They boarded up the Well Tower years ago. Originally built to protect against invasion from the Thames and to supply water by means of the two shafts leading from the base of it down to the river, it fell into disuse. It was the first place I’d thought of when Arlington told us to get rid of Edward Josselin’s corpse. Conveniently close to the site of the murder, easy to retrieve the body if ever we were able to inform on Arlington. But Arlington anticipated us.
‘I’m sure I nailed those boards back,’ I said, watching the door swing gently in the dying wind.
‘You did,’ Dowling growled, pushing it open. ‘Someone has been here.’
The round, narrow room was dark and stuffy. Green moss climbed the walls, thriving in the damp air, disappearing up into the blackness of the winding staircase. A smaller staircase led downwards, into the depths where we fetched Edward Josselin. I stood rooted to the floor.
‘She’ll be safe, Harry,’ Dowling assured me. ‘You told her we were in danger. We’ll find her.’
‘We need a torch,’ I said. ‘A flame shouldn’t be hard to find.’
Back out in the passage a torch burnt bright above the Records Office, illuminating the locked door. I strode to fetch it, praying to the God in whom I had so little faith. Just this one time, I prayed, and I will attend church every day. I will renew my studies and spread the word to all parts of England.
As we entered the Tower I heard a steady drip from down below. The stairs led down to a cellar from which led the two shafts, each with a metal grille at the top and at the bottom. We had worked one of the grilles loose and weighted Josselin’s body so it sunk down to the second grille, out of sight to the casual observer. A clever hiding place, so I’d thought.
The grille lay crooked, displaced from its mountings and carelessly replaced. I knelt upon the stone flagstones and held the flame to the surface. I peered into the water, desperate to find Josselin’s grey head, else nothing at all.
‘What do you see?’ whispered Dowling over my shoulder.
At first just blackness, as my eyes accustomed to the dark surrounds. Then something long and thick, dancing in the weak current. I pushed the torch down against the grille, and felt my heart break.
A woman’s red hair drifting softly up, reaching out, then falling away. I stared, unbelieving, unable to think. Dowling wailed, yet I barely heard his voice above the sound of blood pounding in my ears. Time slowed, as I watched, transfixed, the thick, red strands of Jane’s beautiful hair dancing in the still waters. Then a great fist squeezed my heart unbearably hard, sending waves of pain up through my chest and out of my eyes and nose.
Jane was dead. The baby too.
I let my head fall against the grate and fumbled with my fingers, pushing them through the grille, trying to touch the water. I felt Dowling’s arm fall across my shoulder pushing me down, felt his wet cheek against my neck.
The end of the world. God’s verdict upon my useless soul.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Kings and their Allies will promise fair, but still with reservation or self intentions, taking occasion or advantage when opportunity serves for their own self-ends.
‘Withypoll’s little joke.’ Arlington’s voice echoed about the cellar walls. He nodded at the well. ‘He wanted to be here when you found her.’
I stared up at his charred features, unable to read the expression on his hairless face. I staggered to my feet, the cellar spinning about my head like a whirligig. Had I killed him in St Albans, none of this would have happened, which thought stabbed me in the heart once more. It was my fault Jane died. I reached out for his throat, watching his eyes open wide in fright.
‘It is not her!’ he yelled, lifting his arm with difficulty.
I stopped, trying to work out what the words meant. I swivelled on my heel and fell once more to stare through the lattice. I peered into
the water, but couldn’t see her face for hair. I tore the grate aside and threw it against the wall. Arlington edged closer to the door.
‘Hold him!’ I screamed at Dowling.
I reached into the well and found her chin. I lifted it gently upwards, uncertain if I could bear to look upon Jane’s beautiful dead face. But this woman’s face was rounder, her nose smaller.
I felt an immeasurable wave of relief course through my arteries, a wave of elation and joy. Then guilt. ‘Who is she?’ I croaked hoarse. Withypoll’s ‘little joke’.
Arlington wriggled from Dowling’s grip. ‘I have no idea. Nor do I care.’ He rubbed the back of his hand against his mouth. ‘Yet I do assure you that if you don’t return my letter by tomorrow morning, then I will place your housemaid in one well,’ he turned to Dowling, ‘and your wife in the other.’
Dowling twisted his shirt between his hands like he wished it was Arlington’s neck. I stepped forwards and poked a finger at Arlington’s head. ‘Then I would send a copy of your letter to every parliamentarian in England. They will hang you.’
‘I have thought on it,’ Arlington sneered. ‘The King will swear the letter is a forgery and none will dare argue otherwise. Memories of the last Republic are too recent.’
‘The King might avoid execution, but you wouldn’t,’ I said. ‘You would be his scapegoat.’
I met his gaze, stony eyes unflinching. So the lord decided not to be held ransom by the butcher and a clerk, whatever the cost. Dowling watched me too.
‘I can’t give you the letter,’ I replied, dry-mouthed.
Arlington shook his head. ‘Don’t say it, Lytle. Don’t make that mistake.’
‘The original is destroyed,’ I said. ‘I threw it in the river on the way to the Tower.’
His jaw dropped and his eyes narrowed. I met his stare easily, the hate in my soul providing me with all the strength in the world.
‘I will fetch you the copies,’ I said.
Arlington’s cheeks reddened. ‘The copies?’
‘Yes, your lordship.’ I glanced at Dowling, whose skin was grey as ash. ‘Which are in various places. I will fetch them all back to you tomorrow.’
‘Why did you make copies?’ Arlington asked.
‘You threatened several times to kill us,’ I replied.
‘How many copies?’ Arlington whispered.
‘Three,’ I lied, without thinking if three was better than two or four. ‘They are in a safe place. I will bring all three.’
‘You had better,’ Arlington said slow, brow furrowing. ‘How do I know how many copies you made? How do I know you don’t still have the original?’
I met his gaze, pressing all my fears down towards my toes. ‘As I said, your lordship. I will return all copies to you, tomorrow. I am your loyal subject.’
He sighed and his shoulders slumped. ‘You are much cleverer than I thought.’ Then his eyes flashed. ‘If you speak truth, I need have no fear. I might kill you without fear of reprisal, yet I would not need to kill you. If you speak false then you deserve to be killed, yet to kill you would be to sign my own death warrant.’ He cocked his head. ‘You pose me a riddle, and I cannot see the answer.’
‘I speak truth,’ I assured him.
His mouth smiled but his eyes did not. I fancied he would like nothing more than to see me floating face first upon the river.
I bid my soul be silent and hid my hatred. ‘I am sick of this whole business, your lordship. I just want to open an apothecary. I don’t want to work for you any more, nor have anything more to do with murder and treachery. We will give you the copies and walk away.’
Dowling held his breath.
Arlington rubbed a finger upon the new black plaster that bridged his nose. ‘I don’t think so, Lytle,’ he said slowly. ‘I would not be able to sleep at night for fear you forged an alliance with the King’s enemies, that you still kept a copy of the letter — the original, perhaps.’ He shook his head. ‘I will not be held to ransom by a butcher and a clerk.’