To Kill A Queen

by Valerie Wilding

  Kathryn stalked behind us as we walked home. I tried to think of an excuse, to avoid trouble, but I couldn’t.

  There was something that puzzled me.

  “Edmund,” I whispered. “How did she know where we were?”

  Later

  I am in such trouble. Mother says I deserve a whipping, and I do not know yet whether she has decided not to whip me, or if she will make me wait until Father comes home. If she waits, I shall be so, so good, then maybe she will forget or, at least, forgive me.

  So here I am. In my bedchamber. On my own. And these smudges on the paper are from my tears, which will not stop falling.

  It’s my own fault, and I know I was wrong. But can enjoying a play be so bad?

  28th September 1585

  Mother summoned me to the little parlour this morning. I stood before her, hands clasped, eyes lowered. She scolded me for ages. How could I go to a public place of entertainment without permission? (Thank heaven she doesn’t know about the bear-baiting.) Suppose something had happened to me? She might never have seen me again. My brothers and sister would be devastated. How could she explain my injury or disappearance to Father? Worst of all, how could I have considered for one moment going into the groundlings area with the low people when there are seats for people like us?

  Of course, she didn’t want answers to any of these questions, and I wasn’t rude or stupid enough to offer one. I am to be confined to my bedchamber for two weeks. No one may visit me apart from Mother and Sal. I must dwell upon my actions and ask God to hel—

  10th October 1585

  Mother entered my bedchamber as I was writing those last words and demanded my diary. I quickly knotted the riband round it before handing it over. She took my quill, my ink and left only my prayer book. I have been so bored these two weeks that I have nearly gone crazy in the head. But I’ve had time to think. I know how Kathryn was able to find us – she’s discovered where we hide our notes. Well, I can still fool her, but I must see Richard first.

  16th October 1585

  I’ve waited almost a week to see Richard, but today he came. First he spoke with Mother in low tones. I thought something was wrong, but when she turned she was smiling.

  After dinner, I got Richard alone, and asked him how to write in code. He wanted to know why, but when I confessed that it was to fool Kathryn, he fetched writing materials and sat beside me.

  “You need a cipher,” he said. “Here’s a simple one.”

  Indeed it is simple. First you write the alphabet. Then you write the alphabet again beneath it, but with the letters jumbled up. Here is my cipher:

  If I wish to write “Kitty” in code, I find the “k” in the top row and see that the letter beneath is “x”. The letter beneath “i” is “c”, and so on. So “Kitty” becomes “Xckkr” and “Edmund” is “Ahyvsh”. Easy!

  Now it won’t matter if we drop our notes right in front of Kathryn’s long nose! I shall compose my first one right now.

  19th October 1585

  I put a note under the brick two days ago. It has gone, but Edmund hasn’t replied. This afternoon I shall find an excuse to visit Aunt Frances, and try to see him. Mother is still being difficult about letting me out.

  Later

  I may go to Aunt Frances this afternoon if I take Beeba and some of the last roses! And I am to remember to bring Beeba back. Very funny.

  Much later

  KITTY LUMSDEN IS THE MOST STUPID GIRL IN THE WHOLE WORLD! I have scarcely stopped laughing since I saw Edmund. Poor Beeba keeps squeezing my cheeks, trying to put my face back to normal.

  No wonder Edmund didn’t reply to my note. He could not read it! I didn’t think to give him a copy of my cipher! But now I have, and I hope for a note tomorrow to Xckkr from Ahyvsh.

  14th November 1585

  I heard today (I wasn’t eavesdropping – I was just close behind Mother, Joseph and Richard as we walked to Barkyng Church) that Mary Stuart has got her way. She has complained so much about Tutbury, that she will shortly be moved.

  If Tutbury is that bad, I am glad for her. The weather is wet and grey at the moment. Even I don’t go out much but, unlike her, I am at least able to if I wish (and if Mother permits).

