The Judas Blade (15 page)

‘
Jacob! Jacob, alstublieft
…’ Gasping, she lurched forward and groaned. Ignoring the look of astonishment that appeared on the face of Lacy’s manservant, she fell weakly against the door. ‘Please help me,’ she muttered in English. ‘I must see your master … Meneer Lacy …’ She sank to her knees, while to Jacob’s alarm her hands clawed at his clothing.

‘
Wat gebeurt
…?’ Clumsily, the man caught Betsy’s arms. He was in his stockings, a loose gown over his nightshirt. When she let out another groan, the man muttered under his breath. But to her relief, instead of pushing her out of the door as she had
feared, he dragged her in across the threshold. Then she slumped on the polished floor of Lacy’s hallway, seemingly in a faint. Above her, Jacob cursed, but hearing a footfall, he stiffened. Even as he turned, however, Betsy threw her arms tightly about his legs – which was all the time Mullin needed. There came a
sickening
thud, then another. Still Betsy held on – then just in time, she slid aside to let the manservant crumple to the floor. Mullin was bending over him, holding a short black cudgel.

Panting, she got to her knees. When the captain offered a hand, she took it and allowed him to help her up. Then she looked down at the prone figure, while Mullin stepped over him and closed the door. There was little doubt that Jacob was unconscious. Blood showed on his head, where Mullin’s blows had fallen.

‘Ebony,’ he said, gripping the truncheon. ‘Hard as iron – I needed it, for a thick skull like that.’ He was slightly out of breath. ‘It’s lucky I haven’t lost my touch as a picklock too. Are you sure nobody saw you?’

‘I don’t think so – though I couldn’t very well look back, could I?’ Betsy glanced round at the door to the room in which she had locked Lacy. She recalled the noise of splintering wood as she and Alida fled, but there was no sign of damage. ‘He must have had it repaired,’ she mused – then flinched.

Her eyes flew upwards, while Mullin sprang to the stairs. The portly figure of Thomas Lacy had appeared above, staring down in alarm, but before he could speak, the captain was upon him.

‘Mullin … Great God!’

But those were the only words the man got out before the other grabbed him. ‘My dear Lacy!’ he cried, taking him by the edge of his nightgown. ‘Forgive the intrusion …’ And with that he stuck his truncheon in the other’s face. ‘Our business wouldn’t wait, you see.’ He grinned wickedly. ‘I refer of course to myself and Mistress Mullin – she’s been so impatient to see you again. Now, shall we go downstairs?’

I
T WAS THE
second interrogation Betsy had seen Mullin conduct, but it bore little resemblance to the first. Instead of a dank cellar, they were surrounded by the splendour of Lacy’s showroom. And there was no Peter Crabb to threaten their captive: Mullin himself looked capable of that. With a
determined
air, he seated himself on a hard chair while his host, now his prisoner, sat opposite. Lacy was still in his ornate
nightgown
, and without his periwig appeared a diminished figure, his greying hair cropped short. The man knew there would be no help: Jacob, though now conscious, was securely bound and locked in his own kitchen. Yet despite his predicament, Lacy had not lost his powers of speech – far from it.

‘This is intolerable!’ he cried. ‘I could have you hanged, Mullin – do you doubt that? I have the ear of the Grand Pensionary himself—’

‘Indeed? How is de Witt these days?’ Mullin asked. ‘None too popular, I’d say. I incline to the Orange faction myself. I’m surprised you don’t, as a man who knows how the wind blows.’

‘You’re a rogue, sir!’ Lacy threw back. ‘You’ve broken into my house like a common thief – and you’ – his eyes flew to Betsy, who sat beside her fellow-actor – ‘I knew you for a harlot, the moment I saw you.’

‘Enough!’ The captain leaned forward. He had his truncheon, which he levelled at Lacy. ‘We’re not here to trade insults,’ he snapped. ‘I dislike the way you treated my wife – in this very room, I believe. I’ve a mind to give you a thrashing before I
come to my questions. That should ease the wheels of discourse, shouldn’t it?’

