by Paul Walker
‘Good,’ he claps me on the shoulder and smiles his approval, ‘I am pleased to note that your early misgivings were unfounded.’
Five
We arrive at West Cheap in the mid-afternoon. John has travelled in a small coach supplied by Walsingham to aid his comfort. It was a thoughtful gesture, but the uneven tracks appeared to make his journey more of a trial than would have been the case on horseback. I find him clinging to wooden rails with both hands and the expression on his face tells of his relief at reaching our destination. Gregory is on hand to take Cassius and I open the door to hail Mistress Hilliard and Hicks, my steward. Hicks appears in short time and informs me that Mistress Hilliard is helping Rose attend to my mother. I explain to him that we have a visitor who will require a room, a fire and a bed as quickly as possible. Back at the coach, I find Captain Askham lending his hand to John and together we support him either side through to the hall where we gently lower him on to a stool. Askham declines an offer of refreshment, saying that he must hasten back to Whitehall. He hands me a note before he departs, informing me that it contains the name and location of a contact who will ensure that any urgent message will reach him in good time. I read the note when he has left. The name of Fincham is not known to me, but the Bear and Ragged Staff is a nearby inn that, although I have not visited for many years, holds memories of youthful excesses.
I spend the next hour supervising the accommodation and contentment of John. Hicks is a good man and amiable enough in his way, but he lacks sympathy and understanding when dealing with frailty and illness. I am relieved when Mistress Hilliard appears and busies herself with Hicks to put the finishing touches to John’s temporary room. She has spent time with Rose bathing my mother and renewing her bed. I go to mother’s room, knock on the door and announce my name. Rose opens the door, bobs her head in acknowledgement and leaves, carrying an armful of wool and linen coverings. The room is light, a fresh fire is taking hold in the hearth and there is a pleasant odour of lavender in the air.
‘I am pleased to see that you are awake and somewhat revived, Mother.’ I kiss her gently on the forehead and take a stool by the side of her bed. She is sitting up, her bedclothes and cap are crisp and white and there is a faint bloom on her cheeks, which offers hope of improvement.
‘Thank you, William, I believe that I am a little restored. You look tired, your hair is uncombed and your shirt hangs loose. You have become too thin and appear lanky as in your youth. Do not disregard the need for nourishment and eat well.’ She smooths the blankets with her hands. ‘Rose tells me that you have visited Walsingham at Whitehall.’
‘Yes, he wished for my opinion on a matter of astrology.’
Her eyes show a look of surprise and an understanding that there is more to my story, but she does not press the matter. ‘I understand that we have a visitor.’ She closes a book and folds her hands over it.
‘Yes… I see that you are reading, Mother.’ I peer at the slim volume under her hands. It is a book on herbs and aromatics.
‘Is there a reason you do not wish to talk of our guest?’
I hesitate to name him as I am sure she will dislike his reputation. ‘I met a gentleman at my encounter with Walsingham. He is a kindly man of sharp wit. He is also elderly and has a congestion of the lungs which has enfeebled him.’
‘Does he have a name – this gentleman?’
‘He is John Foxe. Do you know of him?’
‘John Foxe, the Puritan scholar?’
‘Yes, it is him.’
‘William, how could you ask such a man to our house? You say he is kindly, but a man of such fixed and morose beliefs will surely darken our lives.’
‘I felt much as you before I met him, but he is far removed from the common judgement. He is an intelligent man with little malice for those with opposing views. Although our acquaintance is brief I found him to be good company.’ She purses her lips and shakes her head slowly. I understand that her free thinking and dislike of a prescriptive approach to religion will sit unhappily with John, but surmise that they are unlikely to meet if they are both confined to their beds. ‘He is ill, without lodgings and my conscience would not allow me to deny him our hospitality.’ I pause to consider my true motives. Did I offer a room out of simple goodness, or to gain favour with Walsingham? ‘Also, I have a mind to prepare new potions for his ailment.’
