A Second Daniel

by Neal Roberts

  “Loyalty?”

  Lopez nods. “To England.” He smiles abashedly. “Oh, you and I are a pair of old Spaniards, and you probably think me foolish to — ”

  “Not at all,” Tinoco protests. “More importantly,” he says, dodging further discussion of the topic, “I have something for you from His Highness King Philip. And then I really must be going. He sends you his kind regards.”

  Lopez eyes him skeptically. “To dispatch his regards, Emanuel, he might simply have posted a letter. There was no need to trouble you.”

  It’s Tinoco’s turn to laugh quietly. “Not merely his regards, Roderigo. He has sent you a … a trinket.

  Lopez is taken aback. “A gift from His Highness?”

  “Yes,” says Tinoco. “Of course … it comes with a condition.”

  Lopez’s shoulders sag.

  “Only one,” Tinoco assures him, as lightly as possible. “You see, I need some … ” he glances around furtively, “poison, to rid His Highness of a threat, a certain Spaniard who’s emigrated to England from the Spanish court with certain … intelligence … that could be damaging.” As Lopez seems unable to identify the man from this description, Tinoco gives him another hint. “Someone under the protection of the English Crown.”

  “Well,” says Lopez, “that could be any one of a number of people I know, some of whom I could never betray, such as Don Antonio — ”

  Tinoco shakes his head. “It’s Perez,” he interjects, disgusted with his own coyness, and thoroughly exhausted by the near slaughter at the tavern. “His Highness would never ask you — ”

  “Perez,” says Lopez. “I know the man. He is odious to me. What intelligence has he that could possibly pose a threat to His Highness?”

  “That I cannot say … because I do not know. His Highness does not share all such matters with me.”

  Lopez looks at him disapprovingly and points to himself. “Still … murder?”

  Tinoco dismisses the objection with a wave of his hand. “You would not have to murder anyone, Roderigo. Perish the thought. I merely need from you something that will be certain to work quickly, but such that Perez’s … demise will not be recognizable as having resulted from poison.”

  Lopez nods pensively, as though presented with a professional challenge. “It would have to be handled discreetly. It could not lead back to me … or to you, as we would surely be put to death.”

  “Rest assured,” says Tinoco.

  After some moments’ equivocation, Lopez shakes his head with relief. “No, I couldn’t. Please pass along my apologies to His Highness.”

  Tinoco removes from his pocket a maroon felt bag secured by a leather drawstring, and places it carefully down on the table in the candlelight. He opens it slowly, and watches Lopez’s eyes widen.

  It’s a large, magnificent oval-cut ruby. Tinoco lifts it between thumb and forefinger, and holds it up to the candle to show it off to best advantage. Its thousand facets disperse the deepest red light in every direction.

  Lopez admires it in silence for a long moment, and once again mutters to himself “slumbering nest of dragons.”

  “What was that?”

  Lopez makes no reply, but Tinoco can see that the despair that’s weighed him down since the loss of his considerable fortune has given way to an ancient greed.

  Lopez rises, opens a drawer in his desk, and withdraws a corked vial. He places it in a small bag much like the one that contained the ruby, and sighs as he hands it to Tinoco. “My poverty, but not my will, consents.”

  “Then, His Highness bestows this gift upon your poverty, and not your will.”

  Lopez collapses in his chair. Overcome, he covers his eyes.

  Tinoco steals a glance at the window where, at the very edge of darkness, Skeres’ scarred face beams slyly back at him and disappears into the night.

  At the same moment, Noah draws up to the opposite end of Creechurch. There are no horses but his own in the churchyard. If Jonathan is still here, he has either tied off his mount some distance away or taken measures to conceal it from prying eyes.

  As Noah dismounts, he recalls with some discomfort that, when he was last here only a few weeks earlier, he attended the autopsy of Marie’s husband, was clubbed in the neck as he prepared to leave, and had a message scrawled on his personal papers while he was unconscious. He resolves to contrive some means to send Essex a message of his own, that he’s not discouraged and will not be deterred. For the moment, though, he cannot avoid facing the possibility that Essex’s henchmen have taken another underhanded stab at his allies.

