by Paul Walker
I leave the door to my library chamber open to avoid any claim of impropriety. She gazes around the tables and shelving, then picks idly at the books and papers as she wanders.
‘You are a strange man, William Constable. I would not have expected a friendship with Doctor Foxe, who is noted for his fierce views on religion.’
‘Nor I, lady, but as you will have noted, he is not forceful in his opinions and has a quick mind on more mundane subjects.’
She agrees that he was pleasant company at the table and appears to have a kindly nature. She holds the corner of a chart and wrinkles her nose. ‘Do you find these star charts are helpful with your treatments?’
‘They are in many cases, but I do not hold fast to the belief that astrological charts show the entire truth about the nature and inclinations of a person. I have a fascination with the skies and study them so that we may also know our place on this earth.’
She says, ‘Have you cast a chart for Doctor Foxe?’
‘No, that would stray too far from his puritanical beliefs, although he does not dismiss their use out of hand.’ I pause then add, ‘Would you like me to draw a chart for you? It would be harmless and you could regard it as an entertainment.’
She widens her eyes, then purses her lips. She turns her back on me and walks to the far corners of the chamber, feigning interest in the books and charts. When her thinking is finished she faces me and clasps her hands in front of her skirts.
‘I will ask my father. It would be improper to do this work without his blessing.’
‘Of course, my lady. I will seek permission from your father when I call at your house for the dried plums.’ It seems that her high spirits and directness are joined with practical sense in knowing the bounds in behaviour that should be observed. ‘May I know your date and place of birth so that I may prepare an outline of the work?’
Her nose wrinkles again. It could be a sign that she disapproves or that she is considering my request. Whichever, I begin to find this mannerism… appealing.
She says. ‘I suppose it would not hurt. It was the seventh day of August in the sixtieth year. The place was Maldon in Essex. I am told that my mother retreated from the plague in the city for her confinement.’
There is a lurch in my middle and my skin prickles. I hope that this does not signify a reddening in my face. The date matches the one on the captured natal chart, but this cannot be… She talks of her mother’s confinement. My intention was to dismiss a small, nagging thought and now I am faced with magnified complexity. Is it coincidence, or could Helen be the ‘unknowing maid’?
‘Is something amiss, William?’
‘No… no, lady.’ I stammer and must guard against unnatural behaviour. She has called me by my given name and I wonder if this is a sign of growing trust. ‘May I call you Helen in return?’ She bobs her head and smiles her agreement. I continue, ‘I was contemplating the remedy of dried plums. I have not read of such a cure for blocked innards.’
‘It is in no book or paper that I have read. Rosamund had it from a goodwife in Finsbury Fields and it has been tried with some success.’ She pauses and eyes me with curiosity. ‘You have an open mind, William, and it does you credit. I was anticipating that you would deny an unusual remedy not known to you because of your superior standing as a physician.’
My surprise at the revelation of Helen’s birth date is soon forgotten as we exchange stories of our younger days, our education and the loss of a parent. Our discussions flow freely and it is plain that we both find enjoyment in each other’s company. She was close to her mother and loved her well, but she was sickly for as long as Helen could remember and often confined to her bed. I sympathise and probe a little until I learn that her mother was two years younger than her father. She would have been aged thirty-eight years at the time of Helen’s birth, and while this is not past child-bearing, it would be a rare age for a first child. My conversation with Helen is overlong and Mistress Hilliard comes with a message from her escort to say that she must leave before the light fades. I am resigned to conducting further examinations of Helen’s history and a sense of guilt at my subterfuge is mixed with pleasure at the thought of more time in her company.
*
Daylight is almost done as I make to the Bear and Ragged Staff to pass a note to the man named Hincham for another meeting with Captain Askham. I will relate the intelligence from my visit to Mortlake to him and request that he finds Edward Kelley and Christopher Millen for further examination.
Twelve
I am woken in the early hours by heavy rain and it is dark when I tread wearily to my study to work on the sketches of the measuring instrument. I am soon engrossed in the task and believe that I may have a solution which could be manufactured, although by hands that are less clumsy than my own. Mistress Hilliard calls and asks if I will breakfast with Doctor Foxe, who waits in our parlour.
I find John in good spirits. He offers me God’s blessing on this morning and announces that he has completed a piece of writing to his satisfaction. It is a critique of Calvin’s work; he will make a fair copy and ask Mister Secretary’s office to deliver it to one William Wittingham, a correspondent with John and former associate of Calvin. He relishes his response. I congratulate him and before I can ask more, his manner changes to a more serious aspect.
He says, ‘Come now, William, let us review progress on our main focus at this time; the popish conspiracy.’
I am taken aback by his sudden change from a man at ease with his studies to alert attention on political intrigue. I am reminded that I should not forget the underlying steel of religious certainty in this man. I had hoped to delay news of my visit to Mortlake, but I must tell Askham, and so there is little reason to withhold from John. He knows of Kelley’s first questioning and I recount the circumstances of my visit to Jane Dee and her mention of Kelley’s visitors. He expresses his agreement that Kelley and Millen should be questioned further and requests that he attend the interrogation. I can find no reason to object.
