclusive street. First the fool at Susan’s home, and now my own old doorway was closed and barred to me. All because of bone-idle servants.
At last the bottler, Peter, appeared in the doorway, and now he stood gazing at me blankly, as though he had never seen me before.
I pushed past him, and walked into my small parlour, where I took my seat and beckoned him to follow me. He cast an apparently worried look towards the kitchen, but then he obediently followed me inside. ‘Sir?’
‘There is still no sign of your master?’
‘No, master,’ he said with obvious anxiety. Well, any servant losing a master must be fearful, knowing he might be evicted at any moment.
‘Don’t worry. I am come to offer you a home here for as long as necessary. I will pay you,’ I added. This fellow was a foreigner, after all, and they’re always glad of some good, English coin. ‘In return, you will keep this house clean and tidy, understand? While you do that, you may continue to live here.’
Well, I was rather expecting effusive gratitude, but in that I was to be disappointed. Still, I suppose since he was a Hollander, it was only to be expected. The magnificence of my offer, since he must know I could throw him from my door at a moment’s notice, clearly bowled him over. He was thrilled to be allowed to remain, I suppose. In any case, he merely nodded at me, his gaunt, greying features betraying nothing except the sort of understandable nervousness before an important man like me.
‘That is settled, then. Good. Now, if you do a good job, when the new tenant arrives, I shall recommend you to him. So, you see, you have every incentive to keep the house clean and tidy. Yes?’
He nodded again, and I was left with the thought that this fellow was actually quite a fool. Maybe he had suffered from a blow to his head as a child, or maybe he was just the village’s son whom they were most glad to be rid of. For whatever the reason, he continued to stare at me as if overwhelmed.
‘Well, if that is agreeable, get to your task,’ I said. His clothing, I noted, was still shabby, and the dirt remained on his hosen. ‘But have your clothing cleaned, too. You should clean your hosen after gardening. You look a mess. Do you have fresh clothing? Have those things washed and change into something else. Appearances matter, you know.’
I was left with the firm conviction that I had made a good choice.
The man did seem to be several sticks short of a bundle, but that was all one to me, provided that he kept up his side of our agreement. So long as he was assiduous and kept the place tidy, that was the important thing. And, of course, I had made a good bargain, bearing in mind I had made no firm commitment to the sum of money on offer to him. That was something I could argue about later, if he dared bring it up. We had no contract, there was no sum of money on which we had shaken hands – and if he tried to sue me, what would he achieve? I was a London gentleman, and he was a mere penniless foreigner.
It was easy to see whom the magistrate would trust.
Yes, I felt good, and demanded a jug of wine. That way I could consider more about Bagnall and the danger he posed to me. The more I considered him, the more I became convinced that I must warn Blount about him. If John Blount was to learn that Bagnall was threatening Lady Elizabeth, he would likely ensure that such a danger was removed.
The only issue I could see was that he would likely order me to be the engine of removal.
I had just reached this unhappy conclusion when I decided to leave. There was little for me to do, I felt, other than at least warn Blount, and then see whether it would be possible to enlist the services of Humfrie once more.
With that determination I left the house and made my way up the road towards Blount’s house.
Or I would have done, but for the blow that struck my pate.
I have the dubious honour of having experienced, on several occasions, a blow to the head. There are many different types, I would say, from the simple collapse into darkness without any noticeable transition from being fully compos mentis, which invariably hurts even more than the worst hangover after ale and brandy, to the lighter-feeling blows that merely stun and leave me realizing that I am suddenly on my knees and no longer upright.
All of them leave a fellow feeling considerably the worse for wear, and all are to be associated with a dull pain in the head, nausea, some wobbliness in the legs, and generally a deep confusion about what is, has, or is about to happen.
This was, happily, unlike those past events.
Today I was not torn with confusion or a need to vomit. Instead, I was aware that something had knocked away both legs, and the darkness was not the experience of falling into a deep well or pit, but rather just that the sun was blocked by the appearance of a vast excrescence. It could have been a mountain … but it was not. The cause of this latest misfortune? Two men, built along the lines of – well, imagine St Paul’s Cathedral and Westminster Abbey standing side by side, and you get the general idea. They had faces rather like those of the gargoyles set about church roofs to scare away evil. I don’t know if they would work for devils, but they certainly succeeded in scaring me.
