The Locksmith's Daughter

by Karen Brooks

  ‘Within it are the names of all my agents, their aliases, missions they’ve undertaken, and the keys to all the codes and ciphers currently in use. It also records all Catholic plots and assassination attempts and our efforts to foil them.’

  I tried for mediocrita and failed. My mouth fell open and my eyes grew wide.

  ‘You can imagine what would happen should this ever fall into the hands of our enemies.’

  I could. Bedlam. War. Death.

  Sir Francis undid the ties that bound the book, lifted the top cover off, leafed through a few pages and pulled one half-covered in writing to the fore, smoothing it with his hand. He dipped his quill in the inkwell and waited for the nib to fill.

  ‘I do not enter anything or anyone into the book lightly, Mallory. It’s a privilege to be thus recorded. Whoever is listed has contributed something of significance to the government; to the realm. I do this so that those charged with protecting the country after you and I are gone might know what action was taken, what sacrifices were made, how great the threat was that we faced and who risked themselves to combat it. I write so they can use this information to ensure our land’s continued safety. Build on what I’ve started.’

  He gazed at me with great warmth, almost pride. ‘Now is the time to add your name and alias to my list, to inscribe what you have done on behalf of the realm, in defence of the throne. Make you a part of history. You’re the first woman ever to be officially employed as part of my network — thus you’re the first female agent to be listed in this book.’

  I held my breath and watched as his long and elegant hand added my name to the parchment.

  Placing the quill back in the inkwell, Sir Francis gave a half-smile. ‘Later, I will record what you did and make a synopsis of your report. The first of many.’ He leaned over and blew gently on what he’d written before reaching for some sand and throwing it over the page. The dark ink was quickly absorbed.

  ‘Sir, forgive me, but why are you telling me this? Surely, that —’ I pointed at the book, ‘must be one of the most important books in the country, the greatest secret you hold.’

  Sir Francis stared at me strangely. ‘One of them, aye.’ He shook the page so the excess sand dropped to the rushes. ‘Why would I not tell you? Are you not one of my agents? Do you not work in the best interests of the country? Do you not do my bidding?’

  ‘Always,’ I said. ‘But —’

  ‘But?’ he lay the page down again. ‘What? Out with it.’

  ‘Do Thomas and Master Robert know what’s in the book?’

  ‘Thomas and Robert, aye.’

  ‘Casey?’

  ‘Casey, no.’

  For some reason, that knowledge made me feel better. I was being accorded a privilege. Sir Francis was entrusting me with something imbued with such importance that only his closest associates knew about it. Warmth towards him blossomed within me. I smiled.

  ‘There are a few others as well,’ conceded Sir Francis. ‘Though their names are contained therein, none have ever read it.’ Aware of my eyes upon the sheet, he placed the leather cover over it. ‘Until I’m buried, none ever will. I simply wanted you to understand the esteem in which you are held, Mallory. By Thomas, and by me.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. It means a great deal.’ The peculiar itch that accompanies tears began to worry my eyes. I refused to show my feminine weakness at such a time. Damn my womanhood! Coughing, I searched for a kerchief to cover my mouth and sought to explain my watery eyes. ‘The sand,’ I said as Sir Francis passed a brimming goblet to me. I swallowed gratefully.

  Sir Francis occupied himself with sharpening another quill while I regained my composure. ‘So,’ he said, when my kerchief was tucked away and my eyes dried. ‘Are you ready for your next task?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Now that we’ve removed the danger posed by Captain Alyward’s voyage, it’s time to refocus our energies on capturing the priest Campion and his Catholic confederates. I’m using every resource available to track them down.’

  ‘How can I be of assistance?’

  Rising from his desk, Sir Francis went to the many boxes stacked against the wall. Rummaging among them, he continued to talk.

  ‘We know Campion is travelling about the countryside. I’ve men in Yorkshire, Derbyshire, Lancashire and anywhere else we get a sighting. Ah, here it is.’

