A Murderous Affair, page 33
‘Yes but that’s what I don’t get – they didn’t have anything with them. None of this makes any sense.’
‘It seems to me, my dear fellow, that solving mysteries is a bit like doing a puzzle. There’s no point starting until you have all of the pieces. Seems that you are missing some vital information – otherwise why wouldn’t it make sense? Ergo sum and all that.’
I looked at Kyd to see if he was being serious – it seemed that he was. It was hard to believe that anything sensible could come from such a carefree face.
‘The strangest thing is that Hardwick doesn’t appear to be involved at all in Don Alphonse’s death.’
‘What about this Dakers? He sounds like a cold fish.’
‘I doubt he would baulk at murder but only under Hardwick’s bidding.’
Kyd thought for a moment whilst chewing ‘Then that only leaves Ingram and Drummond. At least from the list of suspects we have.’
‘I still don’t fancy Drummond as our man. He wouldn’t be capable. Ingram on the other hand, or one of his henchmen, most certainly is but from what I heard Ingram is Hardwick’s man too. There’s something else. It looks as though Don Alphonse was also involved in the plot to discredit Robert. He was on the same side as Hardwick all of the time.’
‘That’s hard to believe given their history.’
‘There’s another thing you won’t believe.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I saw Buck on the boat. Under decks, playing cards with a couple of old sea dogs.’
‘You don’t say. Theatre’s great loss has ended up a sailor.’
‘I want you to go to that ship before you leave and see if you can get a message to him.’
‘Steady Lovat, old boy, I don’t want to get pressed.’
‘I rather fear that that is exactly what has happened to Buck. Tell him that Emmalina is worried about him and that if he’s in trouble we’ll help him out.’
‘How do you expect me to do that?’
‘You’re the playwright. You’ll think of something. I have to go.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Get back to Stavening. Collect the papers I stole and scarper.’ I had been regretting the decision to leave the letters in the church but there was nothing I could do about it now. The little that I had read told me that they very likely held those missing pieces of the puzzle that Kyd was referring to. Hopefully I could get back to the church under cover of night, retrieve the papers and leave again without anyone being the wiser. Kyd did nothing to support this view.
‘Why the hell didn’t you bring them with you? If you get caught they’ll lynch you.’
‘Let’s just say a beguiling woman led me astray. Once you’ve delivered the message to Buck, you should leave here. I suggest we meet in the inn where we stopped on the way down and return to London together.’
‘Right-o.’
Little did either of us know that Kyd was going to have a long wait.
* * *
The grand house was quiet. Its endless black windows reflecting the pale moon.
I rode as close to it as I dared before dismounting and leaving George tethered to one of the inner gates. An owl screeched somewhere in the distance.
All I had to do was reach the church, collect the bag of letters and disappear. On paper it seemed relatively simple. Simple, except that I had to pass close to the house to reach the church. I struck off to one side of the entrance path and began cautiously sidling through the garden. Strange shapes loomed at me out of the darkness – mystical figures on poles, strangely cut hedges – Hardwick’s fanciful garden ornaments, pretty in the daylight but damn right eerie at night. Two or three times a figure looked as though it was moving and I had to tell myself to take a deep breath and calm down. I edged forward, the crunch of icy snow beneath my feet.
Then I saw him.
At first just a shadow, then clearly the shape of a man – a big man, possibly Grayson, closing in on me from behind. I heard a whistle, followed by sounds of footsteps and the dancing shadows of torchlight. I darted behind one of the sculptured hedges and began moving swiftly towards where I thought the church to be. I had no choice but to continue blindly on.
There was no chance of seeing the church in the dark and I simply had to trust my judgement as to where it was. My judgement proved to be poor. I had gradually been following the line of a path between two hedges, but, at a sharp turn, I now realised I had run into a section of the ornamental maze. The hedges, over six feet high, reared up on either side of me. I didn’t know how far in I had gone but there was nothing for it but to turn back.
