A Dangerous Trade: An Elizabethan Spy Thriller

by Steven Veerapen

‘Hmph,’ said Jack. Again he tossed his head, forgetting about the missing lock. Worse, he reminded himself that his head had begun to itch interminably as the hair grew back. ‘If you say so, Philip. But this Huntingdon – he’s a monster.’

  ‘He’s a reformer. One of the hottest of them, thinks the queen hasn’t gone far enough.’

  ‘You said he was the queen’s cousin.’

  ‘No, I said his mother was a Pole. An ancient family of noble blood. He has a claim to the throne, but not the vigour to pursue it. And Elizabeth ignores it. A man with no sense of his entitlement. Forget him. He’ll discover nothing.’

  Jack went silent. Heydon had the upper hand when it came to the politics of the world. It was, after all, his world, not Jack’s. Still, something rankled. Something that had dug its way in when they were in Scotland and not quite left him.

  ‘He has gone up to abuse the queen.’

  ‘Fuck him. He’s a weakling. A big mouth and heavy boots, but no heart. No ambition. He won’t be around forever. It might steel her to realise what manner of man she can expect to govern her under Elizabeth. She’s been lucky, the good queen – we all have – to have had such a soft gaoler for this long.’

  Jack left, the thought of what might be happening up in Mary’s rooms jabbing at him. Heydon seemed unaffected – even disinterested. He began to wonder if his friend was working in her interests or in his own. Queen Mary seemed almost a simple means to an end, rather than a woman of feeling and passions. At the moment Heydon’s interest, the restoration of Catholicism, might dovetail with the Scottish queen’s interests, but who knew how long that would last.

  3

  ‘A fine man, the earl,’ said Brown. ‘A fine, fine fellow. A scourge upon the papist hordes. And the papist whore.’

  Amy had slid out of Tutbury and down to the woods. She hadn’t seen Brown since she had intruded on his lodgings in South Wingfield, but he had arrived almost immediately she had begun whistling her call sign. ‘I’m glad to see that you can follow instructions,’ had been his only greeting, before he launched into a paean of praise for the man she had come to complain about.

  ‘He is a brute,’ she said, kicking at the carpet of burnished leaves.

  ‘It takes a brute to get things done. What has he found?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Brown tutted, before moving around a fallen trunk. For a moment she thought he was going to sit – something he never did – but then he beckoned her to. She kneaded the small of her back before easing herself down.

  ‘He’s making it impossible for us – for any of us – to live our lives. We never know when he’ll descend on us, tearing things up. And his men all digging into our private things. They even came into the women servants sleeping chamber. Kicked up all the blankets, ripped open the pillows. Alice said she’s finding feathers in places she didn’t know she had.’

  ‘Who the devil is Alice?’

  ‘One of my friends,’ she said, a little hesitantly. ‘And they tore up my book.’

  ‘You had a book?’

  ‘Well it was one of the earl’s books. A tragedy about Rom –’

  ‘I don’t care,’ he said, rising a silencing hand, ‘about your petty thievery.’

  ‘I didn’t steal it – it had fallen –’

  ‘I don’t care. Ye Gods, there is little more tiresome than a woman who thinks her opinions and her petty acts matter. Why did you call for me – what news?’

  ‘I want you to relieve us of the earl.’

  Brown looked at her as though she had gone mad. Then he began to laugh, a dry, crackling sound. She frowned. ‘I made no jest.’

  ‘No,’ he said, snuffing his laughter like a candle. ‘You simply want me to order an earl – an earl commanded by Queen Elizabeth – to leave this place because a trifling laundress finds it hard to wash piss-stained sheets when he’s about. That’s the measure of it?’

  ‘Well … you got him here, didn’t you? You took what I said, and they sent him.’

  ‘I applaud your faith in me, wench. The good earl was sent to teach the Shrewsburys a lesson. No more. Secretary Cecil and the queen have been most unhappy, it seems, with the countess spending her days embroidering and chattering with a prisoner. And the earl, too, falling into sickness and letting his household run riot. Letting his slaves smuggle messages in and out – and to a duke, no less.’

