The Winter List, page 22
part #6 of Damian Seeker Series
Lawrence still looked at the bag with deep suspicion. ‘And why have you brought them here?’
To Thomas it was obvious. ‘I thought we should have another look. See if they might help us in trying to get to the bottom of why William was killed.’
‘Hmm,’ said Lawrence. ‘What did Buckingham have to say about them, then?’
Irritation crept over Thomas’s face. ‘He claimed he’d all but told me what he wanted them for. Seemed to think it funny that I hadn’t worked it out.’
‘We’d best have another look at them, then.’
Thomas took out the plans and opened them out on Lawrence’s desk, weighing the edges down with pewter candlesticks and Lawrence’s prized bust of Cicero. ‘We’ll need more light,’ he said. Fossgate was a wide enough street compared to many in York, and the ground floor of Ingolby’s house wasn’t overhung by the upper storey, yet this late on a winter afternoon the light coming in at the windows was poor.
Lawrence went to the door and called for Jed, but it was Griselda Duncan who appeared. ‘Is Jed still about?’
‘Away with ice skates over his shoulder, to some fish pool that’s frozen over.’
Lawrence tutted. ‘Sounds likely enough. He’ll be up at King’s Pool, showing off. Right, well, fetch us some more candles, will you.’
She’d been back in no time and had had the sense to bring extra candlesticks too, which she placed carefully around the edges of the plan, where they could do most good. Lawrence went to light the candles from one already lit, but chastising him for risking wax on his papers, she took a taper from the pocket of her apron, put it to a flame then went round methodically lighting each candle. ‘Will there be anything else?’
Grizel had known what it was that Thomas Faithly and Lawrence Ingolby were looking at before she’d finished lighting the candles. It was the original of the plans Anne Winter had copied while searching Thomas Faithly’s rooms several nights beforehand and which she and Anne had pored over together. The spy house.
As she left, she took care to not quite close the door behind her.
Once out into the hall she stopped. Madge could already be heard, snoring from the kitchen, and Manon and Lizzie were safely upstairs, also taking their afternoon rest. Quietly, Grizel stepped close to the gap she had left between Ingolby’s office door and the jamb, and she listened.
‘You really have no idea what this is for?’ said Ingolby.
‘Some nefarious purpose, I fear. If you would look at it with fresh eyes first and tell me what strikes you about it.’
There was silence from the study for a few moments, and then Lawrence Ingolby said, ‘You know Coffee Yard?’
‘I’ve been into the coffee house now and then. Never given much thought to the courtyard and the building in it, though. It’s an old religious hostel, broken up into smaller lodgings, is it not?’
‘Mmm, that’s what it was,’ said Lawrence, ‘but I’ve heard rumours it’s been used as some sort of meeting house of late. Puritans probably.’
‘Oh? A great risk to take, in the heart of the city,’ said Thomas. Successive Acts of Parliament since his restoration had thoroughly eroded the King’s desire for greater religious tolerance and any joining in a religious meeting not held according to the principles of the Anglican Church risked loss of office, fines and imprisonment.
‘But this looks like plans to turn it back into a grand house. Or something.’
‘Or something?’
Grizel felt her heartbeat quicken; now they were getting to it.
‘See there?’ said Ingolby. ‘Well, that looks like the window of an upper chamber, doesn’t it? But look at this.’
‘What am I looking at?’
‘It says hall, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Faithly. ‘William’s handwriting is small but perfectly clear.’
‘Maybe so, but the dimensions aren’t right.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well,’ said Ingolby, ‘if the alterations are made according to what William’s got down here, the window from that bedchamber won’t be overlooking the roof of the hall, it’ll be looking right into it.’
‘Are you certain?’ asked Faithly.
‘Certain. And look here, at these two storerooms, the pipes that carry into them.’
‘I see them.’
‘Well?’
‘Well what?’
‘What are they carrying,’ prompted Ingolby, ‘and from where? It’s not water from the gutterings or from a source outside or in – there are no pumps.’
