The Bawdy Basket (33 page)

He paled as he recognised the features of Gerard Quilter in the latter’s son. When his eyes flicked to the other visitor, he guessed that it must be Nicholas Bracewell. He needed a few moments to recover his composure.

‘You are trespassing on my property,’ he said.

‘That is open to debate, Sir Eliard,’ returned Nicholas. ‘As a result of information that we placed in the hands of a lawyer, all your property has been sequestered.’

‘Nobody can touch me here.’

‘We can,’ said Quilter, standing up. ‘Do you know who I am?’

‘I believe so.’

‘Then you will realise why I am here.’

‘You and Nicholas Bracewell,’ said Sir Eliard with measured contempt. He looked at Nicholas. ‘Have you come to Jersey in flight from the law?’

Nicholas rose to his feet. ‘That was your prerogative, Sir Eliard.’

‘You are a murderer and a thief. You got into my house under false pretences and broke into my counting house by force.’

‘A key was used to open the door.’

‘However you gained access, you violated the law.’

‘So did your assassin when he tried to kill me,’ said Nicholas. ‘Do not dare to stand upon legality, Sir Eliard. We know that you corrupted Justice Froggatt at the trial.’

‘Yes,’ said Quilter with bitterness. ‘It was not enough for you to pay two of your friends to bear false witness against my father, you made that weasel of a magistrate, Adam Haygarth, bribe the judge with five hundred pounds. Justice Haygarth swore as much on the Bible when we dragged him before an honest member of his profession.’

Sir Eliard became sullen. ‘How did you know where to find me?’

‘Your wife is too free with her boasts,’ said Nicholas. ‘She told her milliner a dozen times how much she treasured this house on Jersey. I guessed that you’d be here.’

‘No other ship was due for France for days.’

‘That’s why we came in our own vessel. We arrived yesterday. Hearing that no ships had come, we bided our time at the harbour. When we saw you leaving the vessel today, we came on ahead to warn your servants.’

‘Nick sailed with Drake,’ explained Quilter proudly. ‘A voyage to Jersey was no test of seamanship for a man who has circumnavigated the globe. We hired a fishing boat, Sir Eliard. Its stink was vile but no worse than the one inside this house.’

Tired and flustered, Lady Slaney came into the room and saw the visitors. Though Nicholas was now in his more usual garb, she recognised him at once as the man who had called on her in the company of Anne Hendrik.

‘That was him, Eliard,’ she said, pointing. ‘The Dutchman of whom I spoke.’

‘He is no more a Dutchman than you or I, Rebecca,’ said her husband.

‘Who is he and what is he doing in our house?’

‘Leave this to me.’

‘I do not trust the fellow.’

‘Step outside a moment.’

He ushered her out of the room and spoke in an undertone to his steward. The man nodded then escorted Lady Slaney away. Servants were unloading the luggage from the cart. When one of them carried in the strongbox, Sir Eliard took it from him and brought it into the parlour. He set it down on the table.

‘I am sorry that your visit is so brief,’ said Nicholas. ‘Lady Slaney may stay here but you will have to come back with us to England.’

‘No less a person than the Lord Chief Justice wishes to see you,’ said Quilter. ‘He does not look kindly on those who spread corruption in the courts. You will have to bid farewell to your wife.’

‘Need it come to this?’ asked Sir Eliard with a sly smile. ‘I understand your resentment, Master Quilter, and I can see that you have your father’s resolve. He and I fell out, alas. He was like a burr that stuck to me wherever I went. I had
to brush him off.’ He took out a key. ‘There is no way that I can bring your father back, but I can offer recompense for his loss.’ He unlocked the strongbox and opened the lid. ‘I can make you rich, Master Quilter, richer than you ever imagined.’

‘Keep your money!’ retorted Quilter.

‘Let me go and both of you can live in luxury hereafter.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘Ten times the amount in your strongbox would not tempt us. Besides, Sir Eliard, the money is no longer yours to give. Your property is confiscated. Officers will soon arrive from England to take this house and all its contents into the possession of the Crown. Your strongbox will sail back with them.’

