The Crimson Ribbon (26 page)

‘You . . .’

‘If there had been any other way then, believe me, I would have taken it. You were never meant to be part of it, and I was assured you would be safe. Mason Ponder took his brief too far. For that I am sorry.’

The heat from the fire is suddenly stifling and I struggle for air. My body trembles, but anger gives me new strength. ‘You are not sorry. If you were truly sorry you would stop it now. You would not do this.’

‘I must.’

‘Then she will hang and her blood will be on your hands.’

‘It is cruel necessity.’

‘Then it’s true what they say. By this action you make it true. The King, Lizzie – who will be next? How many more lives will be lost before your path is clear? You will lock up your enemies, you will crush them with your army. You will not listen to the people as you promised. All you care about is money and property and power!’ I fall to my knees before him.

‘Ruth, you must desist. I had hoped you would see the sense in it. I see you have been greatly influenced.’

‘No! I have my own mind!’

Old Bess kneels beside me and tries to put her arm around my shoulders. I do not want to be touched and I shrug her off.

‘If I am beyond all hope, why not give me up to the hangman too?’

Old Bess stops trying to comfort me and stands, giving her son a look of displeasure. She walks to a cabinet at the side of the room and, from it, draws out a bundle. She brings it to me where I sit on the floor. Even before I unwrap the linen, I know what it is. I recognise the size and weight of it. I know the smell of the battered old leather and the feel of the crisp, frayed edges of the paper. It is my mother’s book.

‘How did you get this?’

‘I had it brought from the court,’ Master Oliver says. ‘It seems even Mason Ponder can be persuaded to part with valuable evidence, once it has served its purpose.’

As I turn the book in my hands, it falls open at a page that is marked with two lengths of faded red ribbon. I hold up the ribbon to see it shine in the firelight. It is curled and spotted in places with dark stains.

A chill runs through me, my skin puckers to goosebumps. The last time I saw these ribbons they were tied into the hair of my mother’s bloody corpse.

‘Go to her, Oliver,’ I hear Bess say. Her voice sounds like an echo.

But he does not move. He stares at me until I feel he can see inside me and read my thoughts. Then he speaks and I understand.

‘There was a time, before you were born, when I was a different man from the one you know now. I was young, I was impetuous, and I was stupid. I was the very chief of sinners, made up of base wants and lusts. My soul was plunged into darkness for punishment of the things I did then. But that time did pass, and I found the light of God’s elect in me. I do not apologise for what I did then, or for what I do now, for God leads me in my path and knows better than I what is right.’

He bends down and puts his hand upon my shoulder. As he touches me I feel the essence of him running all through my body. ‘I cannot acknowledge you, Ruth, but I have done what I can for you. God knows I will always regret what has happened to you and your mother.’ A shadow passes across his face. ‘You are very like her.’

And then his hand leaves my shoulder and I am alone again.

The room is suddenly very still and very quiet. No one speaks. I hear the blood rushing in my ears and the whisper of my own breath.

I feel as though I am standing on the edge of a great, dark void, into which I might fall, down and down into turmoil and madness.

But then I think of my mother. I think of her dancing with Master Oliver, eyes shining, crimson ribbons gleaming in her hair; of her unquestioning loyalty and trust; of the love pledge, the very promise I made to Lizzie, lettered upon the pages of the book I now hold in my lap; of the binding charm my mother forbade, for fear of what payment the Fen spirits might demand. She knew too well the terrible debt that must be levelled. I think of all the things that, as a child, I did not understand, the questions I dared not ask, answers she did not offer. She did not need to tell me the truth because it was plain for me to see. Only I did not see it.

‘We buried her. We made sure she had a proper burial,’ Old Bess says, as if she can follow my thoughts.

‘Why did you send me away?’ My voice is small, the rage gone out of it.

‘I had to, Ruth. You were in great danger,’ she says.

‘As you are in danger now.’ Master Oliver strides across the room and draws out a leather bag from the cabinet. From the chinking sound it makes, I guess it holds coin, and plenty of it. He brings it to me and holds it out. ‘There is a ship leaving Southampton in eight days’ time. The
Seaflower
. It sails for Virginia. You will be on it. You will take this money. Half of it will pay for your passage and the captain’s silence. I have sent word to him and he expects you. He is an old friend and can be trusted. Use the rest to feed and clothe yourself as you see fit. If you are frugal, there is enough to keep you for some time.’

My anger has died. I am empty. Spent. I cannot feel anything any more. For the first time I look him in the eye as an equal. ‘So, now you want me gone.’

‘Ruth,’ Old Bess says, ‘Oliver has done what he can, but you will never be safe here. You are known. They will find you and, when they do, they will hang you, just like your friend. Just like your mother. We cannot protect you for ever. If you go, you have a chance at life. Please . . . take it.’

She takes the moneybag from Master Oliver and places it in my hands. ‘Please, Ruth, your mother would want you to live. As does your father.’

I do not want to take their charity. It seems I have depended upon the Cromwell family all my life. I could walk from this room and disappear for ever. I could hide, like a child running from punishment, knowing all the time that punishment will eventually come. But penniless, with bare feet and dressed in rags, I will not get far.

