The Locksmith's Daughter

by Karen Brooks

  ‘To Harp Lane?’ I wanted to shake Caleb, make him aware of the jeopardy he was courting. How could he be so oblivious? How could he do this to Papa?

  ‘Where else? We’ve not fine dwellings in Knightrider Street from which to conduct business, you know.’

  I leaned against the ship’s prow, wishing it was a real one I could board and take Papa, Beatrice and Caleb and sail away from all this. My eyes travelled to Lord Nathaniel, who was still watching us. He could board as well; I’d be foolish to take to sea without a real sailor among my mishmash crew.

  ‘Can you describe the man to me?’

  Caleb screwed up his face in thought, then suddenly his expression altered. It went from incredulity, to doubt, to panic, all in the blink of an eye.

  ‘There’s no need,’ he said, paling.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because,’ said Caleb nodding towards a commotion at the entry to the tiring room. ‘He’s here.’

  I spun around to see Sir Francis Walsingham’s notorious agent Charles Sledd, alias Rowland Russell, striding into the room. Four constables and a sheriff followed him. His eyes swept the crowd before spying Caleb.

  Caleb made a low guttural sound. ‘God help me,’ he whimpered.

  Pointing to where we stood, Sledd cried out in a voice that was not out of place among the company, ‘There’s the traitor, lads. Seize him.’

  FORTY-EIGHT

  THE CARDINAL’S HATTE, SOUTHWARK; THE THAMES; AND HARP LANE, LONDON

  The 18th of March, Anno Domini 1582

  In the 24th year of the reign of Elizabeth I

  Shoved aside, I watched in horror as Caleb was struck repeatedly with fists, truncheons and the flat of swords. He fell to his knees, pleading as he tried to protect himself. Blood spurted from a cut above his brow, from his nose and mouth. Any who tried to help him were fended off with punches or blades pressed to their throats. It was only when Lord Nathaniel, uncaring of weapons or threats, wrenched the men off and grabbed the arm of one constable mid-swing, shouting for peace, that it stopped.

  Panting, the men stood in a semi-circle over Caleb, who was a bloody weeping mess on the floor. I wanted to go to him, but was prevented.

  ‘Where’s your warrant?’ demanded Lord Nathaniel, refusing to move despite one of the constables trying to use his weapon to force him to stand aside.

  With a sly smile Master Sledd pulled a piece of paper from his jacket. Ducking around the sheriff, I raced to his lordship and, to my dismay, saw Sir Francis’s familiar sigil on the bottom of it.

  Ignoring the drawn swords, I knelt, wiping Caleb’s brow with my kerchief. He groaned and looked at me imploringly. I went to staunch the flow of blood when my arm was knocked aside.

  ‘Touch the lady again, sirrah,’ Lord Nathaniel growled, gripping a young man by the throat, ‘and it will be the last time you lay your hands on anyone or anything.’

  The man gulped, nodded as best as he was able, and mumbled an apology. Shoving him aside, Lord Nathaniel indicated for me to continue. I resumed my ministrations, leaning over Caleb, placing my lips close to his ear. ‘Do not despair, my friend. I will do whatever I can.’

  Caleb clutched my wrist. ‘Mallory, please, Leave it be. It’s not worth the risk. I knew what the price of my folly would be. We both did.’

  We? His friend. I cared not for him. Only Caleb.

  ‘There’s nothing you can do.’ His voice broke.

  Sir Francis’s face loomed in my mind.

  ‘Oh, but there is, Caleb, there is.’ I kissed him softly.

  I stood back as he was hoisted to his feet and manacles were placed on his wrists. ‘Do not abandon hope,’ I said.

  The men dragged him out of the tiring room, the troupe parting like soil before a plough. Jeers and cries of protest came from outside as Caleb was marched past the shocked patrons who’d crowded into the yard of the inn. Dear God, he hadn’t even removed his costume or make-up.

  The room fell silent. The actors exchanged looks, uncertain what to say or do. It was Lord Nathaniel who rallied everyone, ordering the tiring room be cleared and the shareholders to go home. He then asked Sir Lance to escort Beatrice and the maids back to Warham House, sending the guards with them to see them safe. As folk swiftly departed, horrified at what they’d witnessed, the general feeling was that it must have been the subject of Caleb’s plays that had brought such retribution upon him.

