14th May 1585
Such excitement! Mother was sitting on a bench beside the fountain, and I was sprawled on the grass, making a daisy chain for Beeba and watching George gallop round on his hobby horse. Suddenly Edmund flung open the gate in the back wall of our garden, crying, “Kitty! Come!”
“Whatever’s wrong?” said Mother.
“The Queen!” he gasped. “Coming upriver. May Kitty come and see?”
“Of course! Hurry, Kitty! Take the little ones – they would like to see their sovereign, too.”
Edmund clutched Beeba’s hand tightly, and I dragged George along. Already a crowd was forming as people hurried down the narrow lanes leading to the river.
We, of course, could go on the Tower wharf, so Edmund carried Beeba and we raced through the Bulwark Gate, down to the riverside.
Not a moment too soon! The royal barge swept up the river, the tide helping the oarsmen in their work. As it neared us, the bells of St Peter’s, the Tower church, rang out, and between the dings and dongs we heard music coming from the barge itself.
Such a glorious sight! Draped in green and gold, the Queen’s barge had huge garlands of flowers at the front and back (or fore and aft, as Edmund Clever-sticks put it). There were no oarsmen aboard; all the rowing was done on a smaller boat tied in front. That one jerked in time with the rowing, but the royal barge glided smoothly through the water.
As it drew level with the Tower there was a mighty explosion! Then another! Beeba screamed and George buried his head in my skirts.
“It’s only the Tower cannon, greeting Her Majesty,” laughed Edmund.
My ears rang! I kept my eyes fixed on the barge, which now drew level with us. I could see the Queen clearly through the glass window of her cabin. She stared straight ahead.
“Why does she not look round?” I wondered.
“It’s said that she hates the Tower,” said Edmund.
Of course. Her mother was executed there and, as a princess, she was herself imprisoned in the Tower. It must hold bad memories.
I gazed at the small figure until the barge slid past and I could no longer see her. How strange that so much revolves around one woman. How terrible that so many wish her dead. I shivered. Looking around at the cheering crowds, it was consoling to realize how many love her.
Edmund took us home, and I told Mother what we had seen. “You should have come,” I said.
She smiled. “I have no need to. I have special memories of Her Majesty.”
She has, too. Mother once did something quite unladylike in order to meet the Queen. I don’t know what it was, but it would probably shock Kathryn far more than my running about with my skirts flying.
4th June 1585
As Mother and I finished cutting dead flowers off the rose bushes a sudden thought made me giggle.
“How strange my Winchester grandparents would find our garden,” I said. “If they were to sit here and close their eyes. . .” I giggled again.
Mother looked amused. “What?” She closed her eyes. “I hear Beeba nagging Pawpaw . . . bees humming . . . boatmen’s shouts . . . ah! They would be surprised to hear the roars of lions!” She smiled. “I have not been in the menagerie for years.”
“Would you like to go?” I asked.
Her eyes sparkled. “Why not? Shall we? Lucy can watch the little ones.”
So we did! It was probably not the best day for the menagerie. Everything smelled so vile in the heat. After we’d tired of the leopards, lions and wolf, and had seen the prickly porcupine, we called on Aunt Frances, who wrinkled her nose.
Mother laughed. “Frances! You look just as my mother did years ago when I tried to sneak indoors after going to the menagerie!”
It’s nice to think of Mother as a girl.
I saw Edmund briefly when he came to collect a dose of something revolting for the Lieutenant of the Tower’s stomach. If I were treating someone as important as him, I would at least make it taste nice.
I wish every day was like this.
18th June 1585
I’m glad I had that lovely day with Mother, for I’ve been ill ever since. I have had a cough, spots, a dripping nose, my throat has been raw and my ears feel as if someone’s fists are inside pushing to get out. Mother has fed me thin broth, and Joseph gives me red wine, and I’ve swallowed concoction after concoction that Edmund has brought. I swear that boy’s as bad as his father. He would not let me pretend to drink the medicine. I had to drain every drop, and there were bits floating in it. Ugh!
Worst of all, Kathryn visits me daily. She amuses herself with her so-perfect tapestry while I sleep, and reads aloud from the Bible when I’m awake. Oh, she drones on so! I asked her to make up a story instead but she’s absolutely unable to. No imagination. So I made my own daydream. She probably thought I smiled because of her beautiful reading of the Psalms when, in my mind, I galloped on a cream palfrey, trying to escape a knight clad in black. Far away, beyond a shining lake, was the glint of silver armour and the flash of a snow-white cloak. Ride, Kitty, ride for your life!
21st June 1585
I am spotty and tired, but I have no pasty Kathryn today. She is accompanying Aunt Frances on a visit to her grandmother, who is staying in London.
Father visited me this morning. He wore his travelling clothes.
“Don’t look sad, Kitty,” he said. “It’s for a few days at most. Sir Francis and I are going into the country to conduct some business.”
I knew it! Father does work for Sir Francis. Is he a spy?
“I told Edmund to take care of you while you are out together, but Kathryn said I needn’t worry. She will look after you both.” He winked.
I groaned. “Father, she never leaves us alone!”
