An Instance of the Fingerpost Page 56

  ‘You were not in New College that evening, nor were you at home tending your mother. You were running errands for Cola. Tell me where you were and who you spoke to. Tell me what other errands you have run for him in Abingdon and Bicester and Burford. That way you will counter the evidence against you, and win my help at one and the same time.’

  I had it in my hand, but it slipped away from me. She lifted her head to me, defiant once more.

  ‘There is nothing I know that can help you in any way. I do not know why Mr Cola is here; if he was not motivated by Christian charity I do not know why he is helping my mother.’

  ‘You have been carrying messages for him.’

  ‘I have not.’

  ‘You were carrying one for him on the night Grove died.’

  ‘I was not.’

  ‘Where were you then? I have established you were not tending your mother as your duty required.’

  ‘I will not tell you. But as God is my witness, I have done nothing ill.’

  ‘God is not testifying at your trial,’ I said, and sent her back to her cell. I was in a black humour. I knew at that moment that I would trade with Prestcott. May the Lord forgive me, I had given the girl every opportunity of saving herself, but she threw her own life away.

  The next day I received an urgent letter from Mr Thurloe. I quote it here as direct testimony to events I did not myself witness.

  Most honoured sir,

  It is my duty and pleasure to acquaint you with certain developments which you have a right to know as a matter of urgency, for you must act swiftly, lest the opportunity slip. The Italian gentleman who interests you so much has been to this village and, although he has now left in the company of Mr Lower once more (I believe heading back for Oxford) he has greatly frightened Mr Prestcott: reports of Cola’s ruthlessness have so struck the young man that he was greatly concerned of his intentions in coming here.

  As much out of curiosity as in any hope of discovering his design, I spent a good time talking to him, and discovered a young man both highly personable and charming, although this perception did not deflect me from taking my normal precautions to guard against sudden attack. None materialised, however, and I took the liberty of informing him of the arrest of Sarah Blundy, so that he might not be afraid of returning to Oxford, if such concerns motivated him. I trust this meets with your approval. While Prestcott and Cola talked, I took it upon myself to see Dr Lower, and impressed on him the necessity of ensuring that Cola did not slip away undetected; he was greatly perturbed and I must say quite angry at the thought that he had been deceived, but eventually agreed to comply with my wishes and give no hint of any suspicion. He is too transparent in his emotions, however, to give me great confidence that he will manage such a feat.

  I spent much of the night in an agony of indecision before I came to the inevitable conclusion. Prestcott demanded a high price and his soul would burn in hell for it. But it was a price I could not bargain down. I needed that testimony and I needed to know who was behind the conspiracy against Clarendon. I hope my account here shows how much I tried. On three occasions at least I had done my best to find a way around the predicament. For more than a week I had avoided acting, in the vain hope that an alternative would allow me to escape the decision, and had risked much in the delay. With a heavy heart, I concluded I could delay no more.

  Sarah Blundy died two days later. On this subject I have no more to add; my words would serve no purpose.

  John Thurloe came to see me that same afternoon. ‘I do not know whether to offer congratulations or not, Doctor. You have done a terrible right thing. More important than you know, even.’

  ‘I think I know the significance of my deeds,’ I said. ‘And their cost.’

  ‘I think not.’

  Then, with that implacable coolness I knew so well, Thurloe told me the greatest secret of the realm, and for the first time I understood plainly how he and people like Samuel Morland had enjoyed such immunity from any sanction since His Majesty’s Restoration. And I also learned the true nature of Sir James Prestcott’s treachery, a betrayal so dangerous it had to be disguised in a lesser treason that it might never be known.