  27th November 1585

  Sir Anthony Babington called today! I don’t know how long he’s been back in England. If it is a long time, then it is shameful that he has not called on Joseph before. My sweet brother is delighted to see him.

  As they sat with their feet almost in the fire, Joseph said, “You remember the Scottish queen, Anthony, whom you once knew? She is to be moved again.”

  Sir Anthony looked up. “Indeed? To where?”

  “To Chartley,” said Joseph. “My brother said Sir Francis gave the order some days ago.”

  “I know Chartley,” said Sir Anthony. “It’s a good-sized house, so there will be more room for Her Majesty’s servants. She has secretaries, a physician, grooms, cooks, laundresses and ladies – any number to be housed.” He sighed. “But its chief attraction to Sir Francis will be the moat. It would be a difficult house to escape from.” He stared into the fire.

  I wonder why he thought of escape. Is he another who sees spies and enemies round every corner?

  19th December 1585

  Father is back and, at last, the whole family is together again! Joseph is home for the Christmas holidays and Richard has been allowed to leave court for three weeks. At first I thought, how lucky, because it coincides with Father’s homecoming. But now I believe it is because Father is home. That leads me to believe that Father is highly regarded at court, though he is hardly ever there.

  The Walsinghams will dine with us next week, because there is much for Sir Francis and Father to discuss. It sounds a dreary occasion.

  23rd December 1585

  The Walsinghams came. After dinner, while Father and Sir Francis talked alone, Lady Ursula Walsingham, Mother, Joseph, Richard and I sat cosily in the little parlour.

  Lady Ursula asked Richard, “Why do you not sit with the men?” Then she answered herself – a habit she has. “But my husband will no doubt speak with you when you return to court.” A while ago, that remark would have surprised me, but not any more.

  Of course, I couldn’t hear anything that was said in the next room. I sewed as Mother and Lady Ursula chatted and, although I went to the closet as often as I could, I heard only odd words.

  Later, though, when the guests had left, Mother went to sit with Father, and Richard and Joseph went to the Middletons’ house. They didn’t particularly want to see Uncle William, but if they visit there, they may use the Tower tavern.

  Since everybody else moved, so did I – into the closet. And I heard some interesting news. A man called Gilbert Gifford landed in England, from France, on the 10th of this month. Sir Francis knew that Gifford had been mixing with Mary Stuart’s supporters in Paris, and he believes Gifford came here to do some “intriguing” – to plot to free Mary.

  But Sir Francis is too clever for him. Hardly had Gifford set foot on English soil, when he was arrested. To get out of trouble, he immediately wrote an interesting letter to Sir Francis. As near as I can remember, it said something like, “I have heard of the work you do and I want to serve you. I have no scruples, and have no fear of danger. Whatever you order me to do, I will do.” Something like that.

  He was taken to Sir Francis, who plans to make good use of him. How exciting! A real spy, working for one side, then for the other. Gifford has two faces.

  I shall not tell Edmund this news. I will be Kitty the Silent. My father is involved and, for all I know, Richard, too. If Edmund spreads the news, they could get into serious trouble, and it would probably spoil Sir Francis’s plots and plans.

  3rd January 1586

  We are all invited to Sir Francis Walsingham’s home, Barn Elms, for Twelfth Night, and he will send his barge for us! Aunt
Frances is so jealous, but Kathryn just sniffed and said she doesn’t care for merrymaking.

  7th January 1586

  The party was wonderful, and so grand! Mother wore a new moss-green velvet gown, with her emeralds. I wore deep rose satin, and received many compliments. I danced, ate and drank enough to make me feel sick this morning.

  I also gleaned news of Mary Stuart. She and her retinue were moved to Chartley on Christmas Eve. It must have been a cold journey, and has done her no good, for she’s been ill ever since.

  Master Phelippes is also at Chartley. This is not common gossip, but something I overheard while standing near the library door. Why on earth has he gone there? He is certainly no friend of Mary Stuart. It must be something to do with his cipher work.

