“Cecil gave me a map to show where he thought Fr. Jackson would be kept and a password and key for the dungeon. I went there at a time when Heneage was overpressed with business to do with another matter, and I managed to fetch Fr. Jackson out of Topcliffe’s hands before he had been badly hurt.
“I had him in the boat with me, in his shirt, crowing with triumph, boasting of how he had destroyed the Queen’s best men through their own greed. And I had trusted him and recommended him and found buyers for his lands and…”
“And had bought some yourself, I’m sure.”
“Yes, my lady, I had. And he told me that none of it was true, it was all a lay to coney-catch the great men at Court, there was no gold or hardly any, but that he had turned many worthless Cornish wheals into money and freedom for Catholic families.”
“And so?”
“I had taken his manacles off, but not the chains on his feet. I stabbed him in the back and heaved him into the Thames.”
“Where?”
“Upstream of Whitehall. Near Chelsea. And then I realised that if Cecil had ordered me to break him out then they must have known what he was doing and so…and so…”
“It was all a great deal more complicated than you thought. What did you do then?”
“I lay low. I tried to win some money to take me to the Netherlands but I couldn’t and Heneage was looking for me. Pickering was willing to help.
“And then?”
“Heneage arrested Richard Tregian.”
Silence.
“Why didn’t you rescue him?”
“I was sure it was a trap to catch me. And…I didn’t dare. I got drunk.”
Lady Hunsdon nodded. “You were probably right,” she said. “It doubtless was a trap to take someone they knew to be your friend. Why did Cecil not help?”
“I tried to see him and talk to him, but I couldn’t get an audience.”
“I see.”
“And then came the news that Fr. Jackson would be executed at Tyburn and I wondered how it could possibly be. So I went to observe-and found they had substituted Mr. Tregian. I think you were there too, were you not, Sergeant? With Sir Robert?” Dodd didn’t answer.
“And then?”
“I…er…lay low again. I couldn’t understand why they would do that-the poor man was only trying to stop people being fooled by Jackson’s con-trick. I was even more afraid and didn’t dare go back to my sister or my chambers. I tried to get a message to her, but it failed. I was beginning to think I might be safe when Sergeant Dodd saw me at Pickering’s game and knew me.”
Dodd nodded. Enys had carried it off well.
One of the ship’s boys came and doffed his cap to Lady Hunsdon. “We’m all ready, my lady,” he said. “Where’s the battle to, then?”
She smiled at him and beckoned both Dodd and Enys closer. “Gentlemen, I have a mind to break your sister Portia Morgan out of Topcliffe’s clutches and also poor Mr. Briscoe’s wife. I am very certain of the illegality of his whole proceeding from start to finish. Mr. Enys, do you recall where you released Fr. Jackson?” Enys nodded. “Do you still have the key and the password?”
“The password is likely to be different.”
Lady Hunsdon grinned roguishly. “I don’t think you’ll be needing the password, really, except for the purposes of confusion. You will accompany Sergeant Dodd and Mr. Janner Trevasker and give them whatever aid and assistance they need.”
It looked for a moment as if Enys was contemplating refusing to help, but although he hesitated, he then seemed to remember what was likely to happen to his sister-might have been happening at that moment-and his jaw firmed.
“Madame, I have no sword, I left mine with my sister since she must wear it when she dines in Hall.”
“I’m sure Captain Trevasker can find you one.” Enys followed the boy down the deck where a motley crew of red-heads and wreckers were arming themselves with long knives, belaying pins. and a few with grenados hanging from their belts. Among them was Mr. Briscoe, looking considerably happier than he had earlier that evening.
Lady Hunsdon beckoned Dodd to lean in closer. “Mr. Janner Trevasker is Captain Trevasker’s brother and he generally commands our cutting-out expeditions since these are his men. He is very experienced on the sea, less so on land. And so I would value your help.” she said. “I have asked him to accept you as an advisor for I feel you may well have done something like this before.”
Dodd rubbed his chin. “Ye’ll no’ be commanding us yersen, milady?” he asked, very straight-faced.
She beamed at him. “Of course, I should love to but alas I’m too old and stout for it and would slow you down to protect me. Like the Queen, I must ask brave young men to do my fighting for me, and very well they do it, too.”
Dodd found himself bowing as if he were Carey. “It’s an honour, my lady.”
“Prettily said, Sergeant, my son must be teaching you his naughty ways.”
“Ay.” Dodd thought that must be the reason. “Ah, is this place a tower or a house?”
“As I understand it, this is a private house on the south bank quite a long way up river, well past Lambeth Palace. It will take you at least a couple of hours to reach it, even with the tide in your favour. However there may be a tower of some kind. The house is one of several owned by Mr. Heneage and let to Topcliffe for his disgusting pastimes and used by both of them when what they are doing is shadier than usual. I am quite sure Mr. Pickering knows its location as well.”
“How many men does he have?”
Lady Hunsdon shook her head. “I have no idea, I’m afraid. It could be only a couple, it could a couple of dozen. You have the two gigs and ten men in each. You are not to use guns if you can avoid it, and you are to try not to kill.”
Dodd snorted. A full assault on a defended house? No killing? Lady Hunsdon grimaced. “I’m skirting the borders of the law myself-my husband can probably smooth it over, but if it’s a blood-bath…”
“My lady, why are you doing this for Mr. En…for Portia Morgan and Mrs. Briscoe? They’re not your kin, are they?”
“Mrs. Briscoe isn’t, but Mr. Briscoe looks a useful man in a fight and he’ll be wanting to rescue his wife. Portia Morgan…well, I knew her family of course though not herself and her brother. She was in my service when she was taken, therefore she is my responsibility for good lordship. And also…” she leaned towards Dodd confidingly, “…I’m fair delighted at the chance to give Heneage a bloody nose for the way he treated my sons.” She sat back again and rapped her cane on the deck. “Something I thought you might enjoy too.”
Dodd smiled at her. “Ay, my lady. Whit about yer man Cecil?”
“What about him? I shall offer him my full hospitality, whether he likes it or not, until you come back with the women. We shall discuss many things. Off you go, Sergeant. Please conduct the raid as you see fit.”
***
It was pitch black night as the two gigs slid away from the ship and across the inky Thames. Even with the tide behind them again, they would have to row hard to get past the roaring leaping water at the bridge and into the relatively more peaceful upper part of the Thames. Going with Mr. Trevasker in the lead gig was the heavily bribed Thames waterman who had left his badge behind so as not to be blamed. Dodd took no part in it since he had no skill at boats at all, apart from the occasional fishing expedition in the Solway. They had no lanterns, relying on their nightsight and the fact that so long after sunset there would hardly be many boats ferrying across the river.
Even the lights in the city were gone out now, and their way only lit by starlight. The moon was at the quarter and not very bright. It was a harvest moon you needed for a good raid, silver-yellow light that turned the world to faery.