  ‘So there’s nothing you can do?’

  ‘There is nothing I can do. I only came today to tell you that our arrangement is now at an end.’

  ‘What?’ Panic rose. ‘Why?’

  ‘I have business elsewhere. Norfolk is to be committed to the Tower, it seems. That will shake his followers in the north. And the followers of those other noblemen who remain papist. They will act soon. Very soon. Your husband – have he and his priest friend said anything?’

  ‘Not to me.’

  ‘And what have you heard them say when you were watching.’

  ‘I haven’t. I mean, I haven’t kept ears on them. So far as I know they’re planning nothing.’

  ‘Really? The last time I saw you, you begged me to protect your husband if he were found in a plot to murder our sovereign lady.’

  Amy half-turned on the log. She had decided to use tears. It worked for Mary Stuart. ‘I … don’t … know.’

  ‘Quit that,’ snapped Brown. ‘Tears will avail you of nothing by me, I promise you that. Women’s false tears sicken me. If you are lying, woman – if you think that you might now cover your man’s misdeeds, then it will be the worse for both of you.’

  ‘I tell you I know nothing. They planned – perhaps they planned for the Scottish queen to marry the duke of Norfolk. That’s all over now. I know of no other plan. But … what if I discover something? What should I do? If you’re gone, I mean. Should I tell the earl and the countess?’ Unaccountably, she wanted Norfolk to suffer, former master or not. She had no problem laying the blame on him. He started this. Her husband had fallen into some dream of chivalry because that old duffer had sought to marry the equally stupid Scottish queen. If he was locked away, the whole thing should be over.

  ‘No,’ said Brown. His voice had turned firm, colder than before. ‘I want you to cease your prattling and your nosing altogether. Do you hear me, woman? Your informing is over. If you discover anything by happenstance, you keep it close until I contact you again. Here. Stay here so that I can find you if I need you.’

  ‘But – but what if it were some great plot – something that was to be done quickly?’

  ‘Then you trust that clever men – far cleverer than you – have it in hand. Do you understand me?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said.

  ‘Good. Do you still have that vial I gave you hidden somewhere?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’d better give it to me.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, you can have it back and be welcome to it.’

  ‘No, wait. On second thought, it cannot hurt to ensure our realm’s safety. Keep it.’ Her face fell. ‘You remember what I told you? If there should come a day when it is in every man’s mouth that Queen Elizabeth has died, or been slain, only then should you use it. Or,’ he added, pinching the bridge of his nose, ‘if it should fall out that the northern rebels come here and try and free the viper. Whether the queen lives or not, if an armed band breaches those walls up there and makes to take her, you must hold the witch down and force that down her throat.’

  ‘But that won’t happen, will it? The northern men – the rebels – they won’t get to here.’

  ‘Probably not. They have no one to organise them. A piffling band of trash, papist trash looking for any excuse to cause trouble. Our boys will be readied in London and destroy them when they’re still saying their foolish masses in their priest holes up north. If it does, though … if it does, and you let that Scotch cow go free, I swear to you by my truth that I’ll have you at the head of the crowd when your man’s bowels are torn out.

  ‘Now, I take my leave
of you. Before I do, allow me to give you a little advice. If you want to make a good wife, learn to curb that tongue of yours.’ For the first time, his features softened, seemingly with great effort. ‘If I have been harsh with you, mistress, it was to let you know of the harshness of this world. And … my own wife would not take well to me speaking soft words in the woods with another woman, whether it was for my work or otherwise. Take my advice and do as I instruct. I wish you well.’ Brown gave no bow, no other hint of farewell. He simply stalked off into the trees and disappeared from view.

  Gone, she thought. Her contact with the outside world. The unpleasant brute whom she had hoped would somehow turn out to be a useful help if she ever needed one – an inadvertent hero. Gone.

  Amy knew she should get back to the castle, but she could not face it right away. She sat for a few seconds and started when she thought she heard branches cracking. She turned around, thinking that Brown might be coming back. But the sound had come from the other direction. She peered through the trees but could see no one. A fox, perhaps. But it hadn’t sounded like a fox. It had sounded very much like a person trying to conceal their footsteps.

