The Locksmith's Daughter

by Karen Brooks

  ‘I’m to be trained?’

  ‘This job requires a specific set of skills, some of which you’re yet to acquire but which, as a woman, you’ll have no difficulty learning.’

  ‘I see.’

  Sir Francis grinned. ‘No, Mallory, you do not. But you will. Now sit.’ He waited until I finished rearranging my skirts. ‘What I need you to do is not for the faint of heart,’ he said, his voice barely a whisper. ‘It’s dangerous work. Many a seasoned watcher of mine would tremble.’

  Zounds. Was I really a woman? The very thought of danger made my heart skip, lifted my worries and eased my doubts, the way words of love once had. Mamma was right. I was unnatural.

  ‘I’m ready, sir.’ I met his eyes and held them.

  ‘I think you are too, so does Thomas. I want you to remember, Mallory, what I ask of you is for the Queen and our country. Can you do this?’

  My back straightened, as if it were made of metal. Oh, if Caleb could see me now. Without knowing what was being asked, I replied. ‘I can, sir.’

  ‘Can you do this for me?’

  His earnestness was not to be questioned. ‘Aye,’ I said. His look made my heart soar with a mingling of pride and something else.

  I was his creation. I must succeed for his sake as well as my own.

  An hour later I was ensconced at a table in the parlour of a small house behind the Fuller’s Hall in Billiter Lane, not too far from the Ironmonger’s Hall. Thomas had escorted me the half hour or so’s walk north of Seething Lane. The two lower storeys of the house were made of brick, while the upper two were wood. There was a lively ale-house on one side and a pious Dutch family on the other. The houses opposite bespoke a mixture of wealth and poverty. One had been newly roofed, the glass in the windows replaced and the front door freshly painted. It was the property of a rich London alderman who, Thomas said, lived there alone, his family preferring the country — not surprisingly, as the stench from the fullers nearby and the smoke from ovens and furnaces was overpowering. Next door to the alderman lived a night soil man and his laundress wife. They had five children, two of whom were dressed in clean rags, dogs gambolling at their heels as they played in the dirt outside while an older girl helped her mother in the yard. Thomas said the oldest boys worked with their father and were no doubt catching some sleep before it was time to go to work. Billiter Lane, though long and narrow, was also an access point between Fenchurch Street and Aldgate, and was so noisy and crowded I marvelled that anyone could rest there, let alone sleep. The neighbours were slipped a small sum now and then to take note of any interest expressed in the house and its occupants and to deflect attention away from those who might frequent it.

  We slipped inside, and Casey and an elderly woman met us.

  ‘This is Mistress Bench, our housekeeper,’ said Thomas. ‘You’ll not meet a more worthy woman.’ He never gave my name to the thin, ruddy-cheeked beldame. She wordlessly set about fetching us some ale and a haunch of cold meat and cheese.

  While she gathered our repast, Thomas showed me around. I was struck by how ordinary the house was, how clean. A staircase led to bedrooms upstairs; downstairs were a number of rooms, most of them furnished with tables covered with paper, maps and quills and a scattering of stools, chairs and some makeshift pallets. A fire burned merrily in two of the rooms and the smells of baking and the clean scent of rosemary wafted in the air.

  Seeing my nose raised in appreciation, Thomas gave one of his rare smiles. ‘She is an asset, Mistress Bench. I don’t know where Sir Francis found her, but it’s rumoured she is related to Drake’s privateer cousin John Hawkins, no less, a great aunt or some such. Verily, the woman is like a locked chest — nothing escapes her mouth — or this house, for that matter. She can be trusted, Mallory. You are safe here. Well, as safe as one can be in London in these times.’

  I stared after the slim-hipped woman as she put down plates of food, noting the strength of her chin, the veins that corded her neck, how knotted her fingers.

  When we had finished eating, Thomas began to outline what it was Sir Francis wished me to do. Casey unfurled a map of Deptford on the table, and Thomas described the town, pointing out various landmarks. Situated upstream, on the southern bank of the Thames, Deptford was a deepwater port that had been chosen by the Queen’s father, King Henry, as the site for his navy’s shipyard. Since then, it had become a renowned centre for ships and shipbuilding, providing anchorage for the royal yachts as well as the navy. The town was filled with naval officers and their families and boasted a goodly supply of shops, a central green and gardens as well as storehouses bursting with timber.

