Fire Catcher (30 page)

Chapter 94

Charlie’s eyes settled on a Bedlam physician dying beneath a bench.

‘Is he one of the lunatics?’ asked Lily, peering into the dark corner from where the blood rolled.

‘No,’ said Charlie. ‘He’s a physician, Catholic by his clothes. See his key?’

The man was old, with shoulder-length greasy white hair. A large key lay a few feet away from him and he lolled like a rag doll, arms spread wide. Charlie followed the trail of blood to the man’s left arm. The hand was mostly missing, and blackened as though with gunpowder. What must have once been a torrent of blood had slowed to a trickle
.

The physician looked up at him glassily with a half smile on his face.

‘You’re not an inmate.’ He sounded confused.

Charlie knelt. ‘No,’ he said, assessing the man’s injury. He could see instantly death was at hand. At least four pints of blood had streamed over the stone floor. ‘Did you own the first cell?’ he added.

The physician’s blue lips parted.

‘Until they set on me,’ he said. ‘Such is gratitude.’

Charlie remembered the starved and frightened inmates loping around the entrance of the asylum.

The gaoler nodded at the big key lying a few feet away.

‘I had that key made by an ironmonger,’ he said, nodding to the abandoned object. ‘It works as a gun of sorts. A little black powder inside. A rudimentary firing mechanism. It was my protection, when I opened the door. If a group of felons chose to run at me.’

The smile widened.

‘Never trust an ironmonger to do a gunsmith’s work,’ he concluded, eyes settling on the scorched remains of his hand.

Charlie moved forward. He pressed a gentle finger on the stump of the wrist. It was ice-cold.

‘Nothing can be done,’ said the physician, seeing Charlie’s expression.

‘Too much blood is lost,’ said Charlie bluntly, thinking of the gruesome tools, and the frightened maniacs. He judged the physician in his fifties though. Perhaps he remembered something.

‘Where you here when Cromwell ruled?’ asked Charlie.

The old man nodded and coughed feebly. ‘I was a young man then,’
he said. ‘Thought to stay a year and join a guild. But London is hard for
Catholics. And here I am. An old man dying on a piss-soaked floor.
’

He coughed again and a spurt of blood issued from his open wrist.

‘There were some faith prisoners brought here,’ said Charlie moving closer. ‘Fifteen men. From a ship.’

The physician’s dying eyes narrowed. His blue lips set.

‘I spent my life under Protestants,’ he replied. ‘Now my faith takes me to heaven. You may go to hell.’

Lily knelt and put her slim fingers on his uninjured hand. She drew out her rosary and kissed it.

‘I’m a Catholic,’ she said. ‘As your fellow, I ask it of you.’

The man’s face softened.

‘You’re young,’ he said. ‘I hope times are less hard for you than for me.’

‘Heaven will soothe all injustices,’ said Lily.

The physician looked at Charlie, then back to Lily.

‘Many faith prisoners in those times,’ he said, speaking only to Lily now. ‘Many got loose.’ He tapped his head with difficulty. ‘They were cunning, the dissenters,’ he said. ‘Cleverer than the other lunatics. We had to take measures. Be sure they didn’t escape.’

‘These had been held on a ship called the Mermaid,’ said Charlie, eyeing the slowing trickle of blood at the gaoler’s hand. ‘They would likely have been unloaded at the head of the Fleet River.’

The gaoler looked thoughtful.

‘They would have stunk of the ballast,’ suggested Charlie, thinking of where ship prisoners were usually kept – low in the hull where stagnant seawater and sewage of the ship mingled with the sand used to stabilise the keel.

The gaoler’s nose wrinkled as if in memory.

‘There was a group of dissenters,’ he said slowly. ‘Stinking of rotten seawater. Baptists, I believe.’

‘Are any still here?’ pressed Charlie, hope bursting in his chest. ‘Did any live?’

‘No,’ the gaoler shook his head. ‘Their ship was cursed. It brought a gaol fever.’

His gaze dropped to his arm again.

‘One did live,’ he corrected himself. ‘Only one.’

‘Is he here?’ pressed Lily.

‘Perhaps,’ said the physician. ‘He escaped three times. Might have taken advantage of the fire and confusion. No one to guard him. We put him in the cold cell.’

‘The cold cell?’ asked Lily.

The physician shivered in reply.

‘A terrible thing,’ he murmured, ‘to be cold. A terrible thing.’ Something flashed in his face. As though he was sorry for something. Then his eyes grew filmy.

Lily gripped his hand, but Charlie pulled her back.

‘He’s gone,’ he said. ‘We need to find the cold cell.’

The physician had a set of keys at his hip, and Charlie knelt to unhook them. There were large ones for the doors and smaller keys for manacles and other restraints.

Smoke was streaming steadily through the window now. Lunatics had begun venturing free from their cells, eyeing the open door suspiciously. One began shouting about the apocalypse.

Charlie was taking in the building. Past the seven living cells was a cluster of dark treatment rooms. They skulked at the back, with no grating to peer through.