  There was some weeping, from the younger boys especially. Caleb was beloved by his troupe and not simply because he was talented. I was trying to console them when Lord Nathaniel came over.

  ‘Come, I’ll take you to your father. He must know of this.’

  ‘My thanks —’

  ‘And on the way, you will reveal what you know —’ he waved his arm in the direction Caleb had been taken, ‘and what it is you propose to do. I’ll not allow you to dissemble, Mistress Mallory. The time for pretence is over. Caleb’s life is at stake.’

  My heart sank.

  Once the troupe had left, we took to the streets and covered the distance to the river swiftly. Lord Nathaniel hailed a wherry and sat facing me, his back to London as the two boatman rowed for all they were worth, his lordship offering to double their fare if they had us to Wool Quay before the sun disappeared behind St Paul’s tower.

  ‘So,’ said Lord Nathaniel in a voice the boatmen couldn’t hear. ‘Out with it.’

  Tilt boats glided past; fishermen, their lines taut, regarded our passage. Cries echoed across the water, and the plash of oars and the grunts of our sweating boatmen formed a counterpoint to the gulls screeching overhead. I did as his lordship asked and told him everything I knew. I told him of the chest in Caleb’s room, how he claimed he was minding it for someone else. Then I told him what it contained.

  When I finished, Lord Nathaniel stared at his hands twined together between his knees. Finally he raised his head. ‘Do you believe him?’

  ‘Believe what?’

  ‘That the chest belonged to someone else?’

  ‘At first. I wanted to. But when he refused to reveal the name of this friend, and was in possession of the key, I faced the truth. I fear the chest is Caleb’s, as are the contents.’

  Lord Nathaniel frowned. ‘I’ve known Caleb a long time — he is loyal and not inclined to untruths. In that regard I do not think he conveyed a falsehood. I do, however, think he’s protecting this friend.’

  ‘Do you have any idea who it might be?’

  Lord Nathaniel shrugged. ‘Caleb makes many friends. I would ask you the same question. But I fear the authorities will know his identity before us.’

  ‘It’s not only Caleb I’m worried about. It’s Papa, too. If Caleb is found guilty, then my father has been harbouring a traitor beneath his roof. The punishment for that is —’ I bit back a sob. Lord Nathaniel took my hand. We stared at each other, before turning away, deep in thought. He didn’t let go of my hand.

  ‘Mallory,’ said Lord Nathaniel after a while. ‘You told Caleb not to give up hope, that there’s something you can do. Apart from break him out of a cell, which, forgive me, is beyond even your powers as a lock-pick, why would you imbue him with false confidence? I do not believe that is in your character. Please, I beg of you, tell me what is it you propose to do.’

  Lord Nathaniel had asked me to trust him. He was a friend of Caleb’s, had given him work and defended him, even before the wrath of the law. Papa believed his lordship was a good man. Beatrice loved him and saw nothing but excellence in his character. Caleb was in grave danger, as was Papa. I needed a friend, someone in whom I could confide. It was time for me to have faith in Lord Nathaniel as well.

  ‘I propose to go to my father.’

  Lord Nathaniel bit back a laugh. ‘Mallory, forgive me, your father is a fine man, a clever one, but what can a mere locksmith do? Caleb is being held for treason. Why, he faces death and your father will face —’

  ‘Gideon Bright is not my father.’ There. It was said. My heart was f
it to burst from my ribs. I waited for Lord Nathaniel to say something.

  He locked his eyes on mine and let go my hand. ‘If Gideon is not … then who?’

  ‘Sir Francis Walsingham.’

  If I’d hauled a stone from the riverbed and struck Lord Nathaniel with it, he could not have looked more surprised. His eyes narrowed and he tipped his head to one side, as if seeing me from a different perspective would help him accept my words. He gave a small, sharp laugh, gazed over the river, then slowly turned back and scrutinised me again from top to toe.

  ‘Of course … of course. The height, your slenderness, the hair and, I don’t know why I didn’t see it before, but you do bear an uncanny likeness to Francis. Dear God.’ He slapped his forehead, almost sending his bonnet into the river. ‘How could I have been so blind?’