  Graves is in bed awake, the sole occupant of a small, dimly lit chamber that once served as a monk’s cell. Although he doesn’t seem to be in much pain, his face is ashen with worry.

  Noah takes a seat in a wooden chair by the bed. “Well, what seems to be the trouble, Goodman Graves?” he asks, trying to sound optimistic without appearing indifferent to Graves’ condition.

  “Thank you for coming, Master Ames. I’ve just a bit of a bellyache. But it came on kinda sudden while we were still at the Boar’s Head, so it occurred to me I might have been poisoned.”

  “Ah, yes! I recall you looking very disturbed at one point, but I didn’t know why.”

  “It was stupid of me, suh, but I sipped from the tankard they gave me.” He shakes his head. “Unforgivable, really, with all my experience.” He sighs. “Well, it’s me own fault. Once I realized it might have been tampered with, I moved Jonathan’s away from ’im, so he wouldn’t be tempted. Later on, he assured me he hadn’t touched it, which was a big relief.”

  “Do you really think the ale might have been tampered with?”

  Graves shrugs. “Mighta been, sir, but I’ll be dashed if I can figger out when they done it. Most of the time, suspicion falls on the alehouse or the serving wenches, but it’s never them. They’ve got too much to lose if they get a reputation for that sorta thing. Nah, woulda happened at the table, sometime when we were distracted, like durin’ the beatin’.” He grips his cramping belly.

  “How are you feeling now?”

  “About the same. If they put anythin’ in the ale what didn’t belong there, I reckon I didn’t take much of it. But, tell you the truth, suh, it ain’t me I’m worried about. It’s Jon. You’ll pardon me callin’ ’im that, suh, but that’s how I knew him when he was comin’ up.”

  “Not at all. By the way, when did he leave here?”

  “Short while ago, suh. He wanted to stay and keep me company, but I insisted he go back to the inn. Doesn’t do him nor me any good to sit ’round this depressin’ place. He seems to have got the wind knocked out of him this time. I tried to tell ’im not to be discouraged by one bad turn like this, but he wasn’t havin’ any, sir. He looked like he’d been shaken to the core.”

  “I suppose he was as frightened as the rest of us,” says Noah.

  “No, suh. That ain’t it. Jon hasn’t led a sheltered life, and he’s seen a lot worse than that drunk gettin’ his face bashed in. Believe you me. He’s been in spots worse than that before.”

  “Fear is an insidious thing,” says Noah. “It undermines our better judgment. Tying off my mount just now, I had the irrational feeling I was being watched. Suddenly, every window in the church, and every tree in the woods, seemed a pair of eyes fixed squarely on me.”

  The rising moon illuminates Graves’ face, accentuating every wrinkle, making it seem an old engraving. “I know that hunted feelin’, suh. When this sort o’ thing happens, it takes a good many weeks for it to pass.” His eyes take on a faraway look, and he recites words that seem to be remembered from long ago: “‘Every breeze a gallopin’ horseman; every shadow the Reaper.’ That’s what my old master used to say when times was bad like they are now.”

  Noah shivers in the cool chamber. “Sounds like a wise fellow, your master. Is he still with us?”

  “Nah. Long past, suh. Still, he died in his bed, somethin’ he never expected to do. So, there’s some hope in that.
Well, like they say, we all owe God a death.”

  Noah studies the old man’s face, unable to escape the feeling that he has more of interest to say about Jonathan. “But Jonathan must be reacting to his fear. His very life was at risk! If it hadn’t been for his friends and a spot of luck, he — and you — might have been lost presently. Such knowledge would affect anyone deeply.”

  “No, suh, if you’ll pardon my disagreement. Y’see, Jon was always smart as a whip, suh. I needn’t tell you that.”

  “No, indeed.”

  “But there’s always been somethin’, well … different about ’im. He always had faith that if he did the right thing, then good things would ’appen from it. Y’know?”

  “Optimism,” offers Noah.

  “If you say so, suh. It’s not uncommon for young people, I suppose. But he’s always been so … well, competent about everythin’ that he’s managed to hold onto his ‘optimism’ long past his friends. I know some of ’em, and, believe me, they gave up on such notions a long time ago.”