‘Would you take me by force?’ asked Sir Eliard.

Quilter drew his sword. ‘Gladly. Give me the excuse to do so.’

‘You are foolish men. You turned down the chance to gain from this enterprise.’

‘Your arrest is the only gain that I seek.’

‘It will not be effected by you, Master Quilter.’

Sir Eliard snapped his fingers and the steward reappeared with one of the manservants. Both were armed with muskets and looked as if they knew how to use the weapons. They moved swiftly into position to cover the visitors.

Sir Eliard smirked. ‘Be so kind as to lay down your swords, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘And your daggers, while you are at it.’

Quilter turned to Nicholas for guidance. The latter gave a nod then both put their weapons on the floor. Sir Eliard
waved them back a few steps so that he could pick up one of the swords. He brandished it with a malicious gleam in his eye.

‘Your boldness is your undoing,’ he told them. ‘Had you waited, you might have sailed from England with the officers and looked to take me in irons. As it is, you came too quick and unprepared.’ He indicated the other men. ‘It is a rule of mine that I always have someone at my back. That is why I have prospered so.’

‘Your prosperity is at an end, Sir Eliard,’ said Nicholas.

‘Is it? I think not. Your warning has been timely. If others are to come in search of me, they’ll not find me on the island. Lady Slaney and I will be long gone.’ He gave a cackle. ‘We’ll stay, however, to ensure that you have a decent burial. Take them out!’

His men obeyed. With a musket prodding their backs, Nicholas and Quilter were forced out of the room and along a passageway to the rear of the house. They went out into a formal garden that was neatly divided by a series of hedges and trees. Still carrying the sword, Sir Eliard led the way until he came to a secluded bower. He turned to face the prisoners, irritated that they showed no fear. He waved the sword at Nicholas.

‘I’ve half a mind to kill you myself,’ he said. ‘But for you, we’d never have been caught. My only regret is that the interfering milliner is not here to die with you. Say your prayers, sir, for you will never see the lady again.’

Nicholas had, however, seen someone over the man’s shoulder. He alerted Quilter with a nudge then took a step
towards Sir Eliard. His voice was calm.

‘You wrong us, Sir Eliard,’ he said. ‘We have learnt from your example. We, too, have someone at our back. Here he comes.’

Sir Eliard and his men turned their heads to see an extraordinary sight. Hurtling towards them out of the bushes was a man who was executing a series of such rapid somersaults that it was impossible to separate his head from his feet. The prisoners took full advantage of the diversion. Nicholas quickly disarmed one of the men then felled him with a blow from the musket. Quilter wrestled with the other man until the weapon discharged its ball harmlessly into the air. Lightfoot, meanwhile, completed his performance with the most effective trick of all. When he reached the group, he put extra spring into a final somersault and kicked Sir Eliard full in the face, splitting open his nose and knocking him backwards. Nicholas was on the moneylender in a flash to snatch the sword from his hand and hold it to his throat. Having subdued the servant, Quilter recovered the loaded musket to point it at the moneylender. The long and destructive career of Sir Eliard Slaney was finally at an end. Dazed and bloodied, he could do nothing but groan with pain.

Lightfoot spread his arms to bask in applause that did not come.

‘What is wrong?’ he asked in disappointment. ‘Did nobody enjoy my tumbling?’

‘
I
enjoyed it, Lightfoot,’ said Quilter.

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘So did I. And I can promise you
one thing. Sir Eliard will remember it for the rest of his days.’

Lightfoot gave his audience a mock bow.

A new play by Edmund Hoode was always an occasion of note but the premiere of
The Duke of Verona
gave particular cause for celebration. The fear of extinction had been lifted from Westfield’s Men, enabling a revivified Lawrence Firethorn to blossom in the title role and encouraging Barnaby Gill and Owen Elias to shine brilliantly in supporting parts. United once more with his fellows, the playwright himself caught the eye in the small but telling role of a Turkish ambassador. Another deserter had returned. Now that his father had been exonerated and given a posthumous pardon, Francis Quilter was restored to the company and acted with a new passion. The rest of the actors were unaware of how close they had come to disaster but they followed where the leading players led. Nicholas Bracewell controlled everything with unhurried ease.

