State of Treason

by Paul Walker

  ‘Knowing is not conspiring. There will be many innocents who have acquaintances with those convicted of crimes.’

  ‘Some of what you say rings true and you are fortunate that Doctor Foxe has a liking for you. Also, the Captain speaks in your favour. Yet, I am troubled by this connection with Sir George Morton. It is untimely and too sudden.’

  ‘Does Master Mylles suspect me?’

  ‘He is… undecided, as am I.’

  ‘My interest in Sir George’s great venture to the New Lands is genuine and true. I was reminded of my work on the mathematics of navigation at my summons to Whitehall that night. I quickly became absorbed in study to find a practical instrument that will improve navigation and assist in the rendezvous of the fleet.’

  He listens carefully and bows his head bidding me to continue. I outline the difficulty of taking accurate readings looking to the top of a crosshatch, then the underside, and the coordination of the two. I detail my solution and he offers paper and quill so that I can sketch my design. He takes the finished sketch, tilts his head this way and that to mimic its use and replaces it on the table.

  ‘Very well, Doctor Constable, I believe you. The story you tell is too real and complex for it to be a screen for some other purpose. Please forgive our hard treatment of your injured body, but perhaps there will be compensation in the thought that our suspicions helped to save your life.’

  I had not realised that my body was so tightly coiled until it eases on the utterance of those words. I do not have to mention my attachment to Helen as a further reason for connection to Morton and the probing into her background. Despite his acceptance of my story, I do not have a sense that my position is fully secured with Walsingham. Nevertheless, I must ask a question that nags my thoughts.

  ‘It was a great surprise to see Master Baskin tortured and killed. From my earlier knowledge he had no leanings towards Rome and possessed a balanced temperament. How were you convinced that he had turned to wicked Catholic treason?’

  He puts down his dagger and raises his eyes. ‘Ha, it is a wonder you return to the subject of Baskin and his Jesuit associates. His mind was distracted by a woman. His wife was secretly devoted to the Catholic cause. There was no doubt of his guilt, which was established before his torture.’

  ‘Why would he mention my name?’

  ‘Men will drag many hidden thoughts and words to the surface under pressure of the rack. Some will have significance to the matter in hand, while others will not, but all must be investigated.’ He pauses and clasps his hands together on the table. ‘Come, let us talk no further of this unfortunate connection in your past. It pleases me that your loyalty to our cause is unblemished. Your sharp mind may help to save us from this latest plot, and perhaps others.’

  He waves his hand and a man appears to lead me from this chamber to another where my clothes and light refreshment are waiting. A servant brings in a bowl of water, sponge and white soap. I try to wash the grime and blood from my injured parts, but it is a slow and cumbersome process and I finish before it is done well. Askham enters as I am dressing, helps me heave doublet and coat over my swollen arm and waits as I drink a cup of small beer.

  ‘I should thank you for saving my life, Captain. I did not know I was followed under suspicion for my loyalty.’

  ‘You were not suspected by me, Doctor Constable.’

  I bow my head. ‘Then, my sincere gratitude to you for your actions and words. How many attacked me?’

  ‘There were four men. One I killed, and the others were driven off by me and my sergeant.’

  It is news to me that an attacker was killed. He tells me that his body is laid in the chamber next to where I was kept and I ask to inspect it.

  The trail back to the floor below is slow and it take concentration of the mind to control my limbs. The body is of a young, thickset man with untamed beard. His middle glistens in the candlelight with a spread of sticky, blackening blood, although the wound is small. I do not recognise him.

  I say, ‘Did he talk before dying?’

  ‘No, it was quick; more the shame.’

  ‘How was your sight of the others?’

  He shrugs. ‘It was dark. They bore arms like fighting men. Two were of my height or a little shorter, but the third was a large man; taller than you and broader.’

  ‘Was his face hooded with a cowl?’

  ‘Ah, yes I believe it was. Do you know this man?’