I spun round but the flare of a light blocked my path. Turning, I ran desperately towards the centre of the maze. The voices had turned to shouts – ‘the maze, he’s in the maze, we’ve got him’ – their quarry was trapped and they were moving in for the kill.
I stumbled around square corners, turning back on myself, hearing feet scuttling along adjacent paths. Suddenly I found myself in a square box, hedges on every side. I scrambled at the hedge, trying to climb it and would almost have made it but for rough hands grabbing my legs and pulling my hard backwards. I landed awkwardly and a torch was blazed into my face.
Scarface was standing over me, his milky eye thrust forward. Behind him stood Grayson holding the torch. They didn’t say anything – just grinned.
Chapter 30
Why dost thou then, ô Man, ô Hunter me pursue,
With cry of hounds, with blast of horne, with hallow, and with hue?
Or why dost thou deuise, such nets and instruments,
Such toyles & toyes, as hunters vse, to bring me to their bents?
(George Turberville: The Wofull wordes of the Hart to the Hunter)
The cabal stood in a line in front of me – Grayson and Scarface, ugly brutes cracking their knuckles, looking as though they would like to set to work beating the living daylights out of me as soon as possible; Dakers, altogether more refined, looking as though he was planning a crueller, but ever-so-entertaining, form of torture; Ingram, hawk-like eyes fixed on me, comfortably settling back to enjoy the show; and finally Hardwick himself, red-faced, murderous, and looking as though he might ruin everyone’s fun by tearing me apart then and there with his bare hands.
I had been dragged unceremoniously to Hardwick’s study and thrown into a chair by the fireplace – I didn’t think I would be sitting comfortably for long. I’d expected to be taken to a shed or stable but I supposed there wasn’t anywhere more private in the entire residence. Private for what, was the question. I looked closely at the chests that I had been rummaging through only a day ago, but there appeared to be no sign that Hardwick was aware of the fact. Despite capturing me, he must still assume that his study was impregnable.
It was obvious to me that my arrival had been expected and I had wondered painfully if the beautiful Leticia had betrayed me. I needn’t have doubted her though. A terrified Tichborne was cowering in a corner of Hardwick’s study. He was wearing his nightgown and a reddening eye told me that his awakening had likely been a rude one.
‘Sorry Lovat. I saw you leave,’ was all he could get out before Hardwick slapped him hard in the mouth.
‘Get out Tichborne. I’ll deal with you later.’ Tichborne simpered his way out of the door, which was shut and bolted behind him. Hardwick was gradually gaining control of his anger.
‘Well now, Master Lovat.’ He pulled up a chair and sat in front of me, his livid face inches from mine. ‘Or should I call you Robert Rokesby’s bastard little brother? How did Walsingham get his claws into you? And what are you really doing in my house?’
I decided to try ignorance as a first form of defence. ‘I beg your pardon, sire, but you know perfectly well that Walsingham sent me here to learn my trade as a clerk.’
‘Is that so? Are you sure it isn’t some other trade he wants you to learn?’
‘Such as what?’
‘Are you going to be tiresome Lovat? Ingram, have your men soften him up.’
Violence is a reality; violence is a way of life. From the vicious schoolmasters with their canes, to the stupid husbandry men that batter their wives, to the soldiers, thieves and vagabonds in the perilous London streets. I was used to violence. These and other fanciful thoughts mixed with the stars in my brain as Grayson and Scarface set about ‘softening me up.’ I was kicked off the chair, hauled up, one behind holding in my arms, one in front, thumped down again, blows to the face and stomach. ‘This is in return for the night at the warehouse’ muttered Grayson into my ear before one particularly well-targeted blow to the eye.
There was no fighting back – this was a professional beating. They took it in turns to pin my arms, whilst the other took free hits – a distinct crack told of a fractured rib. When Hardwick stopped the first round, I was badly winded and on my knees.
Just batter me over to the left next time, I thought, just a little further to the left.
I was hauled back into the chair.
‘Feel like talking? Or should I let them continue? What were you doing here Lovat?’