  ‘If you’re lacking in that faculty, then I must be also. Others as well. I haven’t known for very long … It is a secret my family has kept. Though part of me suspects Sir Francis’s lady wife harbours suspicion … ’

  ‘A secret? Is that so? And now you share it with me. I’m beyond honoured, my lady. I thank you. I will hold it fast also. You’re right. Your father might be able to help. By drawing on familial bonds, Caleb may yet have a chance. We will collect Gideon and make fast for Seething Lane, and pray Sir Francis is in residence.’

  If we hadn’t been on the river, I would have thrown myself in his arms.

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’

  ‘No need for thanks. I’ve done nothing yet and, indeed, this entire enterprise rests entirely on your delicate shoulders and the strength of the bonds you share.’

  Please, God, let them prove strong enough for this task.

  We entered the workshop only to find it was empty. The forge was stoked, but the tools lay abandoned, a broom had fallen to the floor and a rag lay dangerously close to a burning candle left untended. There was no sign of Arthur or Galahad either. Astonished that not even an apprentice lurked within, I blew out the candle, locked the shop door and bid Lord Nathaniel follow me to the house.

  It was in uproar. Comfort and Angela were weeping while Mistress Pernel and Gracious were tending the apprentices. Matt sported a puffy eye, Samuel and Dickon looked as though they’d been rolling in the mud. Young Simon knelt on the stones, his arms around the dogs, who were whimpering, and it was clear he had been crying. Master Gib sat astride the bench, his shirt torn, his lip bloody and swollen. Upon the floor were broken plates and cups and the door to the main part of the house had been lifted off its hinges. All around was evidence of destruction.

  I entered slowly, trying to take it all in.

  Upon seeing Lord Nathaniel and me, Master Gib rose on unsteady legs. I ran to his side to assist him.

  ‘They burst in before we even knew who they were. Tore the place apart,’ he said, lifting his arms to indicate the upper storeys of the house as well. ‘Accused your pa of terrible things.’

  I went cold. ‘Papa? Where is he?’

  Angela gave a howl and wept into her kerchief. Master Gib shook his head sorrowfully. I turned to Comfort.

  ‘Where’s Papa?’ I asked again, more firmly.

  It was Matt who answered. ‘They took him, Mallory. Dragged him away like a common criminal. Accused him of treason, of distributing seditious material.’

  ‘Oh dear God, no.’ My legs gave way. Lord Nathaniel grabbed me by the waist and lowered me onto the bench. He poured a drink and placed it in my hand as the story of the raid was told. A group of men purporting to be acting on behalf of the Privy Council entered the house and began searching, uncaring what they damaged or what distress they caused. Comfort had tried to stop them, Angela as well, but they would not listen.

  Sending Gracious out to fetch Papa, Comfort had tried to make them listen to reason. ‘I may as well have been talking to the walls. They had hammers, metal bars and things the like of which I’ve never seen before,’ she said with a shudder. ‘They weren’t only here to find evidence of heresy, but to ruin whatever they could as well.’

  ‘They’ve ripped apart the wainscoting, lifted floorboards,’ said Master Gib.

  ‘They slashed Valentina’s mattress,’ added Angela. ‘Gideon came running from the workshop, found them in her room and went wild. They beat him …’ She began to sob uncontrollably. Comfort held her.

  ‘Caleb’s room had the worst of it,’ said Comfort quietly over Angela’s head.

  ‘They’ve accused Caleb and Master Bright of dreadful things,’ said Matt. ‘They took a huge chest out of Caleb’s room. I wouldn’t have believed any of it, only your father didn’t deny a word, except to repeat that Caleb was innocent.’

  ‘Papa said that?’ I glanced at Lord Nathaniel. How would Papa know? A terrible idea began to take shape in my mind.

  ‘The sheriff said he could tell that to Sir Francis Walsingham and then they dragged him away,’ Comfort wailed.

  ‘In chains, bella, in chains. I’m glad your mother wasn’t alive to see this day.’ Angela wept into her kerchief.

  ‘What do we do, Mistress Mallory?’ asked Dickon. ‘What’s going to happen to the master? Is it true?’

  The servants quieted. Simon’s howling ceased. The dogs calmed. Angela and Comfort sniffed loudly and looked towards me; so did the apprentices.

  Unable to think clearly, I didn’t respond.

  ‘It’s a nonsense,’ said Lord Nathaniel. ‘A nonsense they’ll have to prove first,’ he said with such conviction, Comfort and Master Gib nodded. I prayed he was right.