  ***

  Jack had the letter concealed down the front of his breeches. He had taken it without reading it. It had not been passed to him by Heydon, but rather by one of the queen’s women – the imperious Mistress Seton, of the wigs. He had needed something to do, something to occupy his mind. For the first time he did not know that he could fully trust anyone.

  Seton had cornered him in the hall outside Heydon’s chamber where he had been standing, irresolute. Evidently, she had been hoping to give the letter to the priest to pass to him for safe passage out of the house, but Jack’s presence had allowed her to cut out the middle man.

  It was a letter to be given to the French ambassador in London. It spoke of the outrages that Huntingdon was inflicting on the household, and on Queen Mary herself, and begging for him to intercede to Queen Elizabeth and insist on the man’s removal. The trick would be getting it out.

  The house had really become a prison. It was a big place, but Huntingdon had posted men at every entrance and exit. Jack had come to realise that some were fairly lax. They would make conversation, ask polite questions, but ultimately let people pass. Others would push men against the wall and pat at their bodies, hoping to hear the crinkle of paper. Seton had got the letter to him concealed in a collection of reddish curls. He doubted the soldiers would have thought to put their hands inside it.

  He strode along the hall, away from Heydon’s office. He decided it was a good thing Seton had interrupted him. What he had been planning to say – he couldn’t trust Heydon, or the men Heydon knew – not to react badly to it. He would deal with it himself, somehow.

  The hall met a staircase at one end. A guard was at the bottom of it, next to the door that led into the smaller of the two courtyards. He slowed his pace, trying to sound casual. The man had let him up without searching him, but then he hadn’t worried; he didn’t have anything to hide. The thing about having something concealed on you was that it showed on your face. You either made too great an expression or you overdid trying to look like nothing was happening. Either way you looked guilty, like a thief trying to stroll past a constable with a stolen loaf tucked under his arm.

  ‘You were quick,’ said the soldier. He was about Jack’s age.

  ‘My friend wasn’t in.’

  ‘Oh right. Are you going out?’

  ‘That was the idea,’ said Jack. He regretted it. He didn’t mean it to, but it sounded cocky, rude. The lad frowned.

  ‘We’re supposed to check folk leaving.’

  ‘You didn’t check me going in.’ No, he thought. That wasn’t the right thing to say either. He should have shrugged it off.

  ‘I suppose not.’ The soldier yawned. Jack stood.

  ‘It must be as boring for you as it is for us lot, all this.’

  ‘Ha! You’ve got that right.’

  ‘Any idea how long it’s all to be like this for … mate?’

  ‘Couldn’t say. We’re not told nothin’. Just, well – you know what the earl’s like. “I need good men to escort me to Tutbury. You, and you, and you”.’ He shrugged, and Jack nodded in what he hoped was a display of sympathy. He stepped away from the guard and out into the yard without another word, waiting for the hand on his shoulder. It never came.

  Outside, people were milling with boxes and trunks. A general muttering filled the air, and angry looks were on every face. Soldiers walked in between them, each of them in Huntingdon’s livery. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Jack jumped, before realising he wasn’t being addressed. ‘Has this been searched yet?’

  Turning, he saw an older soldier upending a man’s leather bag onto the ground. Some cutlery and jewels bounced on the mud, damp from a mist of rain. ‘Fine,’ said the soldier, nudging the items with the toe of his boot. ‘Now get out.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ Jacked asked the man nearest him.

  ‘They’re reducing the queen’s household. Throwing us out.’

  Jack looked around. Some people were in tears, others furious. About thirty people were being evicted from the castle. He leant to the ground and began helping the man whose things had been dumped out.

  ‘Merci, merci. Tu es un bon garçon.’

  ‘Listen to me, sir,’ said Jack, out of the corner of his mouth. He looked around, to where the soldiers were searching others. When he was certain their backs were turned, he slid his hand down his breeches and pulled out the letter. Out of the side of his mouth he said, ‘from the queen. To London. Please.’

