A Tip for the Hangman

by Allison Epstein

  Beside him, the river shuddered, its surface tattered into erratic waves, edged in white lightning. Tom pushed his wet hair from his forehead, squinting through the rain. He turned his back on the theater, toward home. Soon, nothing remained for Bankside to observe but the battering rhythm of rain against the river, the fading silhouette of a soaked man walking alone, and, after the thunder, silence.

  Author’s Note

  A Tip for the Hangman is largely based on historical fact, but there are many places where I’ve chosen to value a good story over a true event. I hope no one is using this novel as a study guide for their Early Modern History and Politics exam, but just in case, here are some of the major divergences between fact and fiction.

  Was Christopher Marlowe a spy? We think so, yes. There are strong signs indicating Marlowe was well connected with people high up in Elizabethan intelligence circles, and for a job that depends on keeping a low profile, “strong signs” are all we’re likely to get. Burghley’s note to Corpus Christi College is the most famous of these signs, though allusions to a “Marley,” “Morley,” “Marlin,” or “Merlin” appear in association with a number of covert operations, including the surveillance of Lady Arbella Stuart. Historians looking for proof also get deep into Marlowe’s spending habits at Cambridge, but you probably didn’t come here to hear me shout about ledger-book entries from 1585, so let’s leave that there.

  That said, Marlowe was almost certainly not involved in exposing Mary Stuart, though the involvement of Arthur Gregory and Robert Poley is well documented. Kit’s role in this book is closest to that of Thomas Phelippes, a linguist and Walsingham’s chief code breaker. Still, the possibility of getting Kit involved in such a high-profile case was too good for me to pass up, especially as Kit’s last years at Cambridge mapped so perfectly onto its timeline. The Babington plot itself unfolded more or less as described, though I’ve left out some of the more convoluted details for the sake of not making this book nine hundred pages long. There’s an anecdote about Mary smuggling out coded letters inside of wine barrels that I wanted desperately to include, but alas.

  Lord Strange probably wasn’t actively plotting to depose Queen Elizabeth, although there’s a factual foundation for the story I’ve offered. Ferdinando Stanley, Lord Strange, was one of many in the running as Elizabeth I’s successor, and numerous historians describe his communications with exiled English Catholics who wanted him to overthrow the queen. Strange is thought to have declined their offer, and it’s believed that his Catholic would-be conspirators may have had him assassinated in retaliation. My version of the Strange plot, then, is more of a What if he’d said yes? scenario, although numerous elements—Kit’s journey to Flushing, for example—are taken from fact. Strange did indeed die by poison, but not until a year after Marlowe’s own death, in 1594.

  The motives of Marlowe’s murderers are famously difficult to pin down. What’s certain is that Marlowe arrived at a Deptford tavern owned by Eleanor Bull on May 30, 1593. He spent several hours in conversation with Robert Poley, Ingram Frizer, and Nicholas Skeres. At some point, a brawl broke out, and Frizer stabbed Marlowe through the eye with Marlowe’s own knife. I’ve provided one fictional explanation by involving Sir Robert Cecil, which, though unconfirmed, seems more likely to me than Marlowe faking his own death and adopting the pen name of William Shakespeare. (No offense to any anti-Stratfordians who may be reading.)

  I’ve also done a bit of conflating and rearranging of individual characters to suit my story, which is worth noting. First, Tom. The historical Thomas Watson, though an intimate friend of Marlowe’s, was some nine years older than him, and so they definitely did not study at Cambridge together. He was a moderately successful tragic poet, too, writing mostly in Latin. Watson faded from public view in the mid- to late 1580s after his imprisonment in Newgate for the murder of William Bradley, and he died in 1592 at the age of thirty-seven. It’s probably most accurate to think of my Tom as an amalgamation of many people in the historical Marlowe’s life—friend, classmate, cellmate, lover—rather than a one-to-one representation of a real person.

  Nick Skeres, too, looks a little different in the record than he does here. Nicholas Skeres almost certainly didn’t attend Cambridge with Marlowe (history’s money is on Furnival’s Inn, a London law school), and he may have been involved in Whitehall’s schemes significantly earlier than May 1593. I’ve flexed my authorial privilege a little by giving Nick and Kit a more personal relationship here than the professional one they probably had.

  Christopher Marlowe and Thomas Watson were indeed arrested for the murder of William Bradley, but Bradley was of no relation to the historical Marlowe, and definitely not his brother-in-law. In reality, Margaret Marlowe married John Jordan, a Canterbury tailor, in 1590. I chose to invent the Kit-Bradley connection for a number of reasons: some boring and logistical, some “Let’s give Kit more opportunities to make stupid decisions.”

