He mimed a step forward past the beam then lurched straight back as the murderous dagger came out at him. His own weapon struck home this time, piercing the man’s heart and sending him to the ground with a long wheeze of outrage and pain. Nicholas stood panting over him. Barnaby Gill came staggering up with the rapier in his hand and looked at the dead man with a squeal of relief.
‘Did you see him!’ he said. ‘He all but killed me!’
‘We are both safe now.’
‘He took me hostage because of you.’
‘Where did that happen?’ asked Nicholas levelly. ‘How did you allow a man like that anywhere near you?’
Barnaby Gill’s anger was quickly replaced by shame and just as quickly superseded by gratitude. He burst into tears and clutched pathetically at Nicholas. Seeking pleasure, he had unwittingly surrendered himself to a killer who had used him to entice Nicholas to the warehouse. But for the book holder’s bravery, both he and Gill would have been murdered.
‘This will have to be reported,’ said Nicholas.
‘I’ll vouch for you, Nick,’ promised Gill. ‘You killed in self-defence. No man can be arrested for that.’
‘We may have further proof of this man’s villainy.’
Nicholas bent to search the body and found a letter inside his doublet. It was an instruction to murder the messenger who was travelling from Devon and it gave details of the girl’s appearance and likely time of arrival at the capital. The writer had been careful not to reveal his own identity but the recipient of the letter was one Adam Lamparde. It was a name that meant nothing to Nicholas and neither did the other that was in the document, but two vital parts of the mystery had finally been solved. Nicholas at last knew who had been trying to kill him and who had ridden all the way from Barnstaple to fetch him.
The murdered girl’s name was Susan Deakin.
The Long Bridge in the town of Barnstaple was almost three hundred years old. Spanning the tidal River Taw, it had sixteen arches that were built high enough to admit the passage of small craft. The bridge was an architectural wonder whose impact had been dulled by familiarity, but there was still a momentary excitement — even for the most jaded and cynical — in sailing up the river and catching the first sight of the structure. On a sunny day, its reflection was caught so perfectly on the surface of the water that an approaching craft seemed to be offered a right of way through any one of sixteen huge oval openings. The value to pedestrian traffic was incalculable and the Long Bridge was an integral part of Barnstaple life.
Gideon Livermore stood at the quayside and gazed up at the bridge. He remembered being pushed from it as a small boy by his brother and discovering that he could indeed swim. He recalled his first disastrous attempts at rowing beneath one of the arches and of the damage he did to the boat when he collided with the uncompromising stone. The quay was the hub of Barnstaple. Ships, barges, wherries, smacks and fishing vessels bobbed at anchor. Cargoes were loaded or unloaded. Woollen felts, calico, linen, canvas, brass and pewter pots, shoes, soap, wine, ginger, cheese, salt, sugar and pepper were being sent to the Welsh coast while a ship from Milford Haven was delivering sheepskins, rabbit skins and leather along with barley, wheat, rye and a consignment of oysters. More exotic imports came from countries farther afield. Newfoundland, Guinea and Bermuda all traded regularly with Barnstaple. Maritime enterprise had even brought the Caribbean Islands within reach of the north Devon port.
Gideon Livermore had watched with fascination the changes and developments over the years. He now stood near the spot where local merchants sealed their bargains in the Jewish manner by putting a down payment on the Tome Stone before witnesses. Trust underpinned all mercantile activity. Barnard Sweete came hurrying over to greet him, but Livermore had no time for the courtesies. He had left his beloved mansion to ride into town and wanted good news by way of reward.
‘Did you see her, Barnard?’ he said.
‘I spent an hour with her,’ replied the lawyer.
‘How did you find her?’
‘Still distracted.’
‘Does Mary understand the implications?’
‘I have explained them to her more than once.’
Gideon Livermore sighed. ‘Why on earth did she marry Matthew Whetcombe?’
‘She is asking that same question of herself,’ said Sweete. ‘Grief still sits on her but it is streaked with regret. Mary Whetcombe was not a happy wife and she has been forced to see that. I feel pity for her, Gideon.’
‘So do I, Barnard. So do I.’
‘She is still such a beautiful woman.’
‘The whole world can see that, man!’
‘Not if she hides herself away.’
‘That will soon be changed.’ Livermore massaged his chin with a flabby hand. ‘Did you commend me to her?’
‘I have done so every time we meet.’
‘How did she respond to my name?’
Sweete was diplomatic. ‘Favourably.’
‘Has she consented to see me?’
‘Not yet.’
‘How much longer must I wait, Barnard?’ said the other. ‘I grow impatient. Use your lawyer’s smooth tongue. Bend her to my wishes. Work, work, man!’
‘The business cannot be rushed, Gideon.’
‘Proceed apace.’
‘She is still in mourning.’
‘That is the best time.’
Gideon Livermore marched a few paces away to show his displeasure. Barnard Sweete went after him to offer apology and explanation. Mary Whetcombe was still in a delicate state of mind and could not be expected to consider such major decisions so soon after her husband’s demise, but the lawyer promised to advance at a swifter pace from now on. He then came to news that he imparted with some reluctance.
‘She had a visitor yesterday.’
‘A visitor?’
‘He called again this morning but she refused to see him. The man was sent packing in no uncertain manner.’
‘Who was it?’
‘She will admit nobody but myself and the vicar.’
Livermore turned on him. ‘Who was it?’
‘Robert Bracewell.’
‘Robert Bracewell?’ he growled.
‘He was turned away twice and that smartly.’
‘You allowed Robert Bracewell to call at the house?’
‘He only came to pay his respects, Gideon.’
‘Keep him away.’
‘My men had orders simply to watch the house.’
‘Keep him away!’ roared Livermore. ‘He is the last person I want bothering Mary Whetcombe at a time like this. Inform your men. Bracewell is to be warned off.’
‘If you wish.’
‘I do wish, Barnard.’
‘He cannot do any harm now.’
‘Heaven forbid, man! The mere sight of that creature would be enough.’ He squeezed the lawyer’s shoulder to instil his commands more forcefully. ‘Robert Bracewell must not be allowed anywhere near her. He has done enough damage in this town as it is. That is one of the reasons I wish to take her completely away from Barnstaple. It is too full of cruel memories.’
Barnard Sweete nodded and the hand was removed. He tried to rub away the pain in his shoulder. Gideon Livermore was a strong man who liked to use that strength to hurt.
‘What of the girl?’ asked Livermore.
‘Lucy is quite bewildered.’
‘Did you talk with her?’
‘I tried to but she ran away. I seem to frighten her.’
Livermore guffawed. ‘With a face like that, you could fright any woman. Maybe it was the sight of your visage that struck her dumb, Barnard.’ He saw the other’s dismay and patted his arm. ‘I tease, man. I do it but in fun.’