Grizel heard Thomas sigh. ‘This is beyond me, Lawrence. I can’t think what they might be. They are simply pipes.’
‘Aye,’ said Lawrence, clearly becoming animated. ‘Small, narrow pipes, set high up in the wall almost so’s you wouldn’t see them, each end open in a different room.’
‘Some form of ventilation?’ suggested Thomas.
Lawrence shook his head. ‘They’re taking air from the one room to the other all right, but it’s what’s in the air that’s important. They’re taking voices .’
‘Voices?’
‘Words. Speech. Sounds. Anyone watching from this window up here, seeing persons of interest in the hall down here, would take no time coming down these back stairs here and taking up a position in one or other of these storerooms.’
It seemed Thomas Faithly at last understood. ‘And from there,’ he said, a hint of excitement in his voice, ‘he’d hear whatever was being said in the hall without having to go in or being seen.’
‘Exactly.’
Grizel smiled. It had taken the pair a good deal longer than it had taken Anne and herself to understand that what they were looking upon was a spy house, one where George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham – or more probably some agent – might settle himself, that he might overhear and take note of everything said within its walls.
‘But why’s he doing this somewhere he’s clearly not going to be living? Why not just have alterations made at King’s Manor, or even at the Treasurer’s House, where the real power will lie?’
Faithly let out a long breath. ‘That I don’t know. All he had to say about it was it was good to have irons in the fire.’
‘Irons in the fire?’
‘Yes. Well, actually, he specified “tongs” which he appeared to find very amusing.’ And then Grizel heard the sound of a hand slapping off a forehead. ‘Idiot!’ said Faithly. ‘I’ve been an idiot. The Tong plot. Of course.’
For the next half-hour Grizel listened as Thomas Faithly outlined for Lawrence details of events that had lately unfolded in the murkier corners of Westminster. The Tong plot, named for one of the initially unwitting conspirators, had been fabricated so that the authorities might be seen to have cause to eliminate any rumblings of dissent.
‘Buckingham has taken a lesson from it that he seeks to apply in his rule as lord lieutenant. He believes the north is ripe for rebellion, that there are some old Republicans here who might not be finished yet.’
‘He may be right,’ said Lawrence. The last true opposition to the restoration, disordered and fractured and ultimately hopeless as it had been, had been in the north. ‘And that’s to say nothing of all the sects. Most of them came from the north. The Commonwealth may be over, but I doubt all of those emboldened by it have been crushed.’
‘Which is exactly what Buckingham thinks,’ said Thomas. ‘He believes it would be of benefit to the peace of the realm should any such elements still in the north be flushed out, that they might be dealt with, once and for all.’
‘It would be of benefit of Buckingham, you mean,’ said Lawrence.
Thomas nodded. ‘I am to keep my eyes and ears open for signs of dissent. But the thing is, what he has learned from the Tong plot is that rather than warn or crush individuals now, means should be found to quietly encourage them, to such an extent that they commit themselves to some outrage, the plans of which might be brought to light before they actually come to fruition. He says it would just be a question of bringing likely types together, then finding proof.’
‘Likely types,’ said Lawrence. ‘By which he means the disaffected – labourers, old soldiers, folk that have come down in the world since the King came in. Exactly the sort that might gather together at a Puritan meeting house, or even find themselves employed in carrying out the work to set it right. Carpenters. Stonemasons. Not hard to see what it was about the work that William didn’t like, is it?’
‘No,’ agreed Thomas. ‘And while I’m heart sorry for William’s fate, I own to being relieved that, as seems clear from this, his murder was nothing to do with any agent of L’Estrange’s looking into our business with Damian Seeker, but instead the result of Buckingham’s machinations.’
‘You think the duke had him killed?’
Thomas Faithly made a dismissive sound. ‘Not George. He’d have made sure he had hold of the plans first.’
‘We’re no further on then, are we?’
‘No,’ agreed Faithly, ‘we’re not.’