  ‘The description is too general to be sure, but it fits the description of the lead attacker at Doctor Dee’s house at Mortlake.’ I do not refer to the murders in Spytalfields, as this connection is not yet resolved in my own mind. Besides, it would likely lead to awkward questioning about the Morton family and danger for Helen.

  We have few more words before Askham takes me to my horse and helps me mount. He insists on an escort of two men although the day is bright and the street is busy. We ride at a slow plod, but within minutes my body complains and I am relieved to arrive at West Cheap and dismount. Gregory stares at me with open mouth and stands, undecided whether to take the horse or help me. I tell him that I fell from Cassius when risking a canter at night and that I am sore, but sound. He takes the horse while I make my way to my bedchamber and lie with some care on top of the sheets. Tiredness soon overcomes my aches and my eyes close.

  *

  Someone is near. There is a rustling of clothes and a familiar scent. I open my eyes and Mother is sat beside my bed. I try to rise, but there is a fierce pain; in my neck; my head; my arm; my back. My whole body shouts at me to lie still. She strokes my good hand and makes soothing noises, as to a child.

  ‘Mother, I…’

  ‘I hear you fell from your horse.’

  ‘Yes, I was clumsy.’

  ‘It was last night?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you were fortunate to find shelter and a place to recover.’

  ‘I was with… Captain Askham and he saw to my overnight care.’

  ‘You were not tended well. Your wound is unclean and your wrist may be fractured and in need of support. I have cleaned the gash on the back of your head and will seek advice on your wrist. You have an ugly weal on the back of your neck and much bruising. It was a bad fall, and Cassius is such a steady horse.’

  ‘He… he must have stumbled. I cannot remember all.’

  ‘Here, you must drink this brandywine and rest. Your body is badly shaken and needs sleep to recover.’

  I wince as I lift my head and take the cup. The wine is good and I swallow greedily. I lie back and only then do I notice that I am under the bedclothes and my shirt has been replaced by a linen smock. It is a wonder that I did not wake with this handling, but I will not consider it now. My eyes are heavy.

  *

  It is dark when I wake again. The embers of a small fire still glow and another cup of brandywine waits on the bedside table. I swivel my legs, stand and relieve myself in the piss pot. I light a candle, sit in a chair and sup the wine. Suddenly, I snatch at fragments of a dream. Helen is with me and we are gazing at the figure of a naked man, horribly corrupt and disembowelled, hanging on a gallows. It is her father, Sir George. I close my eyes tight to dispel the nightmare. I am not a believer in dreams that foretell the future, but the ghastly image makes mischief with my thoughts. I retire again to my bed hoping sleep will come quickly.

  *

  I am disturbed by the sounds of rustling and grating of metal. It is Mistress Hilliard come to make a new fire. She says the hour is past nine. I ask her to fetch Hicks to help me dress, but I am told that he has business at a storehouse and will not return until mid-afternoon. She will ask my mother if Harry or Gregory can be spared to assist.

  It is no surprise when Mother appears to help me dress. She tuts and coos over my bruises and other marks, but the task is soon done. I say that my hurt has eased a little and I am hungry.

  ‘Breakfast is set in your library where your chair offers most comfort. Do not linger over your
food and drink as you will have visitors within the hour.’

  ‘Who would that be?’

  ‘I have sent a note to Helen and Rosamund describing your injuries and the return note advises they will attend with ointments, salves and other soothers at ten bells.’

  I did not anticipate this. I will be pleased to see Helen, but I am not sure how I feel about her prodding and poking at my body parts. I am sure that Sir George would not approve, if he knows of it.

  My belly tells me I should eat, but the eggs lack flavour and the biscuits taste of sawdust. I drink enough to rinse my mouth and cool my throat, leaving most of the food untouched. Our visitors arrive early and are ushered into the library by Mistress Hilliard who fusses around my table and takes away the breakfast tray. I offer them more comfort in the parlour, but Helen says they will stay. Her face has an expression of puzzlement.

  ‘How was it done?’

  ‘It was a fall from my horse. I was inattentive when he stumbled on a stone.’