‘What’s a cold cell?’ asked Lily.

‘Bedlam’s best treatment,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s a kind of icehouse. Expensive, but Lady Castlemaine gives money for it.’

‘Ice?’

‘They pull it from the river in winter,’ said Charlie. ‘As long as you keep it layered in straw, store it somewhere deep and cool, it stays frozen most of the year. It cools the blood,’ he added, ‘a kinder way to help lunacy.’

He scanned the floor, the walls. Then he spotted a thin stream of water running over the stone floor.

‘Unless,’ he added, following it, ‘your building sets on fire.’

The flow of water led to a grimy door at the back of the asylum. There was no hatch, no grating. Charlie bent down and touched the ground.

‘Ice cold,’ he said straightening. He examined the lock and held up the bunch of keys he’d taken from the physician. After a moment he selected the right-sized key. Lily hung back as the tumblers clicked open. Ice-cold air rolled out at them. And two blue eyes blinked out from filthy straw.

Chapter 95

Amesbury was packing a large cart when Barbara arrived.

‘I thought I’d find you here,’ she said. ‘Mean you to turn coat again?’

‘Charles will lose this battle,’ said Amesbury. ‘Whitehall will burn. I go to Oxford. Parliament will find me some position.’

‘You underestimate Charles,’ said Barbara.

Amesbury shook his head. ‘Charles is probably chin-deep in chubby white thighs as we speak.’

Barbara laughed. ‘Yet we need such a heart in our King,’ she said. ‘For what is England if not the most fickle of mistresses?’

Amesbury raised his eyebrows.

‘England betrayed Charles,’ said Barbara. ‘Exiled him, killed his family. None but the biggest of hearts could forgive it.’

‘Certainly,’ she added, ‘loving
me
seems easy in comparison.’ She treated Amesbury to a disarming smile. ‘And I think Charles loves England. Very much.’

Amesbury was shaking his head. ‘We cannot save Whitehall with these resources.’

Barbara put her hand on his.

‘Don’t go,’ she said. ‘You’ve won enough battles. Won’t you stay and lose one? Make all those other poor generals feel better?’

Amesbury paused.

‘You love him too,’ said Barbara, ‘I know you do. We all do. Underneath it all he is a good King. Isn’t that what you always wanted to fight for?’

‘And what of you, Lady Castlemaine?’ Amesbury’s dark eyes were on hers.

‘What of me?’ Barbara looked uncertain.

‘I know you’ve been meeting with Blackstone,’ said Amesbury.

‘Blackstone?’ Barbara’s denial was brittle. ‘I’ve nothing to do with that man. Why should I? We’ve not met since he was in Holland.’

‘What do you know of him?’ asked Amesbury.

‘He was with the Sealed Knot.’ Barbara looked incredulous. ‘They were very religious. Communed with mystics. Alchemists. I hardly saw them.’

‘Fireballs,’ said Amesbury, ‘have been turning up all over the Palace. In your apartments. In Queen Catherine’s chambers . . .’

Barbara was shaking her head.

‘It is a nonsense,’ she said. ‘Queen Catherine of Braganza, throwing fireballs?’ she began laughing.

‘They were stamped with the sign of the Sealed Knot,’ said Amesbury.

The laugh died on Barbara’s lips.

‘Wait.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I have something to confess.’

Chapter 96

The prisoner blinked up at them from the filthy straw. The remains of his clothing was in the old Royalist style. But the colours had long since leached away and his lace collar and cuffs were in grubby tatters. His long white beard and hair were grimed with dirt, making his blue eyes seem particularly vivid as he stared up at them.

He gave a humourless grin as they entered, revealing speckled brown teeth. A wicked-looking iron manacle sat heavy at his ankle, the skin around it worn to sores.

‘He’s not a lunatic,’ whispered Lily, leaning in to Charlie. ‘Look at his eyes.’

Charlie nodded. The man looked sane enough to him. The prisoner twisted on his straw, wrapping his arms tighter around his scrawny body. Ice blocks were piled to the edges of the damp room and the man’s skin was almost blue.

Charlie moved closer, taking off his coat and throwing it over the prisoner’s freezing shoulders. The man looked up in confusion. He was staring at Charlie’s face.

‘Are you a gaoler?’ he said, peering closer. ‘I’ve seen you before.’

Charlie shook his head. ‘We haven’t met.’

The prisoner scratched the sores at his manacle in a habitual way.

‘I must be mistaken,’ he muttered. ‘You’re a minister then? Come to save my soul?’ he growled. ‘I have already told the other Protestants, I live as a Baptist and will meet my Maker the same way.’

Wordlessly Lily drew out her rosary.

The prisoner grunted and scratched his armpit.

‘Then to what do I owe the pleasure?’ he asked.

‘You sailed on the Mermaid,’ said Charlie.

The prisoner looked surprised.

