A Second Daniel

by Neal Roberts

  “The widow told you all that?”

  “Of course not! I doubt she even knows it all. Why, it was you who told me Lopez is the Portuguese ambassador to England! What Marie did tell me was that she’d seen a drunken Don Antonio arguing with his son in a building at Eton where her late husband went to pick up certain letters intended for the Netherlands.”

  “Why would her husband have been accepting letters destined for the Netherlands? Unless … ” Henry’s eyes open wide, “unless his ships had secretly been going to the Netherlands, and not just Spain as she told us in the hearse. Has she told you that his ships had been going to the Netherlands?”

  Noah nods. “Yes. When she was in the hearse, she didn’t realize it might be important for us to know. But that’s not the most interesting thing.”

  Henry waits silently.

  Noah eyes him conspiratorially. “The man who handed the letters to Marie’s husband … ”

  “Yes?”

  “Was Doctor Lopez.”

  Henry seems lost in wonder.

  “Who are the other contenders for the Portuguese throne?” asks Noah.

  “Not important. Except to know that there is a competing family favored by the Earl of Essex.” Henry rises and begins to pace, his gout evidently forgotten. “The Queen wants Don Antonio here in England. And so does the Privy Council, but … especially Essex, for he wants war with Spain. For the advancement of his faction, it would be most advantageous to drive as thick a wedge as possible between Portugal and Spain, to divide their strength. To see Portugal united with Spain would be Essex’s nightmare. So long as Don Antonio has a foothold here in England, Portugal’s sovereignty will likely remain separate from that of Spain.”

  Noah finds Henry’s tale most enjoyable, as this is the first time Henry’s really opened up about such a politically sensitive affair. “And the Cecils’ peace faction? How would they feel about such an eventuality?”

  “Well,” says Henry, “Spanish-Portuguese unification would tend to strengthen the Cecils’ peace faction, because a unified Spain and Portugal would enhance the possibility that an eventual invasion would go badly for England. Unification of Spain and Portugal would make peace England’s order of the day. So, the Cecils would prefer that the Queen cut off any support for Don Antonio, and boot him out of England.” He wags a finger of admonition. “And do not forget the separate interest of the Queen, who rules by advice. Her interest is to keep the Portuguese succession unresolved for a long time, thus preventing either faction of the Privy Council from gaining an edge over the other. Any other brilliant connections to draw, Ames?”

  “Nothing brilliant. But I do have a question about the way the letters were to reach their addressees in the Netherlands.”

  “What question?”

  A silent moment passes between them, broken at last by Noah.

  “Who was the messenger?”

  Chapter 14

  JONATHAN SLEEPS THROUGH the rest of that day and all of the next. He awakens mid-morning on the third day, choking from dehydration. Noah, who’s dozed off on the chair next to his bed, awakens when he stirs.

  “Here’s some water,” says Noah, elevating Jonathan’s head and raising a wooden cup to his mouth. “The doctor said you would be extremely thirsty.”

  Jonathan takes a sip. “What happened?” he asks groggily, looking up at Noah’s concerned face. “I remember that Graves is dead. But how long have I slept?” He gratefully accepts the cup from Noah’s hand, and takes another sip on his own.

  “You reacted to the news very badly, and then collapsed into a deep sleep. Two days.”

  “Is everyone else all right?”

  Tentatively, Noah begins to feel relieved. This seems like the former Jonathan. “Everyone else is fine, Jonathan.” He pauses. “When you’re feeling better, we can visit the gravesite together.”

  Jonathan nods appreciatively. Suddenly, his eyes open wide. “Did I miss any court dates?”

  “No, no. I checked your calendar, and would have covered for you. There’s no shortage of barristers about. You have two days before your next court date.”

  Jonathan sits up, finishes the first cup of water, pours himself another, and finishes that, as well. Slowly, he places his feet flat on the floor.

  “What are you doing?” asks Noah.

  “I have work to do.”

  “Are you feeling quite yourself?”

  Jonathan rubs his face with his hand. “I expect I will be, as soon as I clean up.”

  “Very well. I need to relate some things to you, but I must go now. Family business. You think you’ll be all right?”