‘You will need this book, then… I am sorry to have judged hastily, William. I trust your opinion, but now I tire and must rest.’
She hands me the book and lowers herself slowly into her bed. I decide against any mention of Godfrey. She is a woman of strong character, but I have no doubt that this news would bring her much distress.
*
I have time to spare and options to fill the space. I could refine a medicine to help John’s condition, create a natal chart to compare with the one at Barn Elms, or resurrect and complete some earlier work on the mathematics of navigation that I had set aside. I sit at my desk with an intention to start with a re-examination of my papers on mathematics, but my thoughts stray to the momentous nature of the conspiracy unearthed. I cannot concentrate. I leave the room and head for the stables hoping that a change of air and simple animal companionship will clear my head.
My restlessness has eased after a pleasant time fussing over the horses. Hicks was at the stables with his young assistant Harry Larkin. Together, they were instructing Gregory on how to hitch a small carriage to Mother’s mare. Hicks and Larkin left us after a short time and I had some idle conversation with Gregory as he worked. The lad joined my household only four or five weeks past and we have not talked at length before. His care of the horses is good and it is clear to see that there is a fondness on both sides. He is amiable, diligent and his intelligence warrants a higher future than a stable hand. If he is receptive and eager, I will set some time aside to instruct him in writing and simple logic.
I turn my mind to the natal chart and clear the desk so that I can make notes, sketch and read through my books. I will not draw up a full chart, only calculating those readings that will enable me to evaluate the key points of the one in Walsingham’s possession.
I have almost completed my calculations when there is a knock at the door. Mistress Hillard enters, announces Doctor Foxe and bobs a diffident curtsey to him.
‘John, are you rested so soon?’
‘I am William, and wanted to seek you out to offer thanks for providing a welcoming resting place for this troublesome old man. I have been too concerned with my ailments to thank you in a full and proper manner.’
I am glad that he has felt well enough to rise from his bed, but his speech still betrays the hurt in his chest. His body is hunched in a way that suggests he guards against his next bout of coughing. I see that he has an interest in the work on my desk. I explain its purpose.
‘This is a natal chart to compare with our discovery at Barn Elms. I am all but finished and, although I have not had time for detailed examination, it is clear that it has a close correspondence.’
‘Do you believe that such calculations can be relied upon to foretell births… and deaths?’
‘In an exact way – no, I do not. I would never use star charts in this way. To my mind they offer general indications in disposition, experience and the shape of major events in a life.’ I pull up a stool for John. ‘As I said at our meeting with Mister Secretary, the chart presents the possibility of a birth linked with some complexity, but this could apply to the subject’s mother rather than a child.’
John nods his head slowly. He doesn’t speak, but his bearing tells me that he is formulating a response. ‘I understand and I am pleased that you regard your science with a balanced humor. Many of my friends label me as unworldly, but I know enough of common thinking to recognise how dangerous astrological evidence, could be. Superstition is like a plague and can spread fiercely without regard for logic or even low reasoning. Do you know any of your fellow scholars in this discipline who would b
e reckless enough to undertake the task of divining a bastard heir or…’ he puts a hand to his mouth as if to soften his words, ‘when our sovereign passes her final day on this earth?’
I had not considered identifying an author capable or willing to be a party to this grave intrigue. Of course, I know a dozen or more scholars in my field, but none surely, who would knowingly contemplate this treachery. It is, however, certain that whoever produced the chart at Barn Elms has detailed knowledge of the movement and influence of our stars. ‘I can think of no-one…’ I hesitate as I recall my association with Doctor Dee. He has provided our queen with extensive charts to determine the most auspicious times for key events. These were at Her Majesty’s request and I know that he would never risk her disapproval. Our work together ended unhappily and one of the causes of disruption was his attachment to a man named Edward Kelley. Kelley turned Doctor Dee away from the study of mathematics and astrology to the supernatural. He convinced the Doctor that he could communicate with angels through scrying or crystal gazing. I disliked Kelly from the first and remain convinced that he is a cynical manipulator motivated by financial reward, but he does have a strong intelligence and knows how to cast a star chart.
