An Instance of the Fingerpost (53 page)

The plan that had leapt, fully formed, into my mind was so simple and complete that it must have been due to some inspiration, for I must modestly admit that I could hardly have devised such a perfect solution unaided. What had happened was perfectly clear, and Cola’s document confirms it. For that was the day Lord Maynard had dined and the great contest for his favour had taken place between Grove and Thomas. As might be expected, Thomas was outwitted, out-thought and humiliated. He had never been one for public dispute, but had prepared himself so much and worked himself into such a fit of anxiety about the encounter that he was barely capable of speech. Grove, instead, was ready, for he had encountered Cola and knew that the Italian would be the
perfect foil for demonstrating his orthodoxy and robust defence of the Church.

So the Italian sat there, thinking he was engaged in a conversation about philosophy, while all the time Grove was showing his fitness for a parish by disagreeing with everything he said. Easily enough done, since Grove removed Thomas from the contest by ignoring him and battering him with insults until Thomas despaired at being constantly interrupted and walked out, I suspect so that no man might see his tears. I believe he went mad from despair, and denounced Grove to the warden shortly after in some half-thought-out act of desperation. Then he realised that it would soon be exposed as a lie, and a malicious one at that, so he went one, fatal, step further.

Not a virtuous act for a man of God, and yet I knew that Thomas had much good in him; he had showed me that time and again. And even had that not been the case, I was bound to him and owed him my assistance, for he was not only a friend, he was quite incapable of looking after himself. The loyalties of Lincolnshire I have mentioned before.

It was the possibility of aiding myself at the same time which indicated that some guardian angel must be about, whispering into my mind.

I should return to my narrative, however, and say that by the time I left Grove’s room with his signet in my pocket it was nine o’clock by St Mary’s, and I knew that I had eight hours before the gaoler would come to my cell in the castle and discover my escape. My movements were unconstrained and I was at total liberty to do whatever I wished. What I wished to do at that moment was kill Sarah Blundy, as it had long been clear to me that only through the death of one or the other of us would this diabolical contest be brought to an end.

I knew, of course, that this was impossible. I could no more kill her with my own hands than she could kill me. Others had to do that and, just as she had laid a trap for me, that I should be hanged, so I could do the same to her.

It was slightly before midnight, I think, that I made my way through the fortifications that still surrounded the town and avoided the night watch. Certainly I heard the great bells of the city making
their mournful toll as I walked swiftly across the fields parallel to the London road, which I dared not use until I was past Heddington village. Dawn was beginning to come over the horizon by the time I approached the village of Great Milton.

I WAITED UNTIL
the morning was well advanced, spending my time observing the house unseen to see how many people there were and what might be my best means of escape should that be necessary. Then, my heart thudding in my chest, I prepared myself, walked up to the door and knocked. It was pleasantly warm in the hallway, which was surprisingly far from opulent. I knew, of course, that Thurloe had made himself as rich as Croesus during his years of power as Cromwell’s henchman and was disconcerted to see him in such modest accommodation. I only saw one servant in all the time I was there, and although the house was comfortable, it was not of the size and splendour I expected. But I assumed that this was another example of the arrogant humility of the Puritans, who make such a show of their piety and disdain for worldly possessions. Personally, I always detested them for that, grabbing with one hand and praying with the other. It is the duty of men of rank to live in a suitable state, even if they have no inclination.

The servant, an old fellow who blinked like an owl brought suddenly into the light, told me that his master was busy at his books, and that I should wait in the main parlour. Mr Thurloe would be glad of a visitor to divert him, he said. Not this one, I thought to myself as I followed his instructions and walked in the commodious, warm room at the eastern end of the house. Not this one.

He came in a few minutes later, a gaunt man with long, thin hair around a high-domed forehead. His skin was pale, almost translucent and, apart from heavy lines around his eyes, he seemed younger than I knew he must be. Now I knew what had transpired, and how he had manipulated men, good and bad, to his will, I was half-minded simply to run him through then and there, without wasting further time. He’d find out who his assailant was
soon enough, I thought, when the flames began to lick around his soul.

