‘We won’t be there for conversation, Matt,’ said Davey with a sly grin. ‘We’ll have plenty of that on the way back when me and Edwin talk about what we got.’
Lock cackled. ‘I’m getting everything, Hugh!’ he boasted.
‘So am I.’
‘When is it your turn, Matt?’ asked Lock. ‘You didn’t even touch any of those women at the farmhouse. You must be feeling as ripe for fucking as any of us.’
‘I’ll wait till last,’ said Searle, ‘when I’ve made sure that you’ve all obeyed orders and come back. Don’t you dare try to run away on your own. Neither of you would last five minutes without me.’ He threw a meaningful glance at the mound of earth around the grave of Ianto Morgan. ‘If you do as you’re told, everything will be fine. Cross me and you’ll end up beside Ianto.’
‘At least Ianto had a proper burial,’ said Lock, morosely. ‘I know that because I dug the grave. That’s more than we can say for poor Gregory. He went up in flames.’
Searle was derisive. ‘Gregory Pyle was an idiot,’ he said. ‘If he couldn’t tell the difference between a man and a woman, he deserved to go up in smoke. Everything would have been so much easier if he’d killed the farmer instead of his wife.’
‘There’s only eight of us left now, Matt,’ said Davey. ‘We’ll have to choose smaller farms from now on with less people to kill.’
‘Leave all the decisions to me, Hugh.’
‘I always do.’
‘And so do I,’ said Lock, sycophantically.
‘Riders are coming!’ yelled the lookout on the hill.
The three men immediately grabbed their weapons and a fourth rushed out of the house with a musket. Hand over his eyes to shield them from the evening sun, the lookout peered into the distance.
‘How many are there, Will?’ asked Searle.
‘Two of them, I think,’ replied the lookout. ‘Yes, just the two of them — they’re clear of those trees now.’
‘Are they wearing uniforms?’
‘Yes, they both have redcoats. You can put your weapons away,’ he said with a laugh of relief. ‘It’s Luke and Peter, back from the town.’
‘Thank heavens for that!’ said Searle to himself.
‘That means it’s our turn!’ declared Lock.
‘Come on, Edwin,’ said Davey, slapping his thigh in delight. ‘Saddle up. We’re off to town.’
They watched her for days before deciding on their plan of action. Seizing her from the house would be difficult because it would involve subduing her father, his assistant and the various servants. Amalia Janssen would be a far easier target in the open. She was methodical. Every day she ventured out, either to visit the market or simply to stretch her legs. The same servant always accompanied her, a plump woman who waddled along the streets with a basket over her arm. At some point in their walk, they invariably stopped to look in the windows of some dress shops. They then made their way home down a series of lanes. An almost identical route was taken each day and — if the weather was fine — they ventured out at roughly the same time.
Following that same pattern would be Amalia’s downfall.
The day began with great excitement when a letter arrived from Daniel Rawson. It had come via The Hague. Marlborough was in regular contact with Heinsius so that the Grand Pensionary was kept well informed about the army’s movements and strategy and thus able to discuss them with the States-General. Daniel’s letter had been included with dispatches sent by Marlborough and forwarded to Amsterdam. Amalia was overjoyed. Though the letter was as brief as its predecessors, it made her glow for hours. It showed that Daniel was still thinking about her.
When she was ready to go out, Amalia didn’t want to be parted from her latest letter. Instead of joining the others inside the pink ribbon, therefore, it was tucked up her sleeve so that she could feel it against her skin. It was like a good luck charm. Beatrix was waiting for her with a large basket on her arm. They left the house together, unaware that someone was watching them from the opposite side of the street. As the two women went on their familiar route, the man followed them.
‘What do we need today?’ asked Amalia.
‘Cook has given me a list,’ replied Beatrix.
‘She usually forgets something.’
‘Then she can go out and buy it herself when we get back because I’m not making two trips to market in one day.’
‘I thought you liked to be out in the fresh air.’
‘Once a day is all the exercise I need, Miss Amalia,’ said Beatrix. ‘I have far too many jobs to be done in the house. I don’t want your father complaining.’
‘Father never complains,’ said Amalia.
‘That’s only because I never give him cause.’ They turned a corner and headed for the market. Beatrix had a knowing smile. ‘I think that someone had a letter this morning.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I can always tell. You never stop grinning.’
Amalia laughed. ‘Oh dear!’ she exclaimed. ‘Do I give myself away so easily? I shall have to be more careful in the future.’
‘It’s wonderful to see you so happy, Miss Amalia.’
‘Thank you, Beatrix.’
‘And is Captain Rawson well?’
‘He’s very well indeed.’
The market was as busy and noisy as ever. When they plunged in among the stalls, the basket soon began to fill. Amalia paid for the items but left all the haggling to Beatrix, who examined all the food carefully before she agreed to buy it. Their last purchase was the bread, still warm from the oven and giving off a bewitching aroma. Once everything on the list was safely in the basket, they wended their way slowly home. Amalia made her obligatory stop outside the shop that displayed the dresses she coveted. She was transfixed for a long time and her companion was restless.
‘We must get back,’ said Beatrix.
‘Give me a few more minutes.’
‘This basket is heavy, Miss Amalia.’
‘Then put it down for a moment.’
Beatrix obeyed, folding her arms and hoping she’d not be kept waiting too long. In fact, Amalia’s vigil was promptly interrupted. A young man came round the corner from the lane and approached them at speed.
‘There you are,’ he said, breathlessly. ‘I was told I might find you here. Your father’s been taken ill, I’m afraid. I was sent to fetch you.’
Amalia was disconcerted. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘Come and see for yourself. The doctor’s been sent for.’
‘Wait a moment,’ said Beatrix, her instincts aroused. ‘Who exactly are you, sir?’
‘I’m a friend of Emanuel Janssen,’ said the man. ‘I was in the house when he had the seizure. Please hurry — I’ll explain everything on the way.’
Amalia was too worried to have any suspicions. She allowed herself to be guided around the corner. A coach was waiting in the lane. As soon as they drew level with it, the man opened the door and bundled her into the vehicle, jumping in beside her. Beatrix tried to protest but she was grabbed from behind by the man who’d been following them since they’d left the house. Spinning her round, he threw her violently to the ground then clambered into the coach. Beatrix was left face down on the pavement, hurt, dazed and surrounded by the contents of the upturned basket. The driver cracked his whip and the coach rolled swiftly down the lane. Amalia was inside it, being overpowered by two men so that she could be bound and gagged. She was terrified.
Daniel’s letter had not brought her luck, after all.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘Can this be true?’ asked Jonathan Ainley, incredulously.
‘As true as I stand here, Lieutenant,’ said Welbeck.
‘But he seemed such an engaging fellow.’
‘That’s what made me suspect him.’
‘He promised to paint my portrait.’
‘You’ll never receive it now,’ said Daniel. ‘Ralph Higgins’ career as an artist is at an end — and so is his work for the French.’