'The foundry,' I said.
'Yes, it was the Fettiplace foundry. There was some old man sitting on a straw bed there, drinking. I said I was lost and he told me the way to Rolfswood. He invited me to stay, I think he was awestruck having a gentleman appear out of the blue. I decided to wait, hoping West would give up or fall down drunk, which I learned later is what he did. While I sat I read the letter. The damned seal had broken when I took it off West. I was astounded, for in it the King said he intended to marry Anne; he thought he could get the Pope on his side if Catherine refused. I hadn't realized that, I thought it was just some silly endearments to his mistress.'
'So you took the letter to Catherine of Aragon and gave her warning of the King's intentions.'
'Yes. God's death, the King must have been angry when West said he had lost it. I wonder West kept his head. Next year when the King went to Catherine saying he believed their marriage contravened biblical law and that was why they had had no sons, she already knew what his plans were. She'd had months to stew in her anger.'
'If the King found out what you had done—'
'Catherine of Aragon never told him she had intercepted that letter. She always protected her servants, that was her strategy to keep people loyal. I began my way up the ladder that night—and changed my loyalties when in the struggle that followed I saw Anne Boleyn would be the victor.'
'So what you helped West to do to Ellen, that set you on your upward path.'
'If you like. But it wasn't quite as simple as that. That night, as I was sitting in that old foundry, the door banged open. I feared West had found me but it was the girl who appeared, dishevelled and wild-looking. When she saw me she screamed and pointed and shouted, "Rape!" That man Gratwyck forgot his drink, got up and came towards me with a stick in his hand. Fortunately I had kept my sword. I slashed at him with it. I didn't kill him, but he fell into the fire he had lit and a moment later he was on fire himself, stumbling and shrieking around the place.' Rich paused and looked at me. 'It was self-defence, you see, not murder. I confess it shocked me, and when I turned back to the girl she was gone.
'I ran out into the night after her, but she had disappeared. I had to think what to do. I went back to the foundry, but it was already well on fire, Gratwyck still shrieking somewhere inside. So I walked up the path by that pond, looking for the girl.'
'What would you have done, had you found her?'
He shrugged. 'I did not find her. Instead I stepped straight into an older man in a robe.'
'Master Fettiplace.'
'He yelled, "Who are you?" I think he had been out looking for his daughter and come to the foundry to see whether she might be there, though I do not know. He grabbed at me, so I put my sword through him.' Rich spoke quite unemotionally, as though reading a document in court. 'I knew I had to get rid of him before people were attracted by the fire. I couldn't put him in the building, it was ablaze from end to end by now. But it was a moonlit night, I saw a boat by the pond, I rowed him out and sunk him with a discarded lump of iron I found nearby. I walked until dawn broke, then I hired a horse from an inn and rode back to Petworth.'
You were afraid, I thought: walking through the night in a terrified panic after what you'd done.
Rich said, 'Next day West sought me out. I denied I had anything to do with the fire, I said I rode straight back to Petworth, and though he suspected me there was no proof. As for the letter and the rape, I told him we must both keep quiet. But the fool rode back to Rolfswood again, to try and speak to Ellen. That was dangerous, it gave me some sleepless nights. But fortunately the girl had lost her wits, and after a while West and his family arranged with Priddis for her to be taken to the Bedlam. Priddis, as you can imagine, was well paid to ask no questions.'
'So now you have made a new bargain with Philip West.'
'Yes. I am good at bargains.'
'He had insisted Ellen be left alive.'
Rich frowned. 'He said if she ever came to harm he would tell the whole story. He was full of remorse then, he had decided to go to the King's ships. He is half mad—I think part of him wants to die. Though with his honour preserved.' Rich sneered. 'That is why, when I met him today, he agreed to take the Curteys girl on board his ship, so I could bargain for your silence.'
'My silence over what happened at Rolfswood, in return for getting Emma Curteys off that ship. I see. And what of Ellen?'
He spread his little hands. 'I will leave her safe in the Bedlam, under your eye. I understand she would never leave, even if she could.'
I thought hard. But Rich was right. I could perhaps destroy him, but then I would never get Emma Curteys off the Mary Rose. I thought, you will get away with murder. But he had already; I remembered his betrayal of Thomas More, his persecution of heretics in Essex. I asked, 'How can you be sure I will not take Emma off the ship, see her safe, and expose you anyway?'
'Oh, I have thought of that.'
'I guessed you would.' I added, 'You killed Mylling, too, didn't you?'
'He was in my pay, with standing instructions to inform me if anyone asked after Ellen Fettiplace. He told me you had been nosing around. And then, do you know, he tried to blackmail me, asked for more money. He did not know his young clerk was in my pay too. I could not afford any risks, so I arranged for the clerk to deal with him. Shutting him up in that Stinkroom place was a good idea; if he had survived it could be said the door shutting on him was an accident. Young Master Alabaster has his job now.' He bent his head to search among his papers. 'And now,' he concluded briskly, 'here it is.' He pulled out a paper and passed it across to me. 'Your will.'
I jerked backwards, nearly falling off my stool, for wills are made in contemplation of death. Rich gave a mocking laugh. 'Do not worry. Everyone is making wills in this camp with the battle coming. Look through it, there are spaces for your legacies.'
I looked down. I make this will at Portsmouth, the French fleet before me, in contemplation of death. Then the executor's clause: I appoint Sir Richard Rich, of Essex, Privy Councillor to his majesty the King, as my sole executor. Afterwards, the first legacy was already inserted: To the aforesaid Sir Richard Rich, with a request for forgiveness for dishonourable accusations I have laid against him over many years, but who has now shown me his true friendship, 50 marks. There was space for more gifts, then the date, 18th of July 1545, and space for me and two witnesses to sign.
Rich passed over two blank sheets of paper. 'Copy it out twice,' he instructed briskly, in charge again. 'One copy for me to keep, for I have little doubt you will make a new will when you return to London. That matters not, the fifty marks is a nominal amount, as anyone can see. I want this will, which will be witnessed by a couple of reputable men from this camp who do not know me or you, and who can testify later that your will was made quite freely, for I shall show it in court should you ever make accusations against me.' He tilted his neat little head. 'No legacies to Ellen Fettiplace, by the way.'
I read the draft will again. Neat, tidy, like everything Rich did, except for that first venture at Rolfswood when he had taken huge risks and murdered a man in a panic. He held out a quill and spoke quietly. 'If you betray me, if you leave me with nothing to lose, then believe me something will happen to Ellen Fettiplace. So there you are, we have each other tied up neatly.'