  Turning, he passed me some sheets of paper. They were covered in code. ‘This is an exact copy of Sledd’s latest work, The Intelligences of the Affairs of Englishmen in Rome and Other Places. It’s a detailed description of every priest, their companions and servants who have set out from Reims to come to our shores. Read it and memorise it.’ Returning to his seat, Sir Francis filled his own goblet and took a long drink. ‘You must be able to recognise a Catholic traitor by sight.’

  ‘This is the other dossier Sledd composed that you and Thomas spoke of some weeks back.’

  ‘Aye. Sledd began it a couple of years ago when he crossed Italy and France posing as a courier for William Allen and the pernicious priests who accompanied him. He not only copied much of the correspondence he was entrusted with, but wrote down everything he observed. Like you, he has a great eye for detail. From his earlier work, we know which English families are suspect; which ones are sympathetic to the priests. Now we learn who the men they hide are. I’m hoping by reading that, you’ll have some sense of the danger Campion and his papist peers pose and understand how important it is we find them.’

  ‘I do not need to read this to understand that, sir.’

  ‘No. I believe you don’t.’ Sir Francis gave me a warm smile. ‘Well, Mallory,’ he said, breaking the moment. ‘Take it to your office and be certain to return it before you depart this evening. That dossier must not leave the house.’

  I was being dismissed. I stood, the pages firmly in my hands. ‘That’s all, sir? I’m to read and memorise these?’

  Sir Francis levered himself to his feet. Our faces were almost level. ‘It is what you must do before I set you to work again.’

  ‘What kind of work?’

  ‘You’re about to put into practice everything you learned from Thomas and Mistress Bench. The day after tomorrow, I’m sending you into the streets, into businesses and houses. You will become not only my eyes and ears, but as Samantha Short you will learn all you can about the mood of the people, gauge what damage Campion, Persons and their foolhardy heretical supporters have done. I want to know what men and women are saying, what they’re thinking and dreaming; more importantly, what they’re hiding.’

  I took a deep breath and released it slowly, silently. So, it was to begin. My own enterprise.

  Sir Francis stepped forward and took my hand. ‘Do not doubt yourself. Deptford proved you’re ready. I need you to be. I need all my troops on the ground. As of today, your training is officially over. From this day forward, you’re a spy, Mallory, a watcher. Remember, you’re my secret weapon in this godforsaken war. And now is the time to deploy you. Are you ready to take up arms?’

  My shining face was all the answer he needed.

  TWENTY-THREE

  HARP LANE, LONDON

  The 4th of April, Anno Domini 1581

  In the 23rd year of the reign of Elizabeth I

  Upon arriving home and learning from Comfort that Mamma was asleep, Angela abed, and Caleb in his room writing, I shucked off the tiredness I felt after a day of trying to memorise lists of names and descriptions (mole above lip, red hair, two teeth missing from the right hand side of the upper jaw, speaks fluent Italian) and, taking a ewer of ale from the kitchen, along with two cups, some bread and cheese, I slipped into the workshop. There was no sign of the apprentices. As I entered, the dogs ran to my side, tails wagging; Papa lifted his head from the key he was filing and bestowed a warm smile upon me.

  ‘Mallory!’ He waved me over. ‘I’ve not seen you since before Deptford. Come, sit and tell me what’s kept you so busy you neglect your Papa. And, while you’re here, I w
ant a full account of Drake’s knighting.’

  Pleased he was in such a jolly mood (and wondering what had occasioned it), I deposited a kiss upon his brow. I put the food and drink down, paid the dogs attention, poured us both an ale and dragged a stool over. While I broke the bread apart and cut a piece of cheese, slipping the dogs a piece each, Papa talked.

  ‘I swear, Caleb gave an account of the ceremony that can scarce be believed.’ He shook his head and chuckled. ‘I need you to verify it. Did the gangplank really break and toss the good citizens of London into the river?’

  ‘It snapped like kindling,’ I said between mouthfuls.

  Papa paused, holding the file ready above the key. I couldn’t help but note he was completing tasks a first-year apprentice could do for him.

  ‘And what of the Queen showing her garter and giving the sword to the French Ambassador, de Marchaumont, so he might knight Drake? Tell me these are but figments of Caleb’s bountiful imagination?’