  She takes my injured arm and beckons her maid to come close. She lifts it gently and pulls back the sleeve. They both peer at the wrist and Helen takes my middle finger between her finger and thumb and…My breath is sharp with the pain as it moves. Rosamund prods at the swelling, then turns to Helen and exchanges some form of silent understanding.

  Helen says, ‘A bone in your wrist is cracked. We will apply a salve for the swelling, then it must be tightly bound so that it cannot move. You will need to rest this arm in a sling for some weeks until it is mended.’

  She stands behind me and lifts my hair to examine my cut and softly brushes her fingers over the weal on my neck making me shiver – with pleasure. She returns to my sight and takes her maid by the arm.

  ‘Rosamund, we will need the ointment of honey, charcoal and comfrey for the wound and your cooling salve for the swollen arm. Please ask Mistress Hilliard to bring two large sheets of clean linen for the binding.’

  We are alone. Helen sets her stool by my chair, fixes me with a steady gaze and says, ‘Where was it done, this fall?’

  ‘It was not far from here; by Cripplegate.’

  She tilts her head in a way that signals some confusion.

  ‘I learned that you were at my father’s house last night. Cripplegate is not between this place and Leadenhall.’

  ‘No… forgive me, it was not Cripplegate.’ I curse inwardly at my folly. ‘I did not wish to alarm you and I would keep the true facts from my mother. I was set upon by thieves near Fen Church. I was pulled from my horse and fell awkwardly, but it was a short commotion and they were driven off.’

  She stares at me. I cannot read her expression. Is she angry; concerned? She rises from her seat and… kisses me on the mouth. Her arms are around me; her lips soft and moist. I put my right arm around her waist and pull her closer. She does not resist and the kiss becomes… more than a kiss. She pulls away quickly, lowers her head and brushes her skirts. There are no words between us. She sits, raises her head and gazes at me directly.

  ‘Why were you at my father’s house?’

  ‘Will you reward my answer with another kiss?’

  She wrinkles her nose and repeats her question.

  ‘An invitation was sent via Master Wensum. It was intended that we would discuss the great venture and my invention of a navigation instrument.’

  ‘I had heard of your instrument from my father, but I did not know there was to be a supper last night.’

  ‘Would it be usual for you to know of such an arrangement?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Captain Hawkins could not attend and your father… your father was tired and slept through the supper.’

  ‘My father slept…’ She shakes her head slowly. ‘That is strange.’ She pauses to gather her thoughts. ‘Can you describe your escort last night? I will question them about your attack.’

  ‘I had no escort. Master Wensum said that all your father’s men were engaged elsewhere.’

  She purses her lips and blinks her eyes. ‘That would be… uncommon. My father has six men at Leadenhall who could… Did you have words with Master Wensum? Did you quarrel?’

  ‘No, it was a somewhat perplexing supper, but there were no angry exchanges between us.’

  She folds her arms and takes a deep breath. I would have another kiss. I rise from my seat as the door opens and Rosamund appears with Mistress Hilliard. The moment has gone.

  There is a great fuss as Mother joins Rosamund and Mistress Hilliard to apply the salves to my head wound, neck and other bruises on my body. Helen stands back with an expression of amusement, then steps forward to supervise the tight wrapping of my wrist and making of a sling. At last it is complete and the ladies admire their handiwork. I am cosseted and stared at like a child. I stand to relieve my embarrassment and thank them for their trouble. I admit that my wrist feels more secure and my aches have some relief from their soothing ointments.

  Twenty-Two

  The arm is troublesome and I cannot settle to my work. For two days I have fidgeted and flitted from one task to another without completing any. I fear that I have exasperated Mother and the servants with my uneven temper and interference in their daily routine. I am poor company for John. My contributions to our conversations are without merit and brief to the point of rudeness. I have many strands of thought, but it is Helen that pushes all others to the background. The taste of her lips and the eagerness in her body is a memory that I would keep above all others. I must complete my search into her history and banish all suspicion of her parentage. But how? I cannot simply demand this knowledge from her or her father. She may not know the full facts, and such a question to her father would surely ruin any chance of my preferment in his eyes. Besides, I must also confirm that Sir George is not a party to the conspiracy. His position as one of the principals in the great venture states his innocence clearly to me, but proof should be presented in a way that will satisfy Walsingham. Even now, Mister Secretary’s network of intelligencers may be watching the Morton household and strong questioning or torture may offer conclusions that are misunderstood or in error. I must be quick.