  ‘At Her Majesty’s command, Drake sailed the Golden Hind from Plymouth to here —’ I watched his finger trail across the map to a dock. ‘Now the town has become a tourist attraction as well, which works both to our advantage and against it.’ Before I could ask why, he pressed on. ‘This is the noble’s house where Master Hollis’s play will be performed, and this is the inn where many dignitaries are staying — others, like Sir Francis, will return to London.’

  Unable to wait any longer, I interrupted. ‘This is all very well and good, Thomas, and I will commit what I can to memory. But what is it I’m to do in Deptford?’

  Thomas met my gaze. ‘While everyone is at the ceremony to knight Drake, you’re going to steal some very important papers and replace them with a benign set of documents.’

  I sucked in my breath.

  ‘It won’t be easy, so time and a solid disguise are imperative.’

  ‘Disguise? What am I to be disguised as?’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re to become a person of questionable moral virtue, Mistress Mallory.’

  If I hadn’t been seated at the table, I would have fallen to the floor. I quickly realised Thomas wasn’t casting aspersions on my past, but was simply answering my question, and I composed myself.

  ‘I see. And what does that mean exactly?’

  ‘You’ll be a boy pretending to be a woman.’

  Understanding dawned. ‘You mean an actor?’

  Thomas flashed a grin of approval. ‘I do.’

  Oh, how Caleb would have railed against being called a person of questionable morals. There were many who looked upon the profession as nothing short of vagabondage and all who trod the boards as ungodly, without scruples or virtue or indeed any redeeming qualities. It wasn’t just the Puritans who loathed the theatre. Caleb oft spoke of the beatings his fellow actors had been subjected to, the mobs that attempted to have them evicted from the inns they played at, the frequent vituperation served from the pulpit towards actors and all who supported them. Fortunately, the Queen was among the latter and so most attempts to put an end to the profession failed, though some troupes had disbanded as a consequence.

  ‘For what purpose must I be an actor, a boy?’

  ‘So that you might board a vessel, enter a traitorous captain’s cabin and there, steal the secrets locked within his chest.’

  I stared at Thomas with a mixture of disbelief and utter trepidation. ‘I hope you’re referring to the wooden kind and not a flesh and blood one.’

  Thomas reached for the jug and poured an ale for me, then for himself. He passed me the cup and raised his own.

  ‘That will be entirely up to you and how good a lock-pick you really are. If you are discovered, then I’m afraid the chest you open will be the human kind. This mission is a matter of life and death.’

  Perched on a stool watching us both, Casey remained quiet, his eyes on me. I stared at the map and back at Thomas. ‘Can you tell me why I’m stealing these documents?’

  ‘To prevent war, Mallory Bright. To prevent war.’

  TWENTY

  BILLITER LANE, LONDON

  Last days of March to early April, Anno Domini 1581

  In the 23rd year of the reign of Elizabeth I

  I listened without interrupting as Thomas continued to explain, his finger traversing the map from the river and the pier where the Golden
Hind was moored to the Upper Water Gate, where the vessel I was to board, Forged Friends, was currently docked. All ships weighing anchor had been forced to remain in Deptford, ostensibly to await the knighting of Drake, but this was merely a ruse to ensure access to the ship without arousing suspicion.

  ‘The Captain, Master Alyward Landsey, is someone we’ve observed closely over the years.’

  ‘Is he a Catholic traitor?’

  ‘Catholic? I don’t think the man knows God or much cares for His laws or blessings. But he is a traitor, a traitor who worships coin and kneels at the altar of those who pay the most. In this case, it’s the hell-hated Spanish. He would sell state secrets to them and bring ruin upon our Queen and country.’

  Thomas sat back, folding his arms. ‘You’ve heard of the Levant Company?’ I nodded. ‘Last year, a gentleman named William Harborne, from the very same company, brokered a treaty on behalf of the Queen with the Ottoman Empire.’