‘What of your visits to Whitehall, William? Have you learned anything of note?’
‘It is early in my employment there and you know that I am not easy in the company of idle talk.’ His gaze is unsettling. He expects more. ‘I met briefly with Mistress Blanche Parry. She reported that a lady of the chamber had overheard two gentlemen referring to a royal bastard. She cautioned that this was almost certainly an unguarded and frivolous remark by two young men who were new at court.’
‘Mistress Parry is a formidable lady with sound opinions. You were fortunate to receive her attention.’ He pauses and leans forward with keen interest. ‘Their names?’
I disclose the names, saying that I plan to report them to Mylles at our next meeting. He shakes his head slowly and admits that he does not know them or their families. He settles back in his chair and picks at a piece of chicken. There is quiet between us as we eat and drink for a while.
He says, ‘It was a pleasing diversion to meet with the lady Helen and Mistress Rosamund yesterday. Were they able to offer any assistance on the treatment of your mother?’
‘Yes, they suggested an unusual remedy, which I will apply later this day. I confess that my mother’s condition is worrisome and I will gladly accept opinions of others with skill and experience.’
‘I will continue to pray that your mother’s health improves. You say that the lady Helen’s family is known to yours. Was there another purpose in their visit?’
Why does he ask? Does he read my thoughts, or am I watched? Perhaps he interprets Helen’s visit as an affair of the heart. That would be excusable and… No, I will tell of my interest in the navigation of ships and Morton’s role in their great adventure. That is more convincing.
‘I have long since held an interest in mathematics of navigation by the stars. I had heard that Helen’s father and Captain General Hawkins are leading an ambitious adventure to the New Lands. They have a curiosity in my scheme for improved navigation of
their ships and I learned of Rosamund and Helen’s expertise with herbal cures by good chance on my visit.’
He appears content with my explanation and enthuses about the discoveries of the New Lands, saying that he would gladly be party to such an adventure if he was a younger man.
*
I had thought to call on Mother before a journey to Leadenhall, but my mood is uneven and decide to defer until later when I hope my disposition will improve. I carry my new sketches of the measuring instrument with me to show Sir George, although I realise that it will be for Captain Hawkins to pronounce on its viability. The door is answered by a young maid who scurries inside at mention of my name and is soon replaced by a manservant. He makes an arrangement for the stabling of Cassius, begs me to step inside and takes my cloak. I wait in the hall by the grand stairway until another man appears and ushers me through to a receiving chamber. A man waits for me in the centre with hands clasped behind his back. It is Darby Wensum.
He says, ‘Sir George is away from this house, Doctor Constable. May I know the nature of your business?’
‘Good day, Master Wensum. I trust that my call here finds you well.’
‘Yes… yes, thank you. As I say, Sir George…’
‘No matter, I have brought some sketches on the possibility of finding Sir George here, but the main purpose of my visit is to collect an item of medicine from the lady Helen.’
He narrows his eyes and folds his arms across his chest. ‘You must know that I cannot allow you to call on the lady when Sir George is absent.’
‘I am not here to converse with the lady in question, Master Wensum, but to collect a remedy for my mother as arranged during the lady’s visit to my house with Mistress Rosamund.’
I see that yesterday’s visit is news to him. He beckons the manservant who remains at the door, takes him aside and talks in low voice, presumably to fetch the dried plums. He shuffles over to a table, seats himself on a chair and gestures to a nearby stool.
‘Doctor Constable, I am sorry if I have offended in some way. It is in my nature to guard against unwarranted intrusions on this family and perhaps I may have been overzealous in my dealings with you to this point.’
I bow my head in acknowledgement, but will not take this olive branch easily and without more evidence of its sincerity. We wait in silence for a few moments, then he continues.
‘I heard from Sir George of the possibilities for the better positioning and rendezvous of our ships by your invention. I am closely involved with the planning of this venture and would be most appreciative to be given sight of your sketches.’
It would be churlish to deny this request, and so I delve into my bags, retrieve one of the sketches and place it on the table smoothing out the roll of the paper. He stands and peers closely at the drawing.
‘Are you familiar with the crosshatch measuring instrument used onboard our ships at present, Master Wensum?’
He studies the sketch a little longer then raises his head. ‘I have only a cursory knowledge. My work is primarily in the accounting and management of ships’ cargoes before departure and upon arrival. The good handling on the voyage I leave to our ships masters.’
I suspected as much, and he does not ask me to elaborate on the significance of the drawings or the meaning of my annotations. He regains his seat as a man appears at the door carrying two weighty leather bags and announces, ‘Plums… if it please, gentlemen,’ seemingly mystified by the nature of the consignment. The bags are heavy, but conveniently attached by a rope so that I may sling them over my saddle. I thank both men, take my sketch and request that the bags are carried to my horse. Wensum follows to the front door without further comment on the sketch or the plums. I sense that he would ask more, but does not know how to phrase his question.
The door is open, but before departing, I ask, ‘Do you know a man named Christopher Millen?’