  Laughing, I quickly downed some more food and took the file from Papa so he might enjoy our repast while I elaborated. Understanding they’d receive no more titbits, the dogs let out huge sighs for such small creatures and ambled back to their spot by the forge, curling upon each other.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s all true, Papa. Every last bit. Not even Caleb could have invented such a scene — a scene completed only by the Queen’s purple and gold garter, which she then gave to de Marchaumont as a keepsake.’

  ‘A royal garter indeed,’ Papa grinned. Encouraged, I added to Caleb’s story, grateful to Master Robert and Francis Mylles, who had provided me and Thomas with all the details of what we had missed at the dock. Able to sound as if I’d borne witness to everything, I was also able to entertain Papa with a vivid retelling of Caleb’s play, which I had seen.

  ‘It was a fine tribute and for certes, the Queen and Sir Francis appeared to enjoy it.’ As did other members of the audience, I thought. Unbidden, an image of Captain Alyward came to mind. Much to my horror, he had stumbled into the crowd during the performance, pushing his way through, clapping and laughing as if naught was amiss. I recalled the pockmarked skin, the receding hair beneath the bonnet, the pale, listless eyes that roamed the crowd as much as the stage. No doubt searching for another boy to quench his appetites. His eyes simply passed over me as if I didn’t exist. I was a woman, so to him I did not.

  ‘It doesn’t seem to have attracted the opprobrium that Circe’s Chains did,’ said Papa. ‘At least, not from what I hear.’

  ‘Nor what I believe Dido’s Lament might,’ I added.

  Papa wiped his hands on a rag, lost in thought. ‘I worry about that lad sometimes. He wears his sympathies upon his sleeve too oft of late. Now is not the time to be levelling criticism at the government nor offering a platform for Catholic beliefs, even imaginary ones. I said much the same to your mother. Tried to convince her to at least act as if she has abandoned the old ways.’ He sighed. ‘Not that she listens either. It troubles me and I wonder where her stubbornness might lead.’

  I didn’t admit that I worried about the same thing. Not a day went past when I didn’t expect either Sir Francis or Thomas to make mention of Mamma’s recusancy. As yet, the subject had not been raised. But they must know. Were they not spies who watched everything and everyone?

  ‘Do not worry too much on Caleb’s account, Mallory,’ said Papa. ‘For all it appears otherwise, there’s naught too grave behind Caleb’s verses. For now, he attracts audiences and coin; enough to keep anyone in his profession content and debtors from pestering him. Lord Nate has said he will keep a close eye on him and ensure he comes to no harm. If he has to, he’ll insist he amend his works to reflect the government’s position rather than inflame it.’

  Papa had spoken with Lord Nathaniel? This was reassuring and perturbing. Caleb had enormous respect for his patron, aside from relying on his goodwill for a living. Papa must think highly of him to confide his concerns. What did he see in the man that had thus far eluded me?

  We worked in silence a while, Papa passing me another key when I completed smoothing the first. Voices and laughter carried from the house. The dogs clambered to their feet, their slumber disturbed. The apprentices were back.

  I rose and let the dogs out. They scampered towards the house, barking. I shut the door.

  ‘What do you think of Lord Nathaniel, Papa?’ I asked lightly, returning to my seat and stroking the key to locate the rough points in the metal. ‘You must have faith in the man to discuss Caleb with him.’

  ‘What do you think, daughter?’ asked Papa, a smile in his words. He knew me too well.

  ‘Me?’ I kept my eyes on the key. ‘I don’t — think of him, that is. Much.’ My cheeks began to burn. ‘Hard not to. He takes up so much space, after all.’

  Aware of Papa’s fond regard and quiet chuckle, I refused to look at him, hoping his poor eyesight meant he would not detect the colour flooding my face.

  ‘I think,’ began Papa slowly, ‘he is a good man, but one cast adrift.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t mean, as many do when they use such a term, a sailor without a ship, floundering on dry land.’ He thought for a moment. ‘I mean, he has nothing to anchor him.’

  I shrugged. Lord Nathaniel wasn’t the only one lost.

  ‘Do you know his story?’ asked Papa. ‘Has Caleb said anything?’