  ‘I had a man in my office, a soldier,’ Thurloe said, ‘who served as a particularly reliable emissary on all sorts of matters. If I wanted a particularly dangerous letter delivered, or prisoner kept safe, then this man could always be relied upon. He was perfectly fanatical in his hatred of monarchy and held a republic to be an essential beginning for God’s kingdom on earth. He wanted a parliament elected by vote, including the vote of women and the propertyless, a distribution of land, and perfect toleration of all worship. He was, in addition, highly intelligent, quick witted and able, if a little too thoughtful for perfection. But I considered him totally loyal to the Commonwealth because all possible alternatives he thought so very much worse.

  ‘Unfortunately I was wrong in my assessment. He was a Lincolnshire man, and years before had formed an attachment to a local landowner who had defended the people of that place from the depredations of the drainers. At a moment of crisis, this loyalty came back to haunt him and overwhelmed all sense and reason. I must say we knew nothing of this until we found the letter Samuel asked you to decipher on his body.’

  ‘What is this to do with anything, sir? Please do not tell me riddles, I have enough of my own.’

  ‘That landowner, of course, was Sir James Prestcott, and the soldier was Ned Blundy, the husband of Anne and the father of the woman who died two days ago.’

  I stared at him in the greatest surprise.

  ‘On my last visit I told you of the way John Mordaunt informed me of the 1659 rising. Another, smaller plot which he also told me about was a local piece of troublemaking planned for Lincolnshire by Sir James Prestcott. It was not serious, but General Ludlow was going to send off a regiment to deal with the problem before it could cause any trouble. Ned Blundy knew of it, as he was asked to deliver dispatches on the matter, and out of this Fenland loyalty of his, passed on a warning which led to Prestcott preserving a life which would otherwise have most certainly been forfeit.

  ‘The association, once renewed, led to the divulgence of more and more secrets, for both were fanatics and found common cause in hating those who wanted peace. Blundy applied himself to learning all the secrets of the talks about a restoration, and through him Prestcott learned of them as well. He knew which members of the king’s party had been deliberately handed over to the government, which plots had been betrayed in advance so they could do no harm.

  ‘And he became a very angry man, intent on revenge. When he heard that the king himself was coming to England in secret for final talks with me, he could contain himself no longer. He went down to Deal that same February in 1660, when the king was due to arrive, and lay in wait. I do not know how long he was there, but one morning after the talks had been going on, the king went for a walk in the gardens of the house we were using; Sir James came out at him and tried to kill him with his sword.’

  I knew nothing of any of these talks, and certainly nothing of any assassination attempt, so well had the matter been hidden by all concerned, and I was astonished both to learn of it and that Thurloe was telling me now.

  ‘How was it that it didn’t succeed?’

  ‘It very nearly did. The king received a cut in the arm, which shocked him mightily, and would certainly have died had not another hurled himself in front of him and taken the final, fatal blow in his own heart.’

  ‘A brave and good man,’ I said.

  ‘Perhaps. Certainly a most unusual one, for it was Ned Blundy who sacrificed himself in this fashion, and died for a man he detested, and permitted the restoration of that monarchy he had spent his life opposing.’

  I stared blankly at this extraordinary tale. Thurloe smiled when he saw my incomprehension, and shrugged.

  ‘An honourable man, who believed in justice and saw none in murder, perhaps. I am certain Sir James had not consulted him i
n any way over what he intended. I can give no greater explanation to you of his motives and think none is probably needed: Blundy was a good soldier and loyal comrade, but I never once heard of him killing unnecessarily or acting with any cruelty to his enemies. I am sure he was happy to save Prestcott’s life, but not to assist Prestcott in killing another, even if it was a king.’

  ‘And Sir James? Why did you not kill him? It seems to be your preferred solution in such cases.’

  ‘He was not an easy man to kill. He escaped after the attack and daily we expected to hear that he had put his knowledge into circulation. On both sides we hunted furiously but to no avail. We could not say what he had done, as that would have involved revealing the depths of our talks, and so our only hope was to discredit him in advance so that if he did speak out, no one would believe him. Samuel did his usual competent job forging letters, and there were enough people amongst the king’s men who could be bribed to accept the situation without too much enquiry. Prestcott fled abroad, and died. It is ironic; he was the worst of traitors to his king, but was entirely innocent of the crimes of which he was accused.’