The Duke of Verona
might not be a masterpiece but it was a stirring drama, containing moments of high tragedy that were offset by scenes of comic genius, and touching on themes of loyalty and betrayal. The audience at the Queen’s Head was spellbound for two hours in the afternoon sun. Anne Hendrik and Preben van Loew watched in wonderment. Lightfoot was an even more delighted spectator. Avice Radley was a wistful onlooker, admiring the quality of the play yet having grave reservations about
its author. But the person who enjoyed the performance most was Lord Westfield himself, resplendent in a new suit and surrounded by an entourage that was even larger and more decadent than usual. Lord Westfield was back in his element. The closing lines of the play had a special significance for him.

Spurred on by the words in the Epilogue, he was at his most saintly and patronising when he welcomed the members of the company to a feast in a private room at the Queen’s Head. It was a rare treat for Westfield’s Men. Their patron supported his troupe from his habitual seat in the gallery but he never mingled with them, still less did he offer them a treat of any kind. They fell on the banquet with relish. As he bit into a leg of chicken, Firethorn turned to his book holder.

‘This is all your doing, Nick,’ he said gratefully.

‘Frank Quilter started it all,’ replied Nicholas. ‘Had it not been for his burning faith in his father, I would never have ventured on this business.’

‘I am glad that you did. But you must take all the credit for Edmund’s return. Your appeal not only rescued him from Mistress Radley,’ Firethorn pointed out, ‘it gave Edmund the urge to finish the new play. You saw the result this afternoon.’

‘Another success for Westfield’s Men.’

‘Our patron revels in it. And there’s more bounty yet.’

‘Is there?’

‘Yes,’ said Firethorn, sipping his wine. ‘We actually coaxed a smile out of that ghoulish landlord. When I told him that Lord Westfield would be gracing us with his presence at a feast, Alexander Marwood all but kissed me.’

‘I am not surprised,’ said Nicholas, looking along a table that was laden with delicious food and expensive drink. ‘This celebration of ours will put a lot of money into the landlord’s purse.’

‘That is the only thing that worries me, Nick.’

‘What is?’

Firethorn waved an arm. ‘How on earth can Lord Westfield pay for all of this?’

‘With ease,’ said Nicholas. ‘Our patron will borrow the money.’

They joined in the general laughter.

E
DWARD
M
ARSTON
was born and brought up in South Wales. A full-time writer for over forty years, he has worked in radio, film, television and the theatre and is a former chairman of the Crime Writers’ Association. Prolific and highly successful, he is equally at home writing children’s books or literary criticism, plays or biographies.

www.edwardmarston.com

T
HE
B
RACEWELL
M
YSTERIES

The Queen’s Head

The Merry Devils

The Trip to Jerusalem

The Nine Giants

The Mad Courtesan

The Silent Woman

The Roaring Boy

The Laughing Hangman

The Fair Maid of Bohemia

The Wanton Angel

The Devil’s Apprentice

The Bawdy Basket

The Vagabond Clown

The Counterfeit Crank

The Malevolent Comedy

The Princess of Denmark

T
HE
R
AILWAY
D
ETECTIVE SERIES

The Railway Detective

The Excursion Train

The Railway Viaduct

The Iron Horse

Murder on the Brighton Express

The Silver Locomotive Mystery

Railway to the Grave

Blood on the Line

The Stationmaster’s Farewell

Peril on the Royal Train

The Railway Detective Collection:
The Railway Detective, The Excursion Train, The Railway Viaduct

T
HE
C
APTAIN
R
AWSON SERIES

Soldier of Fortune

Drums of War

Fire and Sword

Under Siege

A Very Murdering Battle

T
HE
R
ESTORATION
SERIES

The King’s Evil

The Amorous Nightingale

The Repentant Rake

The Frost Fair

The Parliament House

The Painted Lady

T
HE
H
OME
F
RONT
D
ETECTIVE SERIES

A Bespoke Murder

Instrument of Slaughter

Five Dead Canaries