‘I spat some blood from my mouth: ‘Ok, I’ll come clean. Walsingham’s taken an interest in gardening. He thinks you’ve got one of the finest gardens in England – he wanted me to steal some ideas.’
‘Grayson.’ The blow landed on my ear, knocking me to floor on the right – to the left next time, I willed – before receiving a kick in the ribs. The hollow pain in my side increased markedly.
‘We’ve got all night Lovat. And by the end of it I can promise you that you’ll be telling me everything I want to know and a damn sight more that I don’t. What does Walsingham want?’ I shook my head, barely able to speak even if I had wanted to. ‘Alright, we’ll leave that for a moment and try something else. What’s your connection with De Sousa? What were you doing at the warehouse?’
‘Fixing the chimney.’
‘Dammit! Grayson make him speak.’
To the left, I thought, just hit me to the left.
Grayson stepped forward and I stood, stumbling, as if to get away, but making sure that I made him an offer of my right cheek. He didn’t waste the opportunity. As the blow came in, I flung myself in time with it to the space behind Hardwick’s desk – at the panel that I knew to be there – at the wall that I prayed would give way.
My prayers were answered. I smashed through the wooden panelling, bringing the shelves down above me, and before Grayson or anyone else could react, I was through the trapdoor and falling head first down the ladder into the secret tunnel. My last vision of them was of gaping-mouthed silence at this completely unexpected turn of events.
I landed awkwardly, severely twisting one of my arms, but wasted no time wrenching the ladder from its fixings. It was a matter of rotten wood and disintegrated easily. I looked up just in time to see a figure flinging itself down on top of me. Grayson evidently didn’t need the ladder.
In the quickest move I have ever made in my life, I bent forward, stuck out a shoulder, and, on impact, catapulted the unsuspecting meathead into the vicinity of the well.
My luck held. Grayson landed half-in and half-out of the disused well head. An accurately-aimed punch to his groin and I tipped the scales in favour of gravity. Grayson plunged downwards, head first. I heard the desperate scraping of his fingers along the inner bricks before the inevitable splash of water.
‘Grayson! Grayson! Have you got him?’ A light appeared in the space above but I was too deep in the gloom for anyone to spot me. I scrambled into the tunnel to the church, leaving the sound of Ingram’s increasingly futile cries. ‘Grayson! Where the hell are you?’
I don’t remember my escape down the tunnel. My mind was already ahead of my feet – would the rope still be there to get me out, would the bag with the letters be in its hiding place? Could I make it to the entrance of the church and beyond before anyone spotted me?
The rope was still there – I clambered up it. I dug the bag out of its hiding place – bulky weight, but sod it – had to be done – bless you Leticia for remembering to bring it from my room. Up the stone steps three at a time – ribs, arms in agony – a quick glance at the door – dawn breaking over the fields to the East, giving the snow a pink tinge – maybe an hour more of darkness if I was lucky. Would they have followed me into the tunnel or be looking for me outside? No way of knowing, simply had to chance it. The next beating would end in my death.
I didn’t run – at first. Quietly round to the back of the church, carefully into the trees and now – thanks be to God the bastards didn’t break my legs – ran for my life.
* * *
It was about an hour later when I first heard the dogs.
Not the bass-level grunt of mastiffs, nor the high-pitched yapping of alaunts but, much more disconcertingly, the collective howling of a pack of running-hounds – the sort usually employed to track and corner harts or boar, although I had no doubt in this instance that I was their quarry.
I had reached the fringes of open ground and was taking shelter in an untidy thicket, beyond which lay the forest of the Weald. The ground had been steadily rising and the house and gardens were now somewhere below me in the valley beyond the grey dawn, obscured by a thick mist that had enveloped the entire length of the escarpment. The snow had thinned out in the last hundred yards before I reached the scattered blackthorn and hawthorn bushes, which guarded the entrance to the wilder woods. Now I found myself on rough turf, broken by the ravages of the cold but at least no longer leaving an easy trail of footprints for anyone to follow – not that the dogs would need those to track me.
