D. Wilson - The Traitor’s Mark

‘So,’ Meyer said, as we completed the tour, ‘you can see we are much indebted to Herr Holbein. If ever he was in trouble he could come to us. We would not fait him.’

‘But he has not recently come to you for succour?’

The little pastor shook his head.

‘And yet,’ I ventured, ‘if he had you would probably not tell me.’

For once Meyer had no words. He simply smiled.

We returned to the wine house. By the outer door the pastor extended his hand. ‘I fear I have been of little help. I most sincerely hope that your anxieties are groundless. God grant you success in your quest.’

‘Thank you. If you see Master Holbein perhaps you would be kind enough to let him know I am looking for him.’

I stepped out into the passageway as Meyer held the door for me. Then, turning, I said, ‘One more question if I may. I understand Master Holbein has a particular German friend called Johannes Fonant … or something like that. Am I right?’

Meyer’s rubicund face creased in a frown. ‘Fonant? No, it is not a German name.’

I thanked him again and stepped across to where my horse was tethered. I mounted my bay mare and turned her head towards the gate. I was just passing under the arch into Thames Street when I heard my name called. Meyer came bustling up to me.

‘Could the man you mention possibly be Johannes von Antwerp? He is not German but he is often here. And he is a friend of Herr Holbein. You may know him.’

Johannes von Antwerp. John of Antwerp as he was known to members of the Goldsmiths’ Company. Did I know him? Oh, yes and heartily wished I did not. As I threaded my way along the busy street I pictured the burly Flemish scoundrel. If he was, indeed, the friend whose name Adie had imperfectly remembered, I could expect little help from him.

I was reflecting gloomily on my wasted morning as I turned into the yard of my house in Goldsmith’s Row. The first thing that I lighted upon was my missing horse.

Golding stood contentedly in a corner of the yard having his mane brushed by Walt. I dropped from my saddle and hurried across.

‘When did he come back?’ I demanded. ‘Is Bart here?’

The groom shook his head. ‘Lizzie brought the horse, Master. She’s inside.’

Bart’s wife was in the kitchen, talking with Jane, my cook, who was plying Annie with tid-bits from the larder. Her baby son, Jack, well swaddled, lay on the wide kitchen table, close to where Lizzie sat. She stood as I strode in.

‘Come to the parlour,’ I said brusquely, crossing to the inner door. ‘The children will be happy here for a few minutes.’

As soon as the door was closed behind us, I turned. ‘What is he up to?’ I demanded.

‘This will tell you.’ Lizzie handed me a folded sheet of paper.

I sat to read it and motioned Lizzie to a chair across the table. The note was carefully composed and written in Bart’s surprisingly neat hand.

My duty to Your Worship remembered, I heartily thank you for speaking for me to the magistrate. Marvel not, I pray you, good Master, that I chose sudden flight above your protection. I dared not trust Constable Pett. The man is known for a double-tongued ruffian, as runs with the hare as well as the hounds. He will not seek out the murderous villains who killed Master Johannes’ man. I am the only one as can do that. I have seen them. By Mary and all the saints, I mean to find them. When I do I will come back. Until then I beg that you will not try to find me.

Your Worship’s assured servant,

Bart Miller

I threw the note down on the table and leaned back in my chair. ‘Jesu! Where was that husband of yours when the good Lord handed out brains?’

Lizzie pouted. ‘What else can he do? We’ve discussed the matter hours without end. This is the only way he can stay safe.’

‘The way he can stay safe? And what of you and the children? Do you think the villains will not come a-visiting when they learn that Bart is on their trail?’

She tossed her head in defiance, sudden colour in her cheeks. ‘We can shift for ourselves.’

‘That you cannot!’ I thumped the table. ‘Mother of God, I thought you had enough wit for both of you. Now I see you’re as addle-pated as Bart.’

‘A woman must stand by her husband,’ she said stubbornly.

‘Even at the cost of her infants’ lives? Think for a moment, Lizzie. These men Bart has got tangled with are vicious murderers. Probably well-paid experts sent to take or kill Master Johannes. God in heaven knows what that poor artist has done to warrant it but, sure as hellfire’s for sinners, someone means him harm and will do anything to lay hands on him. When word’s out that Bart is at liberty and going about asking questions, where will be the first place they come?’

Lizzie was sullenly silent for several moments. From beyond the casement there came the sound of Paul’s clock striking ten.

‘I’m trying to find Master Johannes,’ I said. ‘That must be the best way to identify his enemies. But ’twill take me some time. Meanwhile we must make sure that you and the children are safe.’

She glanced up, scowling. ‘And why should you take that on yourself?’

‘I’m sorry you ask that question. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it.’ I stood abruptly. ‘Wait here. There’s someone I want you to meet.’

I hurried from the room. When I returned minutes later, Lizzie was standing at the window, looking out into West Cheap. ‘The pestilence is getting worse,’ she said. ‘Two houses in our street are shut up now, by order of the council.’

‘All the more reason not to stay. Come to Kent with us.’

She shook her head firmly. ‘I must be where Bart can find me when he needs me.’

‘But there’s no need for Annie and Jack to be exposed.’

She turned suddenly, anger and frustration in her voice. ‘Thomas, do you suppose I haven’t thought of that? What am I to do?’

There was a soft knock at the door. I opened it and ushered in Adie, accompanied by her two young charges. They were remarkably different. Carl, who I supposed to be about seven, was dark-haired, already tall and constantly looking around him with enquiring eyes. Henry, younger by some two years, was squat, with reddish hair and seemed less self-assured. He was clinging tightly to his nurse’s apron.

‘Thank you for coming down, Adie. I want you to meet someone.’ I made the introductions. ‘And now I’m going to leave you to get to know each other.’ I went out into the yard to check that Golding was no worse for his little adventure. I hoped that, in my absence, what in women passes for reason might prevail.

When I returned some half an hour later, I saw that Lizzie’s children had joined the party. Even my own eight-year-old, Raphael (known to everyone as ‘Raffy’), had come to cast an appraising eye over our visitors. The boys seemed to be playing some form of hide-and-go-seek with Annie, and Adie. was cradling the baby. ‘They’re enjoying themselves,’ I said, pointing to the older children. I hoped they were forming a bridge between the women.

Lizzie treated me to a wry smile. ‘Not as much as you enjoy organising other people’s lives.’ She turned to Adie. ‘You’ll find he’s very good at that.’

‘I simply think it makes sense for you all to come to Hemmings till the plague has passed and this other business is sorted out.’

Lizzie turned back to the window. ‘I can’t be that far away from Bart. I must be where he can find me easily.’

‘Very well, but at least let the children come. Adie is bringing the boys down. She has the sense to realise that they can’t go back to Aldgate until Master Johannes returns. She’d be happy to take care of your bearns, too. Isn’t that so, Adie?’