by Paul Walker
I find John in his room. He is in conversation with Mistress Hilliard, who reddens at my entry, bobs her head and takes her leave.
‘Have I disturbed you, John?’
‘No William, I have been at my studies for some time and would welcome a diversion.’
‘I have brought your soother. Are you still troubled by congestion?’
‘It is unwilling to depart this frail host, I fear. I find my condition improves with warmth and I am grateful for Mistress Hilliard for making this fire.’
‘In that case I will bid her keep a lively glow in your room. Here…’ I hand him the bowl. He sups quickly and is soon finished.
‘Is the lady Amy, your mother, quite well this morning?’ he enquires.
‘I will visit her room when I leave you. If she is able to rise from her bed, then I will send word.’
We spend a while in idle talk, but he is guarded and I feel there is a questioning in him that he is unwilling to voice. Eventually, I relent and recount the tale of Askham’s finding of Kelley and our examination at the Bear and Ragged Staff. He shows his disappointment at the outcome and asks if there will be further action in the search for the maker of the chart. I shrug and confess that I have no other trail to follow. I do not know why I am cautious with him. I have a mind to visit Doctor Dee’s house and request an audience with his wife, but do not mention this. She may know more of Kelley’s movements and activities. It is in the back of my thoughts that John will assess my honesty and vigour in pursuing the conspirators and report any failure to Walsingham.
Yesterday’s hopes are confounded when I enter Mother’s room. She is awake, but restless and in pain. She waves a listless hand at my offer of the potion, meaning she does not wish to drink. I lift her and insist that she should sip. I am forceful, but with more than half the potion remaining she tires and becomes limp. She dozes and I sit at her bedside for a while, pondering ways to relieve her discomfort. If Helen and Rosamund will not minister to her, then perhaps I should seek their advice on herbs for the relief of pain.
I make for the stables to find Gregory. It will be quicker and a smaller expense to ride west and use the ferry to Mortlake, rather than hire an upstream wherry. I wait as Gregory saddles Cassius and watching the lad, decide that I will ask him to accompany me. He is surprised and excited at my proposal and takes longer than he should to lead out and ready his cob.
It is a two-hour journey to the ferry and a chill headwind restricts any option for conversation as we keep our cowls down for protection. Doctor Dee’s house is a short distance from the ferry crossing and the sight of his house brings back memories; some fond and others I would forget. The house is big, but has a ramshackle appearance, even more now than I recall from ten years past. The door opens and a young woman; dressed well, but with head uncovered, stands at the entrance. Is this Mistress Dee or one of her house servants?
‘My name is William Constable, please forgive this unannounced call. I would talk with the lady of the house, Mistress Dee. I am an historic associate of her husband, the Doctor.’
She stares at me, as though deficient in her sight, then turns and disappears inside without word. The door remains open. I stand and wait. The same woman returns, but with her hair tucked inside a bonnet. She smooths her skirts with both hands and says, ‘I am Jane Fromond, now Jane Dee.’
‘My apologies, Mistress Dee, I should have known and I am humbled by my mindless offence.’ I doff my cap, bow and hope that my error has not meant a wasted journey.
‘Your offence was slight, William Constable, and easily forgotten. Come inside to my fire. Your boy can take the horses around to the stable and thence to the kitchen for his refreshment.’
I follow to her parlour where she offers me a chair. There is an uncared-for and damp air to the house, which is not dispelled by the warmth of the fire. Mistress Dee is pale and has a matching unkept appearance, with a scuff of dirt on her cheek and a straggle of fair hair escaping her bonnet. She is not a beauty, but would be handsome enough in good health and presentation.
She says, ‘Did you not receive my reply to your note?’
‘I did, lady. I am thankful for your promptness and the helpful information you gave.’
‘Kelley is not here.’
‘I know, I have met with him thanks to your guidance on his lodging.’ ‘The Doctor, my husband, is in the Low Countries.’
‘Yes, I had heard.’