‘Your wife?’ Lacy sounded scornful, but there was fear in his eyes. ‘She’s no more married to you than I am. And were I to swear a warrant, who would be believed? This is how she served me!’ He pointed, and now Betsy noticed the bruise: a dark stripe above the bridge of his nose. The nose too was red and swollen.

‘Dear me, did I do that?’ she said. ‘Your pardon, sir, but you were threatening me. A woman must defend her honour.’

‘From your lips, madam, that word’s an insult!’ Lacy retorted. But he was blustering, and he knew it. ‘This cannot continue,’ he said, eyeing Mullin. ‘You know I’m not without friends in Delft. I advise you to cease this foolishness and go while you can.’

‘Believe me, I’d like nothing more.’ Mullin sighed; but Betsy was growing impatient.

‘Haven’t we spent long enough on banter?’ she said. ‘Ask him about Prynn and the others – and Gorton, too.’ She threw Lacy a disdainful look. ‘Then we can leave. The air’s stale here – is it your perfume? In London, men have long since put aside that fragrance.’ Stifling a yawn, she looked away.

‘How dare you!’ Lacy shouted. ‘And as for Gorton – you spoke the name before, and I said I know nothing of any such man.’

‘Well, he’s dead anyway,’ Mullin said, in a conversational tone. ‘He killed Venn, I assume because his friends deemed him a threat to their
enterprise
. His friends being a man named Thomas Prynn, and another called Phelps … shall I go on?’

Lacy was reddening. ‘These names are but chaff to me,’ he snapped. ‘As for this
enterprise
you speak of, it sounds pure fancy. You should go upon the stage!’

Mullin and Betsy couldn’t help exchanging glances. Whereupon as if sensing advantage, Lacy swung his gaze towards her.

‘See now – I know you’re bent on some trepanning,’ he said, with an effort. ‘Whether it’s for Downing or for someone else, is no business of mine. We’re English, and our loyalties are the same, are they not? Hence, why question me? I’m not—’ But he broke off, as with sudden force Mullin banged the truncheon on the arm of his chair.

‘Loyalties?’ He echoed. ‘Then what’s a loyal Englishman doing, here in Delft? Moreover, when Mistress Mullin spoke to you of Venn, she believed the name was known to you – is it not so, madam?’

‘It is,’ Betsy answered. And when Mullin raised an eyebrow, she sensed he was urging her to press further. ‘And now I think on it, perhaps Mr Lacy had good reason to leave England,’ she added. ‘As others have done, to save their necks – like the Regicides did, a decade back.’ She eyed Lacy. ‘I haven’t forgotten your words, when we first met in the
Bok
– and nothing you’ve said since has changed my opinion. A man can’t pretend such hatred of Popery – and hatred of our King too …’ but she fell silent, struck by a change in Lacy’s manner. A moment ago he had been angry and afraid; now a knowing look appeared.

‘Ah … I begin to understand,’ he said.

‘Understand what?’ Mullin snapped.

‘But of course – I should have known.’

To their surprise, the man seemed to be relaxing. ‘What pains you must have been put to, to winkle all this out,’ he went on. ‘And I take back what I said – you’re not Downing’s creature, after all.’

That part was addressed to Betsy. ‘Am I not?’ she asked, after a moment. ‘Then whose creature am I?’

‘Why, his!’ Lacy indicated Mullin. ‘And married or not, you make a fine couple.’ He managed a thin smile. ‘You should have got down to bargaining sooner,’ he added. ‘Not that I admit to any of this nonsense, but I admire your persistence. So …’ He shrugged. ‘Would you care to name your price?’

Silence fell. Outside, Betsy heard the shouts of watermen from the canal. The people of Delft were up and doing business, and that was what was in hand now, in this darkened room. She glanced at Mullin, and saw him put on a smile to match Lacy’s.

‘My price?’ The captain hesitated. ‘Well now, my price, sir, would depend on what I’m selling. If you mean my silence, concerning your connection to the men I spoke of – men, I should add, whose mischief we’ve uncovered – then we may perhaps agree upon a sum. If on the other hand, you’re asking me for further assistance in some way….’