  ‘Only that there was a terrible tragedy — that his brothers and mother died while he was at sea.’

  ‘Aye, they did. One after the other. It was unexpected and very sad. But not before he became the centre of a huge scandal.’

  ‘Scandal?’ I knew naught of this. ‘What kind of scandal?’ My heart squeezed. I imagined a beautiful woman with red hair, soft white skin and large breasts … A noble’s wife, a courtier’s sister …

  I waited while Papa refilled our cups and made himself more comfortable. ‘It was the talk of London for a while. Oh, you were too young to know or care. You were content with the locks and Master Fodrake and I was happy you were. But the Warhams were a well-known family. Three strapping sons, a father who was the favourite of King Edward and a mother who was a great beauty. Later, there was a daughter as well.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘All in good time. You need to understand why something happened, not just that it did.’

  I sighed. It could have been Master Fodrake speaking. I put down the key and ran a wet finger around the plate, collecting crumbs.

  ‘You’ve noted what a figure Lord Nate cuts. Well, even by his family’s standards, he was a big lad. By the time he was at Oxford, he’d developed a reputation.’

  Why didn’t that surprise me?

  ‘Wherever Lord Nate went — the tavern, the theatre, court, college — here or in Oxford, there was trouble, terrible trouble.’

  ‘What kind?’

  ‘Fights, scuffles, brawls. It was easy to assume, being the size he was, Lord Nate caused them. Before you think the worst, it wasn’t Nate, not always. It was often others — other lads and men. Because he’s so big, you see, boys saw him as a challenge, as a way of gaining esteem from their peers if they fought him or, even better, if they bested him in a fight. Grown men were not above challenging him either … Young Lord Nate couldn’t go anywhere without someone threatening to punch him, or worse, draw a blade, wanting blood, wanting to wound him and see the giant cower. When he was younger, he used to try and talk his way out of fighting, but when he did, they called him craven and struck him anyway.’

  My stomach flipped. ‘How do you know this, Papa?’

  Papa raised a finger to silence me.

  ‘But what happened in Oxford changed everything. You see, Lord Nate was involved in a duel — a duel he was lucky to survive. The other man did not. As a consequence, he had to leave the country. Thank the good Lord his father was dead by then so he never knew. Lord Nate’s oldest brother, Jonathan, using his father’s investment in the Muscovy company, bought Na
te a commission with Francis Drake. So, this scholarly lad, who loathed fighting but had a reputation for it, who’d killed a man in a duel, was sent to Plymouth and forced aboard the Pelican to voyage around the world. They said it would be the making or breaking of him. It was all that kept him from justice. His family never knew if they’d see him again. As it was, his mother and brothers never did, nor he them, but not in a way anyone anticipated. He returned to all that now remains of his once large family — a sister, a lovely young chit, they say. Like her mother.’

  I didn’t know whether to feel pity for Lord Nathaniel or despair that his sister was left to suffer his faults. ‘What was the fight over?’

  Papa took a swig of his ale, wiping his hand across his beard. ‘What these kind of fights are usually over. A woman. Lord Nate was in love; the woman betrayed him with another man who boasted of his conquest and claimed the resultant child as his own.’

  ‘A child?’ The workshop grew dark.

  ‘Aye. Only this man, a tutor, was a distant cousin of the Earl of Leicester’s. If Walsingham hadn’t intervened, I think Lord Nate would have been sent to the Tower or worse.’

  Now I knew how Papa had learned the tale. Not only that, but Lord Nathaniel and Sir Francis had a connection and a history as well … The knowledge made me uneasy. Sir Francis had a long reach.

  ‘As it was, hardly anyone expected Nate to return from that voyage. So few of the men did. Even so, I believe him when he says he intended to do the right thing by the woman. She refused him. Found someone of higher rank than a third son and thus lied about her babe’s conception. Broke his heart. I wonder how she feels now he’s a lord, and a wealthy one, too … ’

  ‘What happened to the child?’ My voice was barely a whisper.

  Papa thought. ‘It died before it was a week old.’

  The room suddenly felt small. I tasted metal and a foul odour filled my nostrils.

  ‘Lord Nathaniel told you this?’