‘Then, why…’
‘I have been charged by Secretary Walsingham to examine a matter of astrology. This does not concern your husband, but I believe that Master Kelley or one of his associates may be able to assist with my enquiries.’ It is early to speak of Walsingham and I cannot escape the shame of using his name in a way that may cause fright in a lady without the comfort of a husband. ‘Did Master Kelley leave your house when the Doctor departed for the Low Countries?’
‘No, he was here for some weeks after my husband left.’ She hesitates. ‘It was intended that he should stay until he returns…’ Something is to follow, but she clamps her mouth.
‘Did Master Kelley change his plans?’
‘No, he… he was the cause of some distraction.’ I tilt my head in an attitude that encourages her to continue. ‘He paid me unwanted attention. There… I have no love for Edward Kelley and… has he done some mischief?’
‘It seems he has wronged you, lady, but I do not have sufficient intelligence to give an opinion on other matters.’ I shift my seat, unsure how I should progress my questioning. ‘Were Kelley’s attentions of an intimate nature?’
Her head is bowed, she plays with rings on her fingers, then brushes her skirts. ‘He said that the angels had appeared to him. He… he had been instructed that he should lie with me to produce a child. He insisted that he had my husband’s agreement, but I did not believe him.’
The poor woman, and Kelley – a hanging turd of a man. I am not surprised at his despicable actions or his duplicity in protesting a holy motive. But has Doctor Dee’s mind become so enfeebled that he would assent to this arrangement? I cannot believe it.
‘I applaud your actions in removing Kelley from your house. His behaviour was inexcusable and I trust the Doctor will deal with him on his return.’ I pause. ‘I am sorry Mistress Dee, but I must press you a little more. Did Kelley have any visitors after the Doctor departed?’
‘Thank you, sir. I… I did not have the force or help here to remove him. He left of his own accord.’ She brushes her skirts again and gazes past me, as if in thought. ‘Yes, he had visitors before he left on two occasions to my knowledge.’
‘Can you describe these visitors?’
‘Two men arrived a few days after my husband was gone. I do not know their names. One man was tall and burly. I did not see his face. The other was smaller, shaven and had an injured leg. I am sorry, but I cannot tell more as I paid little attention.’
‘Thank you, Mistress. Can you identify the particular leg that was injured, or any other features of the men?’
She shakes her head. ‘Those two men came again on the second occasion with another. The third man is named Christopher Millen. I know him from earlier visits to my husband and the library.’
I know this man, Millen, although we have met only a handful of times and we have not conversed beyond opening pleasantries. I have heard that he is from a wealthy family in the shire of York, is ambitious and has obtained patronage from influential clients for his consultations on astrology.
‘Did you, by chance, hear words from their conversation?’
She shakes her head again, then frowns as if to concentrate her mind. ‘There… there was some excitement at the second meeting, and… mention of Paris, I think. Yes, Master Millen was destined for France, I believe, but….’ She spreads her hands. ‘I was present only for fleeting moments and I can recall no more.’ She screws her eyes, fixes me, and then bows her head. ‘I trust that you will not report any error on my part, or that of my husband, to Sir
Francis.’
‘You have been most helpful. If our meeting is reported to Mister Secretary, you can be assured that your candour and assistance will receive favourable mention.’
My questioning is done. She offers drink and food, which I accept out of politeness. I take my leave with a feeling of guilt that I have left Jane Dee in a poor state, but with a thought that I will try to mend this in the coming weeks.
Have I learned anything of value? The meetings with Kelley may have been innocent, but the reference to Paris warrants further investigation. There will be many hundreds of men with a damaged leg in this corner of England. I must not let my encounter with Darby Wensum cloud my judgement, but it is a finding that I will store carefully in my memory.
Ten
I am called to Whitehall again. This time the summons comes from Francis Mylles, Walsingham’s man who, I was alerted, may wish to confer with me while Mister Secretary is in France. Captain Askham is not my escort and two men I do not know wait for me at the front of my house. I speculate on the purpose of this conference. Has Askham relayed details of our interrogation of Kelley? I hope not as I am not ready to disclose my later enquiries with Jane Dee at Mortlake. I have a sense that there is a delicate balance in the circumstances around Kelley and fierce questioning of those associated may tip the evidence into a dark and hidden place. Also, I would not have Jane Dee hurt or upset by others, however well-intentioned and gentle.
