by Paul Walker
‘I have a note stating he will attend before noon. No doubt he will wish to question Master Chap as well as our household.’
‘I must leave shortly to inform Sir George and seek his help in guarding the Chap workshop. If the Justice departs before my return, please inform that I will be available at his convenience. Do not divulge the whereabouts of Master Chap to the Justice. I will organise for their testimony to be given here or some other place.’
‘Do you wish to speak Harry?’ I see the lad fidget as though struggling with shyness.
‘Sir, it is… do you consider that we will have to face further assaults?’
‘It is unlikely, as we will have four of the Captain’s soldiers here for our protection and after last night, I think we can be assured of their vigilance. Although I cannot imagine that anyone wishes your person harm, for the next weeks you must travel only in daylight and never alone.’ I pause. ‘That reminds me, Hicks. We must see that the soldiers are lodged in our house, both for their comfort and our security. Open streets and doorways will not do. Please consult with Mistress Hilliard and ask her to prepare a chamber.’
Our household is temporarily expanded and I should check if Mother has a mind to employ extra help for our servants. Reluctantly, I must also ask Harry to help with the horses until a replacement for Gregory is found.
*
I am received at Sir George’s house and ushered to a receiving room. It is Wensum who appears after a wait of some minutes.
‘Doctor… Constable, your visit was not expected.’
‘No, Master Wensum, I have urgent business with Sir George.’
‘He is not here. He is at our warehouses on the North Quay and will not return until after noon. Pray, give me your message and I will ensure Sir George receives it in timely and accurate fashion.’
‘I do not doubt your good offices, Master Wensum, but I must speak with Sir George in person. I will wait.’
He adjusts his stance, gazes at me from top to bottom and says, ‘You wear a sword.’
I notice he does not mention my injured arm in its sling. ‘It is a simple matter of caution in these troubled times.’
He appears discomfited by my appearance, makes to respond, but changes his mind, bows stiffly and leaves without further word. I am discouraged at the thought of passing idle hours in my wait while others are industrious at West Cheap, but must bear it. Should I seek out Helen, or will this be regarded as improper? I will stay, for the present.
My patience is rewarded in short time as the door opens and Helen appears.
‘William, why… I heard of a visitor, but did not know it was you.’
‘My dear, I am here to talk with your father on a pressing matter.’ She will hear of the episode last night, so there is little to be gained by circumspection. ‘Our house was attacked this night gone by a group of men with foul intent. They planned to fire the buildings, but we were able to deflect their purpose.’ I hesitate to share the worst of the news. ‘Our stable boy was murdered horribly and we killed one of their number.’
Her mouth gapes, then she runs to me, claps her arms around my waist and lays her head on my breast. My wrist is caught in her embrace and there is some pain, but I will not free myself.
‘Why… why was it done? A scholar and his family; what could be the cause?’
‘It is not known for certain. It may have a connection with the instrument of navigation for your father’s venture.’
She raises her head and looks into my eyes. ‘I do not understand. Why would such an apparatus be the focus of extreme jealousy?’
It is a question I have considered at length. Before I can answer, the door opens and Wensum enters with reddened and accusing face.
‘This… this is unseemly. Sir George will hear of it. You… Constable will break your grip on the lady.’ His breathing is heavy and excited. ‘Mistress Helen, you should accompany me now, away from that man.’
Helen releases her arms and steps back. ‘I will remain here, Master Wensum. I was merely comforting a friend on his misfortune. You may instruct Rosamund to attend us here if you consider that would render our conversation proper.’
He grits his teeth, shakes his head, then turns and shuts the door with unnecessary force.
‘Are you harmed; your mother; Doctor Foxe?’
‘We are unhurt and recovering from our shock.’
She folds her arms, closes her eyes and shakes her head as though this will help her to comprehend the news.
I say, ‘What is your opinion of Master Wensum?’
‘I think I have said before that he does well for my father’s business. Why do you ask?’
‘Do you know if he has an association with other gentlemen not connected to your father’s trade?’
‘It is strange question.’ She wrinkles her nose and tilts her head. ‘He has visitors while my father is absent, certainly; men of business and merchants.’ There is another pause while she considers. ‘Latterly, there was a visit from a party of nobles. Their brightly-coloured dress and bearing marked their quality. I had only a glimpse. Rosamund told me later that the Earl of Oxford was in their number and he had been here once before.’
‘Do you remember if your father was away on business when this party called?’
‘Yes, he was… William, why do you persist with this line of enquiry?’
