Sea Change (14 page)

'Don't you know me?'

'I… I'm not sure.'

The man stepped back, allowing the light from the lantern to fall across his face. Now Spandrel saw him plainly for who he was.

'You.'

'Yes.' The man nodded. 'Me.'

'What do you want?'

'An answer to my question. You're supposed to be in prison in Amsterdam, awaiting trial for murder. So, what are you… and your new-found friend… doing here — exactly?'

'I thought you were away to bed,' said Mcllwraith, frowning up at Spandrel from his fireside chair. Then he looked across to the man who had accompanied Spandrel back into the tap-room. 'Who's this spindle-shanks?'

'I am Nicodemus Jupe, sir.'

'Sir, is it? I like the sound of you more than the look of you, Jupe, I'll say that. I suppose we were bound to tread on your coat-tails before long. But I didn't expect you to call on us to pay your respects. What do you want?'

'He thinks we should—'

'Let him speak for himself,' barked Mcllwraith, cutting off Spandrel's explanation. 'Well?'

'Could we find somewhere a little more private?' Jupe glanced around. 'I'm sure you won't want our affairs widely known, sir.'

'Our affairs?' Mcllwraith grunted. 'There's a reading-room of sorts on the other side of the passage. With no fire lit, we should have it to ourselves. The chill will keep you awake, Spandrel, even if Jupe's conversation fails to enthral. Lead the way.'

A few moments later, they were in the reading-room, with the door closed behind them. There were desks and chairs spaced around wood-panelled walls. A large bookcase held an assortment of atlases, almanacs and Bibles. A single copy of a Bernese newspaper lay on the table in the centre of the room, beneath a chandelier in which barely half the candles were lit. It was, as Mcllwraith had predicted, breath-mistingly cold.

'Say your piece,' growled Mcllwraith, propping himself against the table to listen. 'You can begin with how you knew we were here.'

'Apparently, the gatemen always recommend this inn, sir. No doubt the landlord makes it worth their while.'

'Are you staying here?'

'No, sir.'

'Then you were looking for us?'

'I knew someone would follow. It was inevitable. I've been… keeping my eye open.'

'But lodging elsewhere. Why's that?'

'I'll explain that in a moment, sir.'

'Stop calling me sir. You're not in my troop, thank God.'

'Very well… Captain.'

'How much has Spandrel told you?'

'Only that you're an agent for the Brodrick Committee. I was afraid you might represent the Government.'

'What do you care who I represent?'

'I care a good deal, Captain. We want the same thing. The Green Book.'

'Which your master did his best to put out of the committee's reach. The same thing? Aye. But not for the same reason.'

'Circumstances have changed. Our reasons now coincide.'

'How do you reckon that?'

'Sir Theodore's best hope of lenient treatment by the committee is to help them. By surrendering the Green Book to them rather than the Government. He and Mr Knight originally planned to force the Government to protect them by threatening to publish the contents of the book. You see I tell you so quite openly. I'm concealing nothing.'

'And poor Spandrel here was to die to make sure that threat could be safely made.'

'It seems so. But that wasn't my fault. I only did what Sir Theodore told me to do.'

'And no doubt you're still doing his bidding.'

'Sir Theodore instructed me to retrieve the book and prevent it falling into the wrong hands. There'll be a Government agent not so very far behind you and I can't risk him succeeding where you or I might fail. My chances of securing the book alone are slim. I need your help.'

'But do we need yours, Jupe? That's the question.'

'You do. Because I know where the book is.'

'Oh, you do, do you?' Mcllwraith pushed himself upright and took a step towards Jupe. 'Well, why don't you tell us?'

'May I see your House of Commons warrant first, Captain?' Jupe stood his ground unflinchingly. 'I need to be sure you're what Spandrel says you are.'

'Hah!' Mcllwraith laughed, as if impressed by Jupe's steadiness of nerve. He plucked the warrant out from his pocket and handed it over. 'Satisfied?' he asked after a moment.

'Perfectly.' Jupe handed the warrant back. 'Your intention would be to deliver the book to General Ross in London?'

'Or Mr Brodrick. It makes no matter. But that is what I mean to do.'

