by Ann Swinfen
She dropped a brief businesslike curtsey. ‘I am Mistress Alice Maynard, in charge of the women’s wards.’ She gave me a sharp look. ‘We have a great many women patients, sir. Are you accustomed to treating women?’
‘Indeed,’ I said seriously. ‘We had women patients also at St Bartholomew’s. We arranged a separate lying-in ward for the women there.’
‘Ah, but it is a new notion for you. We have had a fine lying-in ward for a hundred and seventy years.’
‘Aye, I know. Endowed by Richard Whittington. He also paid for repairs to St Bartholomew’s. By all accounts, he was a very good man.’
She rewarded me with a smile, as if I had passed some test.
‘Here we are, Dr Alvarez. This is Superintendent Ailmer’s office.’
She knocked on the door, then opened it. ‘The new physician to see you, Superintendent.’
She stood aside for me to enter. I suppressed a smile. It seemed Ailmer had dispensed with the ‘deputy’ in front of his title. That seemed fair enough to me. It was he who did all the work, not the gentleman who could rightfully lay claim to the title.
‘Ah, Master Alvarez.’ He looked at me over his reading spectacles, but did not rise from his seat behind an imposing desk. ‘Thank you, Mistress Maynard.’
As she closed the door behind her, he motioned me to a chair, then took off his spectacles and looked at me more carefully. He was a man of middle years, with a somewhat choleric countenance. I could not decide whether he was the type to be jovial, or one with a quick temper. I would need to watch my step.
‘You are very young.’
There was no answer to that, so I merely bowed my head slightly. After last night, I did not feel very young.
‘Some relative of Sir Francis, are you? Some place-seeker?’
‘Nay, Master Ailmer.’
I was not going to give him his title if he did not give me mine. ‘I am no relative of Sir Francis, though I have worked for him as a code-breaker for more than three years, in the service of the State.’ No harm in mentioning that. He looked like a man who would take note.
‘In addition I have worked at St Bartholomew’s hospital for nearly six years, in all the wards and all types of physic. Earlier this year I served as a physician in Sir John Norreys’s expedition to Portugal.’
‘Lost your position at Barts, haven’t you?’
I gritted my teeth, but kept my temper. ‘I worked as assistant to my father, Dr Baltasar Alvarez, who was formerly the senior professor of medicine at the University of Coimbra.’
‘Aye. I thought from the name you must be a Portingall.’
I ignored this gibe. ‘When the expedition returned, I found that my father had died in my absence and the hospital had appointed a replacement, who brought his own assistant with him. However, I believe that the governors of St Bartholomew’s will speak to my capabilities.’
‘Aye, well, Sir Francis enclosed their recommendation with his letter.’ He shuffled the papers on his desk, put his spectacles on again and studied one of them.
‘Highly recommended! Well, we shall see. You understand that although the place that is coming vacant is that of a full physician, you will only be paid as an assistant. You do not possess a medical degree and are not a fellow of the Royal College of Physicians.’
‘I understand.’
‘We will be losing a much loved and highly respected physician, who has served here for many years, Dr Colet. Sadly, age is taking its toll of his eyesight and he fears he can no longer practice. His place here will be a difficult one to fill.’
‘I will do my best, Superintendent.’ No harm in giving the man his chosen title. I felt he was softening toward me.
‘I am glad to hear it.’ He stood up and offered me his hand, even smiling at last. ‘Report for duty on the twelfth day of September. Come to me here and I will instruct you on which wards you will be covering.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
I bowed myself out and hurried along the corridor before I let out my breath in a long gasp. I must have been holding it. The encounter with Ailmer had not been quite what I expected, but I felt I had weathered it. The atmosphere here seemed more formal than the relaxed mood of Barts, but perhaps that was because the deputy superintendent at my old hospital handled the business side of Barts, while having few encounters with the medical staff. I suspected Ailmer was the sort of man who would patrol the wards, sticking his finger into every pie. Well, I had wanted this position, and now I had got it.