‘Yes William – you were about to say something.’
I shake my head. ‘I am sorry, John. I was lost in thought of events some years in the past. I know several scholars who have the knowledge to create the natal chart and perhaps only one who would contemplate the risk of producing it.’
‘Will you act on this intelligence?’
I consider the possibilities before replying. ‘It is no small thing to enquire about authorship. Although I have no fondness for the man in question, I have no doubt that an investigation by Sir Francis would be an unhappy experience for him, even if he has no part in the treachery.’
‘You must weigh this on your conscience, William and I will prick you no more on this matter.’
I am grateful that he ends this topic of conversation, but I already know which way I must lean. The dreadful import of the discovery at Barn Elms leaves no room for noble sentiment. I must find a way to seek out Kelley and determine if he had any part in the making of the chart. If it were known to him, Walsingham would never forgive me for withholding even the thinnest of suppositions in this case. I gesture with my hand to the door.
‘Come, I will show you our household. I have a measure of land at the back where I grow herbs and plants that may be used for medications. It is a pleasant place for contemplation and prayer when the weather allows.’
‘You say our household, William. Are there others here? I have been thoughtless in not asking if you have a wife, children or other kin at this place.’
‘I am not married and aside from our servants and steward there is only my mother. My father died in ‘seventy-five and my mother is sick in her bed. I consider it unlikely that you will encounter her, but if you do then I must request your forbearance of her free thinking and willingness to give voice to her views.’
*
John has retired to his room. I have thought more about Kelley; if and how I should attempt to contact him. After a period of indecision, I have written a note to him requesting a meeting on an urgent matter of business. The note has been sent to Doctor Dee’s house at Mortlake. I know that Kelley lodged there four or five years past, but he may have moved. He is no friend and even if this note finds him there he is most likely to arch an eyebrow and consign it to a fire. I judge that I should offer him this small chance to converse quietly with me, before resorting to a wider alert and the consequent possibility of a harsher interrogation.
I join Rose who is taking an early supper to my mother’s rooms. I am surprised and delighted to find her looking alert with a hint of colour in her cheeks. She offers a welcoming smile as we enter. Together we help to lever her up and lean her against the bolsters at her back. Rose takes her leave and I sit on the bedside stool while Mother eyes the broth and cold chicken on her tray.
‘Has the pain eased, Mother? I am pleased that your aspect has more spark today.’
She nods her head slowly. ‘The pain persists, but has less of an edge and is easier to bear. My breathing has calmed and I have slept well.’ She takes a couple of sips from her bowl. ‘Is this a social visit from my son, or a consultation with my Medicus?’
‘Your health is a concern to both these persons, but in the main your son simply wishes to pass time in the company of his mother.’
There is a stillness between us as I watch her alternately pick at the meat and spoon the broth. She wipes her fingers on a napkin. ‘Something preys on your mind.’ It is a statement rather than a question. How should I answer? I realise an intention to seek her counsel without revealing any detail of my time at Barn Elms will be impossible. I begin to form a response, but she has seen through my discomfort. ‘The summons by Walsingham. I am no fool William and understand that any connection with that man will likely make you fret and stew. I will not press if you are unwilling or unable to tell, but my wish would be that you share your concerns. You know that you can rely on my discretion and the weakness in my body does not signify a faintness of spirit.’
‘I do not doubt the strength of your spirit, Mother. It is my assurance of secrecy that gives me pause.’ She passes me her tray, smooths the bed linens around her, then clasps her hands and waits for me to continue. ‘It is a matter of astrology.’
‘I know that much already, William.’
There is no reason to be soft and indirect any longer, so I relate the story about the capture of the box, the natal chart and the Aramaic script. I must not release any information about the wider plot or the other chart, as this knowledge is too dangerous for others to hold, even those most trusted. She listens in silence and when I am done, tilts her head and questions, ‘There is more?’
‘Surely, that is enough.’