  “You knew his friends?”

  “Lots of ’em, suh. Jonathan’s folks died when he was very young, and my late missus and I were barren, so we was alone and took ’im in. He’s sort of like … an only son to me, suh.” His voice chokes up. He blows his nose. “Oh, I doubt he knows it, suh, and I’m sure he don’t think of me as a father, or nothin’ … ”

  “I expect he does, Goodman Graves, even if he doesn’t say so.”

  Tears run down Graves’ cheeks, reflecting the moon’s watery image. “Well, that’s very kind of you to say, suh. But he’s so much smarter, and … wiser than I ever was, even as a lad, that he could never really be a son o’ mine.” Noah nods patiently, exhausted as he is from the day’s tribulations. “Anyways, suh. You’ll watch out for ’im for me, won’t ye?”

  Noah places a reassuring hand on Graves’ shoulder. “Nonsense, man. You’ll be around a long time to do that job yourself.”

  Graves shakes his head reflectively. “Mebbe, suh, but there’s a lotta nasty people attendin’ on Essex. I know Jon looks up to you, suh. He’ll listen to what you have to say. Lord knows, he won’t always take advice. Anyone’s advice. But he could use some lookin’ after.”

  “Of course I’ll watch out for him, Goodman Graves. Now, you get some sleep. I fear tonight’s ‘near thing’ has unnerved us all.”

  “Yes, suh. Bless you, suh.”

  “And you, Goodman Graves.”

  As Noah begins to step away, he hesitates a moment, feeling as though he’s forgotten something. Without turning back, he leaves the church and returns to his horse.

  As Noah takes a roundabout path to Marie’s dark house, he tries to imagine how it must have horrified Graves to realize that his adoptive son was about to be cut off in his youth. Jonathan would indeed have been killed by now, but for acts of bravado whose successful conclusion seems the result of nothing less than divine intervention.

  Once again, Noah and Marie go to the upstairs parlor, holding hands, and kissing. Though their touching this night is less ardent, it’s even more tender than the last. He explains to her what happened this evening, and she’s horrified.

  “To think he was doing my bidding when he was nearly murdered,” she says. “I feel just terrible about it.”

  “You? Your responsibility is as nothing compared to mine. I knew the dangers. I should never have brought him into it. The fault is all mine.” He kisses her forehead. “I must be back at the inn before dawn.”

  “Oh, but don’t go yet, Noah. I want to know everything there is to know about you.”

  His back stiffens. “What would you like to know?” He gazes upon her face in the dim light. She’s so sweet, so wonderful, almost too good to be true. Though in truth he yearns to tell her of his humble beginnings and his faith, if she were to repeat such information to the wrong ears, such as Southampton’s … Well, at some point, he expects, he’ll willingly entrust his own life to her, but he simply cannot put Jonathan’s life in further danger.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “Is there anything you wish to tell me?”

  “Not that I haven’t told you already. Why? Is there something you wish to share with me?”

  She shrugs. “What would you like to know?”

  For one thing, I’d like to know if you’re in communication with Southampton. But he simply cannot bring himself to ask her. For one thing, it would insult her by showing that he doesn’t trust her fully.

  She gazes into his eyes in that unnerving way she has of making him think she can read his mind. “Total honesty,” she says, “is the foundation of any serious relationship, don’t you think so?”

  He kisses her, and smiles. “I do. I could never lie to you.”

  “But do you tell me everything that’s on your mind?”

  It’s never occurred to him that the concept of honesty required him to be forthcoming with anything. It always seemed sufficient simply not to lie. “Except for legal or confidential matters, I do. At least I think I do.” Except, says his conscience, that I’m a Jew.

  When the clock strikes half past two, he kisses her as she sleeps, and takes a meandering path back to Gray’s Inn. As he passes Jonathan’s room on the way to his own, the door is closed, and no light shines under it. He goes upstairs and collapses onto his bed with his boots still on.