“Then you must be cleverer than her, mustn’t you.” He kissed me and was gone. But where?
When Joseph visited me, I challenged him. “What does Father do?”
“He works for the Queen, you know that.”
“But what does he do?”
“I don’t know exactly,” said Joseph, “but I’m sure it’s important. He’s friends with high people, like—”
“Sir Francis. And what is Sir Francis’s business? Spying!”
“Kitty you are fanciful. Sir Francis is the Queen’s secretary of state – far too busy to lurk in dark corners, spying on people.”
Inwardly I am seething. How can Joseph be so stupid? If Father is a spy, then he is in danger every day of his life.
Oh, I’m so tired of my own thoughts. Where is Edmund?
23rd June 1585
I feel cross that I had to ask for Edmund to visit me. But he came as soon as he could, and we had a happy afternoon playing cards. I told him I think Father is a spy, and he laughed.
“Your daydreams get sillier and sillier, Kitty!”
I’ve only myself to blame for that remark. In the past I have shared my daydreams with Edmund, and now I wish I hadn’t.
25th June 1585
Today I was finally allowed out for a walk. I took Beeba, George and Pawpaw to the Tower, to give Aunt Frances some of Mother’s gooseberry preserves. We’ve too much from last year, and the gooseberries will soon be ripening again.
While we were there, a Yeoman Warder came and asked Uncle William to attend a prisoner urgently. When my uncle returned, he sat down heavily and told Aunt Frances, “Sir Henry Percy’s dead. Killed himself. Three shots in the chest.”
“Shh, William.” She indicated the children playing marbles on the floor. “Why?”
“He was accused of plotting against the Queen,” he whispered, but I heard because I moved closer. “If he’d been executed, all his lands and titles would have been given to the Crown.”
“The Queen, you mean?”
“In a way. They wouldn’t be hers, personally – she’d have to pass them on to whoeve
r becomes king or queen after her. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Percy cheated the law by killing himself first.”
It’s a dangerous business, wishing harm on Her Majesty. Now I’m hot and bothered, because hearing of plots and conspiracies stirs my fears.
11th July 1585
Mother and I were supervising the maids as they changed our bed linen this morning, when there was a great clatter outside and old Tom cried, “Whoa, there!”
I ran to the window. “Father!”
“By all that noise, he is not alone,” Mother said.
He wasn’t. Sir Francis was below, and another man.
Mother tucked a stray wisp of hair beneath her headdress and went down. The stranger was introduced as Master Thomas Phelippes. Father had brought the gentlemen for refreshment before they continued their journeys. Mother attended to them, then came to sit in the little parlour where I was pretending to read. Were all those men really spies? Voices rumbled through the wall, and after a while we heard movement in the hall. Master Phelippes was leaving.
Mother joined Father and Sir Francis then. I stayed where I was. Well, almost. I thought I might do some sewing, and opened the closet door.
This is what I learned. Master Phelippes serves Sir Francis. He’s very clever. His special gift is deciphering codes. It seems plotters and conspirators write their letters in secret codes, called ciphers, so that, should they fall into the wrong hands, they will seem meaningless. But they are not meaningless to Thomas Phelippes. He can even decipher codes in French and Latin!
I learned that Sir Francis has men in London, Paris, Rome – and who knows where else – and they all send him information. Valuable information about England’s friends and enemies.
I learned that my father knows many of these men.
I also learned that Sir Francis speaks freely in front of my mother. Our family is trusted by the highest in the land.
2nd August 1585
Richard is spending a few weeks with us. The city is hot, and everyone who can has gone away to seek fresher air. He has brought work with him, and says he must make copies of many documents.
“For Sir Francis?” I asked.
He hesitated. “Some are for Sir Francis, yes.”
Lord, this is a whole family of spies.
18th August 1585
Uncle William is to accompany the Lieutenant of the Tower who will be away for SIX WEEKS, and Edmund is not going with him! We may see each other every afternoon! Father is going away again tomorrow, and I know Mother and Aunt Frances will let us enjoy ourselves and not bother about Latin and French. Oh joy! But we must do something about Kathryn. She listens to everything we say, so she always knows what we’re planning.
Later
I’ve had a marvellous idea! This afternoon I showed Edmund a loose brick in our garden wall. We can leave notes for each other tucked beneath it. If I slip one in from the inside, Edmund can reach it from the outside. As long as Kathryn doesn’t see him take it, she’ll never know what we are doing, or where we are going.
23rd August 1585
Early this morning I left a note for Edmund saying that after midday dinner I would walk Pawpaw in the open fields on Little Tower Hill. I hoped he would be sent on some errand, and would have a chance to find my note.
After dinner, we rested for a while. Beeba curled up while I told her a story about a wicked queen called Kathryn, with a nose as long as Beeba’s leg, which she poked into everything, and one ear as big as a plate, which grew hot and red from pressing against walls while she listened to private conversations. When Lucy came to take Beeba from me, I fetched Pawpaw and off we went.
Edmund was already there! We had a lovely hour without a sign of Kathryn. The only bad thing was when Pawpaw ran across a linen sheet spread on the grass to dry. The washerwoman chased him with a stick. Luckily, she didn’t catch him. He would surely have bitten her.