There was a puffing sound and then the faint whiff of smoke from extinguished candles. Grizel slipped back to the kitchen and the seat opposite the sleeping Madge, and picked up her knitting needles and wool, considering how best she might put this information to use.
As Lawrence went around the room, snuffing out the candles, Thomas Faithly said, ‘I’ll lodge these plans safely back in King’s Manor. For now, though, all I wish is to forget about it all for a while. Is that offer of a bed for the night still available?’
‘Course it is,’ said Lawrence. ‘It’s already made up in the parlour.’
‘Thank you. God willing, we’ll soon be done with this sort of thing.’
Lawrence didn’t need to ask him what sort of thing he meant. Dark things they did not understand. Secrets they had to unravel. Mysteries that had to be locked away out of sight. The sort of thing they had had to do for Damian Seeker.
They left his study and Lawrence turned the key in the lock. He glanced towards the kitchen, from where he could hear Madge’s regular snores and the click of the Scotswoman’s needles. ‘Sometimes I wonder,’ he said, as he and Thomas ascended the stairs to the parlour, ‘if we can ever be done with that sort of thing.’
It was many hours later, long after darkness and silence had enveloped York for the night, that Grizel was awoken by a sudden cry from upstairs. She leapt from her box bed, taking the knife from under her pillow, and ran up the stairs and into the Ingolbys’ bedchamber. Manon, still sitting up in bed, had her hand over her mouth but Lawrence Ingolby, his face a picture of shock, was standing in front of the opened panel in front of the secret recess in the wall. In his hand was the travelling escritoire from which Grizel had copied the letters only a few days before. Even from the other side of the room she could see that the lock was smashed, the lid splintered, and the case empty. Thomas Faithly went past her into the room.
‘Lawrence, what is it?’
Ingolby’s face, even by candlelight, was ashen. ‘We’ve had another break-in.’
It wasn’t long until they were all assembled down in the kitchen. Madge was standing over a pot of steaming caudle, keeping up a constant stream of woe and worry. Manon was seated by the kitchen fire, wrapped in blankets and sipping the brandy Lawrence had insisted she take. Her hands shook and her face was desolate. Grizel sat on the floor at her feet, a sleeping Lizzie in her arms. At the table, Jed watched nervously as Thomas Faithly sought to calm his master.
‘You are certain it must have been this morning?’
Ingolby, white with anger, nodded. ‘Absolutely certain. I checked in there today before we went off to church, and all was well with the writing case.’
‘And when you came back?’
Lawrence shook his head. ‘Didn’t think to look.’ He hit his hand off his own forehead. ‘Stupid, stupid.’ Sitting accusingly, in the middle of the kitchen table, was the smashed writing box.
‘It’s my fault,’ said Manon, her voice deadened. ‘I should never have made you keep them.’
‘It is not your fault. It is the fault of this Roger L’Estrange and whoever—’
‘L’Estrange?’ said Sir Thomas, colour draining from his face. ‘Oh no.’ He looked now to Manon. ‘You mean that was where you kept your father’s letters.’
Twenty
Plans for Leaving York
Anne Winter was jolted from her sleep by a loud knocking at the door. Throwing on a warm robe, she ran barefoot down the stairs, not bothering about a candle as a dim hint of dawn light allowed her to see in front of her.
It was Grizel.
‘Whatever is wrong?’ said Anne, hastily letting her friend in and closing the door behind her.
Grizel went directly to the embers of the kitchen fire and worked to rekindle them. ‘Roger L’Estrange,’ she said as she applied the bellows.
‘What?’
‘Are you sure he has left York?’
‘Certain,’ said Anne. ‘I saw him leave and I paid two porters down at King’s Staith to send word to me should there be any sighting of him returning. Why?’
‘Because there was another break-in at the Ingolbys’ yesterday, which Lawrence Ingolby only discovered late last night, and when he was talking with Thomas Faithly he uttered the name of Roger L’Estrange. Surely you did not actually tell him who tried to abduct his wife? L’Estrange would come after you himself should he find out.’
