An Instance of the Fingerpost (74 page)

She was brought to me in a small room normally occupied by the castle warden. Incarceration had done little for her appearance and, as I swiftly discovered, had in no way eroded her insolence.

‘I trust you have meditated on the matters we talked of before. I am in a position to help you, if you will only allow me to do so.’

‘I did not kill Dr Grove.’

‘I know that. But many people think you did, and you will die unless I help you.’

‘If you know I am innocent, then surely you must help me anyway? You are a man of God.’

‘Perhaps that is true. But you are a loyal subject of His Majesty, yet you refused to help me when I asked you for only the slightest assistance.’

‘I did not refuse. I knew nothing that you wanted to hear.’

‘For someone who may shortly be hanged you seem remarkably reluctant to avert that terrible fate.’

‘If it is God’s will that I should die, then I will do so willingly. If it is not, then I shall be spared.’

‘God expects us to labour on our own behalf. Listen, girl. What I ask is not so dreadful. You have become involved, no doubt innocently, in the most fiendish scheme imaginable. If you assist me you will not only go free, you will be rewarded well.’

‘What scheme?’

‘I certainly do not intend to tell you.’

She fell silent.

‘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 Abingdon and Bicester and Burford. That way you will counter the evidence against you, and win my help at one and the same time.’

I had it in my hand, but it slipped away from me. 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 humour. 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 honoured 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 materialised, 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, Thurloe 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 led to Prestcott preserving a 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, and 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.

‘And he became a very angry man, intent on revenge. When he heard that the king himself was coming to England in secret for
final talks with me, he could contain himself no longer. He went down to Deal that same February in 1660, when the king was due to arrive, and lay in wait. I do not know how long he was there, but one morning after the talks had been going on, the king went for a walk in the gardens of the house we were using; Sir James came out at him and tried to kill him with his sword.’

I knew nothing of any of these talks, and certainly nothing of any assassination attempt, so well had the matter been hidden by all concerned, and I was astonished both to learn of it and that Thurloe was telling me now.

‘How was it that it didn’t succeed?’

‘It very nearly did. The king received a cut in the arm, which shocked him mightily, and would certainly have died had not another hurled himself in front of him and taken the final, fatal blow in his own heart.’

‘A brave and good man,’ I said.

‘Perhaps. Certainly a most unusual one, for it was Ned Blundy who sacrificed himself in this fashion, and died for a man he detested, and permitted the restoration of that monarchy he had spent his life opposing.’

I stared blankly at this extraordinary tale. Thurloe smiled when he saw my incomprehension, and shrugged.

‘An honourable man, who believed in justice and saw none in murder, perhaps. I am certain Sir James had not consulted him in any way over what he intended. I can give no greater explanation to you of his motives and think none is probably needed: Blundy was a good soldier and loyal comrade, but I never once heard of him killing unnecessarily or acting with any cruelty to his enemies. I am sure he was happy to save Prestcott’s life, but not to assist Prestcott in killing another, even if it was a king.’

‘And Sir James? Why did you not kill him? It seems to be your preferred solution in such cases.’

‘He was not an easy man to kill. He escaped after the attack and daily we expected to hear that he had put his knowledge into circulation. On both sides we hunted furiously but to no avail. We could not say what he had done, as that would have involved revealing the depths of our talks, and so our only hope was to discredit him in
advance so that if he did speak out, no one would believe him. Samuel did his usual competent job forging letters, and there were enough people amongst the king’s men who could be bribed to accept the situation without too much enquiry. Prestcott fled abroad, and died. It is ironic; he was the worst of traitors to his king, but was entirely innocent of the crimes of which he was accused.’

‘Your problem at least was at an end.’

‘No. It was not. He would not have acted in such a desperate way on Ned Blundy’s word alone. He insisted on seeing evidence, and Ned provided it.’

‘What sort of evidence?’

‘Letters, memoranda, dockets, dates of meetings and the names of people at them. A great deal of material.’

‘And he did not use it?’

Thurloe smiled sadly. ‘Indeed not. I was forced to conclude that he did not have it; that Ned Blundy had kept it, which would have been a wise thing for him to do.’

‘And this was the man Samuel mentioned?’

‘Yes. Shortly before his death, Blundy visited his family for the last time. It was reasonable to conclude he must have left it with them; on such a matter he could rely on no one else, not even the oldest comrade in arms. I had their house searched on several occasions, but discovered nothing. But I am certain that either the girl or her mother knew where it was, and that they were the only ones to know. Blundy was too sensible to trust others with such a secret.’

‘And they are dead. They can’t tell you where it is now.’