  “I’m a long way from all right, but I feel rested, for a change.”

  “Let Arden or one of the other jesters know if you need something. They’ve been worried about you.”

  “The ‘jesters.’ Is that how they’re to be known now?” Jonathan rubs his eyes. “Did the doctor give me something to make me sleep?”

  “Nothing of consequence,” says Noah, mindful of Lopez’s admonition. He rises from his chair, and assays his friend’s condition. “I’ll be back later. Get something to eat, and avoid drinking anything stronger than weak beer for the rest of the day. Doctor’s orders.”

  “Yes, Doctor.” Jonathan nods heavily, shuffles to the water closet, and closes the door behind him.

  Noah finds Arden and one of the Bennetts deep in conversation in Arden’s apartment. He tells them Jonathan is awake. “We’ll keep an eye on him,” says Arden. “Never worry.”

  Noah arrives at Marie’s house to find that her children returned home the previous evening, and the place now bustles with family and servants. He knocks on the door and waits. A moment later, he’s greeted by the good-looking young fellow who opened the door for Marie the first time he walked her home.

  “Master Ames?” he inquires with a smile.

  “At your service,” says Noah, bowing cordially. “Are you Stephen Junior?”

  “I am, sir.” The young man bows, and extends his hand in friendship. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir. Won’t you come in? Mother will be down in a few minutes … if we’re more fortunate than usual.” Stephen leads him into a small sitting room on ground level. “Mother has told me a great deal about your courtroom exploits.”

  Noah strains to recall which courtroom exploits Marie might know about. “Oh!” he laughs. “That day with the silly dog.” He frowns humorously. “I wouldn’t recommend such course of conduct to anyone your age, Goodman Rodriguez. Got me in a bit of hot water.”

  “Yes, mother told me. Hot water, and a dinner invitation to Serjeants’ Inn.”

  “Oh, told you that, did she?” He changes the subject. “She told me that she will soon be traveling abroad with you to make an introduction to your late father’s associates.”

  “End of April, sir. I must confess I’ve been spending more time in scholarly pursuits than learning the export business, but after I graduate Merton this Yuletide, I plan to devote all my waking hours to the business.”

  “Ah, another Oxford man! Eton or Harrow?”

  “Eton, I should hope.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Goodman Rodriguez. Noah Ames, Eton, Merton College ’75.”

  “Well, your advisors showed excellent discretion in choosing your schools.”

  “As did yours, sir.”

  “My schools were chosen by my late father. Who chose yours?”

  Although Noah is accustomed to framing an evasive reply to this question, he is grateful to be relieved of the need by Marie, who descends the stairs in her black widow’s weeds, looking sharp as ever, her veil pinned away from her face.

  “Well, I heard that!” she says. “I’m surprised I haven’t discovered you two sharing cognac in my parlor.” Noah and young Stephen rise as she enters. Noah takes Marie’s hand, and bows deeply. “Why, Master Ames,” she says, “it is good to see you, for I have not done so since that day in court.” She gives Noah a meaningful look.


  “And it is good to see you, madam. The separation has been far too long.”

  Stephen goes to the front door and opens it for his mother. “Shall we go?” Marie nods, moves the veil to cover her face, deftly pins it into place, and walks out ahead of them.

  The carriage moves off at a brisk clop. A pleasant breeze streams through the open windows, and they enjoy it in silence for a time.

  “So, Master Ames,” says Marie, “if it would not be violating a confidence, do tell us the occasion upon which we are delivering you to Southwark. Is it to be the theater with Master Neville today?” Her smile wavers briefly, which Noah attributes to her natural association of the theater with the recent loss of her husband.

  “No, madam, although I hope to be attending the theater later in the week. One of the Henry the Sixth plays.”

  “Ah, yes!” interrupts young Stephen. “I understand they’re staging that whole cycle of plays in the coming weeks. I hope to see one or more myself before we depart.”

  “Then, perhaps you might be my guest at some such showing — with your dear mother, of course, should she feel up to it.”

  Stephen leans forward and confides: “I think he has an extraordinary genius.” Noah is unsure whom Stephen means.