‘Rumours about the queen’s personal affairs have circulated for many years. There have been suggestions of a bastard birth, but such rumours soon fade.’
‘In this case, there is an intention to provide evidence of a natal chart and supposed ancient prophecy to support the claim.’
She puffs air through her mouth and waves a dismissive hand. ‘What nonsense, the heavens cannot foretell a birth, nor can a long-dead Judean mystic.’
‘I agree with you, but the common feeling has been aroused by less in the past. An unconsidered spark may light a great fire.’ She closes her eyes and shakes her head slowly, but has nothing to add. I pause a little and continue. ‘You have spent some time at court, Mother. Would an affair resulting in a child have been possible to conceal eighteen years ago?’
‘My interval at court was short and before the time of our queen. Edward was our king when I was one of Frances Grey’s ladies. I know that Edward was seldom in the company of just one or two true friends and was never allowed private moments alone, poor boy. I knew ladies who… who had liaisons at court. Some were discovered, while others were quietly moved away from general view. Suspicions lingered, but were never proved.’ She purses her lips and breathes deeply. ‘For our sovereign, such an event would be very difficult to hide, but not impossible.’
‘If there was a mating, it would have been with Dudley at that time?’
‘Yes, but then, I doubt even Dudley would have the power, influence or reach to organise the deception and maintain secrecy.’
‘Perhaps someone like Burghley?’
‘Ha, there is no-one like Burghley, but you are correct that it could not have been done easily without him.’ She pushes herself up and pats a bolster back into shape. ‘William, this talk is fantastical. If there was a living child, it would have been discovered by this time. Where would it be hidden? So many years to guard against a careless word or a changed allegiance. It is a fabrication to cause mischief and unrest – no more.’
‘I’m sure you have it, Mother.’
‘Then why is Walsingham so concerned?’
�
��Because it is not enough to simply deny or ignore such an assertion – it must be proven wrongful and the instigators brought to public account.’ Until I spoke these words I had not understood Walsingham’s view and I think have it reasoned well enough.
‘Hmm, you met him only a few days ago and already you have the mind of one of his agents.’
I laugh at her accusation and tell her that it is my greatest wish to steer a path well away from Mister Secretary and his intrigues. Am I being truthful? Is there a space in me that is stirred by danger and political scheming? I have no time to dwell on my motives now and I turn to an examination of Mother’s chest and lower abdomen. Her chest is somewhat relieved; congestion is there, but with less production of phlegm and crackle in the breath. Her lower parts remain swollen and tender to the touch. I fear cause and remedy here are beyond my understanding. I will prepare another infusion of chamomile and cloves to assist with her pain and will visit the apothecary for his advice on a purgative. Before I leave I have one final matter on which to seek her opinion.
‘I have thought where a royal bastard may be raised away from general view. It cannot be a family close to the Queen, or at court. In this case, it must be small nobility or wealthy gentlefolk; perhaps a merchant. Do you know of any such family with an adopted daughter of near eighteen years? The letters “p” and “m” might be significant in the naming.’
She waves her hand to dismiss me. ‘William, you should put an end to this speculation. You must know there is no hidden heir and at best, this is a shameful squandering of your thoughts and efforts. Besides, since your father died, I have had little conversation and mingling with the character of family you have marked.’
Six
It took only a half day for a note to return from the Doctor’s house at Mortlake with the news that Kelley was not there. He had departed some months earlier when Doctor Dee left for the Low Countries. His current lodgings are unknown, but he had previously taken rooms near Aldgate. This unexpected and helpful information was written in a careful and exact hand by Jane Dee. I know nothing of her and the Doctor must have remarried recently as his second wife died only in ‘seventy-six. I will ask Mother if she knows of the new mistress at Mortlake. Meanwhile, I write a short note to Captain Askham requesting him to call at his convenience. I give the note to Mistress Hilliard and ask that she seeks out the same boy messenger used yesterday to carry it to Fincham at the Bear and Ragged Staff, promising an extra penny if the note reaches its destination before noon.