  On the way home, Father told me that Queen Elizabeth has visited Barn Elms more than once. I shall tell Edmund that I have been in the same room as the Queen. I won’t say that it was not at the same time.

  11th January 1586

  I left a note in cipher saying, “Edmund, I will be walking by Minories Cross this afternoon. If you have to go to the city, find me and keep me company a while. Kitty.”

  It was cold by the Cross, but I was warmly wrapped. I wandered in circles, keeping Pawpaw away from the cows that grazed nearby. I was about to give up and go home, when Edmund appeared. He carried a package, which meant he’d probably been to the apothecary for something gruesome, like dead mice, for one of his concoctions.

  “Where have you been?” I asked. “Shall we have a race round the Tower? We haven’t done that for ages. It will warm us.”

  He groaned, and at first I thought he didn’t want to race me, but then I saw what caused his dismay.

  “Kathryn!” I said sharply. “Where did you come from?”

  She smiled her pinched smile. “I just chanced by. Shall we walk together, Kitty? Edmund, our father awaits you.”

  If Edmund didn’t tell her we were meeting, how did she know where to find us?

  14th January 1586

  I was letting Pawpaw chase gulls along the river bank today, when I saw Sir Francis’s barge approaching. He was standing, urging the oarsmen to go faster, faster! As the boat pulled alongside, he leapt to the bank and hurried up the hill towards our house. I followed, and found Sir Francis clasping Father’s shoulders, saying, “It’s all set up, Nick. The lady will have letters from her friends within a few days. Is it not marvellous?”

  “The lady” is Mary Stuart, but I just don’t understand. She was banned from having letters for a whole year, and now Sir Francis is excited because she’s going to get some. What’s going on?

  28th January 1586

  Richard and Father took me riding today. I have a new pair of gloves, I was wrapped in a warm cloak, the sun shone and there was no wind. We rode north through Aldgate, by Spitalfields, and into open country. The men kept having stupid little races, but my pony just walked.

  Before long, we stopped by a stream, sat on a length of blanket and ate the cold beef and apple tart we’d brought. We drank ale, and then, when Richard and Father began talking about hunting, I snuggled between them for a nap.

  I must have slept, because I was suddenly aware that they were talking about Phelippes. I kept my eyes closed. This is what I remember, but I may not have the conversation exactly right.

  Father said, “Phelippes is clever. He’s set it all up. Letters will go in to the lady, and letters will come out. But each will be read by Phelippes, copied, and sent to Sir Francis. The original letters will go on to whoever they were addressed to.”

  “Surely the lady will discover that the letters are being intercepted,” said Richard.

  The lady – Mary Stuart again!

  “Do not underestimate your master,” Father replied. “Gilbert Gifford is established as a link between the French embassy and Mary Stuart. Sir Francis ordered Phelippes to devise a secret way, using Gifford, for the lady to get letters in and out of Chartley.”

  It seems that a brewer from Burton-on-Trent, a few miles away, regularly delivers beer to Mary Stuart. Phelippes got Gilbert Gifford, the double spy, to tell the brewer that the Queen of Scots would pay him well to smuggle out letters in his beer barrels. Then Phelippes himself went to the brewer and asked him to pass any letters that came his way to Sir Amyas Paulet. And he would be paid for this.

  The brewer asked what would happen to the letters, because he was being paid to deliver them, but he was told not to worry. Sir Amyas would only keep them for a short while, then they would be returned to him. In reality, Sir Amyas would first pass them to Phelippes, to be deciphered.

  So the brewer’s getting paid twice for the same job. How could he resist it? And Sir Francis Walsingham gets to know every word that passes to or from Mary Stuart.

  Someone stroked my cheek and Father said, “Time to go, Kitty.” I made a performance of waking. I think I fooled them.