‘Er … Hello?’ I said.
I was, of course, in a recumbent posture, staring up at these two, and while I gazed up at them, wondering why on earth I had been stupid enough to leave my gun behind, a third face appeared. It was that of Master Loughgren. He peered down at me with mingled disdain and disgust. Since my nostrils were picking up the distinct odour of the street, by which I mean the ordure from humans and beasts, I could understand his expression. I would have sprung up with urgency, but the two grim-faced fellows were still there and glowering, and remaining seated seemed safer.
‘You are a sore nuisance,’ Loughgren said.
‘Eh?’
‘Get up. You’re lying in shit.’
I obeyed. He was not entirely accurate. I was six inches from proof of someone’s earlier voiding, and managed to rise without falling into it. He glared at me. I stood with a nervous grin on my face. ‘Ah, Master Loughgren!’
‘Come with me. And you!’ he added, pointing at the lesser of the two gargoyles, ‘I said to ask him to come with us, not try to break his God’s-arse neck!’
‘Sorry, master,’ the fellow muttered in a voice like gravel being crushed.
‘I am sorry about that,’ Loughgren said, and invited me to join him in a pot of wine. After all the excitement of the morning, I was keen to accept the offer of wine, although since my meeting with Bagnall, and his associated demand, and then Susan Appleby’s steward, I was not of a mood for the company of a man like Loughgren. However, when faced with two brutes like his henchmen, I was even less keen on the idea of trying to escape. Especially since my arse was giving me grief again after falling.
We were soon ensconced in a private room at an inn, and I sipped cautiously at a fresh cup of wine with Loughgren. It was quite a small chamber, made dark by the hulking shape of one of the bodyguards standing in the doorway and preventing any other men – or light – from entering.
‘I wanted to speak with you about Alice,’ Loughgren began.
‘I had nothing to do with it!’ I said.
‘You weren’t her lover?’
‘I … I had nothing to do with her death.’
‘No. I doubt you did,’ he said, peering at me in the darkness. A small fire in the grate gave the room an unpleasant orange glow, now my eyes had acclimatized, and lent a devilish appearance to his features. ‘But she was murdered, I think, because of you.’
‘What? Why would someone murder her because of me?’
‘I was expecting you to tell me that,’ he said. His eyes were quite unblinking. It made me think of a reptile. ‘Then again, I have heard that Sir Edmund de Vere has also recently died, and a certain Dutchman is missing. The girl, my maid, was known to you, the Dutchman was your tenant, and the knight was an associate of the Dutchman. That all leads many to suspect you of being involved, since you are the one link between them all.’
‘I had nothing …’
‘However,’ he continued, as though I had not spoken, ‘the fact is that the three had one unifying element when it comes to you: you had no reason to harm any of them, not that I can see. Tell me, Master Blackjack: to whom are you loyal?’
‘The queen,’ I said quickly (because any other response could be dangerous).
‘Ah!’ He did not look reassured. ‘Perhaps I was wrong to think you were unconnected with events.’
‘I don’t know what you mean!’
‘Pray, do not wail. We do not wish others to take an interest in our discussion.’
‘I can tell you about Sir Edmund’s death,’ I said quickly. The idea that Loughgren’s two lackeys might take it into their heads that I was unimportant, or irrelevant, was highly undesirable. I could see no reason why they might decide, for example, to learn how much effort it would take to pull off one of my arms and beat me about the head with it, but I had no wish to give them reason to do so. ‘I was there.’
‘Speak!’
I told him about the arms, about de Vere’s collection, his departure from London, and his death in Kent. ‘Now I believe he planned to bring Spanish rule back to the throne, perhaps with a regent in place.’
‘And you think his plan has been disrupted?’
‘Yes, I believe so.’ I explained about the arms from Holland through my tenant, the collection of them and Sir Edmund’s intention to supply them to his own rebels.