'And you'd be willing to afford me safe passage back to London with you?'

'I could see my way to doing that, aye.'

'It's all I ask.'

'Consider it done. If you lead us to the book.'

'I can do that very easily.'

'How?'

'Zuyler and Mrs de Vries arrived here yesterday.'

'They're in Berne?'

'Yes. They've made no move to leave as yet. I've taken a room in the lodging-house they're staying in. They don't know me, of course. But I know them. Mr and Mrs Kemp, they call themselves. The Drei Tassen was obviously too popular for their liking. They preferred somewhere quieter. But not quiet enough. It didn't take me long to find where they're hiding. They've not been out much. When they do leave the house, they lock their door securely. But I expect they take the book with them wherever they go, so there'd be no point forcing an entrance when they're not there. And when they are there…' Jupe shrugged. 'Mijnheer de Vries's fate suggests Zuyler would be quite prepared to kill anyone trying to wrest the book from them.'

'Which is why you haven't tried to do so single-handed.'

'It is. I admit it.'

'Why haven't they headed on south?'

'Gathering their strength for the crossing of the Alps, perhaps. Making inquiries as to the best way to go about it. Who knows? You could ask them yourself, though. This very night.'

'So I could.' Mcllwraith smiled. 'And so I believe I will.'

It was late now, but the taverns remained busy and a few hardy chestnut-mongers were still stooped over their braziers at the corners of the streets. They headed east along the main thoroughfare of the city, past a squat clock tower and on between tall, arcaded housefronts. A chill mist thickened as they neared the river, blurring the light from the lanterns that hung between the arches.

Whether Mcllwraith had any doubts about the wisdom of what he seemed set upon doing Spandrel did not know. The captain was armed, of course, and had loaded his pistols before they set off. For his part, Spandrel felt torn between an eagerness to share in the humiliation of the two people who had happily let him take the blame for their crime and a suspicion that things could surely not fall out as simply as they promised to. Jupe had explained himself logically enough. And to take them unawares was the tactic most likely to succeed. Yet Spandrel could not rid himself of a nagging doubt. This silent march through empty streets reminded him of the night he had broken into the de Vries house in Amsterdam. His expectations had been confounded then. And, for all he knew, they might be again.

A slender church spire stretched up into the night sky behind them as they started to descend to the river, then was blotted out by the mist. Jupe led them down a narrow side-street and stopped at a door above which a lantern burned, illuminating the sign Pension Siegwart over the bell. He looked up at the windows on the upper floors, then pressed a cautionary finger to his lips.

'There's a light in their room,' he whispered.

'No matter,' Mcllwraith replied, his own whisper sounding like a file scraping on rough wood. 'We'll take them as we find them.' He closed the shutter on the lantern he had been carrying and handed it to Spandrel. 'Open up, Jupe.'

Jupe slipped the pass-key from his pocket, unlocked the door and pushed it carefully open. There was a single lamp burning in the hall. More light — and a burble of voices — seeped up from the basement. They stepped inside and Jupe closed the door. 'Their room is the first floor front,' he said in an undertone. 'The best in the house.'

'Well, that'll save us a clamber up to the attics, won't it?' said Mcllwraith. 'Lead on, man.'

Jupe set off up the stairs. Mcllwraith signalled for Spandrel to follow and brought up the rear himself. There were a few creaks from the treads as they climbed, but Spandrel still caught the ominous click of a pistol being cocked behind him. He wanted to stop and ask Mcllwraith if he was sure he was acting for the best. Above all, he wanted to slow the pace of events. But he knew it made no real sense to do so. Mcllwraith was the hardened soldier and was well aware of the advantage of surprising the enemy. It was not an advantage he had any intention of letting slip.

But surprise comes in many guises. They reached the landing and doubled back to the door at the far end. A wavering line of light could be seen beneath it. And a moving shadow, as of someone pacing up and down between the lamp and the door. Then, as they drew closer, Spandrel caught the distinct sound of a sob. The voice, he felt sure, was female.

