The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fic - By Mike Ashley Page 0,117

in this matter.”

*

Owen and Quick tip-toed past the busy kitchen, where a soldier could be heard working his charm on one of the serving girls. They approached the pantry, where the day before Mrs Habingdon had directed Quick to an unoccupied hiding place. Small it may have been, but his “discovery” of that cubby-hole – along with several others, in the company of Sir Henry – had done much to impress the Justice of his reliability. The scheme had almost worked: he had succeeded in passing himself off as the country’s most celebrated priest hunter, had all but convinced Mrs Habingdon of his allegiance to her own cause and, with the soldiers out of the way, stood every chance of getting the silver off the premises. But all that had been spoiled by the appearance of Noyce.

Gratifying as it was that their destination was not the dreadfully tight space in the pantry, this more accommodating space in the scullery next door was still considerably smaller and more uncomfortable then even the rudest cell in the Tower. While incarcerated here, his devout companion had his rosary beads and prayers to keep his mind occupied, but Quick needed more than incantations and baubles to distract him from the closeness of the walls. When what he had always considered to be a long line of female conquests proved only long enough to provide a pitifully brief distraction, his thoughts turned to the events of the past few weeks.

*

The taking of Guido Fawkes and his powder, sitting unburned within the confines of hoop and stave, had been only the beginning. The plot involved a dozen or more conspirators at its heart, and many more with knowledge of it. Under instruction from the Spanish Ambassador in London, Quick arrived at Huddington Court, where, with his impeccable references he was accepted into the company of thirty or more conspirators and supporters; despite being grateful for that, he couldn’t help look down on them for their naive lack of suspicion. In the event of the plot’s success, which required king and parliament by then to be blown to the high heavens, this meeting would have seen the formation of an army. At that moment their numbers were small, but spurred on by success there would have been determination and money enough to expand their ranks a thousandfold.

But king and parliament, being alive to do so, went to great lengths to broadcast their survival and to expose the plot as a failure. It was a state of affairs which made these thirty or more – not first recruits, but a gang of desperados – hell-bent on saving their own skins. It would have been good to complete his business there at a time when, at least for a man who knew his business, escape was still a straightforward matter. But the opportunity did not arise, for it was panic not planning which now dictated the course of events. Some of the conspirators had already been taken, while those with weaker resolve had given themselves up only to find their pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears.

If it were not bad enough that the king’s men were casting their nets, the Catholics too, through the mouthpiece of the Archpriest Father Blackwell, were falling over themselves to damn the conspirators as traitors, while professing their unswerving loyalty to the king. Fearful that their rendezvous was compromised, Sir Robert Catesby, the chief conspirator, gave the order for departure. Some went their own way, melting into the night, but Quick had no option but to join the leaders. Their next destination was to be Holbeach House on the border with Staffordshire, and so, early in the morning of November the seventh, the party, in sombre mood, stepped out into heavy rain. Weapons previously intended for use in the uprising were now carried for personal protection, and as much powder as could be carried was transported along with the muskets in an open wagon. Though he kept a watchful eye out for their pursuers, Quick took time to study his companions carefully, looking for any sign of the documents which were the subject of his mission. But with cloaks tightly wrapped against the rain it was difficult to see who might be carrying what.

On arriving at Holbeach the following evening, the men, who were by now much reduced in numbers, heard mass said by one of the two priests in their company, made confession and set about fortifying the place. The priests and