I was grateful to the dawn, which had been creeping in so slowly, as though it could barely be bothered to start a new day. Even now, as the mist began to clear slightly, grey clouds overhead were stalling the onset of day. Had anyone in the house been alert to the direction I had taken, they would not have been able to see me despite the openness of the terrain.
I calculated that it would have taken at least a quarter of an hour for anyone to have been lowered into the well pit below Hardwick’s study and discover the passageway, and another ten minutes to reach the church and discover the secret entrance, from which I had conveniently removed the rope. There was also the time taken to fish Grayson out of the well – assuming anyone had bothered. All-in-all the best part of an hour must have passed before they would have discovered that the church had been my means of escape, by which time I had been well away across the fields.
I bent double with my hands on my knees, watching the warm breath bursting painfully out of my lungs, contemplating the next problem that now presented itself. Should I stay in the open where I was easy prey but could move quickly, or dive into the forest, where the dogs would have no trouble following me, but I might at least find means of outwitting them and be able to put some obstacles between myself and the horses that the followers would no doubt be riding? I chose the forest. My legs were exhausted from the climb, my lungs bursting and my ribs and arm aching, but there was no time to think about any of that. The ground that had taken me an hour to cover would be gained in less than half the time by the dogs.
I had no choice but to keep moving.
Before taking refuge in the woods, I ran up and down, and around the thicket, knowing that the best way to slow the dogs would be to confuse them as much as possible. I also tore up my undershirt, shoving part of it as far as possible down a nearby rabbit hole with the help of a thick wooden stick, and throwing other parts on the tops of the tallest bushes I could find. It all added up to what was, most likely, a futile attempt at deception.
The prickly bushes soon gave way to more substantial woodlands of broad oak and wand-like straight ashes. The first part of it was still very much part of the estate, with rows of coppiced and pollarded trees, and piles of stakes that had been cut from them and stored for the winter under cover. Quickly, though, the managed part of the forest gave way to thicker, more impenetrable terrain. I ran on as fast as the uneven ground would allow me, pausing only occasionally to catch my breath and listen for my pursuers.
Each time I wished I hadn’t – the cries and whines of the dogs grew ever nearer, urged on by the trill of hunting horns. I thought of my own experiences of hunting – if Hardwick, the hunting enthusiast, was doing things properly there would be a pack of around forty hounds, followed by a handful of armed men on horseback, and a further group of men on foot leading mastiffs and greyhounds. I judged that they were already halfway between the house and the scrub and closing rapidly. The only thing for it was to keep pressing further and further into the forest.
It was hard to tell if my delaying tactics were successful at all, but if they were, they only bought me a little time. It wasn’t long before, with a feeling of dismay, I could hear the sound of the hounds closing in from behind.
I tripped over roots and stones, pitched into bogs and ditches, clambered up banks, caught my clothing and skin on sharp branches and thorns. As I ran, panting loudly, I thought with irony of Don Alphonse’s flight through the African jungle and how history was now repeating itself. The only advice I could glean from Don Alphonse’s document was to run and run but, I thought grimly, he hadn’t being pursued by dogs with every instinct to kill.
The ground, which had continued to rise in the forest, now suddenly plunged downwards. Glad, at first, of the change in gradient, I charged headlong down the slope, but soon found myself hemmed into a ravine, high, rocky banks on either side, with only one choice of direction. If the hounds followed me in here, I was easy prey. Behind me I could now hear their whimpering, as they relayed the message of my scent, as well as the thump of hooves and the cries of the men in pursuit.
After a drop of around fifty feet, I stopped momentarily and turned. My heart sank as above me I saw the hounds starting to pour into the ravine and then almost stopped as I saw a man on horseback pull his mount sharply up behind them, judging correctly that the ravine was too steep for the horse. I couldn’t tell which of my pursuers it was but he had clearly spotted me. As I stared at him, I felt a flutter of air across my cheek and heard the thud of a crossbow bolt penetrating a tree only inches from my head. I didn’t wait to give him a second shot.