  6th February 1586

  After church at St Peter’s, I met Edmund at the door. Everyone stood talking, so we went to sit on the steps of the Beauchamp Tower. I looked up at the window, imagining the prisoners there. Of course, those are the more important ones; others are in the dank little towers set in the curtain wall or, worse, beneath the White Tower.

  “Edmund,” I asked, “if you wanted to hide a letter in a beer barrel, how would you do it so it wouldn’t get wet?”

  He snorted. “You and your silly daydreams! I suppose it’s a magic letter, from a fairy.”

  “Seriously,” I said. “If you give the right answer, I’ll tell you what it’s about.”

  He clapped his hands at a raven that ventured too close. “Is there beer in the barrel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it can’t go right inside. So,” Edmund said, slowly, “what you could do is make a hollow bung, and hide the letter inside.”

  “What’s a bung?”

  “I’ll show you.” Edmund sped off towards the Tower tavern. Outside were four large barrels. In each was a hole for pouring beer, and in each hole was a large lump of cork.

  “That’s a bung,” said Edmund. “Now you have the answer. Tell me what it’s all about.”

  I’m too clever for him. “I said I’d tell you if you gave me the right answer,” I said. “That was the wrong one.”

  He pinched me! I screamed and ran for the gate, but as I passed Edmund’s house, Kathryn barred my way.

  “Catherine Lumsden!” she snapped. “You behave like a common street urchin! You just get worse!”

  Oh, she drives me insane!

  11th February 1586

  This evening, Joseph came home and hurried straight to his bedchamber. I went to see if he was all right. It isn’t like him to be gloomy, especially now Sir Anthony is back.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  “Nothing to bother your pretty head with,” he said.

  If he only knew – my pretty head is bothered with a lot more than a brother’s troubles. Eventually, I persuaded him to talk.

  “Last night, Kitty,” he said, “I was with my friends at Babington’s lodgings. After we’d dined, some fell to gambling, and others talked. Then a man called John Savage arrived. Kitty, he is Savage by name, and savage by nature.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Never breathe a word of this,” said Joseph. “Swear, Kitty?”

  “I swear,” I said.

  He told me that he had heard Savage vow to kill the Queen!

  “Joseph,” I said, “if this is the company Sir Anthony keeps, you should not be his friend.”

  But Joseph insisted that Sir Anthony is not close to Savage. “Although I know Savage used to be a priest,” he finished.

  “Then you are mad, brother,” I said. “The law says it’s treason to be a Catholic priest now. You could be put to death for helping one.”

  Jo
seph said. “Savage used to be a priest. He’s not one now. And I have not helped him – I barely spoke to him. He probably talked rubbish, anyway – perhaps he is mad. Who knows? I may never see him again.” He hugged me. “Kitty, you are more trustworthy than anyone I know.”

  Especially Sir Anthony and his Catholic friends, I thought. Lord, I hope Joseph is not getting himself into bad trouble.

  18th February 1586

  Joseph has not seen John Savage again. Maybe he is not close to Babington after all.

  21st February 1586

  Pawpaw had a thorn in his paw today and would not let even me near him. Harry kept saying, “Poor Pawpaw’s paw!” and cackling with laughter.

  But then Joseph brought Sir Anthony and Chidiock Tichborne home this afternoon, and they sat by the fire, drinking and singing. When I took them a fresh jug of wine, I looked at Joseph’s happy face and didn’t feel so worried about him.

  Pawpaw lay in a corner of the room and growled when I went near. Sir Anthony heard the growl and came over. “What’s wrong, pretty Kitty?” he said. I wish he wouldn’t call me that. It makes my face go red.

  I told him about the thorn. He reached out to Pawpaw, and there was no growl! In moments, Sir Anthony was gently examining the thorn.

  “Will you fetch warm water, Kitty, and a soft cloth?”

  When I returned, Sir Anthony held Pawpaw out to me and said, “You may bathe the paw – the thorn is out!” I could have hugged him.

  When Richard came in, I said, “Sir Anthony has healed Pawpaw!”