Marbeck and the Privateers (4 page)

‘Your son Daniel,' Marbeck said. ‘A bright lad, I think … most obliging.'

The other stiffened.

‘Surprising what servants will get up to, when the master of the house is elsewhere, isn't it?' he went on. ‘Though knowing Lord Cecil, I'll wager he'd take a dim view of anything untoward. Like running harlots – or even taking tobacco, for that matter.'

Miller caught his breath, but kept silent.

‘The matter is …' Marbeck paused. Varying his role was providing a welcome extension to that of stuffy Giles Blunt, he realized. Glancing about, he put on a very un-Bluntlike smile. ‘The matter is, I too have to watch my place here – I couldn't let your boy know my true feelings on the matter. But I see you're a man who knows what's what. I may yet be able to do business with you.'

The frown on the boatman's features eased, to be replaced by a wary look. Seeing that Marbeck would add nothing he lifted his pipe, upturned it and knocked the ashes out over the side of the boat. There was a tiny hiss as the embers hit the water, then: ‘What did you have in mind – sir?'

‘First tell me of Jewkes, the man you brought here,' Marbeck said gently. He fumbled for his purse, fished inside it and withdrew a coin. ‘Here's a tester for your trouble.'

Miller blinked at the sixpenny piece, then a hard look appeared. ‘What are you about?' he asked. ‘I heard you were a Precisian sort of fellow, come to deal with my lord's papers … else why would he hire you?'

‘Because he knows I'll do my work,' Marbeck replied. ‘Whatever else I may do, would remain between ourselves.' He held the coin between thumb and forefinger and waited, then breathed a sigh of satisfaction as the man took it.

‘I said I don't know the cove's name, and I spoke true,' Miller said. Ten yards away a skiff passed with its passengers, the boatman straining at his oars. The wash tilted Miller's boat, so that he had to grasp the jetty-post. With a glance out at the river, then another towards Salisbury House, he spoke low.

‘Master Langton said the man was on secret business for my lord, and I should deny setting eyes on him. I picked him up at Queenhithe – the Salt Wharf, where I was told to. If he's not here he must have left by the street door …' Miller swallowed. ‘See, I'm in your hands now,' he added. ‘So you'd best deal plainly with me, or I can make trouble – mistake it not.'

‘I hear you,' Marbeck said, without concern. ‘The Salt Wharf, you say … was anyone else with him?'

The other shook his head. ‘Nor did he say a word to me. He was agitated – a man with much on his mind. And for a city dealer, as you say he is, he had the face of a clapper-dudgeon.'

‘Had he indeed?' Marbeck replied absently, looking out across the water. Fearing that the conversation was coming to an end, Miller sought to stay him.

‘The … the company you spoke of,' he said. ‘I can row across to Bankside at sunset, fetch back a trull from the Paris Garden – one of Dame Holland's best. She'll slip in by the turret stair … what say you?'

‘What, you mean you've done this before?' Marbeck asked in an innocent tone. The other blinked; then feeling he was being made a fool of, he scowled. ‘Here … remember what I said,' he began, but was cut short.

‘I've a different task for you,' Marbeck said. ‘For I too have some private business on behalf of my lord.' He nodded downriver, past the Savoy's jetty to where another set of stairs could just be seen, lapped by the tide. ‘Could you watch Somerset House for me, tell me when someone comes and goes?'

The question took Miller aback; nor did he like it. When he hesitated Marbeck reached for his purse again, but did not open it. ‘There'll be a full fare for you, each time you bring me word,' he said. ‘I speak of the Spanish nobleman who lodges there … Count de Tassis. Do you know what he looks like?'

After a moment the boatman gave a nod. ‘As it happens, I rowed him myself once,' he said. ‘To the Privy Stairs – him and a servant. He paid in foreign coin – ducats.'

‘That's good …' Marbeck met his eye and held it. He needed to let the man know that he too could make trouble, if need be. Miller frowned, then said: ‘See now, if you're planning something dark, I want no part in it.'

‘If I were, would I be so bold as to involve you – a man I don't know?'

Another pause followed, until finally the other seemed to relax. ‘Well, I'll be your watchman,' he said. ‘But if I see the Spaniard set forth, how do I signal to you?'