  So is Marie, who laughs prettily and says, “Stephen. It is customary to identify the person about whom one is speaking.”

  Stephen continues in the same posture and tone. “I mean Shakespeare. He far surpasses Marlowe, do you not think, Master Ames?”

  Marie laughs again. “Oh, leave the poor man alone. He was telling us why he is going to Southwark today.”

  “Yes, and I shall be pleased to tell you, madam.” Turning to Stephen, he says: “And I shall be sure to tell Goodman Shakespeare how highly Goodman Stephen regards his talents.”

  “You know him?” Stephen nearly shouts.

  Noah can see they have already reached London Bridge on their way south. “I have met the gentleman, and expect I shall see him again,” he replies. He can see the young man has a thousand questions for him, but decides to observe accepted decorum by replying first to his mother. “Today, madam, I shall be dining with Lady Burlington, who is staying with a cousin of my deceased wife, one with whom I have remained in touch.”

  Marie sits up very straight and expressionless, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Noah. To him, the image is that of a sentry hearing an unwelcome sound in the night.

  “Lady … who?” she asks without apparent emotion.

  Noah hides a smile. “Jessica, Lady Burlington, madam. She is my daughter.”

  Marie relaxes visibly. “How delightful! Perhaps I shall have the pleasure of meeting her someday.”

  “The pleasure would be hers, I’m sure, madam. And where will Goodman Stephen be accompanying you today?”

  “We’re attending to some odds and ends in preparation for our voyage abroad,” she replies. “We shall be visiting several clothiers and a luggage merchant.”

  Stephen, who has been staring out of the window, suddenly gasps. He leans out the side and says something to the driver. As he resumes his seat, the carriage slows considerably.

  Noah looks out the same window as Stephen. It appears they are about to pass a fashionably dressed young woman standing with her back to them, conversing with an older woman, also dressed well, but not so fashionably.

  “Stephen, this will not do!” admonishes Marie. “It is vulgar!”

  “Just one moment, mamain. Perhaps she will turn ’round again. She is an angel. An angel.”

  All that can be seen of the girl is her shoulder-length brown hair partially bound up in a French style Noah has seen only in portraits, half curls and half straight. She wears a vertically striped dress cinched tightly at her waist, which is almost unnaturally thin, making her bosom and hips even more protuberant. A thought runs fleetingly through Noah’s mind that a woman having curves such as this is no Anglo-Saxon or Viking princess. Italian, perhaps. Perhaps … The face of the older woman now becomes visible. It’s years since he’s seen her. Is that … Beth?

  When the young woman turns around and shows her face again, Stephen is quite smitten. “She is a goddess sent from above,” he whispers longingly, much to his mother’s exasperation.

  Noah’s heart goes out to him. “I assure you she is no such thing. She’s my daughter.”

  “Papa!” shouts Jessica, spying Noah and waving the carriage to a halt with one white-gloved hand. Instead of sprinting over to Noah as she was wont to do as a child, she approaches the carriage with mincing steps, her right hand raised slightly before her, as though guiding her graceful movement. Beth, longer in the tooth and carrying a bit more heft, lumbers a few steps behind.

  Unable to take his eyes off Jessica, Stephen says, “Master Ames, I am beginning to think you know quite everyone worth knowing!”

  As Jessica approaches the side of the carriage, she acknowledges its other occupants. “Good day!” she says to Marie and Stephen, smiling brightly.

  Although it irks Noah to observe protocols of title with his own daughter, he has no choice. “Lady Burlington,” he says to his daughter, “may I present to you Goodwife Marie Rodriguez-Miller and her son, Goodman Stephen Rodriguez.” Stephen shoots to his feet and bangs his head on the soffit. He grimaces, and sits down immediately, shaking his head to clear his vision.

  Jessica reaches for Stephen’s shoulder through the open window, but the carriage is too high off the ground. “Goodman Rodriguez,” she says, “are you quite all right? That was a nasty blow.”

  Stephen forces a smile. “The worst of the blow was to my manly pride, madam.”