‘When would he have done this?’
‘I think he plotted to protect the throne for the queen’s heir,’ I said. ‘He meant to control government and do what he wanted. The Spanish king could come over whenever he wished to take the crown for himself.’
‘I see. And then they would keep their religion and the kingdom under thrall to the Spaniards,’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘Why? Surely it would be better for him to serve his queen and her heir to wait? His place was to protect her.’
I had thought through that, of course. ‘But the queen is confined for the birth. Her advisors and generals are thinking of her and the succession. What better time for de Vere to launch a rebellion to protect the queen’s inheritance? And perhaps he did still support her, and wanted to protect her from others who might seek to take the crown for themselves? He gathered his army with a view to protecting her, and her heir, until the Spanish could arrive and take over the realm.’
‘Possibly. What does this have to do with my maid and your tenant?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ I confessed.
‘She had spoken about a lover,’ he continued. ‘She said he was a vain fellow, well-dressed and wealthy enough, with an appealing look to him, according to our other maid, Marge.’ He looked at me with a certain amount of doubt, it seemed to me. I could not tell why.
It was tempting to mention Bagnall at this point, but I was reluctant to bring up any other names. However, one thing did make me frown.
‘What is it?’
‘I was just thinking: Alice was murdered a little after I saw her last. Surely someone must have seen the man who killed her.’
It had occurred to me, you see, that no matter what Bagnall said, he was surely the man who knew me, who had been following me, and who might have seen Alice and decided to punish me by killing her.
‘I have heard that a man was seen after her. Marge said she saw a man.’
I caught my breath. It took little time for me to describe Bagnall and his two walking rocks. ‘Was that the fellow?’
He blinked in momentary confusion, and racked his brains. ‘No, I don’t think so. You say this fellow was in his twenties? Marge described an elderly man, gaunt and haggard. And alone.’
‘She must have been mistaken.’
‘Perhaps,’ he said, but he did not sound convinced.
The interview was over, apparently, and Loughgren rose from the table. ‘I doubt we shall meet again, Master Blackjack. I am sorry for your loss, but I suspect you will soon find a woman to replace poor Alice. In the meantime, keep safe and restrict yourself to your usual business. I think you are not ready to be involved in matters of state.’
The sarcastic bastard left the room, his two henchmen with him, leaving me seething. He had no knowledge of me, my capabilities or my skills. To warn me in that manner was an insult. I was so angry, I polished off the rest of the wine he had bought, before demanding another. It was almost mid-afternoon by the time I flounced from the room and straight into a wall.
There are very few occasions when I would have felt that running into a wall would have been preferable to hitting a man, but this was different. I had run into the grim-featured troll who accompanied Master Perkin Bagnall. As I looked up, his face cracked to show a few teeth. I realized he was smiling.
A fist the size of a – I won’t say a hog’s ham, because it seemed a great deal larger than that. Let’s say it was about the size of an ox’s thigh. That was certainly how it appeared to me. Anyway, it took hold of my jack, and while I squeaked in consternation, I found myself grasped, and so tightly that I was unable to flee as I would have liked. That was a relief, since from the look of the troll, considerations such as the correct way to grab and hold a man upright would have involved a great deal of brain power. In retrospect, I believe my continued existence was almost entirely due to the fact that he held my jack, and it was more a matter of good fortune than design that he did so and didn’t take a handful of my throat instead.
I frantically beamed a welcome at him.
‘He’s unhappy with you,’ Bagnall said. ‘So am I.’
I jumped. The voice had come from just behind my left ear, and it was so unexpected, it was a miracle I didn’t leap straight over the head of his henchman and on to the roof of the nearest building. Well, if I hadn’t been held there, anyway. Without the fist at my jack, I could have managed it in one bound, I assure you.
‘Master Bagnall! I am glad to see you,’ I managed at last. ‘Um …’
‘I doubt that. Why were you talking with Master Loughgren?’
‘Oh, him! Ah, well, he sort of found me,’ I said.
‘Of course.’ There was an underlying lack of conviction in his voice that I could not miss. I smiled again, trying to show that everything was satisfactory, and that there was no need for any animosity between us.