‘No need,' Marbeck replied. ‘I'll come to you.'

‘If you need me to follow his boat, I want double fare,' Miller said finally.

‘We'll see,' Marbeck said. And he straightened up and left him.

Thus far things seemed to be working out, he thought as he mounted the turret stairway. But he was uneasy, and had been ever since he'd faced Langton and heard his bland denial of Simon Jewkes's visit. What the boatman had told him only deepened the mystery. The Lord Secretary would have nothing to do with a disreputable man like Jewkes, Marbeck knew: were the fellow ever to be brought to account for his underhand dealings, Cecil would be among the first to condemn him. Jewkes was a grubbing trader of middling stock, far outside the exalted circles of the wealthy and powerful in which the spymaster moved. Which only strengthened his conviction, that he had been allowed to witness his arrival for some purpose. What it might be, he did not know.

The next day, however, the matter was overshadowed by other events. For when he arose from his chamber and came downstairs, he found the house abuzz with news: several new peace delegates, it seemed, were arriving in London on the tide. A messenger had ridden up from Gravesend to bring word, the moment their ship from the Low Countries had docked. The Prince of Arenberg, the President of the Brussels Council and others were to join the Spaniards in their negotiations with the English.

So at last, the treaty talks would begin. And for Marbeck, the safety of Spain's chief delegate took on a new urgency from that moment forth.

T
hat morning Marbeck absented himself from Salisbury House, saying he would take a stroll. Knowing Miller the boatman would be his eyes and ears for the present, he went out by the Strand door into the bustling street. He had put aside his old scholar's gown, and was clad in his customary black doublet. After walking a hundred yards, past the entrances of the Savoy, Somerset House, Arundel and Leicester Houses, he entered a lane to his right which led down to the Temple Stairs. There he asked among the handful of watermen who had gathered, and soon found the one he sought.

‘Master Herle?'

A stocky man, whose thick shoulders bore testament to a life at the oars, came forward. ‘Aye, master – do you wish to go east, or west?'

‘Neither,' Marbeck said, speaking low. ‘I'm Giles Blunt. My friend Roger Daunt thought I should make your acquaintance.'

The other did not react, but moved casually away from his fellows, down the stairs towards the water. Marbeck followed until they were out of earshot of the other men.

‘Is there a message for me to carry?' Herle asked. He grinned, as if they were merely exchanging pleasantries. ‘If not we'd best keep it short, or they'll wonder why you're not getting into the boat.' He indicated his skiff, tied up alongside several others.

‘No message,' Marbeck said. ‘But I'll ask how much you know about one called Miller … the boatman at Salisbury House.'

‘John Miller?' The waterman gave a shrug. ‘No real harm in the fellow – though I wouldn't wrangle with him when he's drunk.'

‘He brought a visitor to the house yesterday morning. City trader by the name of Jewkes, picked him up at the Salt Wharf, he says. Does that chime with you at all?'

Herle thought for a moment. ‘I've seen the man. He's sometimes at the Quays … sly and tight-fisted as they come, I hear. You want me to keep my eyes open for him?'

‘If you can.'

‘Very well …' Herle glanced up the stairs, and added: ‘We should part now, unless you want to hire me.'

With a nod, Marbeck touched him on the shoulder. ‘I'll come tomorrow,' he said. And with a casual wave he turned and climbed the steps.

In the Strand, with the rumble of carts and the press of traffic to and fro, he paused, glancing towards Fleet Street. He would keep his sojourn short: for one who was supposed to be watching the Spanish ambassador, he thought, he'd had scant opportunity. Head down, he made his way back along the dusty street. But when he reached Somerset House, meaning to pass by quickly, he came to a halt. The doors were wide open, and several people stood about talking excitedly. Choosing a portly man on the edge of the group, Marbeck approached.

‘What's the coil?' he enquired idly. ‘Anything amiss?'

‘You might say so,' the man replied, looking round. ‘Someone fired a gun at the Spanish lord, I heard, by the river stairs, only it was a servant got hit instead. There's uproar within – they've sent for a surgeon.'

Straight-faced, Marbeck looked to the house and saw movement in the hallway. ‘When did it happen?'