I am taken to Mylles’ room. It is a large space with a welcoming fire and with several tables placed around the perimeter. A man stands bent over one of the tables with quill in hand, dabbing and scratching at the paper in front of him. He turns and surveys me from head to foot, before placing his quill on the table with some delicacy. He bows his head briefly, opens his hands and walks towards me.
‘William Constable, a warm welcome to you on this grey morning.’ He is a man of medium height, with dark hair and small beard. His dress is modest and black, save for a pair of soft, blue slippers.
‘It is a pleasure to meet with you, Master Mylles. I thank you for your greeting and a warming fire.’
He claps his hands on my shoulders and begs me to take a chair with him. The door closes and we are cast alone in the centre of the room surrounded by tables laid with papers and the walls hung with maps, sketches and arrays of symbols.
He says, ‘I had heard of your scholarship, but was not prepared for your triumphant and timely unfastening of the Brouillard cipher. That was a splendid accomplishment.’
I am unprepared for his hearty and extravagant praise and merely mumble a weak, ‘Thank you,’ in reply. A man appears with a tray and two cups. It is the same man who provided refreshment at my meeting with Walsingham. Mylles hands me a cup and takes one himself. I watch, fascinated as the server makes a noiseless exit, seeming to float over the floor.
‘A fortified wine of the best quality from Portugal,’ says Mylles as he raises his cup. ‘It is my habit to take this wine thrice before noon. It warms the body and alerts the mind on deep winter days.’
It is good. I murmur my appreciation and take another sip. He sits back and waves his hand with an expansive gesture at his place of business.
‘You will have conjectured on this arrangement, no doubt. It is the core of our intelligence network for guardianship of the state and Her Majesty. We continue to develop and refine our work on ciphers and we have not yet encountered an inscrutable mystery. The one in Brouillard’s box was an unknown variation on the Atbash cipher, but comfortably within our compass to solve, given time and reason. Nevertheless, for an untrained mind, your efforts were remarkable and saved valuable days.’
Does he wish me to tackle another coded message? This question must display on my face, as he is quick to dismiss my involvement in further cipher work.
He says, ‘Sir Francis had a notion that could benefit our discoveries and your purse.’ He pauses to add suspense and weight to the words which will come. I am both apprehensive and intrigued. He continues, ‘A position has been found for you here. You know of Doctor Robert Huicke?’
‘Of course, he is Chief Physician to Her Majesty. Is he well?’ I am concerned where this may lead and shift uneasily in my chair.
‘He is well, by all accounts, but he is… old. His attention has a tendency to wander and his ministrations have lately been the cause of some disquiet, especially among the ladies of the court.’
‘I would not wish…’
‘Doctor Huicke is well-liked by Her Majesty and retains his position. However, one of his associates, Doctor Thomas Lyle, has suffered the loss of his father and has left this place for some weeks in order to settle his affairs. Huicke is slow in his work and the attendance of Lyle will be missed.’
‘You wish me to…’
‘Just so… You would offer welcome assistance to Huicke. A handsome and sturdy young physician would be an attraction to the ladies here in particular. Ladies will gossip and chatter loosely about all manner of topics and you would be in a favourable position to overhear and probe the significance of their words.’
I stumble in my response, despite taking care over a choice of words. ‘I… I fear my nature is not suited… and I have only two years behind me as a member of the Physicians’ College.’
‘Come now, William, you are too modest. Sir Francis has a high opinion of your intellect and your practical disposition. Fresh membership of the college weighs little set against a recommendation from Mister Secretary. There is no peril in this assignment and I cannot believe that the company of fine ladies will bring you discomfort. The appointment has no permanence, but you may find that connections made here may bring you future advantage.’