I was determined, but felt my resolution ebb with every step he took towards me. For months now, lying awake at night, I had imagined myself whipping out my father’s sword and thrusting it into his heart, intoning some suitable words as he expired with a look of cowardly terror on his face, crying for mercy, slobbering with fear, while I stood implacable over him. I had no sword, but Grove’s knife would do as well.

Easy to imagine, harder to accomplish. Killing a man in battle when the blood is hot is one thing; dispatching one in a peaceful parlour, with the fire crackling comfortably in the grate and the smell of burning apple logs in the air, is quite another. Doubt assailed me for the first time: would killing a man unable to defend himself not suddenly lower me to his level? Would not my great act be demeaned if it was performed in an unseemly manner?

I suspect I would not be so bothered now, although as it is unlikely that I will ever be in such a situation again (the Lord having smiled on me) it is easy to say and difficult to prove. Perhaps, indeed, it was my doubt and my hesitation which earned me that divine forbearance.

‘Good morning, sir, you are welcome,’ he said quietly, examining me curiously all the while. ‘I see you are cold; pray let me get you some refreshment.’

I wanted to spit at him, and say I would not drink with a man like him. But the words stuck in my throat, and in my weakness and confusion I stood there mutely while he clapped his hands and asked the servant to bring some ale.

‘Do sit, sir,’ he said, after another long silence during which he sat himself and again examined me carefully, for I had, with my normal politeness, jumped up to bow to him when he entered. ‘And please be careful you do not impale yourself on your dagger.’

All this he said with a wry smile, and I blushed and stammered like a schoolchild caught throwing things in class.

‘What is your name? I believe I know your face, although I see so few people now that I trick myself into recognising total strangers.’ He had a soft, gentle and educated voice, quite unlike anything I had expected.

‘You do not know me. My name is Prestcott.’

‘Ah. And you have come to kill me, is that right?’

‘It is,’ I said stiffly, feeling more and more confused.

There was another long pause, as Thurloe marked the page in his book, closed it and laid it neatly on the table. Then he placed his hands in his lap and looked at me once more.

‘Well? Go ahead. I would hate to detain you unnecessarily.’

‘Don’t you want to know why?’

He seemed almost puzzled at the question, and shook his head. ‘Only if you wish to tell me. As far as I am concerned, compared with meeting the Lord and His standing in judgement of me, of what importance is the why or the wherefore of men? Do take some ale,’ he added, pouring out a glass from the broad earthenware pot the servant had brought.

I shrugged the glass aside. ‘It’s very important,’ I said petulantly, realising as I spoke that I was drifting further and further away from my imagined behaviour.

‘In that case I am listening,’ he said. ‘Although I cannot understand what injury I may have done you. You are surely too young to be my enemy?’

‘You killed my father.’

He looked worried at the statement. ‘Did I? I don’t recall it.’

At last he was talking in a way which angered me, which I knew was necessary if I was going to accomplish my aim.

‘You damnable liar. Of course you do. Sir James Prestcott, my father.’

‘Oh,’ he said quietly. ‘Yes. Of course I remember him. But I thought you must have meant someone else: I never harmed your father. I tried to at one stage, of course; he was one of the handful of the king’s servants who was not a fool.’

‘That was why you destroyed him. You couldn’t catch him, or do battle with him, so you poisoned men’s minds against him with lies and clawed him down that way.’

‘You hold me responsible?’

‘You were.’

‘Very well, then. If you say so,’ he said calmly, and lapsed into silence.

Again he had wrong-footed me. I don’t know what I expected: either a vehement denial or an outrageous justification of his deeds. I certainly did not anticipate him not seeming to care one way or the other.

‘Defend yourself,’ I said hotly.

‘With what? I do not have your knife or your strength, so if you want to kill me, you will not find it a difficult task.’

‘I mean defend what you did.’

‘Why? You have already decided that I am guilty, so I fear that my feeble replies will not sway you.’