‘That was a long time ago,’ he said eventually. He gave an involuntary shiver that he hardly seemed to notice. Then he seemed to suddenly notice Charlie’s coat and pulled it tighter around his scrawny body.

‘I did,’ he said after a moment. ‘Forty days and nights. In the stinking depths of the hull. It still haunts my sleep at times. Makes me glad to wake up in this palace that you see.’

He waved a hand to indicate the dank cell.

‘We are hunting one of the passengers,’ said Charlie. ‘A Catholic named Blackstone.’

‘You want information? What can you give me in return?’ The prisoner eyed them craftily.

Charlie’s pulse quickened. He couldn’t tell if the man knew something or was working them.

Charlie pointed to the manacles. ‘Your freedom.’

Again, the blue eyes shifted in surprise.

‘And who are you to offer such a thing?’ he whispered.

In answer Charlie held out the bunch of keys. The prisoner’s gaze riveted to them. He moved a scrawny leg out from under him with effort.

‘Then unlock me,’ he breathed. ‘And I will tell you what I know.’

Charlie shook his head. ‘We do not know yet if you know anything.’

The prisoner ran a tongue over his dry lips, his eyes assessing them.

‘Perhaps,’ he said slowly, ‘freedom does not mean so much to me as you think.’ He shot a glance up at the narrow window. ‘From what I hear, things are not so good out there for Baptists. The new King has betrayed us, is that not right? Like his father before him.’ He addressed this last remark to Lily. ‘No freedom of worship?’

Lily gave the slightest nod of her head.

‘God’s appointee on earth,’ spat the prisoner. ‘I fought for him. The old King. Until I found God’s truth in the Baptists.’

He shook his head angrily.

‘His Royal Majesty betrayed all his soldiers. Not that it did him any good in the end.’ He scratched at his leg thoughtfully.

‘The Mermaid,’ he said, seeming to have reached a conclusion. ‘She was filled with those seeking the young exiled heir in Holland. Not that us prisoners saw a great deal of them, down in the hull.’

‘Blackstone would have been around twenty-five years old,’ said Charlie. ‘Dressed for the Royalist cause. Noble clothes. Can you tell us anything of him?’

The prisoner’s blue eyes met with Charlie’s. ‘I did not see a man named Blackstone,’ he said.

Charlie sighed out in disappointment. ‘You are quite sure?’

The prisoner nodded, his eyes drifting again to the window.

‘It seems tender-heartedness was in short supply after the war,’ he said. ‘So you may leave me here to rot, for I have nothing to tell you.’

The prisoner watched them, waiting for them to leave.

Charlie moved towards him and he twitched.

‘Do what you will,’ he said. ‘You’ll do nothing the good-hearted physicians have not already done and worse.’

Charlie had the prisoner’s filthy leg in his hands.

‘Keep still,’ he muttered. ‘Keep still while I unlock the manacle.’

The prisoner’s eyes widened. Mutely he stilled his thin leg. His hands were shaking.

‘He could be dangerous,’ hissed Lily, eyeing the dirty prisoner.

‘More dangerous than you?’ replied Charlie, as he knelt on the wet straw and selected the right key.

The manacle fell away revealing a band of stinking red flesh. The prisoner’s hands rubbed at the wound. He looked up wonderingly.

‘Come,’ said Charlie, taking his ice-cold arm and helping him to his uncertain feet. ‘I will guide you out. Once you are in the city you never saw us.’

The prisoner nodded, his hands already combing at his beard.

‘Fire is to the west,’ added Charlie. ‘Soon it will be inside the walls.’ They staggered out, with Charlie supporting the prisoner on his shoulder. Bloody screams were curdling the asylum air. Charlie picked up the hemp hammer where he’d left it. There were four more cells to unlock and he worked quickly, hefting the hammer and shattering the locks. The whole corridor was a thick wall of smoke now. It was hard to see around the corner to the main entrance.

The prisoner was looking on in mute wonderment. ‘They won’t run,’ he said. ‘They’re too scared of the physicians. Best look to yourself.’

‘People sometimes surprise you,’ said Charlie, ‘when fire comes.’

Suddenly a gunshot sounded in the far gloom, back towards the main entrance.

Charlie froze. Musket fire. A soldier’s weapon. Then came screams and hooting. Fists on flesh.

Smoke had thickened in the air now. Charlie risked a glance around the corner. He darted back, breathing hard. A little pack of armed men were being set on by the lunatics.

‘Soldiers,’ he said grimly. ‘Seems as though they didn’t expect the lunatics to be out of their cells.’

‘Why are they here?’ asked Lily.

Charlie glanced round again then flattened himself back out of view.

‘My supposing?’ he said. ‘They’ve come to do for the lunatics. Kinder than letting them burn.’

The prisoner gave a black-toothed smile. ‘Better than letting them loose,’ he corrected. ‘Half the men in here are religious dissenters.’

‘What about us?’ cried Lily in horror.

‘I don’t suppose,’ said Charlie, ‘they’ll believe us sane citizens who’ve broken in.’