Hector and I made our way quite slowly back to the Bridge and over it, through the midday crowds. I noticed a man selling toys from a tray round his neck, painted wooden monkeys which by some manoeuvre could be made to climb a stick. It was not Nicholas Borecroft. I wondered where he was now. I had begun to feel quite sorry for the man, who seemed merely a little misguided in his ambitions. After all, many men started in London with little and made their fortunes, even becoming an alderman or Lord Mayor. Look at Whittington. They even sang rhymes about him to children. Unlike many rich men, Whittington had not neglected the poor, but had worked to improve the conditions of Londoners, during his life and after his death, through his bequests. You could hardly blame Borecroft for wanting to rise in life. These were the times of new men, self-made men, like Ruy. Even Sir Francis and Lord Burghley came from quite modest families. A few generations back, the Earl of Essex’s family, the Devereux, had been yeoman farmers in Herefordshire.
Of course Borecroft was a fool to have got himself into debt to a man like this Ingram Frizer that Phelippes had spoken about. And Poley was somehow involved with Frizer. I could imagine that Poley might well have found gullible marks for Frizer, as a card sharper’s cronies will do. Poley could be a charming companion when he chose to be, as he had been with poor Anthony Babington. He would charm naïve young men, persuade them into spending more than they should, then suggest Frizer as a source for loans. Once Frizer secured them, they would be wrapped in his sticky web like flies preserved for a spider’s dinner. I shuddered.
The other side of Poley was his utter ruthlessness, which I had experienced myself. If he could get a hold over you, he would exploit it for all it was worth. Not so different from Frizer. No wonder they worked together. But why did Borecroft appear to be implicated in this conspiracy?
Back at Seething Lane I learned that Sir Francis was out of bed again, so I went first to his office to report on my meeting with Deputy Superintendent Ailmer. I summarised our conversation briefly.
‘He was trying to justify paying you the lower salary,’ Sir Francis suggested, when he heard of the cutting things Ailmer had said.
‘There was no need for it. I was prepared to accept those terms. What options do I have?’
‘You know, Kit, the Royal College will sometimes accept fellows under certain special conditions. We will need to look into it.’
I looked at him in surprise, though I remembered that he had once mentioned this before. ‘I thought one must have a degree in medicine,’ I said. ‘They are even reluctant to accept degrees from foreign universities. The fellows must vote on each individual case.’
‘I’m not sure what the special conditions are, so do not get your hopes up! Now, you had better go along to Thomas and hear what the latest news is.’
There was indeed news in Phelippes office.
‘The party from Devon spent last night some fifteen miles from London,’ he said. ‘They are expected to reach the Herbar this evening, if they are not delayed. However, there are women and children in the party, so they do not travel fast.’
He was looking tired and I wondered whether he had slept last night while I was dozing in the chair, or whether he had worked the night through.
‘Surely we must take some kind of action,’ I said. ‘Or else warn them to stay at an inn instead of at the Herbar.’
I took off my gown and cap and hung them on a peg behind the door. Something suddenly struck me, which we had not discussed before.
> ‘Where is Drake himself? I do not think we have mentioned him. Is he even in London?’
‘He has ridden out to meet the family group. He spent last night at the same inn. And I agree. I am going to send a rider to warn them that something may be intended against the Herbar.’
‘Do you think Drake will listen?’
I knew that Drake did not indulge in such foolhardy heroics as the Earl of Essex, but he was arrogant and full of pride. He would always believe he could take on any enemy and for the most part he won. But not always. I wondered whether Phelippes thought the same.
‘He may not. We must–’
Before he could finish saying what we must do, we both heard running footsteps coming along the corridor from the backstairs and Berden burst into the room. He was out of breath and clutched at his side.
‘What is it?’ Phelippes jumped to his feet. ‘Has something happened?’
‘Nay, not yet,’ Berden gasped, still hardly able to speak, ‘but we know now!’
‘Know what!’ Phelippes was angry at this prevarication.
‘Borecroft. Why they wanted Borecroft.’
Berden went to the side table and helped himself to a cup of wine, unasked. He gulped it down like water and poured himself another.