  “In that case, I am glad to hear it,” says Jessica, “as such blows will heal quickly with feminine attention.”

  “I hope I am not too forward in saying, madam, that any amount of attention from you would surely speed the healing process greatly.”

  Marie is dismayed yet again. “Stephen, when will you learn how to speak with your betters?”

  Jessica looks to Noah. She told him long ago that she detests the locution “betters,” which, Noah pointed out, appeared somewhat hypocritical on her part. Now, he merely smiles and shrugs.

  Marie turns to Jessica. “Please forgive him, Lady Burlington. As you see, he has received a knock on the head.”

  Jessica replies, “There is nothing to forgive, Goodwife Rodriguez, I assure you.”

  “Ahem,” says the older woman outside the carriage. It’s Beth.

  Jessica opens her eyes wide and gasps. “Oh, my word!” she exclaims. “I am so sorry to have neglected your introduction, Auntie Elizabeth!” She takes a moment to compose the introduction in her mind before proceeding. “Goodwife and Goodman Rodriguez, this is my beloved aunt, Miss Elizabeth Fernandez.”

  “Enchanted,” says Marie. Stephen only smiles at Beth through the pain.

  “Don’t bother to get up,” says Beth indignantly. Noah recognizes this as vintage Beth. The poor young man nearly knocked himself cold showing courtesy to Jessica, yet Beth implies that his failure to do the same for her is somehow disrespectful.

  “Well,” says Noah, “it’s probably best if I leave off here, as Lady Burlington, Miss Fernandez, and I will be going to the same place. We may as well reap advantage of the lovely day, and stroll together.” He smiles. “Thank you so much, Goodwife Rodriguez. Goodman. I look forward to seeing you both soon in Holborn.” He steps out and closes the door behind him.

  Marie rises from her seat and curtsies to Jessica, who acknowledges with a smile. Marie resumes her seat, and gives the order for the carriage to resume its journey only after Jessica has turned away.

  The three begin walking. “You know, I could have used the lift,” mumbles Beth. “Not that anyone cares.”

  Noah smirks. “How have you been, Beth?”

  “Oh, well enough, I suppose. Aren’t you going to say something to your daughter?”

  “Yes, I am.” He stops walking. “Come here, Jessica. Let me look
upon you.”

  Jessica turns gracefully, her skirt whorling away from her body and collapsing perfectly back into place. She offers Noah her hand in the most genteel manner, and he takes it in his, if only to hold her still long enough to study her sculpted face. Perhaps Stephen was right, and she really is an angel from above. Or perhaps it’s a trick of the light that makes her seem so perfect for the role. Either way, she certainly looks the part. His eyes grow misty.

  Jessica shakes her head sadly. “Oh, papa. You still see a ghost when you look at me. Do you not?”

  He answers truthfully. “I see two people: one a beautiful, intelligent, young woman, and the other the ghost of a woman I once knew who had all the same qualities … and whose loss I still cannot fathom.”

  Jessica regards him sympathetically. “I miss her, too, papa.”

  “And I must tell you that I am very sorry for your loss of Lorenzo. How long has it been?”

  She stands to his side, and they resume their walk. “The doctors said it was consumption. It has been just slightly more than six months now. I only stopped wearing the widow’s black and veil this past Saturday. I know you were never convinced of it, but he was a wonderful man.”

  “Don’t say that,” he protests. “I never doubted that he cared for you, Jessica, or that he had many other fine qualities. I am sure he rests comfortably with the Lord.”

  “He just wasn’t … Hebrew enough for you.”

  “Jessica, he was not Hebrew at all.”

  “I have thought often of your desire that any children of the marriage know of their Jewish heritage. Alas, there will not — ” She chokes back her tears.

  He stops again and pats her hand. He never could abide her crying, always feeling that he’d failed in his duty to rearrange the whole world, if need be, so that a creature so perfect as this would never have need to weep.

  “Well,” she sighs, “there shall be no children of the marriage, so I suppose it doesn’t matter now. Perhaps God was telling me — ”

  “Jessica, stop! No one believes that. As for my part, it grieves me greatly that there were no children. Has the … cause been determined?”