He didn’t smile. Instead he leaned his head towards the man mountain. ‘You haven’t asked why he’s unhappy. That’s rude.’
‘Oh, er … I didn’t mean to be …’ I said.
‘Stop yammering. It’s the thing about you that’s most irritating,’ he snapped. ‘Do you know why he’s unhappy?’
I was tempted to say that a brain with little to occupy it, especially one which could not contend with more than two thoughts a day, must inevitably find life more than a little confusing, but I managed to contain my wit. ‘Um. No.’
‘He’s lonely. Since his brother has disappeared, he’s been very lonely.’
‘Oh?’ I said, trying to inject a tone of surprised sympathy.
‘And the odd thing is, it was when his brother was following you that he disappeared. Curious that, ain’t it?’
‘Ah, well, accidents will often happen,’ I said. ‘You only have to look at the amount of traffic on the roads here in London, and then there’s all the trash and garbage thrown into the streets – it’s all too easy to stumble or trip. The scavengers are so slow to come and clean up the …’
‘I don’t think he fell over. Do you? He was quite a large man. Do you think he would disappear?’
It was impossible not to look up at the granite features holding me fixed there. Nothing short of a charge of cavalry could make something like that disappear, I thought, but again managed to stop the comment from reaching my lips. It was safer that way.
Shortly afterwards I had been hustled from the inn’s doors into the road, my arms gripped in a giant fist behind me, and we were heading down my old street towards the house where Vanderstilt had lived.
‘It is the sort of problem that happens in London. Only a little while ago, my tenant disappeared. In the house just down there,’ I added, pointing with my chin, adding verisimilitude to my statement.
‘Yes. Perhaps it is time that you disappeared too,’ Bagnall said. ‘I don’t think I can trust you, can I?’
I would have answered, but as he spoke his tor threw a fist into my flank, and as I gasped in surprise, he lifted my arms behind my back, and I had to wail in pain.
I am told that there comes a time in every man’s life when his whole existence flashes before him. It is something that I have come to recognize with a sort of reluctant acceptance. It is the time when the fellow’s life is about to end.
There’s not much else to do, when you are presented with a mountain who possesses fists the size of cannon balls, who desires to turn a fellow into a thin gravy over the cobbles of the road. The last time it happened, I think, was when I was held by miners on Dartmoor, or when I was held by the Gubbinses towards Lydford – or was it that time when I found myself on a ship bound for France to be enslaved? In any case, it was a common enough experience, and while I certainly did not welcome the reminders of some of the more memorable and unpleasant experiences of my life, at least they were quickly passed over.
Which brought me back to the present. I was swiftly dragged from the tavern and bundled along my street back to my old house. I have to confess, this seemed to me to be a serious intrusion. I mean to say, it is one thing to set upon a man while out in the streets, and it is one thing to assault him when a villain has broken into his house, but to assail me and then drag me to my own house, that was a step too far, in my opinion, and I started to give vent to my dissatisfaction. At least, I did until the troll clapped a hand over my mouth. I wasn’t sure where that hand had been, but let me say that it reminded me of when I was on Dartmoor, and saw all the sheep, and fell into some of their excrement. The odour of the troll’s hand made me think that perhaps a flock had found him asleep and defecated on him. It seemed possible.
At my house, the obnoxious Bagnall battered on my door, and soon it was opened by the scrawny wretch of a bottler, who let us all in with every indication of servile politeness.
‘What is happening?’ I demanded as Bagnall’s man pushed me into my own parlour. ‘Who do you think you are?’ Because, after all, I am a man of property and thus a fellow of some importance in our great city and owed a degree of respect.
‘Stop your whining,’ Bagnall snapped, which was a travesty. I do not whine.
‘What is happening? What do you want?’ I said. ‘I have nothing here. This is all Vanderstilt’s stuff. I have no money here, nothing of value, so if you were planning to …’
I found myself suddenly sitting in a seat which the tor had thrust at me from behind. As I sat, he lashed a rope about my upper body, then arms and legs, until I was trussed as effectively as a prisoner in a gibbet. I could not move.
