Prophecy - Страница 70

‘The last thing we want is for Mary Stuart to be released from prison,’ Fowler says, smoothly. ‘She must come nowhere near the English throne. She must be condemned for treason.’

‘So — courting Cecily Ashe, killing her — all this was to frame the conspirators and betray Mary?’ I shake my head. ‘Then who do you want on the throne — Elizabeth? I thought you meant for her to be poisoned?’

Fowler looks at me pityingly.

‘We want the true heir on the throne, Bruno. The king who will unite this divided realm, under the guidance of his trusted advisors. The one descendant of Henry Tudor whose legitim acy has never been in dispute.’

It takes a moment for me to realise who he means.

‘King James of Scotland?’ I turn to Douglas. ‘You have done all this for him? What about his mother?’

‘Old, ill, overweight, out of touch, a bag of resentments and revenge,’ Fowler says. ‘No one wants a woman like that at the helm of a nation already precariously divided.’

‘No one wants a woman at all,’ Douglas offers, with a chesty laugh.

‘But the English Catholics have used Mary as a rallying cry for too long to suddenly change their minds,’ I protest. ‘There would be riots if Elizabeth died and she were not released.’

‘You insult us, Bruno.’ Fowler breaks into a hint of a smile, showing his even teeth. ‘We are canny enough to take that into account. That’s why it was so important that this invasion plot go far enough that the main conspirators could be picked up by Elizabeth’s authorities. That deals with Mary, the Howard family and Castelnau and his wife — all tried for treason, all imprisoned or executed by Elizabeth. Before she is tragically struck down by a mysterious illness on her own Accession Day.’

‘Without the Howards, the English Catholics couldn’t organise a game of cards,’ Douglas adds, gesturing to the pile on the table. ‘Elizabeth dies, no heir, the English are rudderless — then bring on the only person who can restore order and harmony to the country, together with the Scottish lords and advisors he most trusts.’ He smiles and indicates himself and Fowler.

‘Or who can best manipulate him,’ I say. ‘But Elizabeth is past bearing an heir now, so King James will inherit the throne anyway. Why so much risk to hasten the day?’

‘Elizabeth could easily live another thirty years,’ Fowler says. ‘Or some Catholic plot will unseat her in favour of Mary — if not this one, then another. The Spanish would move in — my lord the king could be shut out of the succession altogether. There was greater risk to his sovereignty in waiting. One must take charge of one’s destiny, Bruno, instead of waiting for Providence to show its hand, do you not agree?’

I shake my head, incredulous.

‘My God, this was an elaborate plan. But contingent on so many elements, it was bound to fail.’

‘It would have succeeded, if not for the girl.’ He clenches his teeth and the muscles in his jaw stand out.

‘Cecily.’ I stare at him. ‘So you drew her into your plot by making her fall in love with you. But she changed her mind, is that it?’

‘She seemed spirited enough. The queen had intervened to stop a budding romance some months previously because she didn’t consider the young man in question a significant enough match. The girl was furious and itching for revenge — I nurtured that and offered her the opportunity. But she was hot-headed — she didn’t have the patience to wait until the right moment.’ An expression of regret registers in his eyes for a moment, but I am not fooled; any sorrow he feels is only for the failure of his own plans.

‘So you had to kill her. But the display — the astrological signs, the witch’s doll — all that was to cast suspicion on the Catholics? Didn’t you run the risk of tightening security around the queen or being discovered yourself?’

He makes a dismissive sound with his lips.

‘Once Cecily Ashe changed her mind about helping me, she had to be silenced, that was beyond doubt. And you could hardly hope that the death of one of the queen’s own maids would go without scrutiny, so we decided we may as well use it overtly to sow fear and confusion in the court and the city. A frightened populace will be all the more eager to embrace a strong leader.’

‘It worked,’ Douglas remarks, tapping his pipe on the side of the table. ‘The way people were talking in the taverns, you’d think they expected Beelzebub to rise up out of the Thames and burn the city to the ground. Shitting themselves, they were, especially after the second one.’