As Whitehall Palace begins to stir, I slip from a side door, silent and unnoticed, just as I had arrived. I carry nothing with me but an old book, two scraps of stained crimson ribbon and a leather purse, hidden in my skirts.

Chapter 43

I make my way to the riverside and take a boat to Southwark. During all my months in London I have visited the south bank of the Thames only once, with Lizzie by my side, brave and unflinching on one of her expeditions among the illegal printing presses and booksellers that ply their disreputable trade to the sailors and merchants come into the docks. Then I was frightened of cutpurses and charlatans but now I am every bit as ragged and despicable as they are. They will take me for a whore or a beggar. No one would imagine the riches hidden in my petticoats.

I find an inn on a back-street, away from the bustle of the wharf, where the floor is spread with clean rushes and the landlord’s daughter smiles at me with pity. The taverner does not trust me. He demands payment before he will accept my business and I enjoy the surprise in his eyes as I show him a shiny new crown and ask for a good room with a fire and no questions asked. He is willing to strike the deal.

Southwark is a good place for pawnshops and moneylenders and, out once more on the streets, I soon find what I’m looking for. The shopkeeper, seeing my Newgate rags, tries to shoo me away, but I silence him with the sight of a few coins and he takes me to a trunk of musty clothes at the back of the shop.

There is fine stuff here, made by talented seamstresses: ladies’ dresses in brocade and lace, petticoats of delicate yarn and a gentleman’s coat with brass buttons. There are moth holes and a few threads dangling, but these things will serve until I can buy better. I pick out a good serge dress, the deep purple of a bruise, with a bodice cut lower than anything I have dared wear before. I try not to think too much on the owner of the dress and why she had to sell it.

Then, beneath the faded breeches and threadbare cloaks, I spy the gleam of emerald satin. There are a few tears in the skirt, that I won’t have time to mend, and Lizzie is so tall that the hem might not reach the floor, but the dress was once fine enough to match her beauty. It is almost perfect. I will take it.

I find all I need and, back at the inn, eat my first proper meal in weeks. I ask the girl for a tub and hot water to be brought up, and a looking glass, if such a thing can be found. She sends up a clean copper tub and pails of steaming water, fresh from the kitchen fire. The tinder is lit in my room and she brings her mother’s hand glass and places it lovingly on the bed.

Alone at last, I throw my rags into a pile in the corner of the room – I will have them burned – and step into the tub. The dirt comes off in flakes and I scrub until my flesh turns pale pink once more. I rub hard between my thighs until I am sure that the crusted dirt of the Newgate gaoler is gone from me. I take a fresh pail of water and pour it over my hair, teasing out the knots with rosemary soap. Only when the water is cold and floating with scum do I step out and stand before the fire, savouring the heat of the flames as they dry my body.

I dress in the purple serge. It is a good fit, as though it were made for me. I comb out my hair and leave it loose to dry. I study my reflection. There is something different about my face. My cheeks have hollowed in these last weeks, and are flushed in the firelight. My lips are red where they have cracked and bled, as if they are rouged. But there is something more than that. I stare at myself in the glass until I know what it is.

The fear has left my eyes.

I am no longer the frightened little girl from the Fens. I am a runaway. I am a felon. I am a whore. I am my mother’s daughter, with nothing to lose but a bag full of gold from a father who has broken my heart.

I am Cromwell’s witch.

I expect to feel hatred for the man who has made me what I am. But my heart is more complicated than that. I cannot put a name to what I feel.

A long-ago memory comes back to me, like a half-remembered dream. I am six years old, playing in the yard, grubbing in the dirt with the chickens, too young yet for any real work. I sense eyes on my back. He is there, leaning against the doorframe. He watches me, frowning, as though he is trying to find the answer to a puzzle. Then he calls my name and beckons.

I run to him and dip into the awkward little curtsy I have learned from his daughters. It makes him smile. He crouches, so that his face is level with mine, and puts his hand upon my shoulder. ‘Are you happy here, little one?’ he asks.

I nod slowly, unsure of what is required.

‘Then you will always have a place in my house. I will always look after you. Will you promise to remember this?’

I look at the pouch of coin that sits upon the table. I do not recognise the man in my memory. I feel no love, respect or gratitude, such as I always imagined a girl must feel for her father. I blame him for too much. I blame him for my mother’s half-lived life. I blame him for Lizzie’s brutal fate. I blame him for the aching disappointment that crawls under my skin like a curse. But, despite all this, I find I cannot despise him.

He will have his wish at least. I will take his money and he will not see me again. He has paid out his promise to me in gold. But I still have my own promise to keep, and I cannot rest until it is settled.

I wait until night falls and the city streets are peopled only by those brave or careless enough to defy the curfew. The men in the taproom are too drunk to notice as I slip from the inn, and the drabs are too busy to care. They take me for one of their own and are glad for less competition.

I take a boat to Blackfriars Steps and from there I make my way on foot. As I near the gates my heart starts to pound. It is less than a day since I was saved from this place, and now I choose to go back.