  Many of the documents referenced in this book—including the letters between Mary Stuart and Anthony Babington, Burghley’s letter to the Cambridge fellows, and Richard Baines’s deposition—exist in the public record, and while I’ve borrowed heavily from them, I haven’t quoted them verbatim. This is mostly because the Elizabethans were, among many things, verbose. The original texts are available online through the National Archives and the British Library, and I highly recommend reading them, if only for proof that the historical Richard Baines is indeed the worst.

  Finally, there were some places where the historical timeline conflicted with my narrative timeline in small, annoying ways that would have blown cannonball-sized holes in this book. In those cases, I’ve erred on the side of nudging dates a couple of years in either direction. These include the election of Sir Robert Cecil to the Privy Council, the Hog Lane murder of William Bradley, the deaths of Jane Marlowe and Sir Francis Walsingham, the first recorded performances of Marlowe’s plays (especially Edward II and Doctor Faustus), and a few other minor events. It’s my hope that the clearer reading experience makes up for the slight inaccuracy.

  I’ve no doubt that some sharp-eyed reader or another will note other errors or inaccuracies in this book, and I take complete and sole responsibility for those mistakes. Although, since Shakespeare gave Bohemia a seacoast and Marlowe had no idea where Damascus was, at least I’m in good company.

  Acknowledgments

  This book wouldn’t exist without the support and hard work of so many wonderful people, and while it’s practically guaranteed that I’ll forget somebody, I’ll try not to.

  Huge gratitude and the thirteen-dollerest bottle of wine to my agent Bridget Smith, whose unwavering belief in Kit is the reason he made it to print. Further thanks and a standing ovation to my editor Carolyn Williams, who understood this book immediately and showed me what it needed to work. Both Bridget and Carolyn have shown me endless trust and enthusiasm, given me freedom to try and fail, and generously tolerated my puns along the way. They’re all a writer could want from their team.

  A major shout-out to everyone at Doubleday for showing so much care to a debut author’s book about theater spies. Special thanks are due to Amy Ryan, copy editor and oracle of truth, and Mike Windsor, who created the absolutely stunning cover art. This book truly could not have found a better home.

  Endless gratitude to Laura Hulthen Thomas, at the University of Michigan’s Residential College, whose patience, enthusiasm, and endless exhortations to “do something about the sexual tension” are why this book ever got drafted. You’re a goddess, Laura. And the word nostril isn’t in this book once—I checked.

  Thanks also to my Northwestern MFA mentors, Juan Martinez and Christine Sneed, who taught me more about craft, discipline, and generosity than I can hope to repay.

  I’m raising a glass to the wonderful writing groups who read drafts, offered critiques, and helped me believe someone might read my words someday: the U of M Writers’ Commu
nity, the Oak Park Collective (especially the late E. J. Shumak), the Team B Slack channel, and my Northwestern MFA cohort (especially the Ren Faire Group Text). You all inspire me every day, and I hope I haven’t sullied our good names.

  A second, overflowing glass gets raised for the friends and loved ones who supported me, distracted me, and overanalyzed Edward II with me as I wrote, especially Aubyn Keefe, Audrey Fierberg, Ben Levy, Ed Utter, Henry Sullivan, Jessica Ross, Katie Brill, Kim Ellsworth, Kristen Field, and Nina Kryza (who defied the seven-year curse). Thanks for being the best people in the world to yell about good news with, and for being so understanding when it took me a hundred years to answer texts. Much love.

  This book would still be a daydream and a handful of index cards if not for my incredible family. Thanks to my brother, Adam, the best hype man in the world, and my sister, Danielle, the first person I ever wanted to impress. Thanks to Jason for saying, “This looks like a book I would read,” when he saw the cover, which I promised to use as a blurb. Thanks to the full Epstein-Milliman clan, especially Nancy Epstein and Alan Epstein, who’ve believed in me since I was five years old scribbling in a Winnie-the-Pooh notebook. Warmest gratitude also to the late Richard and Donna Milliman, who would have been front-row at the book launch shaking a water bottle full of pennies.

  To Ida Epstein, a big hug and a signed copy, with all my love.

  Last, to my parents, Ann Marie Milliman and Michael Epstein. For plopping me in front of a bookshelf at age two. For not getting mad when I was reading so intently I missed my stop on the kindergarten bus. For looking at my stories and early drafts, for the dramatic phone calls, for the family vacations to historical battle sites, for being there always, and for being the first people I want to share good news with. You’re the best, and I love you.

  about the author

  Allison Epstein earned her MFA in fiction from Northwestern University and her BA in creative writing and Renaissance literature from the University of Michigan. A Michigan native, she now lives in Chicago, where she works as a copywriter. When not writing, she enjoys good theater, bad puns, and fancy jackets. A Tip for the Hangman is her first novel.

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