‘Nick,’ I said, ‘Master Phelippes will have an apoplexy if you do not spit it out!’
Phelippes grinned, shook his head and sat down again.
‘Very well, Nick,’ Phelippes said. ‘Tell us what you have found out.’
‘Borecroft, it’s an unusual name, isn’t it?’ Berden said, and I saw Phelippes grit his teeth, but he said nothing. Berden seized a stool and sat down.
‘So I thought I would make some enquiries, see if I could get word of any other Borecrofts in London. While my lads have been watching the Herbar and the Italian’s house, I’ve been seeking out all my sources, trying to discover whether there might be another Borecroft where our Borecroft was hiding out. I thought, if I can find him, I’ll pull him in for questioning. He is the weak link in all this. He would probably be more afraid of you and Sir Francis than of those rats Frizer and Poley.’
‘And did you find another Borecroft?’ Phelippes asked, with what I thought was admirable patience.
‘I did. At last. He has an older brother, one Oliver Borecroft. Not a toy man. Not a shop man or merchant at all. Guess what his occupation is?’
‘Nick,’ Phelippes said grimly, ‘stop playing games with us.’
I had been watched Berden closely and I could see he was almost beside himself with glee. He could not bear not to savour his moment.
‘Oliver Borecroft,’ he said slowly, ‘is a cook. A gentleman’s cook. He is, in fact, the cook at the Herbar. Nicholas Borecroft is living with his brother at the Herbar.’
Phelippes and I simply gaped at him.
‘You know that he is living at the Herbar?’ I said at last.
He nodded. ‘Oh, never fear. I did not walk up to the door and ask to see him. Once I discovered that his brother worked there, I made some discreet, very discreet, enquiries amongst the victuallers who supply the house, above all, of course, the kitchen. I was thinking then of how I might find an opportunity to speak to the cook, but quite by chance one of the butchers just happened to mention that the cook had his brother staying with him. He thought it a great joke. He knew the toy man was hiding from his creditors. ‘Who would think of looking for him in the home of England’s piratical sea captain?’ was the way he put it.’
‘But he is not merely hiding from his creditors,’ Phelippes said slowly.
‘Nay. Whenever the conspirators want to enter the house, all he has to do is open the door for them. In they walk, free as you please.’
‘A Trojan horse,’ I said quietly.
‘Aye, exactly.’ Berden nodded at me. ‘A Trojan horse.’
‘The attack could happen any time now.’ Phelippes was on his feet again. ‘It could happen tonight. Nick, will you go to Sir Francis and ask him if he will step along here? I will write to warn Drake’s party, but it will be best if Sir Francis signs and seals it himself. They will be more likely to take heed, particularly Drake himself. Then we will need a fast and reliable messenger.’
‘I’ll see to it.’
Berden went out, having fully recovered his breath now, and Phelippes sat down to write his letter. I leaned back in my chair, aware that my heart was pounding, as if I too had been running. Everything was coming to a head now. I just hoped we could catch the conspirators before they carried out whatever was their plan.
It was only minutes before Sir Francis arrived to sign the letter and stamp the sealing wax with his insignia. One of the armed men who had accompanied us from Barn Elms came in, and Phelippes explained the route the Devon party was likely to take to London.
‘If they are not on that road, you must search until you find them,’ Sir Francis said. ‘It may indeed be a matter of saving lives.’
The man took the letter, bowed, and ran off.
‘And now?’ Sir Francis said.
‘Now we must be ready to forestall these villains,’ Phelippes said. ‘Berden, some of your men had better stay watching the Italian merchant’s house, but I want you to move the rest to the Dowgate. Discreetly, mind. I not only want to stop this outrage but catch the men behind it. I will come myself, so I can be on hand.’
‘I think I should come as well,’ I said.
They all turned to me in surprise. I think they had forgotten I was there.
‘You must remember the gunpowder,’ I said. ‘If it explodes, people will be hurt. I may be needed.’