The doorkeeper is easy. A quick smile and a wink persuades him that I’m here on business. I slip him a few coins and press a finger to my lips, as if I have done this a hundred times before. He lets me inside.

Through the door, the stench is like a bad memory, making my stomach turn and my head spin. A woman’s screams echo from the dungeon below. I want to turn and run, my nerve failing, but I must go on. I will never forgive myself if I do not try.

I tell the gaoler the old lie – that I’m Lizzie’s cousin, come to say my final goodbyes – and slide a good stack of coin across the table. I keep my hood pulled down low and my face in shadow, but it is clear he has no idea who I am. I must be changed indeed.

He turns the key in the door to Lizzie’s cell. ‘Go on,’ he grunts.

There is no window to let in the moonlight and I am made blind by the blackness.

‘A candle, sir,’ I say, and the man hands me his lantern.

‘Make it quick,’ he says, glancing over his shoulder. He shuts the door and slides the bolts back into place. I am trapped.

‘Ruth?’

Her voice is cracked, a whisper. She is curled up in the corner, like a pile of mouldering rags. In the lantern’s dim glow, her eyes shine white against her filthy skin.

I gather her in my arms.

She cries and murmurs, ‘My angel . . . my angel . . .’

I wonder that she still has tears left to shed. Since I left Master Oliver, mine have dried.

‘Am I dreaming?’ she says.

‘No, I’m come to take you away.’

‘But how?’

Quickly, I tell her about my meeting with the Cromwells and the truths I have learned. As I reveal the story of my beginnings, she nods and smiles to herself.

‘You are not surprised,’ I say.

‘I could think of no other reason for his interest in us – in you. It is plain he cares nothing for me. I am nothing to him. Worse than nothing.’

‘Why did you never speak of it?’

‘It was your innocence I liked.’ She looks sad as she remembers.

‘That is lost now.’

She takes my face in her hands. ‘But you are more beautiful than ever.’ Gently, she puts her lips to mine.

I feel my heart splinter, shattered by the loss of her, but there is no time left for such talk. ‘I have money and clothes for you. If we are quick we can leave now. The gaoler, he—’

She puts her hand up to my mouth to stop my words. She shakes her head.

‘I will speak with him,’ I say. ‘I will offer him everything I have, if that is what it takes. It is a lot, he will not refuse.’

‘No, Ruth,’ she whispers.

‘But in the morning . . .’

‘I know. Take your money and fly away with it. I will not be the reason for your end.’

‘Come, dress quickly.’ From the bundle I pull out the green satin. ‘See? It may not fit but it will do for now.’

‘And if you give your money away, what then? You cannot sail to the New World without coin. A life of poverty, a life on the run, is not what you want, not what you deserve. Nor I.’ She raises an eyebrow in the way I used to find so enticing. Now it frustrates me.

‘I will find a way,’ I say. ‘I will not stand by and see you hang. I will not let that happen to you . . .’

She catches my hands. ‘Oh, my angel, it is meant to be this way. Did I not tell you that my fate would follow that of the King?’

‘There is no sense in that. It doesn’t have to.’

‘Oh, but it does. Don’t you see? They have made a martyr of the King. It will be the same with me. The truth will come out and my death will not be in vain. I die for every man, woman and child who has suffered in this hateful war. I sacrifice myself for those who are yet to suffer under the yoke of England’s new chains. There are many who will speak out now against those conspirators and traitors who would keep us shackled in fear, your friends among them. I am their new cause, their new hope. I was made for this. It will be a glorious death, Ruth. Just wait and see . . .’

I recognise the otherworldly shine in her eyes. She looks beyond me, through me, and sees nothing but her God. I see she is determined to go to Him.

‘It is what I want,’ she says.

‘You don’t know what you are saying. You’ve been here too long. They have driven you half mad. You will see differently once you are away from here, once you are recovered.’

I stand and try to pull her up. Although she is nothing but bones, she is a dead weight. I hear movement in the corridor outside the cell. Someone is coming.

‘You must come now, Lizzie . . . please!’

Still, she does not move.

‘Until death, remember? You promised me.’

‘Death is already here,’ she whispers.

I let go of her hands. ‘If you ever loved me, you will come with me.’

She gazes at me, her eyes swimming with tears like fat pearls. ‘I do love you . . .’

I know it then, as I have known it all along. I have known it and buried the knowing deep inside, because I could not bear the truth.

‘Yes, you love me, but not enough . . . not enough.’

There are voices outside the door. The bolts are drawn back. The spell is broken. The thread is snapped. My time is up.

‘Madam,’ the gaoler hisses. ‘Say your goodbyes.’

I leave the green satin and a handful of coin on the floor next to her. I hold her tight and breathe in the smell of her one last time. I tangle my fingers in her filthy hair and feel her bones press against my body. I press my lips to hers and taste salt and blood.

And then I turn, scoop up the lantern and walk away. I do not look back and I do not stop until I have crossed the river and am safe again, inside my room at the inn.