I see there is no profit in further excuses and I accept his proposal with feigned eagerness. I am requested to pay particular regard for any mention of the Queen’s birth, her succession, a bastard child, the Duke of Guise, ciphers, the Hebrew language, a mysterious box and astrology. I am to report any suspicion immediately and to confer with Mylles every fifth day.
*
I am taken to the chambers of Sir John Forester, who has care of the small comforts for Her Majesty’s courtiers and attendants. He is a petite, pink-faced, alert man with colourful dress and a ruff that hides much of his chin. He is about my age and friendly enough, but warns me that he will not accept any tomfoolery with ‘his’ ladies. I have my own, modest chamber and access to the anterooms to Her Majesty’s apartments, called the great court, where courtiers and petitioners gather. Doctor Huicke is not present today and I have the names of two ladies from the Privy Chamber who wish to consult a physician. Apparently I must mingle in the anterooms and seek them out discreetly and make myself known, as it is not the practice for patients to attend my room at an appointed time.
A page guides me through a maze of corridors to the heart of the palace and the royal chambers. He stops at three doorways and announces my name to guards before we are allowed to pass. My spirits fall as I enter a large room which is full of colour and the busy hum of voices. There are over one hundred nobles, ladies and gentlefolk standing in small groups, sitting on window seats and strolling with casual air through the colourful hubbub. I am fronted by enquiring faces, the sound of male laughter and skittish female giggles. I feel drab, rumpled and exposed in my unprepared state, standing alone like a lost child. A man raises his head and peers at me over his nose, while his two female companions follow his examination with expressions of mild curiosity. I offer them a short bow and stride to the far side of the room. I have no purpose in my walk and am further dismayed to find an open door leading to another chamber similarly occupied. My rising panic is interrupted by a voice to my left.
‘William. William Constable.’
A face I recognise, although with a loss of hair, since our time together at Cambridge. ‘Richard Joynes, well met indeed. It is a delight to find a friend from my youth in this confusion. I trust that you are in good health and that fortune has been kind to you and yo
ur family in our divided years?’
‘We fare well enough, William. And you? I had heard of your time with Doctor Dee, but your name has been quiet in recent years.’
‘I have put aside my mathematics and astrology in favour of physik these few years past. It is my reason to be here, although will admit that I question my choice in these first few moments. How come you here? I had thought you returned to your lands in Norfolk.’
‘I have been here since the early spring months. My father sent me to petition in a dispute over boundaries and access to the sea. It was a long and unsuccessful postponement. I met with Sir Thomas Heneage this summer, he took a liking to me and sought permission for me to assist in his duties as Treasurer of the Privy Chamber.’ He pauses, scans the faces nearby and confides in a low voice, ‘It is not an onerous duty and, in truth, it is a dreary business accounting for each oyster, measure of cloth and glass of iron gall ink.’
‘Then why do you remain here?’
‘Father wishes me to gain a preferment in the trading of wool. I believe it is unlikely, but will show my face a little longer. Heneage has influence and I must not disappoint him.’ He pauses and tilts his head in a questioning pose. ‘You say you are here as a physician. What of Huicke?’
‘I understand that Huicke retains his position, but is absent today. I stand for Doctor Lyle who has returned home to tidy his family affairs. I am to seek out two ladies who desire my attention: Lady Katherine Brydges; and gentlewoman Mary Reed. I am lost in a sea of unknown faces and know not where to start. I would be obliged if you could introduce me or direct me to their location.’
He claps me on the shoulder and confirms that he knows both ladies in question. Lady Katherine is a comely, young chamberer. Mary Reed is the Queen’s Keeper of Linens and a gentlewoman of middle years with a reputation for fixed views and stern disposition. He warns that I should not cross her. He leads me through to another room and raises himself in a search for his targets. He directs my view to a group of three ladies in a corner and identifies one as Mary Reed. We return to the first chamber, to a large group gathered attentively around a finely dressed man who is relating a tale with expressive arm gestures. Richard informs that the man is the Earl of Oxford and he points to a young lady on his perimeter as my other intended. Before I can stop him he approaches the lady and touches her sleeve.