Edmund says he’ll find some way to look under the brick every morning.
1st September 1585
Edmund and I have managed to trick Kathryn nearly every day. Today we went across London Bridge. Edmund wanted to look at the heads on spikes above the south gate, to see who he recognized from the Tower. Once we got to the other side of the bridge, we noticed crowds heading for the bear-baiting. Edmund grinned. “Shall we?”
“Swear never to tell my mother?”
He swore, and paid twopence each for us to go to the arena.
It absolutely stank. The press of the crowd, and the bits of flesh and fur scattered around the arena made me queasy, but then the fight began. I hated seeing great mastiffs tearing at the poor chained bear, and after a minute or two I turned and forced my way through the crowd, away from the stink and the blood.
Edmund came after me. He was angry. “Why did you leave?”
“It makes me feel ill.”
“But there’s more to see,” he complained.
I didn’t care. I told him he was cruel to make me watch something so horrible. I felt sick all the way home. Edmund didn’t speak to me, but on the way across the bridge, he stopped at a shop and bought me a little cake of marchpane to eat.
“It’ll help take the smell out of your nose,” he grunted, and walked ahead.
I broke off two tiny pieces of marchpane and stuffed them inside my nostrils. When he turned round to see where I was, I said, “It works,” and he burst out laughing. So that’s all right. I don’t like quarrelling with Edmund.
6th September 1585
Sir Francis came today bringing Mother’s birthday gift. They talked together in the shade of our mulberry tree. I sat nearby, on a low wall behind the rosemary bush, with sleepy, hot Beeba on my lap. George was stuffing blackberries.
They talked first of Sir Francis’s family, then he asked after the health of all of us children. He didn’t ask after Father. That tells me Sir Francis knows how he is already.
My ears pricked up when Mother asked, “What news of the Scottish lady?”
Sir Francis raised his eyes to heaven. “She has bleated all summer about moving from Tutbury.”
“She dislikes the house, then?” said Mother.
Sir Francis grunted. “She has few rooms, ’tis true, and Sir Amyas insists the whole place has an unhealthy air. Mind you, he would say that – he wants to move as much as she does.” He stretched his legs. “I suppose she’ll get her way in the end. Tilly, my dear, she is a thorn in my side. While she lives, I cannot rest. Devil woman.”
He hates Mary Stuart.
“I must be constantly vigilant,” Sir Francis continued. “The threat to our own lady is at the forefront of my mind.”
He means the Queen.
“Much is in the air, Tilly,” he said. “I must bring this business to a head.”
He carried on, talking in riddles, never mentioning anyone by name. I suppose he’s afraid of being overheard. He probably thinks there are spies in the very bushes. In the rosemary bush, perhaps! Kitty the Spy! Ha!
But if he is worried, then so am I.
8th September 1585
Edmund and I have such good times! He’s fun again, just as he used to be. We are allowed to spend whole days together sometimes, and I fall into bed exhausted each night. We have rowed on the river. Well, Edmund rowed – I stared straight ahead like the Queen – and we have been hawking, which I liked. Now the sun’s up and this morning we are to attend a wrestling contest, which I have never done before. And Kathryn has no idea!
How sad it will be when Uncle William returns, and Edmund goes back to his work. I preferred it before he became an apprentice.
26th September 1585
I will never sleep tonight. Edmund left a note today, saying, “Theatre. Tomorrow afternoon. Meet me at my house. No one will be there, just Dolly.”
I wrote on the bottom, “I’ll bring Pawpaw and leave him with Dolly. Mother will
think I’m at your house.”
This is a very deceitful thing I’m planning. But if Mother does not know about it, I have not disobeyed her. That’s what I think.
27th September 1585
The theatre was over a mile away at Shoreditch, but I’d have walked ten miles to see it! It was hot, and the press of people where we stood to watch the play was frightening at times, but everyone was good-natured. Edmund bought me a cone of nuts to nibble, but once the play started I forgot about them.
The time flew. Next thing I knew I was clutching Edmund’s shirt sleeve as I followed him out of the theatre, my head spinning. How clever is the man who wrote that play! Oh, to tell such tales. To tell a story that would make people laugh one minute and cry the next, as this did me.
Suddenly, Edmund shoved me hard. “Go back,” he whispered.
“What is it?”
“My sister,” he hissed. “Quick, before she—”
“I see you!” Kathryn shrieked. “Edmund Middleton, what do you think you’re doing?” She marched towards us. “And you, Catherine Lumsden! Do you think to call yourself a lady?”
At that moment, I felt more ladylike than she was, standing in the middle of the crowd, bellowing.
“Who gave you permission to visit a – a theatre?” she stormed.
“Kathryn,” said Edmund quietly. “You are not my father. You should not be speaking to—”
“Just wait until our mother hears about this,” Kathryn snapped. “And yours, too, Kitty.”
My stomach lurched. Mother was going to be very, very angry. Edmund would probably get away with it. Aunt Frances is soft.
To Kill A Queen Page 6