I see the surprise in his eyes and he blusters, ‘I… I have heard the name. Is your question in relation to trade, or… Astrology? I understand he charts the stars. Do you…’
‘Thank you, I simply wished to confer with him about my almanac of the heavenly bodies. I understand that he has some expertise in this matter.’
‘No, I am sorry, I cannot help with his location. It was a name… a name I heard some long time past, but we have never met.’
*
The clouds have thinned on my journey home and I arrive in bright sun with the wet streets and houses sparkling their welcome of this change. It is a pretty sight, but the holding mud cakes my boots, cloak and nether hose. I drop the bags in the study, then retire to my chamber to tidy my appearance. Rose knocks at my door and says that Mother has asked that I call on her when I return. I should have visited her chamber before Leadenhall; she will think I have no thought for her distress. I ask Rose to take two pints of small beer to Mother’s chamber and tell her I will be there in short time. I return to the study, quickly delve into a leather bag and load a sticky mess of dried plums into a bowl.
Mother is raised in her bed, her complexion is grey and there is gaunt look to her features emphasised by a downturn at the corners of her mouth. She asks where I have been and I tell her that I have travelled to fetch the remedy advised by Rosamund and Helen.
‘Plums,’ she says, ‘It will be a wonder if they hold the key to a recovery.’ She closes her eyes and breathes deeply. ‘Nevertheless, I enjoyed our conversations and was touched by their concern.’
I pick a dried plum between my thumb and finger. It is wrinkled and has the appearance of a small turd. It smells sweet and I lick my finger to confirm this transfers to the taste. I hesitate then place it in my mouth and chew slowly. The flavour is agreeable.
‘Mother, these plums are surprisingly sweet and the taste far surpasses their look. You must take twelve of these each day followed by the small beer. Take care with the stones and spit them back into the bowl.’
She shakes her head, signalling that my attentions are tiresome, but eventually she submits and eats all the plums. I wait patiently as she sips her beer. When she is finished she slumps back on her cushion, drained by the effort.
She says, ‘She is pretty – very pretty, with a free spirit and good mind.’
How should I answer? Mother is sparing in her compliments to young women and I know she would see me wed. But Helen – I must not think of her in this way while there is a small chance that she has royal blood.
‘I fear that Rosamund is too old to engage my interest, Mother.’
‘Ha, your jest signifies that you avoid mention of Helen because there is an attraction.’ I do not respond. ‘I trust that you have put aside any thoughts of further enquiries into the Morton family’s involvement in Walsingham’s plot?’
‘Yes, Mother, although I have discovered that I may be able to assist Sir George Morton with his next grand trading venture through my work on mathematics.’
She turns to me with an expression of surprise. ‘Good, I am pleased that you return to your work on mathematics and navigation. It is a worthwhile enterprise, and if your efforts find favour with Sir George it may progress your suit for the lady Helen.’
‘Mother, you are too quick with your imagining. I have known Helen for only a handful of days.’
‘William, you will soon pass into middle years. You have lived for near thirty years and it is time for you to wed and progress your father’s name.’
I cannot hide my awkwardness from her and consider making an excuse to depart her bedside. That would be a weak response and besides, I have another question.
‘Did you know Helen’s mother?’
‘We were acquainted, but I did not see her often. She was a frail woman and often confined to her bed. I understand she was taken by the sweating sickness.’ She pauses and furrows her brow. ‘I remember she was comforted by her young niece who was under their guardianship. I forget her name, but she was a handsome young woman who liked to dress in the latest Italian fashion. There wa
s… a scandal I think and she left them. I do not know what became of her.’
‘Oh, and what year did she depart?’
‘I cannot recall, too many years have passed. No more questions, William. Please ask Rose to attend. I tire and must rest.’
I retire to my study, but I am unable to dismiss thoughts of Helen and my work is unproductive. I wonder if the mention of a niece is significant and how could I enquire into her circumstances without arousing suspicion. It is time to dine and I will seek John’s company after I remove these bags of plums to my room of medicines.
I am about to heft the bags when I notice a paper lying in the top. I pick it out, wipe away the fruit stains and unfold it. It is a note from Helen.
Dear William
I have thought more on your offer to chart my stars. You say it would be harmless entertainment and I do not doubt your intentions. Still, I have decided to decline your offer and ask that you make no mention of this to my father.
Yours humbly
Helen
Thirteen
Captain Askham arrives alone as we are breakfasting. I ask him to join with John and me at our table and, after a small pause, he accepts with thanks. He has the look of a man with little rest and a large appetite.
’John, you know Captain Askham from our time at Barn Elms.’
‘Indeed, God’s blessing on you Captain, your call is well-timed.’
I wait until Askham has filled himself with a good quantity of eggs, manchet and pickles before recounting my visit to Jane Dee at Mortlake. He nods his approval and says, ‘It was prudent of you to follow our questioning of Kelley with this visit, Doctor Constable, and the sign of a man with a strong attachment to our cause.’
Was my loyalty ever in doubt? I leave this thought unsaid and reply, ‘Thank you, Captain. Do you think this warrants further investigation of Kelley and an examination of Millen?’