  Chapter 12

  NOAH IS AWAKENED about eight next morning by a letter being slipped under his door. Although the sky is cloudy, the room is easily bright enough for him to read it. He slices open the letter with a sharp blade to find it’s from his deceased wife’s cousin, Beth (or, as she likes to call herself lately, “Elizabeth”), written in her customarily formal style:

  Dear Master Ames:

  This will inform you that your daughter Jessica, Lady Burlington, has come to live with me in Southwark until such time as she has fully grieved the death of her late husband, Lorenzo Burlington, Baron Cheswick.

  Although she has let it be known to me that she does not wish you to be concerned for her welfare (as she has been well provided for by the Last Will and Testament of this selfsame gentleman), I write to you on my own behalf in the hope that you will avail yourself of this opportunity to re-establish the late family feeling that prevailed between the two of you, as she has also let it be known to me that she loves and misses her papa very much, and wishes very much to see you, and hopes that you will overlook any disagreements there may have been between you in the past.

  Permit me to remind you, dear cousin, that it was the earnest wish of my late beloved Cousin Rachel, your late wife and the late mother of Lady Burlington, that you maintain good relations with your daughter throughout your life regardless of any opinions you may believe her to have, and however disagreeable such opinions may seem to you.

  In the upper left corner of this letter, you will find my current address. I hope (we hope) to hear from you as soon as your busy court schedule permits.

  Yours, etc., Elizabeth

  Only those who know Beth well would appreciate the number of jibes contained in this prolix piece of epistolary prose. To Noah’s mind, it has been spitefully crafted to throw up in his face numerous things he already knows quite well and can scarcely forget, namely, that contrary to his own wishes his daughter has effectively forsaken her religion to marry into the minor nobility, that she now addresses him using the supercilious affectation papa (accent on the second syllable, please), that she is of independent financial means and not remotely dependent upon his patronage, that Rachel was his deceased wife (which evidently requires emphasis!), and that she asked him to maintain good relations with his daughter.

  While he will undoubtedly accede to see Jessica, this family affair will have to wait. His most immediate item of business is to find out how last night’s near disaster has changed Jonathan’s outlook, and what can be done to improve matters. He refolds Beth’s letter and tosses it on the desk.

  Noah finds Arthur, Salazar, and the Bennett
twins gathered in Arthur’s room, wearing the same dour expressions as the previous evening. “Before I forget myself, gentlemen, I thank you all heartily for your great friendship and courage. Without you, we would have met with certain disaster.” Noah’s hearty thanks are greeted with listless, mumbled acknowledgments.

  “Where’s Jonathan?” he asks.

  Arthur replies. “He hasn’t said a word to anybody since he got back to the inn, Master Ames. He slammed his door behind him. Won’t open it for anyone.”

  “I see. Well, I’ll go see if I can gain entry.”

  Jonathan’s door remains closed, and there’s no sign of life inside. Noah knocks softly.

  “Go away.” Jonathan’s voice sounds very weary.

  “It’s me. Noah. Jonathan, I need to speak with you.”

  There’s a long silence, but eventually Jonathan speaks again. “What have you to say?”

  “If you’ll open the door, I’ll tell you.”

  “Tell me now.”

  This is exasperating, but much as expected.

  “Actually, Jonathan, I have come to hear what you have to say.”

  This is followed by another silence, this one so long that he begins to wonder whether Jonathan has fallen back asleep. But at long last Jonathan replies.

  “I do not think you will wish to hear what I have to say. And I do not wish to say it.”

  That’s cryptic. “Please, Jonathan. It’s a little embarrassing to conduct this conversation through a door. I shan’t sit on your head. If you ask me to leave, I shall do so. But I promised Goodman Graves I would look in on you.”

  Another long silence is followed by the click of a latch being released. Before Noah can even open the door, he hears Jonathan flop back into bed. He opens the door slightly. Jonathan’s barrister’s robes are randomly strewn along the floor. His boots have been kicked into a corner and now lie askew, one partially atop the other. Noah enters and sits down on his accustomed creaky chair, leaving the door ajar. Jonathan is in his undergarments with his head on the pillow. His right arm lies across his eyes, shielding them from the daylight.