  I meet Hicks on the way to my library and ask him to join me.

  ‘How is the watch on Master Chap’s workshop?’

  ‘There is nothing to report.’

  ‘And no word of delay from Chap?’

  No, sir.’

  Good.’

  ‘There is a small matter that I would mention.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It is Gregory’s sixteenth birthday today. He was promised a new set of clothes when he reaches this age.’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’

  ‘Then I shall arrange it. Also…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘He has a toothache; one that causes him much discomfort. I know you would normally remove the offending tooth, but your injured arm may cause some difficulty with this operation.’

  I flex my right arm, which would be up to the pulling, but Hicks is right; my other arm is too cumbersome to manage an extraction.

  ‘Where would you purchase Gregory’s clothes?’

  ‘There is a wool shirt, breeches and leather jerkin set aside at Goodwife Croft’s shop by Newgate.’

  ‘Good, there is a barber near there who is clean and gentler than most with bad teeth. I will take Gregory for his clothes and tooth pulling. I would welcome the ride and a change of air.’

  It is a half hour before we are ready to ride. Gregory’s discomfort is clear from a swollen cheek and he is eager for relief. It is unlikely that I am still followed by Askham’s men in broad daylight and I detect no obvious trail behind as we depart.

  The tooth pulling is painful, but brief and Gregory emerges with a smile on his face. I hand him a tincture of cloves to apply to the gums around the tender area. I am surprised when he tells me that he has been using this same preparation for several days and it was supplied by Mistress Hilliard.

  He says, ‘She has discovered a keen intere
st in herbal medicines through her new friendship.’

  ‘A new friendship?’

  ‘Yes, it is the woman called Ros. She talks of her often.’

  I did not know that Mistress Hilliard had formed an alliance with Rosamund. I am pleased for both women. Is there a way I could use this connection between our two households?

  Gregory has trouble containing his excitement at the clothes shop and claims that he is having a birthday fit for a prince. Goodwife Croft is much taken with his innocent delight and presents him with a woollen neck scarf to ward off the cold. He is a likeable young man and I remember my intention to give him some basic instruction, but that must wait until I am free of my association with Mister Secretary.

  *

  After supper Mother retires to her chamber and I am left with John who is eager to discuss the conspiracy. He has received a note from Mylles about the discovery of a pamphlet by St Paul’s. This was a short and scurrilous tract which claimed that Her Majesty had given birth to a child and the father was named as Dudley. There was no reference to an astrological chart.

  I say, ‘Was there specific mention of the child, gender or birth date?’

  ‘No, Mylles noted that it was a text from an uneducated hand with little detail and a poorly-argued exhortation to follow the teachings of Rome.’

  ‘In that case, it may be unconnected to the conspiracy.’

  ‘You may be right, William. Wrong-headed printings of this sort appear from time-to-time. The murder of Millen and the attack on your person suggest that the plotters are alarmed at our searches.’

  ‘It is too much to suppose that they will abandon their plans.’

  ‘Yes, we may know more if they find the printer.’

  Our conversation continues for some time and we speculate, but have no firm answers. Eventually, I say that I must change my dressings and go in search of Mistress Hilliard. I find her in the linen room with Rose and ask her to join me in my bedchamber with ointments and clean wrappings.

  My arm is purple with bruising and feels strangely vulnerable freed from the many folds of tight cloth. The rest of my body improves with only an aching stiffness in the neck as the other reminder of my closeness to death that night. The winding of linen is a long process and Mistress Hilliard takes care to place and stiffen each circle of the arm.