‘That’s not fair,’ I cried, realising as I spoke that this was the sort of childish remark a man like my father would never have made.

‘Few things are,’ he said.

‘My father was no traitor,’ I said.

‘That may be the case.’

‘Are you saying you didn’t destroy him? You expect me to believe that?’

‘I haven’t said anything. But since you ask, no. I did not. Of course, I have little influence over whether you believe me.’

Later in life – too late to be of use to me then – I understood how John Thurloe had risen to such an eminence that he was the one person in the land who dared contradict Cromwell. You punched, Thurloe rose up again, sweetly reasonable and soft-voiced. You kept on punching, he kept on getting up, always gentle and never losing his temper, until you felt ashamed of yourself and listened to him instead. Then, when you were off-balance, he simply persuaded you around to his point of view. He never thrust himself forward, never forced his opinions on you but, sooner or later, the anger and opposition exhausted themselves by dashing against his persistence.

‘You did it to others, and you expect me to believe that you didn’t to my father?’

‘Which others?’

‘You didn’t say he was innocent. You had the chance.’

‘It was not my job to ensure that my enemies were strong and unified. Besides, who would have believed me? Do you think a certificate of honesty from me would have cleared his reputation?
If the king’s party wished to tear into themselves and chase ghosts, what was that to me? The weaker they were, the better.’

‘So weak that the king is on his throne and you are here in obscurity,’ I sneered, conscious not only that his arguments were good, but also that I had never even considered them before, so clear and obvious had his guilt appeared to me.

‘Only because the Protector died, and he thought . . . Well, no matter,’ he said softly. ‘There was a vacuum, and nature abhors a vacuum. Charles didn’t win his throne back; he was sucked back by forces far greater than he could have mustered on his own. And it remains to be seen whether he is strong enough to keep his seat.’

‘You must have been delighted,’ I said with heavy sarcasm.

‘Delighted?’ he repeated thoughtfully, ‘No, of course not. I had worked for ten years to make England stable and free from tyranny and it was no pleasure to see that blown away on the winds. But I was not as upset as you might imagine. The armies were on the march, and the factions only Cromwell could have controlled were forming again. It was the king or war. I did not oppose Charles. And I could have done so, you know. Had I so wished, Charles would have been in his grave for years by now.’

He said it in such a calm and matter-of-fact way that for a moment I didn’t grasp the full horror of what he was saying. Then I gasped. This little man had gravely decided, as a matter of policy, whether his rightful monarch, anointed by God, would live or die. Charles, by grace of Thurloe, King of England. And I knew that he was saying nothing more than the truth: I was sure that he and the Protector had considered such a course. If they had rejected it, it was not because they recoiled from such a crime – they had committed so many already – but because it was not to their convenience.

‘But you didn’t.’

‘No. The Commonwealth acted within the law; and suffered gravely as a result. How much easier it would have been if the elder Charles had succumbed to a mysterious illness and died, with our hands clean in public, however shamefully we had behaved in secret. But we tried him, and executed him …’

‘Murdered him, you mean.’

‘. . . and
executed
him in full public view, never once seeking to
hide what we were doing. The same goes with the other traitors – loyal patriots, I suppose they now are – who were caught. Name me one who was murdered in secret, without being publicly tried.’

Everyone knew there had been thousands; but as they had been done away with secretly, naturally I did not know their names, and I told him so.

‘I see. So I killed countless people, but you cannot name a single one. Are you intended for the law, Mr Prestcott?’

I said that, due to the family misfortunes, I was indeed.

‘I wondered. I was a lawyer myself, you know, before I took to public service. I very much hope your family fortunes mend, as I do not think you will be a great adornment to the profession. You do not present a very good case.’

‘We are not in a court of law here.’

‘No,’ he agreed. ‘You are in my parlour. But if you wish, you may turn it into a courtroom, and you may make your first speech. I will answer, and you can then make up your mind. Come now; it is a handsome offer. You get to be prosecution, judge, jury and (if you win your case) executioner. Such an opportunity comes very infrequently to a man of your age.’