Barnaby Gill had entered the Black Boy with a confident strut. He now left it over the shoulder of a murderer.
The Parish Church of St Peter was, appropriately, the tallest building in Barnstaple, and its massive tower, which was topped with a lead-covered broach-spire, reached much nearer to heaven than any other structure in the town. Set on open land between the High Street and Boutport Street, it had withstood centuries of attack by the elements and frequent squalls in the religious climate. Systematic rebuilding had been carried on throughout Elizabeth’s reign, and it was paid for by the raising of a church rate. New slates were fixed on the roof, the ceiling over the communion table was repaired, the floor was retiled, the lead guttering was renewed and the whole building washed with seven bushels of lime. The churchyard was newly paved and given a new gate.
Another change that had occurred was the developing interest in private pews. Wealthy families who worshipped regularly in the church wanted more comfort during the long sermons of Arthur Calmady. They paid to have pews erected for their own use, thereby exhibiting their status in public while ensuring a privileged degree of privacy. The pews were known as sieges, and it was in the Whetcombe siege that a small figure in a black coat was now kneeling in prayer. When Matthew Whetcombe rented the pew, he did so to attest his position in the community and to hide away the deaf-mute child who was such a constant embarrassment to him. That same daughter was now praying, not for the soul of her dead father, but for the safe and speedy return of a household servant.
Lucy Whetcombe rose from her knees and looked around. Her plan had worked. She and Susan had often played games of hide-and-seek in the labyrinthine interior of the house in Crock Street, and the girls knew every inch of it. That knowledge had helped her to escape. The two men outside the street could only watch who entered or left the building by the front or side doors. They could not see the entrance at the rear of the warehouse, still less the door to the granary, which stood above it. Lucy had waited until the sky began to darken then made her move. Dressed in hat and coat, she made her way stealthily across the Great Court, into the warehouse and up the ladder into the granary. Grain was lifted up in sacks by means of a rope and pulley. Lucy used the device for her own purpose, shinning swiftly down the rope before racing off towards the church. Those who caught a glimpse of the darting child did not recognise her and the two men on duty did not even know she was gone.
Now, however, it was time to go back. Lucy offered up a prayer that her means of escape had not been detected. She needed the rope to regain entry to the house. It was now dark outside and the curfew would soon be sounded. She crept towards the church door and lifted the iron latch before swinging the massive timber back on its hinges. After a final glance up at the main altar, she slipped out and closed the door behind her.
She was about to sprint off back home when she saw two figures a short distance away. They were engaged in an animated conversation. Lucy could only see them in stark profile but she recognised them immediately. Arthur Calmady seemed to be having a heated argument with Barnard Sweete. The vicar and the lawyer were both men of extraordinary self-possession, yet here they were in open dispute, waving their arms about like two customers haggling over the same purchase in the market. Lucy Whetcombe could not hear what they said but it involved the church in some way. At the height of the argument, Sweete pointed towards the building to emphasise a point and Calmady finally backed down. It was a subdued vicar who finally slunk away.
Lucy Whetcombe ran back to the house and climbed in through the door of the granary. Nobody saw her and she had not been missed from the house. When she got back to Susan’s chamber, she let herself in and took the dolls out of their hiding place. Arthur Calmady was in one hand and Barnard Sweete in the other. She held them up to examine them then banged them together in a fierce fight. The vicar’s head eventually snapped off. The lawyer was the man to fear.
The flapping sound brought Nicholas Bracewell instantly awake. He sat up in his bed with a knife at the ready in his hand, but no attack came and the door remained locked. When the noise continued, he wondered if a bird had somehow got into the chamber and was flying around. Nicholas had chosen to sleep alone in one of the attic rooms. After the injury to Owen Elias, he did not wish to put the life of another friend at risk by sharing a bedchamber with him. It was dawn and a tiny filter of light was probing the shutters. Nicholas peered into the gloom and listened intently. What he could hear was no bird but it might be the softer beat of a bat’s wings. The creature might somehow have gained entry through the cracks in the roof. Nicholas got out of bed and opened the shutters to throw more light into the room.
It was then that he saw it. The piece of parchment was trapped under his door. A stiff breeze was blowing in off the river and causing a draught in the attic of the Jolly Sailor. The parchment was vibrating like a wing. Nicholas picked it up and opened the door but there was no sign of any messenger. Unfolding the paper, he took it to the window and held it up to the light. He could just make out the words and they jerked him completely awake. The message was from his appointed assassin. It was written in a fine hand and its doggerel was a derisive sneer at the company.
Nicholas blenched. He was being offered the hardest bargain of all. If Barnaby Gill really were in the man’s hands, then he would be murdered without scruple. The only way to release him was to confront the man. Care had been taken with the message. In case it went astray, it was in a code that only Nicholas could understand. The key line jumped out at him to give him the meeting place.
Merchants wise are never meek.
Wise Street lay in the network of lanes and alleys around the harbour. Meek Row joined it at the far end. It was an area full of warehouses and cellars. The cargo waiting there for collection was Barnaby Gill, but there was no proof that he was even still alive. Nicholas dressed quickly and wore sword and dagger. When he put on his buff jerkin, he concealed the poniard up his sleeve. Even with three weapons, he felt he was at a disadvantage. The man was several steps ahead of him all the time.
Nicholas first went down to check Barnaby Gill’s chamber, but it was empty and the bed was unused. He really was being held hostage. It was a way of luring Nicholas out of the safety of the company. There was no point in taking anyone with him. Nicholas was quite sure he would be watched all the way to the harbour. If he left the Jolly Sailor with Owen Elias or Edmund Hoode, they would arrive to find Gill beyond rescue. The choice of target showed the man’s keen intelligence. Having watched the performance of The Happy Malcontent at Marlborough, he had seen Barnaby Gill’s crucial importance in the work of Westfield’s Men. He had also picked out the loner in the company, the man who wandered off to enjoy his pleasures in private and who therefore made himself more vulnerable.
Leaving the inn, Nicholas made his way briskly towards the harbour. It was a dry day with a searching breeze. A number of people were already moving about the streets. Traders were streaming in from the country to sell their wares at market. Eager housewives waited with baskets to get the earliest bargains. The whole city would soon be buzzing with the sound of trade. He hoped that his own transaction would somehow end in success.