  A light dawned in the man’s eyes and he dropped the letter into his bag alongside a silver spoon. He gave an imperceptible nod, which Jack returned.

  He returned to the soldier just inside the castle, and together they watched half of Queen Mary’s household being sent packing. ‘Quite a rabble,’ said Jack.

  ‘They are that,’ said his young friend. ‘Less of them is less trouble, I guess. Less to help the Scotch queen escape. Good thing. If she tried, we’d like as not have to shoot her. Only the cap’ has a gun, right enough, and he couldn’t hit a cow’s arse with a lute. But the earl knows what he’s doing. Least it’ll be an easier thing to keep an eye on what goes in and out once that lot’s shifted.’

  4

  ‘It might be a good idea to get out of this place soon,’ said Heydon. They were standing in the male dormitory in the former hunting lodge. It was one of the few places that was no longer regularly searched. A pattern had emerged in the early part of October. Huntingdon’s men seemed to favour turning the queen’s rooms upside down. The aim, Jack guessed, was to keep her too scared and nervous to attempt anything. It seemed to be working.

  Jack gulped. ‘You think it’s happening soon, then.’ Heydon kicked out at a bundle of coverlets and moved towards a window. Since the month had dawned, a change had come over him. Barely-concealed anger had replaced cockiness.

  ‘Fucking idiots. That damned Welsh whore, she’s upset everything.’ Jack almost smiled at the thought that Queen Elizabeth had upset the plan to kill her. ‘She’s put fear into the men in the north, and I hear she’s living at Windsor. Windsor! How can we find a lodging near Windsor?’

  ‘Well, maybe next year…’

  ‘No! I … I can’t keep the Catholic faithful in the north under control from here. They’re loose, wild. It … they were meant to march only when they heard that – that our design had been executed. Then they’d have an easy time of it, marching on a headless city. But – they’re ploughing their own furrow now. We shall just have to move quickly.’

  Jack wondered how Heydon knew this. The castle had been all but cut off by Huntingdon’s men. Yet his friend seemed privy to everything that was happening. He knew that the northern earls had been summoned to London, released, and fled home under a dark cloud, rousing their men to fear of what would be done to them next. He knew that Norfolk had failed to we
asel his way out of trouble and was being conveyed to the Tower, riling up the men of his county too. Each time he imparted something, he seemed to grow angrier and more frustrated. More imperious, too. Gone were the friendly ‘mates’.

  ‘So what?’

  ‘So we put ourselves to work. We go to Windsor if we must and you do your duty by God.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘As soon as possible.’

  Jack folded his arms and moved towards a window recess. He sat in it, staring at Heydon. ‘We can’t just leave the household and go to London. Not without the earl’s permission.’ He hoped his voice sounded authoritative. ‘We have no reason.’

  ‘You think that matters? Do you think a pair of runaway men will matter one whit when the world turns to chaos?’ Jack had no answer to that. ‘If it’ll please your nice ideals then I’ll … I’ll request leave from the earl to conduct some business in the south. Yes, the south. The north might make him worry at this time.’

  ‘I think,’ said Jack, ‘we should wait. Wait until the queen is in London, anyway.’

  ‘It is no more time to wait,’ snapped Heydon. ‘Do you want to burn in hell for what you’ve done, or do you wish true salvation?’ His voice took on a nasty edge. He softened it. ‘Jack, the timing of events is key.’ He looked around the empty room before continuing. ‘It must be. The usurper dies. The northern men revolt against her headless government. Queen Mary is freed, and London is taken. If one of those things falls out wrong, happens in the wrong order, then the whole fails. If Elizabeth lives the heretics in London take heart and will fight the faithful. They’ll march north. They might even decide to dispatch the true queen rather than chance her freedom. You can see that, can’t you?’

  Jack knew when he was beaten. He would go south with Heydon. He had no choice. But he suspected that when it came to it, he could not pull the trigger on Queen Elizabeth. If he failed at that, then he would find some other way to atone. He would go to Rome if he had to, and appeal to the whole college of cardinals. Or, perhaps, some divine power would surge through him on the day and he would find the strength to do it. In truth, he had no idea. Events were carrying him now.