'A lovers' tiff, perhaps,' Mcllwraith whispered in his ear. 'That could suit us well.' He moved past Spandrel to Jupe's shoulder. 'They lock the door when they go out, you said. What about when they're in?'

'I don't know.'

'Then try it, man.' Mcllwraith stepped back and raised one of his pistols. 'Now.'

Jupe reached out, turned the handle and pushed.

The door opened and Mcllwraith strode into the room. Over his shoulder, Spandrel saw Estelle de Vries turn and stare at him in astonishment. 'Cry out and it'll be the last sound you make, madam.' Mcllwraith pointed the pistol at her and glanced around. 'Where's Zuyler?'

The best room in the house amounted to a sparsely furnished chamber boasting a four-poster bed that seemed to belong in more spacious surroundings, a single chair, a chest of drawers and a rickety dressing-table. There were no doors to other rooms and Zuyler was nowhere to be seen. Estelle de Vries was wearing a plain dress and shawl. Her hair was awry, one strand falling across her cheek. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes red and swollen. As she pushed back the wayward strand of hair with a shaking hand, Spandrel saw that there was a bruise forming over the cheekbone. 'You,' she murmured, her shock turning to a frozen look of horror as their eyes met. 'Oh, dear God.'

'Where's Zuyler?' Mcllwraith repeated.

'Not…' She shook her head. 'Not here.'

'Close the door, Jupe. Is the key in the lock?'

'Yes.'

'Turn it. We'll need warning of Zuyler's return.'

'Mr Spandrel,' said Mrs de Vries in a fluttering voice. 'How… did you…'

'Escape from the trap you set for me?' Spandrel hoped he sounded more bitter than he felt. She deserved every reproach he could fashion. Yet finding her as she was — distraught, deserted for all he knew — he could not help feeling a pang of sorrow for her. 'Why should you care?'

'It was thanks to me,' said Mcllwraith, uncocking the pistol. 'Captain James Mcllwraith, madam. Special representative of the House of Commons Secret Committee of Inquiry into the South Sea Company.'

'The… what?'

'This is Jupe,' he went on. 'Valet to Sir Theodore Janssen. You may have seen him before. He's been following you. As have we.'

'I don't understand.'

'I think you do. We want the Green Book.'

'Book? What book?'

'Come, come, madam. You and your paramour tried to sell it to the British Government. And now you're on your way to Rome to hawk it round the Pretender's court. It's useless to pretend otherwise.'

'Useless?' She looked at Mcllwraith, then at Spandrel, then back at Mcllwraith.

'Utterly.'

'And who did you say you represent?'

'The House of Commons Secret Committee of Inquiry into the South Sea Company.'

'You mean the Government?'

'No, madam. The House of Commons. You're English, for pity's sake. You must know the difference.'

'Of course. I… I thought…' She put her hand to her brow and squeezed her eyes briefly shut, then fingered away some tears from their edges. 'May I sit down?'

'By all means.' Mcllwraith pulled the chair back for her with a flourish. She sank into it. 'Where is the Green Book?'

To Spandrel's amazement, she laughed, then took her handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. 'Forgive me. It is… almost funny.'

'I pride myself on my sense of humour,' said Mcllwraith, placing a heavy hand on the back of the chair. 'But I regret to say the joke has eluded me. Where's the book?'

'I don't have it.'

'Does Zuyler?'

'No.'

'Then what's become of it?'

'It's gone.'

'Gone where… exactly?'

'Into the river.'

'What?'

'I threw it into the river.'

'You destroyed it?' put in Jupe.

'Yes.' She nodded. 'I did.'

'We don't believe you,' said Mcllwraith.

'I don't blame you. I hardly believe it myself. But it's true.'

'You threw it into the river?'

'Yes. I walked out onto the bridge down there' — she gestured towards the river — 'and tossed the book over the parapet. Then I watched it being borne away in the current. The river's in spate. It bobbed along like a piece of driftwood, until the water soaked into the pages and weighed it down. Then it sank. Or I lost sight of it in the turbulence. It makes no difference. Ink and paper don't fare well in water. There's a sodden lump of something on the riverbed a few miles downstream, I dare say. But for the only purposes you care about, it's gone.'