Sir Francis nodded. ‘Kit is right. There could be injuries, even if the gunpowder does not explode. Remember, we are dealing with men who are not only desperate, they are soldiers. However skilled Nick’s men are at hunting out information and tracking people down, they are not trained in arms.’
‘Some are skilled at fighting in the streets,’ Berden said with a grim laugh, ‘but you are right, Sir Francis, they are not accustomed to fighting soldiers.’
‘It is too late to call out the militia,’ Phelippes said. ‘Besides, that would probably just drive them into cover. The London Trained Bands are not known for the subtlety of their manoeuvres.’
‘It will be up to us then,’ Nick said. ‘Strategy against strength. We could do with that dog of your, Kit. He’s a good fighter.’
I was thankful Rikki was not with me. He had taken a sword slash for me once, but he would have no chance against a musket.
‘Very well.’ Phelippes slung on his cloak and walked to the door. He looked absurd, his spectacles shining in the light of the sinking sun, his slightly stooped back more suited to a seat behind a desk than at the head of a ramshackle army of vagabonds.
Nick and I bowed to Sir Francis and followed him out of the door.
Chapter Fifteen
Berden, Phelippes and I made our way on foot to Dowgate. It was growing dark and the shops along the streets were ceasing business for the day, the apprentices putting up the shutters while their masters stood by, ready to lock up the premises securely for the night. A few street traders were still crying their wares, their voices hoarse at the end of the day, hoping to dispose of the last of their stock rather than carry it home till the morrow. Suddenly a man loomed up out of a dark alleyway, making us all start.
‘Buy my fish, my fine fresh cockles, buy my oysters, fresh from the river!’ he leered at us, waving a dead fish by its tail under Phelippes’s nose
From the stench that surrounded him, his goods were far from fresh, and Phelippes backed away, dismissing him angrily with a wave.
The fishmonger spat on the ground at Phelippes’s feet and went off in the direction of Billingsgate, cursing under his breath, as we turned into Candlewick Street.
‘Who would eat oysters from the Thames!’ I exclaimed. ‘It is no more than an open sewer. A man who falls overboard into the Thames might as well jump into a plague pit.’ I shuddered at
the thought of that filthy stew of offal and dung closing over my head. ‘You should never eat Thames oysters, not from near London. Kent oysters, from Whitstable or further away, are the only ones safe to eat.’
‘Some poor folk,’ Berden said, ‘have no choice but to eat Thames fish and Thames oysters. Though even Kent oysters may turn bad.’
‘True enough,’ I said. ‘I first met Robert Poley through a matter of bad oysters.’ And that was where all of this had begun, I thought.
‘The Thames grows more polluted every year,’ Phelippes said. ‘With the city drawing in more and more people, we shall soon drown in our own filth.’
‘More of it should be buried,’ I said, ‘instead of dumping everything in the river. It is not only the soil from privies and chamber pots. The butchers from the Shambles throw their leavings in the river, whatever the stray dogs do not steal.’
‘Middens and cesspits are become more valuable,’ Berden said with a grin.
I stared at him. ‘Valuable!’
‘Aye, did you not know? They use the muck from cesspits in some way to make gunpowder.’
‘Now there’s a fine irony,’ I said. ‘Perhaps that is the answer to London’s problems. Turn it into a mine for gunpowder.’
We all laughed nervously, for the strain of the forthcoming encounter was beginning to tell on us.
At last we reached Dowgate, but stopped short of the Herbar, at the corner where Berden’s men had been told to meet us. Lined with substantial houses, the Dowgate was a prosperous street, with only occasional shops here and there. Those few to be seen were of some considerable quality – milliners and glovers, swordsmiths (but not their forges) and a few bake houses selling dainty pastries and suckets. Every house had a lantern hung before its door now that it was past dusk, though city regulations did not require it at this time of year. The householders here would want to discourage undesirable prowlers. There were several stout hitching posts for horses at intervals along the street, and near the Herbar a well-built stone horse trough. It seemed the inhabitants ensured excellent conditions for their own and their visitors’ horses as well.