  I gasped. ‘The Queen negotiated with barbarians?’

  Thomas nodded. ‘Well might you be surprised. The treaty was signed with none other than Sultan Murad III himself. Harborne and others learned that what the Turks want more than anything, and what the Pope has expressly forbidden them to possess, are munitions. They’ll pay anyone prepared to deliver them very, very well. Our treasury is in dire need of funds. Who better placed to meet our savage friends’ desires than our very own Levant Company? If, at the same time, our needs are met and our treasury is filled, is that not fortuitous? Harborne managed to reach an agreement — all in great secrecy, of course. In return for a steady supply of guns and powder, we have a charter of privileges allowing access to all sorts of ports and goods throughout the Ottoman Empire. To the outside world, it appears as though all the Sultan wants is the hand of English friendship. There are only a few who know the real situation. Unfortunately, one of those people betrayed us and sold the information to Captain Alyward. We have it on excellent authority he intends to sell the same information to those in the Escorial — to King Philip himself, which of course means Rome and the Guises. This cannot happen.’

  ‘You say this Landsey is no Catholic yet he would catapult us into war with them?’

  ‘He’s the most wretched of humans, a vile, despicable creature. Godless, masterless too — except, as I said, to whoever holds the fattest purse or, it seems, provides the prettiest boys.’

  Thomas almost spat the words. I was astonished at his vehemence.

  ‘Boys.’

  ‘Aye, the man is a sodomite.’

  My disguise started to make sense.

  ‘Drake’s knighthood has been chosen as the perfect time to switch the documents he possesses with something much less harmful.’

  Thomas outlined the plan. My heart hammered, my flesh grew cold then furiously warm. Outside shadows lengthened, the clamour of people and animals continued in the street and cannons thundered distantly on Tower Hill, but I barely registered any of it as I became drawn into the task, a task that would require my skills in disguise and as a lock-pick. I would need to show more temerity and courage than ever before.

  Once Thomas finished, he asked if I had questions. I had hundreds, but stopped myself lest he think me ill-suited to the mission. I shook my head. He left the parlour and returned moments later with a rather worn but ornate lady’s jacket, embroidered shirt and skirt as well as some very finely made, if old, hose, and passed them to me.

  ‘This is your disguise. It’s one of Leicester’s Men’s costumes. Designed for a tall lad, it should fit. Mistress Bench will help you change and make any necessary adjustments.’ Summoned by the mention of her name, the elderly housekeeper appeared in the doorway and beckoned me to follow.

  I returned some time later completely self-conscious in my new attire. Any indication I was a boy dressed as a woman was lost by the revealing nature of the gown. It was scarlet and the cream stomacher didn’t so much cover my upper chest and press my stomach flat as squeeze my waist into an impossibly narrow span and push my small breasts into mounds that threatened to burst the damn of the too-low neckline. The skirt was wide, split at the front to reveal a slashed cream underskirt providing immodest glimpses of my woollen hose, gartered above the knee. If I moved too swiftly, my thighs were also exposed. I slunk into the room, head bowed, and sat upon the stool, gathering the skirts about me as if they were a blanket to cover my shame. Mistress Bench had undone my hair, allowing it to spill down my back.

  ‘It will be assumed you’re wearing a wig,’ she said. ‘No proper lady would be seen with her hair so.’ No proper lady. I fitted the bill.

  Casey’s jaw had fallen open. Thomas gazed at me with a critical eye, frowning above his glasses.

  ‘That will never do,’ he said and, without ceremony, pulled me to my feet. ‘You skulk into the room like a chastised dog. Mistress Bench, your help, if I may? Now, Mallory. Listen, watch and learn — your life may depend upon it.’

  Two more unlikely teachers you’d never find and yet, between them, as the bells tolled and the hours wore on, Thomas and Mistress Bench patiently showed me how to move like a boy pretending to be a girl. Mistress Bench, with more flair than I would have guessed, taught me how to distract a man, taunt and tease so he became flustered and lost his better judgement. I practised on Casey, who turned redder than a cock’s comb, and we fell about laughing until Thomas, in that righteous tone of his, reminded me this was no laughing matter but Crown business.