  ‘Your problem at least was at an end.’

  ‘No. It was not. He would not have acted in such a desperate way on Ned Blundy’s word alone. He insisted on seeing evidence, and Ned provided it.’

  ‘What sort of evidence?’

  ‘Letters, memoranda, dockets, dates of meetings and the names of people at them. A great deal of material.’

  ‘And he did not use it?’

  Thurloe smiled sadly. ‘Indeed not. I was forced to conclude that he did not have it; that Ned Blundy had kept it, which would have been a wise thing for him to do.’

  ‘And this was the man Samuel mentioned?’

  ‘Yes. Shortly before his death, Blundy visited his family for the last time. It was reasonable to conclude he must have left it with them; on such a matter he could rely on no one else, not even the oldest comrade in arms. I had their house searched on several occasions, but discovered nothing. But I am certain that either the girl or her mother knew where it was, and that they were the only ones to know. Blundy was too sensible to trust others with such a secret.’

  ‘And they are dead. They can’t tell you where it is now.’

  ‘Precisely. Nor can they tell Jack Prestcott.’ Thurloe smiled. ‘Which is the greatest relief of all. Because if he had that material, then he could have asked for an earldom and half a county, and the king would have given it to him. And Clarendon would have fallen without a murmur.’

  ‘And this is what you told Prestcott I would give him?’

  ‘I said merely you would give him information. Which you can now do, since I have passed it on to you.’

  ‘You know already what Prestcott’s information is?’

  ‘No. But I must be strictly honest and say that I can guess what it is.’

  ‘And you decided not to tell me, so I would have that girl killed.’

  ‘That is correct. I would have preferred to have those documents of Blundy’s so I could destroy them. But as that seemed unlikely to come about, it was best no one else should have them either. They would damage the standing and safety of too many people, including myself.’

  ‘You had me commit murder for your own ends,’ I said flatly, appalled by the man’s ruthlessness.

  ‘I told you power is not for the squeamish, Doctor,’ he said quietly. ‘And what have you lost? You want your revenge on Cola and his patrons and Prestcott will let you have it.’

  Then he signalled for Prestcott to be brought, and the youth came in, preening himself in satisfaction at his own skill. At least I was sure that would not last long. I had agreed to spare him from trial, but I knew the knowledge he would have from my lips would be a greater punishment. Nor was I in a mood to spare him anything.

  He began with lengthy and hypocritical assertions of his great gratitude to me for my kindness and mercy; these I cut short brusquely. I knew what I had done, and I wanted no congratulations. It was necessary, but my hatred and contempt for the man who had forced me to it knew few bounds.

  Thurloe, I believe, saw my impatience and anger, and intervened before I became too outraged.

  ‘The question is, Mr Prestcott, who has guided you to your conclusions? Who gave you the hints and suggestions which has led you to your conviction about Mordaunt’s guilt? You have told me much about your enquiries, but you have not told all, and I do not like to be deceived.’

  He flushed at the accusation, and attempted to pretend he was not frightened of the threat implicit in Thurloe’s quiet, gentle voice. Thurloe, who could be more terrifying with less effort than any man I knew, sat out the bluster.

  ‘I say again, you have not told something. By your own account, you had never heard of Sir Samuel Morland, yet found out much about him and his interests quite easily. You had no introduction to Lord Bedford’s steward, yet were received by him and found him free with all manner of information. How did you know to do this? Why would such a man have talked to you? This was the critical moment in your quest, was it not? Before that all was dark and obscure, after it everything was clear and lucid. Someone told you Mordaunt was a traitor, someone told you of his connection to Samuel Morland, and encouraged you in your quest. Before then, all was suspicion and half-formed idea.’

  Prestcott still refused to answer, but hung his head like a schoolboy caught cheating in his work.