‘Now, master,’ Bagnall said, and there was a deeply unpleasant look on his face. ‘We know who you work for, and we know what you do. So when you decided to kill Vanderstilt …’
‘What? No! I have a pardon for that, and I didn’t do it anyway!’ I protested. A hand slapped my cheek, and almost knocked my head from my shoulders, I swear. It is fortunate that I have a robust frame.
‘Shut up. We know what you did. Killing him, then my other servant. And murdering the girl as well – I suppose her death was understandable, if unnecessary.’
‘Which girl? Wait! You mean little Alice? I had nothing to do with that! I thought you killed her!’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! Why’d I kill her?’
‘I don’t know, but Loughgren told me she was seen with another man that evening.’
‘What else did you discuss with him?’
‘Who? Loughgren? He told me to keep out of politics, and I have to admit, I—’
‘What did he say about me?’
‘You? Nothing. Why should he?’
‘Are you truly so dim? Have I not told you that I am a loyal subject of the queen, and all I do is to protect her and her heirs?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Loughgren works for her sister.’
I opened my mouth to speak, but then hesitated with my mouth wide. This was, as they say, a conundrum. Suddenly some of Loughgren’s words made rather more sense. He was keen to see Sir Edmund and his plots defeated, and he had been interested in talking to me until I stated that I was loyal to the queen. So Loughgren was also involved, I assumed, in working with Lady Elizabeth.
‘He works for the queen’s sister?’ I said, more by way of saving myself further questioning while I absorbed this news.
‘We know much. We’re determined to protect the queen and her servants, and you are an agent of her enemies. We know all this.’
‘Eh?’
‘We know because Loughgren is an enemy. You were with him. You had been seen about his house before, and used his maid as the excuse for visiting Loughgren, didn’t you? You will tell us all you know. We want to know who your confederates are, where they are, and what they planned?’
I heard a strange, high-pitched noise which I did not recognize at first. Then I realized it was me making the sound. Why? Because the door had opened and, as he spoke, the torturer from Queen Mary’s palace at St James’s entered. He gave me a sort of welcoming, but apologetic, smile, ducked his head, and began setting out tools on the hearthstone while I gibbered.
I spoke quickly and at length about my innocence of Vanderstilt’s and Alice’s deaths, and tried to explain that the troll had died while chasing me, a death of which I was entirely innocent, but it had no impact. Tom continued laying out his devices, humming to himself like a tailor working with his needle and thread. I have met many tailors who will sit cross-legged on their tables, working at their massive sheets of cloth, and they always hum like that. It drives me to distraction.
Today, I was already distracted enough.
It didn’t help when Bagnall chuckled. ‘You are good. I admit, if I didn’t know better, I would think you were innocent. But you see, others ain’t so easy to fool. You see Tom here? He’s here to make sure you don’t hold anything back. He’ll make sure you tell us all you know.’
‘But I’ve done nothing! I know nothing!’
‘I have to admit, I didn’t believe the stories about you. Some said you were an agent for the queen’s enemies, and I didn’t think you were clever enough. But then Vanderstilt died – the man who was informing us about everything to do with Sir Edmund, and we learned he lived here, in your house; then we learned that Alice, the housemaid to George Loughgren, met you regularly. Things began to hang together. As you will with your confederates.’
‘It wasn’t a plot! I adored Alice!’ I blurted.
It was not the right thing to say. His face hardened, and he leaned forward in a thoroughly unpleasant manner. ‘You were keen to harm anyone who supported the queen, weren’t you? Just as you did Vanderstilt.’
‘What reason would I have for murdering my tenant!’ I wailed. Yes, I wailed. There comes a time when a man cannot continue to be rational in the face of such wilful stupidity, especially when a fellow like Tom is pensively setting out the tools of his trade. ‘I didn’t want to hurt Vanderstilt!’
‘That’s a shame,’ he said. He glanced over his shoulder at Tom beside the hearth, where he was using bellows to make the coals gleam like the Devil’s own furnaces. ‘Well, we shall soon learn the truth.’