‘I hadn’t intended to kill the second girl,’ Fowler says, sounding almost apologetic. ‘But when I saw her talking to you at the Holbein Gate, Bruno, I started to worry. Cecily never knew my real name, but I was afraid she might have told her friend enough detail to identify me, and I guessed Walsingham must have asked you to look into the death. So I had to make sure she didn’t talk either. I thought if we copied the first murder, it would smack of astrology and conjuring — people would think it was the work of a deranged madman trying to fulfil the apocalyptic prophecies.’

‘Deranged wouldn’t be so far wrong. So it was you following me, then, all that time. Then you were the man with the hat at the Whitehall concert?’ I am struggling to piece this together.

Fowler shakes his head.

‘That was Douglas. I was waiting on the river in a boat. Once the concert had started, I knew it would be quiet at the kitchen dock. The girl came down as the message instructed. After I had dispatched her, I took off the old smock I had over my own clothes and rowed around to the Privy Bridge, where I was admitted to join the concert.’

‘And Ned Kelley? Where does he fit in, with his visions and his drawings of the murdered girls?’

Fowler frowns; he and Douglas exchange an uncomprehending look.

‘Who is Ned Kelley?’ Fowler asks. I stare from one to the other; both are skilful dissemblers, as I know only too well by now, but they appear convincingly at a loss. Perhaps Henry Howard was telling the truth about Kelley after all.

‘Never mind. But there is one thing I don’t understand,’ I say, as I struggle to take it all in. ‘Without Cecily, Elizabeth still lives. What happens to your plan now?’

‘Accession Day is a while off,’ Fowler says, with a half smile. ‘Time enough to set other wheels turning.’

‘You have another assassin?’

‘There’s no shortage of hot-blooded young men in France ready to martyr themselves for the Catholic cause — especially among those exiled supporters of Mary in Paris, where our friend the Master of Gray has been living these past few years, making friends. Poison would have been more elegant, but one expendable youth with a pistol in the crowd, especially one with links to Mary …’ He trails off as if the subject bores him.

‘I hope that’s cleared things up for you, Bruno,’ Douglas says, brusquely, rising and brushing the drift of ash from his clothes. ‘But that’s probably enough talking, eh.’

‘Wait — what about Dumas?’ I ask, my voice rising with the need to keep them talking.

‘Before you came along and hired him with Walsingham’s money, I’d slipped him a few coins to give me an idea of the ambassador’s correspondence. When he told me Mary Stuart was sending private packets to Henry Howard through Throckmorton, I gave him a considerable sum to look out for their contents — any gifts or jewellery, anything I could use to make it look as if the girl had ties to Mary,’ Fowler says. Douglas flashes him an impatient look but Fowler seems to feel he owes me this explanation, perhaps in recognition of the misguided trust I once placed in him. ‘But I could see he was unequal to the strain of so much secrecy. He sold his loyalties too widely and he didn’t have the temperament for intrigue. I knew he’d crumble and tell you about the ring eventually. He swore he hadn’t when he was begging for his life, but I didn’t believe him.’

‘Was I next on your list of people to be silenced?’ I ask, moving almost imperceptibly away from him towards the window. Keeping his eyes on mine, he matches my movement.

‘I was relying on you to convey the necessary evidence of the invasion plot to Walsingham first,’ he says, matter-of-factly. ‘I even thought you might find a way to blame Howard for the murders — you seemed determined to. But I knew you’d discover the truth about the ring eventually and then I would have to decide what to do with you.’

‘What did King James promise you both?’ I ask, looking from one to the other. ‘How many lives would you have cut down, to secure his throne? He must have offered you the moon.’

‘James knows nothing of this yet,’ Fowler says, as if proud of the fact. ‘He is young and confused enough in his religion to fall easy victim to stirrings of conscience. We will present him with a throne when he has no choice but to take it, and thank us.’

‘Whereas you don’t know what conscience means, do you? What is your religion — aside from power?’

Fowler laughs unexpectedly at this, a rich, open laugh, and he sounds for the briefest moment like the man I had believed him to be.

‘There is no version of faith that cannot be interpreted to fit the desired political ends. I would have thought you’d learned that much on your travels, Bruno. Personally, I would advise young James to favour the Catholic Church, but only because that is where the balance of power lies in Europe, although —‘