  ‘How can the master or Caleb be traitors?’ asked Gracious through her tears. ‘They be gentlemen. They be no papists.’

  Comfort nodded in agreement. ‘Being a friend to one or feeling sorry for what they’ve endured does not turn you into either a Catholic or a traitor.’

  Angela, Master Gib, Mistress Pernel and Comfort exchanged looks. Mamma’s adherence to the old ways had been kept hidden from the younger servants. The rosary, rood and other papist items had been buried with her. Angela didn’t possess any. They couldn’t have found anything to condemn her — or, by association, anyone in the room. The authorities and Sir Francis had always overlooked Mamma’s stubborn refusal to convert; after all, she did no harm and Papa paid her fines. But what had been kept hidden in our house, those books and pamphlets, was something no-one could condone — especially not Mister Secretary Walsingham.

  My father …

  And now my worst fear was realised: Papa was implicated as well. Or was it worse than that? Was Papa guilty? Why would he take such a risk? What could have persuaded him?

  I had to seek out Sir Francis quickly and beg him to intercede on behalf of Papa and Caleb. With his help, his support — I glanced around the room, took in the tragic faces of our servants, the apprentices, Angela — my family could be restored. I would do whatever it took to ensure it.

  In that moment, I foolishly believed anything was possible.

  FORTY-NINE

  SEETHING LANE, LONDON

  The 18th of March, Anno Domini 1582

  In the 24th year of the reign of Elizabeth I

  Having Lord Nathaniel by my side meant my reception at Seething Lane was very different to usual. I admitted us through the rear door and we entered the large room where the assistants worked. No-one noticed us at first, so caught up were they in their work. There was tension and a frisson of excitement in the room that made the air crackle. No doubt the seizure of the seditious books and pamphlets and the arrests of Papa and Caleb would have brought the conviction that more of the papists and their pernicious plots would be uncovered.

  Did they know it was my papa who had been taken? And my friend? Thomas had walked me home many a time and must have known. But it was their duty to protect the realm no matter who was the enemy.

  Thomas was the first to spy us. He leapt to his feet, but approached cautiously.

  ‘My lord, Mistress Mallory. What a pleasant surprise.’ His tone indicated otherwise. Of course, we we
re a distraction. ‘You wish to see Sir Francis?’

  ‘Indeed, that’s why I’m here,’ I said.

  ‘He expects you.’ Thomas peered at me over his spectacles. Glancing over his shoulder, he lowered his voice. ‘Mallory, Sir Francis is most unhappy. It’s apparent you’ve been hiding information from us; that your loyalty has been compromised.’ His glance included Lord Nathaniel. ‘While we might tolerate you protecting your father, this playwright deserves no such allegiance. I thought better of you. You’ve left Sir Francis with no choice but to act.’

  ‘Where is your master?’ demanded Lord Nathaniel.

  Thomas blinked. ‘Why, in his study …’

  ‘Go to,’ said Lord Nathaniel loudly with a look that would have withered a rose, waving him away. ‘Cease your blathering and announce our presence immediately.’ The room momentarily stilled. The men cast wary glances in our direction before resuming their work.

  Moments later, Thomas reappeared.

  ‘My lord, mistress, if you would come with me. Sir Francis will see you.’

  I froze. Lord Nathaniel offered me his elbow. Placing my hand lightly upon it, I felt like a beldame approaching her own funeral.

  ‘My lord, thank you for accompanying me thus far. I must do what remains on my own. I would speak to Mister Sec …’ I lowered my voice, ‘my father alone.’ I held his gaze.

  ‘Very well,’ he said, withdrawing his arm and again, I felt a rush of warmth that I didn’t have to fight for this. He understood.

  ‘I will wait for you out here. If you need me, call and nothing will keep me from your side.’

  My feet were leaden, my throat stoppered by doubt and fear, I gave Lord Nathaniel one last look before entering my father’s office.

  The door closed behind me and I saw Sir Francis bent over his desk, the candles throwing demonic light over his features. The teetering piles of paper were unchanged, except now they would contain reports of Caleb’s movements — and, likely Papa’s and my own as well.

  ‘Mallory,’ said Sir Francis, gesturing to the seat on the other side of the desk. ‘We have a great deal to discuss.’