“You said,” I prompted, “that your benefactor, Mr. Cola, talked on occasion with your mother. What did they talk about? What did he ask? You said you would find out.”
“She is too sick to be asked. All she has told me is that Mr. Cola always showed her the greatest courtesy, and listened with great patience whenever she felt like talking. He said little himself.”
I shook my head in exasperation. “Listen, you stupid girl,” I all but shouted at her. “This man is here to commit a horrendous crime. The first thing he did when he got here was contact you. If you are not helping him, what was the purpose of that?”
“I do not know. All I know is that my mother is sick, and he has helped her. No one else offered, and without his generosity she would be dead. More than that I do not know, or care to know.”
She looked at me straight in the eyes as she continued. “You say he is a criminal. No doubt you have good reason for that. But I have never seen or heard him behave in any way except with the utmost civility, more, perhaps, than I properly deserve. Criminal or papist, that is how I judge him.”
I state here that I wished to save her, if I could, if she would only allow me to do so. With all my heart I willed her to break, and say everything she knew. With good fortune she would make Prestcott’s testimony unnecessary, and I could then refuse his bargain. I pressed again and again, far longer than I would have done with anyone else, but she would not give way.
“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 Abing-don and Bicester and Burford. That you will counter the evidence against you, and win my help at one and the same time.”
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 humor. 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 honored 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 materialized, 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, Thur-loe 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 saved Prestcott’s 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, which he could do more easily than was proper, for men are never as discreet or careful as they should be. 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.