‘A short while ago … look, here's the watch.'

Heavy footsteps sounded behind them. Marbeck stood back as an official-looking party stamped towards the doors: a sergeant and several guards. They were neither watchmen nor constables, he surmised, but the bodyguard Monk had spoken of, assigned to the ambassador. One of the household, a steward of some kind, hurried out to receive them. The onlookers watched them enter, until the doors were slammed shut. Marbeck walked off, quickening his pace to Salisbury House.

In the house however, all was calm: word of the event had yet to reach them. Cursing silently he made his way to the turret, down the stairway and into the garden. There he found Miller the boatman, standing on the jetty shading his eyes. As Marbeck came up he looked round sharply.

‘There was a shot fired,' he said. ‘From the water, I think … just as a party came out to the stairs.'

‘Did you see anything?'

The other shook his head. ‘I don't know what boat it came from—'

‘You're certain it was fired from a boat?'

‘Well … no, I can't be certain.'

‘You must take me past the stairs,' Marbeck said abruptly.

‘What, Somerset House?' Miller frowned. ‘Sightseers aren't welcome there … they might be suspicious of us.'

‘I'm requesting it, on my master's business,' Marbeck told him. ‘I'll answer for the consequences.'

With a sigh, Miller bade him get into the skiff. Marbeck sat down, scanning the river. The traffic was heavy: if the shot had come from a boat, he reasoned, someone would have seen who fired it. Surely it came from elsewhere; but the neighbouring house on this side seemed an unlikely source: the old Savoy Palace, now a hospital. That suggested the far side – and at once Marbeck thought of the alley which skirted the gardens of Somerset House by its east wall; Strand Lane, which led down to another set of stairs.

They were out in the current now, the boatman bending to his oars. As they sculled past the broad front of the Savoy, Marbeck peered up at the windows. Unlike Salisbury House, the building gave directly on to the river, with no garden. It would be possible for a would-be assassin to get a clear view, he thought, from a corner window, though it seemed unlikely. Gazing ahead, he watched the Somerset House stairs draw closer until the great house itself appeared. He turned to Miller.

‘Ship oars,' he ordered. ‘Glide past, as slowly as you can.'

The other bristled, but complied. The skiff slowed, Miller giving his oars an expert touch from time to time. As they drifted past the house Marbeck saw several people in the gardens, though the Count de Tassis was not among them. He saw the sergeant and his men standing with two or three Spaniards, all wearing swords. Presumably the wounded servant had been taken into the house. He drew a breath: this was the worst possible start to the Anglo-Spanish negotiations – and now his suspicions arose, that it could be no coincidence.

‘For pity's sake – don't stare at them.'

Miller's impatient growl broke his thoughts: the man was averting his eyes, his cap pulled low. Looking away from the house, Marbeck said: ‘Row on, and stop at Strand Lane.' So in relief the boatman plied his oars, to send them scudding away from Somerset House towards the next landing. Turning the skiff, he brought it to the stairs where Marbeck at once stepped ashore. He produced a penny, saying, ‘Don't wait … I'll make my own way back.'

Without a word Miller took his payment and pushed his boat out. Meanwhile Marbeck walked up the narrow lane, examining the thick hedge that separated it from Somerset House's gardens. And soon he found what he had suspected: broken foliage. An opening had been made recently, to allow a view of the jetty. It was a good spot for a man of average height to take a shot, with a caliver at his shoulder – and he realized something else: it was too close for a marksman of any ability to miss. The ambassador, he guessed, was not the target; perhaps it was a warning, or intended merely to cause alarm. And in that, he thought wryly, the perpetrator had succeeded.

He glanced about, but there was nothing to see in the lane. Whoever had fired had quickly made himself scarce, either in a waiting boat or by hurrying to the Strand, probably concealing his caliver under a cloak. Marbeck strode up to the busy street and looked in both directions, but nothing out of the commonplace met his eye. So, gambling on the ambassador's being unlikely to stir from his residence again today, he decided to do a little investigating. Retracing his steps down Strand Lane, he stood on the landing and after a short wait managed to hail a passing waterman. In minutes he was heading downriver in another boat, and within the quarter hour was stepping on to the stairs at Queenhithe.