That afternoon was not one I was likely to forget in a hurry. After the interview with Loughgren, to then be grabbed and once again threatened with torture by the hideous Tom, I was already exhausted, without having discovered the body in my cellar. But then, to see the proof of Vanderstilt’s servant’s crime, was horrible. It made me think what I would have looked like, had Tom been able to spend more time with me.
Thank the Lord for Susan!
I was careful, after we had discovered the body, to try to keep poor Susan from seeing Vanderstilt’s corpse. The sight must have been distressing to an innocent woman like her, and I managed, I think, to shield her from the sight, until the clumsy trio of labourers brought Vanderstilt up from the chamber below. Naturally, I was resilient, being a sensible, experienced fellow, but the scene must have been difficult for a frail woman like Susan.
And yes, it was a gruesome sight, with proof of rat attacks at fingers and stomach. A fellow may see such things occasionally, when a body is found in a street or alleyway, and such things may well be still worse, if a passing hog or sow has decided to break their fast on a corpse in passing, but this was somehow much worse.
John Blount was organizing men, deploying guards to take Bagnall away with his unpleasant companions, arranging for the coroner to come and view Vanderstilt’s corpse, and generally getting in everyone’s way. He was a thoroughly officious fellow in this mood.
I hastened to take Susan from the house as the three servants deployed to bring Vanderstilt back up began arguing over who was responsible for dropping him, and laughing at my reaction when I berated them for offending the lady. They appeared to assume that I was feeling queasy, but of course it was nothing more than simple disgust at their language in front of a lady.
No, I will not likely remove the events of that afternoon quickly from my mind. Especially later, when I had deposited Susan at her home and could begin to make my way homewards. It was not a long walk, but I confess that I felt considerably the worse for my experiences. My arm was throbbing, as if the Devil himself had touched me there, and I was sure that I would have a dreadful scar. As it was, whenever I passed a horse trough, I dunked my poor arm into it to try to dull the pain a little. It worked – momentarily – but as soon as I moved off, the pain returned with full force.
I returned to St Helen’s, and was glad to see that the dog was not inside. I could hear Hector barking outside, and when I entered, slamming the door behind me, I was glad to be able to lean against the door with my eyes closed for some moments. Yes, my arm was burning still, and my head ached, and I had a strange nausea in my belly that was disconcerting, but at least here I could relax – and my nightmares were over. The plot of Sir Edmund had been thwarted, and I had received the gratitude of the queen for that. The danger of Perkin Bagnall had been averted, so far as I could tell. Loughgren must soon know that I was in fact on his side in the matter of politics, since Master Blount promised to advise him of my role in the service of Lady Elizabeth. Yes, all things considered, I felt my problems were soon to be over.
I sighed with relief, opened my eyes and began to walk to my parlour, but I had taken little more than a single step into the room when I saw a rather curious sight. There, sitting in my chair, was Raphe. Naturally, I was about to berate the young fool for his overweening pride and foolishness in stealing my chair, when I realized there was something wrong – it lay in the warning look in his eyes, in the apparent bindings holding his wrists to the arms of my chair, and finally in the crunching sensation at the back of my head as something struck it with full force.
I think it is fair to say that I did not sink to my knees in a delicate or sophisticated manner. Rather, it felt as though I dived headfirst into an enormous pit that opened before me.
Yes, I have had experience of waking from blows to the head. Yes, they have invariably been unpleasant awakenings, and yes, recovering from this blow was bad enough without the leering expression of the old servant peering down at me. It was Peter, the haggard old sinner, who was never an appealing sight, but never was a sight less welcome than when recovering from a strike like that, and the fact is more especially true when recovering consciousness only to learn that my hands had been bound together, my ankles also, and that the fellow responsible was now standing over me with a hammer in his fist.
Raphe was still in my chair, but there was a rasping sound from behind me, and when I strained my head, painfully, to peer in that direction, I was taken by the sight of Lewan de Beaulieu.
He grinned, shaking his head. ‘You have cost me much, master!’
‘Me? What have I done?’
‘What have you not done?’
‘You were selling arms to Loughgren so he could raise an army and threaten the queen, weren’t you? And then, no doubt, you would have insisted on a position of power in the government, where you could make more and more money, and then …’
‘You really are a poor fool, when it comes to matters requiring thought, aren’t you, Master Blackjack? Peter, I think you should go. There is no need for you to remain.’
The old servant nodded grimly and dropped his hammer. It accidentally landed on my shin, which was painful, but I was able to stifle any signs of pain. A fellow has to keep up appearances.
‘Do stop the whining. I am sure he didn’t mean to hit you again,’ de Beaulieu said. ‘And by the time everyone can come and find you here, he will have left the country.’
‘He was working for you!’ I managed, bravely concealing the agony in my shin.
‘Of course. I was happy to assist young Vanderstilt at first. After all, he was the son of a friend of mine, but I fear he grew too greedy – for his own good, as well as everyone else’s.’
‘I don’t understand,’ I said, I think reasonably.
‘It is very simple. I am a merchant who depends on trade with your country. In the past, I have happily worked with your merchants and brought wealth to the city as well as my own pockets. But I fear Vanderstilt decided to take more than was justified. He worked with those who sought to sell your country to the Spanish, and that I could not allow.’
‘How did …?’
‘How did I know? I installed Peter as his steward and bottler when he first came here to London. It seemed an ideal scheme to ensure that Vanderstilt had an experienced fellow to help run his affairs. And of course it allowed me to keep an eye on his business. Fortunately, as it turned out, because Peter was able to warn me of dealings that Vanderstilt had.’
‘So you could see that his ships were held up in Holland,’ I said cuttingly.
He chuckled. ‘I fear, not. That was all at the request of your Secretary of State, Boxall. He heard that de Vere was plotting to raise forces, and he saw to it that the ships were delayed while he laid his own plans to foil the rebellion. I was happy to help.’
‘Why?’
‘My friend, I am no Catholic. The Spanish killed my father during their wars to suppress the free peoples of Amsterdam and the low countries. You think I would happily assist those who sought to give the throne of England to the Spanish king? No. It became clear that de Vere was a danger to all – to those who trade, those who wish to live free, and all others.’
‘So you had Peter kill Vanderstilt?’
‘No. I would not do this. But he overheard conversations, and he learned that Vanderstilt meant to help the Spaniards. He told me, and at the same time I learned from a friend in Amsterdam, that he had been recruiting mercenaries. De Vere was hoping to bring a force from Holland, and Vanderstilt was aiding him. That was why I decided to inform certain men; men of power, who work for those who do not whole-heartedly embrace the Catholic Church. I believe one of these paid Peter to commit the deed. I had no part in this, but I am happy to have supported those who are on the side of righteousness and the true religion.’
My head was swimming, and not only from the blow inflicted by Peter. ‘But … what of Alice? The maid working for Loughgren? Did he kill her too?’
‘No. She was an unfortunate victim. I understand Master Boxall had been concerned that you could have been involved in the rebellion, and he had her followed and questioned.’
‘So, who killed her?’
He looked at me very straight. ‘You should ask your master that question. It was not me or my man. It was Boxall’s men.’