Anne shook her head. ‘Upon my oath, Grizel, I never mentioned that man’s name to Lawrence Ingolby.’
Grizel nodded her approval. ‘It would not be a good idea to make an enemy of L’Estrange.’
‘No, but Ingolby isn’t the type to fear even Roger L’Estrange, and should he know that he was the man who attempted the abduction of his wife, I doubt he would go about his response with discretion.’
‘I meant it would not be a good idea for you to make an enemy of Roger L’Estrange.’
‘I fear we may be too late for that . . .’
‘I know you have never liked him, and he treats you with little respect, but—’
‘I need to tell you, Griz. There wasn’t time to say it when I came to the Ingolbys’ house the other morning, but I have broken with L’Estrange. I have had enough. Enough of being in league with a man who would hound a young woman in that way. Enough of spying on decent men like Thomas Faithly. When L’Estrange was here, after his attempt on Manon Ingolby, I told him I would make my report on Sir Thomas and that then we would be done.’ She gave a tight smile. ‘I fear I have already made a dangerous enemy of Roger L’Estrange. I boasted of my influence with the Duke of Buckingham, but in truth I’m not certain that Buckingham would lift a finger to help me should it not suit him.’ Anne stopped, confused by Grizel’s sudden smile. ‘What is it, Griz?’
‘Oh, let us just say that last night I learned of something that I do not doubt would suit the Duke of Buckingham to have us keep to ourselves. You may be assured that you’ll have no problem in gaining the protection of the Duke of Buckingham, should you need it.’
‘Indeed? I am intrigued, Griz. But tell me first of this new break-in at the Ingolbys’ house. What happened?’
Grizel told her. ‘The secret panel in the Ingolbys’ bedchamber had been opened without any damage to it, so he didn’t notice until he was putting some papers in there late at night. And that was when he found that his letter case had been broken into, the lock smashed and the letters stolen. He blamed Roger L’Estrange.’
‘But . . . you left the case as you found it, did you not? I mean, you have your special pick-lock and you didn’t take the letters. If this is true . . .’
‘Oh, it’s true,’ said Grizel, ‘I saw it with my own eyes – the lock was destroyed and the box empty.’
‘Then L’Estrange has some other agent working in York. He as much as suggested it to me himself, when he said that the time had come to take things into his own hands. I cannot think it’s good for us that he did not think fit to tell me who it is.’
Grizel considered this. ‘You think this person is also hunting into Thomas Faithly’s past?’
Anne shrugged. ‘Good luck to them if they are. I have not found a soul with a bad word to say about the man, and not the slightest suggestion of suspicion about his past doings. I have learned very little in York that I did not know before. All he thinks of is to get back his estate and to get away. And the fact that he and Ingolby are still so close is to do with their place of birth and a common upbringing at Faithly Moor. As regards past work for Damian Seeker – I can find nothing but their shared misfortune in having met him.’
‘And what of Thomas Faithly’s other friend, David Ogilvie?’ Grizel’s question was posed with some hesitation.
‘Your countryman?’
‘Yes, him that is so lately arrived in York.’
Anne frowned. ‘He came here to see Buckingham, to get back some money the duke owed him. You suspect he is here for another reason?’
Grizel was turned away from her, arranging her cloak closer to the fire, that it might dry a little more before she had to go out again. ‘Both the incidents at Lawrence Ingolby’s house have happened while he, Ogilvie, has been in York. Buckingham has been and gone – did he not pay his debt? Why should Ogilvie still be in York if that was all that brought him here?’
Anne was surprised by the maid’s vehemence on the matter. ‘Well, because he is also Sir Thomas’s friend. They fought together for the King at Worcester, and I think they have seen little of each other since. But . . . oh.’ She put her hand to her mouth, remembering something that the drama of L’Estrange’s attempt on Manon Ingolby had put from her mind.
‘What?’
‘It was the night of the feast, when we were the duke’s guests at the Treasurer’s House. He told me he was still in York because he was looking for someone. And he didn’t think they would be happy when he found them.’