  ‘I hope you are not going to tell us you made it all up. Dr Wallis here has taken substantial risks on your behalf and has entered into a bargain with you. That contract will be null and void unless you fulfil your side of it.’

  Eventually he raised his head and stared at Thurloe, a strange and (I would have said) almost maniacal smile on his face. ‘I had it from a friend.’

  ‘A friend. How kind of them. Would you care to share the name of this friend?’

  I felt myself leaning forward in anticipation of his reply, for I was sure his next words would answer the question for which I had risked so much.

  ‘Kitty,’ he said, and I stared at him in total puzzlement. The name meant nothing to me at all.

  ‘Kitty,’ Thurloe repeated, as imperturbable as ever. ‘Kitty. And he is . . .?’

  ‘She. She is, or was, a whore.’

  ‘A very well-informed one, it seems.’

  ‘She is now very well placed in her trade. It is extraordinary, is it not, how fortune favours some people? When I first met her she was walking to Tunbridge Wells to ply her trade. Six months later, she is comfortably installed as the mistress of one of the greatest men in the land.’

  Thurloe smiled encouragingly in that bland way of his.

  ‘She is a girl of great good sense,’ Prestcott continued. ‘Before her rise, I was kind to her, and when I encountered her by chance in London she paid me back handsomely by retelling gossip she had heard.’

  ‘By chance?’

  ‘Yes. I was walking around, and she saw me and approached me. She happened to be passing.’

  ‘I’m sure she was. Now, this great man who keeps her. His name is . . .?’

  Prestcott drew himself more upright in the chair. ‘My Lord of Bristol,’ he said. ‘But I beg you not to say I told you. I promised my discretion.’

  I sighed heavily, not only because my case was advanced immeasurably, but also because Prestcott’s answer was so obviously true. Just as it was not in Mr Bennet’s character to risk all on a throw, so it was very much in that of Bristol to chance all he had so recklessly. He thought of himself as the king’s greatest adviser, although in truth he had no office and little authority. His open Catholicism had debarred him from position and in all matters he was bested by Clarendon on policy. It rankled, for he was undoubtedly a man of great courage and loyalty, who had been by the king’s side as long as any and shared exile and poverty with him. He was a man of extraordinary qualities and had as good an education as any man of that age, a graceful and beautiful person, with great eloquen
ce in discourse. He was equal to a good part in any affair, but was the unfittest man alive to conduct it, for, great though his qualities were, his vanity and ambition far exceeded them, and he had a confidence in his capacities which often intoxicated, transported and exposed him. He espoused policies of the smallest prudence and the greatest hazard, but did so with such sweet reason that they seemed the only course to take. It would not be difficult to persuade others that he was the author of such an absurd scheme as to attempt Clarendon’s death, for he was perfectly capable of inventing such a foolishness.

  ‘You may rest assured that we will not betray your trust,’ Thurloe said. ‘I must thank you, young man. You have been very helpful.’

  Prestcott looked puzzled. ‘And that is it? You want no more of me?’

  ‘Later maybe. But not at the moment.’

  ‘In that case,’ he said, turning to me, ‘you will favour me with one further piece of information as well. The evidence of Mordaunt’s guilt which Mr Thurloe tells me undoubtedly exists. Where is it to be found? Who has it?’

  Even in my mood of blackness, I felt the ability to pity him then. He was stupid and deluded, cruel and credulous by turns, violent in deed and soul, full of bile and superstition, a monster of perversion. But his one genuine feeling was the reverential love he had for his father, and his faith in his honesty was so direct it had carried him through all his journeys and troubles. That goodness had been so corrupted by rancour it was hard to see the virtuous kernel within, and yet it was there. I took no pleasure in extinguishing it, nor in telling him that his cruelty made him the author of his own, ultimate misfortune.

  ‘There was only one person who knew where it was.’

  ‘And the name, sir? I will go there directly.’ He leant forward eagerly, a look of unsuspecting anticipation on his youthful countenance.