‘I’m asking no such thing.’ Lacy’s smile faded – and suddenly there was doubt in his eyes. ‘This … mischief you speak of,’ he went on, ‘what is it, precisely?’

Betsy stiffened: despite the plight he was in, the man was turning the tables on them, calling Mullin’s bluff! For of course, they didn’t know what Prynn and Phelps and their circle were planning, and Lacy suspected as much. When the captain
hesitated
again, she spoke up.

‘Need we spell it out?’ she asked, adopting her brazen look. ‘Surely you’re in enough danger already? Venn’s dead, Gorton too … For all I know, since we left England the rest of your little band have been caught. All men will break under questioning, sooner or later – will they not?’

Lacy frowned. ‘Gorton again? I’ve said I don’t know this man,’ he said quickly. ‘Were I even put to torture, I could tell you naught of him, nor the others you name. Now, can’t we bring this distasteful business to an end?’ He eyed Mullin. ‘You might have stumbled on rumours,’ he went on, ‘tavern talk … the sort of rant one can hear in certain quarters, on any day of the week. I care not what you know – or think you know – yet I’ll buy your silence anyway. And in that you are very
fortunate
.’ Whereupon the other two stiffened, as his voice dropped.

‘Mark it, sir – and madam,’ he went on, ‘for quite soon, no one will care. Your intelligence will be yesterday’s news, as stale as the Great Fire. So let’s waste no more time, but strike a
bargain so you may go. And when I say go,’ he added, looking at each of them, ‘I don’t only mean from my house: I mean leave Delft, for somewhere far away. Not England.’ He shook his head. ‘That would be unwise. And you’ve been most fortunate of all, madam – I mean, by your very presence here. Do you follow?’ His eyes glinting, he gazed at Betsy – and in an instant she understood.

‘You sent him!’ she cried, sitting bolt upright. ‘It was you who tried to have me killed—’

‘Of course he did!’

Mullin had jumped to his feet, wearing a look of grim triumph. Taking a step towards Lacy he lifted his truncheon, and involuntarily the man’s hand flew up.

‘Don’t!’ he cried. ‘I’ve said we’ll do business! If you leave the country, I’ll call off—’ He stopped, but too late.

‘Call off whom?’ Mullin stood menacingly over him. ‘Your hired assassin, who climbs through windows?’ He grimaced. ‘It’s I who should have guessed sooner,’ he went on,
half-turning
to Betsy. ‘Our friend here is the purser – their treasurer! He stays abroad out of harm’s way, handling disbursements, while the ones in England take the risks. Though if anyone comes prying, he has a mastiff to call upon.’ He glowered at Lacy. ‘Who is he?’ he demanded. ‘Some ex-seaman you’ve bought, who can handle a short-sword? Or an old soldier, one of those embittered souls who drift about Europe?’

‘No, he’s more than that.’ Now Betsy too was on her feet: it was all falling into place. ‘He’s the false priest,’ she said.

A look flickered across Lacy’s features. It was gone in an instant, but she knew she had hit the mark. Her heart was pounding, whether from anger or triumph, she didn’t know. ‘He’s the one who didn’t scruple to kill Eleanor,’ she went on, ‘any more than he’d scruple to kill me! It was he Churston warned me about, when he said I should leave the country if I valued my life! He’s the one Venn spoke of, who was still in the Provinces, but would return in November.’

‘You’re too late – he’s already left!’

Betsy started, and so did Mullin, but at once Lacy sprang from his chair. Neither of them had expected it, and the captain was caught off guard. He swung his truncheon, but with surprising agility the other man ducked under it. Then he leaped for the door – but Betsy was quicker. With a rapid
movement
, she kicked out: a step that would have pleased the dancing master at the Duke’s Theatre. With a cry Lacy stumbled over her leg and fell headlong to the floor – and at once Mullin had him.

‘Get up!’ Gripping the neck of the man’s gown, he yanked him to his feet. Lacy writhed, swinging a fist, but it missed by a mile. The next moment he found himself thrust back into the chair he had just vacated, where he sat red-faced and breathless.