  ‘A country’s fate is in your hands, mistress,’ he said. ‘Our country’s.’ After that, I didn’t even smile unless it was for an ulterior purpose.

  For the remainder of that day and most of the next, I learned how to separate myself from the Walsingham family prior to the knighting ceremony (Sir Francis would assist with that), which ship to board, the captain’s name and his physical description should I encounter him, his background, how many crew were expected on deck, who would be at the celebrations, and the time I’d have to accomplish my task (all of which I had to repeat over and over to Thomas’s satisfaction). I practised how to walk, talk and act as if beneath the layers of clothing and hair was a boy accustomed to the stage and performing as a woman. A boy who was also accustomed to paying visits to men who paid for his time.

  My greatest relief came when I learned that while I’d have to enter the captain’s cabin alone and open the chest, Thomas would accompany me to the ship. He would adopt his regular alias, that of a merchant, Peter Halins, and would act as a procurer who’d found me at Captain Alyward’s behest. It was a risky strategy, but no more so than the rest of the mission.

  Breaking for some ale late Sunday afternoon, I was dressed in the garments Thomas had handed me the first day, only now I wore them as if I’d been born to them, enjoying the bright colours, the lower neckline, the lack of a ruff; I liked the feel of my hair about my shoulders and waist, of being able to push my sleeves up and show off my forearms and cross my legs — something Thomas and Mistress Bench encouraged me to do.

  Thomas looked drawn and tired. There were dark shadows under his eyes and when he pushed his glasses further up his nose, his hands shook slightly. At the end of each day, once he had escorted me home, Thomas would return to Seething Lane either to do more work or to fetch papers to take back to his lodgings in Leadenhall. The man was dedicated. The least I owed was the same commitment.

  Captain Landsey, I learned, was a corrupt soul who abused his power, was careless with his loyalties and above all, cruel to those who were weaker than him.

  ‘It’s believed his crew tolerate his proclivities providing the boys look like women,’ explained Thomas. ‘That way, they can remain wilfully ignorant of his depravity. So Landsey insists the boys come on board wearing dresses and behave as if they belong in one. It’s been simpler for him to sate his lust among the acting profession, where boys are used to wearing skirts on and off stage — at least, until they’re in the privacy of his cabin.’ I didn’t ask how Thomas knew so much. He was one
of Sir Francis’s men, after all. ‘With Warham’s troupe performing in Deptford, and the boy actors involved in Drake’s Hind, never mind those from other companies who’ll come to see the performance, we couldn’t let this opportunity pass. Furthermore, Landsey has been given an invitation he dare not refuse: a place aboard the Hind while Drake is given his honours and at the feast and performance to follow. While he’s absent from the ship, the crew will be encouraged to take liberties about town, leaving only a couple of resentful watchmen to guard the ship and the captain’s cabin. And thus, alea iacta est.’

  ‘The die is cast,’ I whispered. Now everything Thomas and Mistress Bench had me do made sense — especially the idiosyncratic things, like leaning my forearm on the table, taking small simpering steps, then striding with my hips thrust out slightly. I was learning to be both boy and wanton girl. Smoothing my hands along the skirt, I looked down at my sorry décolletage. It wasn’t hard to believe I was a boy in woman’s attire. My lips twitched. ‘I see why I was chosen for the part.’

  Thomas followed the direction of my gaze and quickly turned away, his cheeks pinkening. Casey, who loitered in the doorway, sniggered. ‘Mall … Mistress … no. I mean, that’s not true. You were chosen because … because …’

  ‘There is no-one else,’ I finished.

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘Well, then, let’s ensure I’m perfect in the role, shall we? Enough to persuade Captain Landsey should I have the misfortune to encounter him.’

  Thomas rose. ‘Let’s pray you don’t.’

  How Caleb would laugh at me, Mallory Bright, playing at being an actor, albeit a boy who was also a strumpet. Not for the first time, I longed to confide in him, to seek his guidance about playing my role. But, like everything I did, this too was a secret, and one I must keep lest Sir Francis’s enterprise be undone and the safety of Queen and country compromised.