‘Now I’ve truly had enough.’ Mullin’s voice was icy. ‘I want to know who it is who’s already left and what he means to do. And as you suspect, sir, I’m no gentleman. Either I get answers or you die here among your treasures.’ He waved a hand at the room. And to show that it was no idle threat he dropped his cudgel, reached inside his coat and pulled out a small dagger. Lacy gulped.

‘This will avail you nothing!’ he cried. ‘Matters are set in motion. I couldn’t stop them if I tried! Leave me, and get out while you may, or there’ll be a price on your head!’

But with a snort of derision Mullin gripped Lacy about the throat, forced his head backwards and put the dagger to his neck. ‘First, the name of the killer,’ he said. ‘The one who went as a priest.’

A sheen of sweat stood on the other’s brow, but with a rapid movement, he shook his head.

‘His name!’ Mullin repeated. ‘Then I want to know what he intends to do, and when. The projection – what is it?’

Still there was no answer. Lacy’s hands shook, and his eyes swivelled towards Betsy. ‘You’ll listen, won’t you?’ he said. ‘It’s too late: the die is cast. Take my offer – a hundred gold guineas!
More may follow … Don’t you understand? You’ll be rewarded – you could live as I do, once it’s all over—’ Then he yelped. And even Betsy flinched, as blood appeared: Mullin had pricked his ear.

‘The projection!’ He pressed the dagger to the man’s neck again. ‘The Roman Plate – wasn’t that it?’ His question was snapped at Betsy, who nodded, recalling Venn’s hurried
testimony
– then her heart gave a jolt.

‘Oh, cods!’ she cried.

With a frown, Mullin turned.

‘The horse races … the location changed from N to D.’ Betsy stared at him. ‘The Roman Plate must be a trophy. The King goes to Newmarket in early November, then to Datchet for the last race.’ She swallowed. ‘They’re planning to kill the King!’

Mullin froze. Then, slowly, he faced his victim again. Lacy’s face had a ghastly pallor now. Blood dripped on to his collar, while he eyed his interrogator.

‘Name your price!’ he hissed. ‘Whatever you wish for, it can be arranged. In God’s name, use your heads! There’s nothing you can do to stop it. Get away while you can!’

But neither of the others spoke. Betsy stared in horror,
half-hoping
she’d been wrong, but she knew she wasn’t. The truth was out. Financed by this zealot, a group of desperate Republicans had hatched the boldest plot of all: to rid
themselves
of their hated king. They would do it when he was most exposed: at the races, where he mingled freely with jockeys and friends alike. The audacity of the scheme stunned her. Small wonder Venn had been killed if they thought him a risk … and no wonder Lacy had tried to have her killed too!

‘You suspected me from the first day, didn’t you?’ she asked. ‘You sent your assassin to find me, and an innocent girl was murdered instead! That’s why you were shaken when you saw me at the Katz house: you thought me dead!’

‘So he had his tame mastiff try again, and this time another almost died.’

Mullin had found his voice at last. Thrusting his face closer to Lacy’s he breathed heavily, his hand shaky as it held the dagger. Fearing what he would do, Betsy was about to speak, but a cry rang out.

‘Don’t kill me!’ Lacy yelled. ‘I promise you money – more than you’ve ever dreamed of! You know I can do it …’ He
swallowed
, talking rapidly between breaths. ‘Or I can help you in other ways. I have friends in many countries – dukes, even princes – you’ll want for nothing! Let me go, and I—’

‘Let you go?’ Mullin swore, an oath of contempt mixed with disbelief. ‘Do you think me mad? I’ve done some questionable things in my time, Lacy, I won’t deny it. But you …’ He shook his head, almost in admiration. ‘I spit on your pleading, as I do on your promises – and on your politics! God knows I’ve no love of Papists either, but nor do I wish for an England run by men like you!’

He stepped back, as if in disgust. ‘No, I won’t let you go,’ he went on. ‘And though you say we’re too late, I throw that back at you too!’ He turned to Betsy and, at the wild look in his eye, she gave a start.