‘It is no matter. I wonder what I might have done to offend Master Wensum and how I may rectify this condition.’ I see that she is not fully convinced. ‘Come now, my dear, I will not let this opportunity of our closeness pass without another kiss.’
I put my good arm around her to pull her close. She pushes at me, then surrenders to my urging and kisses me sweetly, but briefly. I want more and eventually, her body melts into a slow and tender kiss. Our bodies press together and I sense a shared hunger for fulfilment of our excitement. Abruptly, she pushes me away and brushes hands over her bodice.
‘Someone approaches.’
It is Rosamund who enters. She smiles, bobs a brief curtsey to me, goes to Helen and links her arm.
‘Are you here for more plums, Doctor Constable?’ There is a twinkle in Rosamund’s eye as she speaks. ‘You have upset Master Wensum most severely. You must have had the best in your conversation with him.’
I have not seen this mischievous aspect of Rosamund’s nature before; she has been quiet and withdrawn in my company. Helen changes the subject quickly and says that we were discussing an alternative remedy for Doctor Foxe’s congestion. We adjourn to the still and drying room to consider this refinement, where I am delighted to find Jane Dee waiting for the return of her two companions. Her bruising has faded and there is a spark to her bearing that speaks well for her recent improvement. The conversation is immediately lively and engaging. There are poorer ways to pass the time while I wait for Sir George to return.
Morton arrives home barely an hour after noon and a manservant begs me to follow him to his private chamber. It is a fine room, draped in tapestries of quality, with cushioned chairs and a roaring fire. Sir George sits in a large seat, with feet on a stool and glass in hand. He offers me sweet wine and begs me to sit.
‘I am told you have urgent business, William. I trust nothing obstructs the manufacture of the instruments.’
‘It is the safeguarding of that process that I come to discuss, Sir George.’
I continue with an account of the assault on our house while plans for the instrument were laid in Hick’s chamber. His eyes widen as I recount the murder of Gregory and the killing of an assailant. I emphasise the heroic nature of Chap’s charge and praise the others for stout defence.
‘Although there can be no certainty that the instrument, which we will call the shadow staff, is at the heart of this malevolence, I can think of no other issue. I therefore beg your consideration in the employ of guards at the workshop of Master Chap during the period of his labour for us.’
‘It will be done, and this is a most terrible ep
isode, William. My sympathies to you and your mother for this disruption to your household. I understand there may be substantial monetary reward from your… shadow staff, but this… this is wickedness beyond all expectation.’ He drains his glass and clears his throat. ‘It will explain why you wear a sword on your visit. Wensum was vexed at your soldierly appearance.’
‘I apologise for that, Sir George. I thought it a prudent measure so soon after our disturbance.’
‘Yes, yes, I applaud your caution.’ He fills his glass and offers the bottle. ‘There is another subject of concern that I would raise with you.’ He pauses and fixes me with his eyes. ‘I have been informed that you took advantage of my absence and touched my daughter in a most lewd and inappropriate manner. Is this true?’
‘No, it is not, Sir George. Mistress Helen showed great alarm at the news of our attack and Master Wensum misinterpreted a brief moment of comfort for her distress.’
‘I wonder you felt obliged to trouble her with a story that is sure to bring fright and anguish to a lady. Was it necessary?’
‘Your daughter has a strong and perceptive mind, Sir George. I am sorry that I could not withstand the force of her questioning.’
He nods his head in understanding and appears satisfied with my explanation. But now would not be a choice moment to declare a fondness for Helen. I must be patient and wait until the Morton family is clear of all suspicion in Walsingham’s investigation.
Thirty
I hurry a breakfast of eggs, honey and milk, then retire to my library. I am impatient to gather the snatched thoughts of half-waking and set them down on paper. There are so many strands to the events to the past weeks, that they confound my attempts to unravel their meaning. I would be better served by transfer to a more permanent record so that patterns and structure emerge from my scratchings.
First, there are the assaults at Mortlake, Master Hutchison’s house, on my person by St Gabriel in Fen Church and here, at my house in West Cheap. The attacks at the houses were of the same design; an intention to fire property, innocents killed by slit throats and the assailants commanded by an uncommonly large, hooded man. I cannot attribute a cause to my personal attack, nor can I be sure that this was made by the same villains as the other three. For those others it would seem near-certain that the same body of men and their commander were responsible. Yet, the incident at Mortlake was doubtless linked to Millen and his part in the astrological conspiracy, whereas the murder of Hutchison and the destruction of his house can have no other goal than a disruption in the making of the shadow staff. I must conclude that the two actions have a connection and that those who conspire against Her Majesty also aim to interfere with my efforts for the great adventure. But why?
I have scribbled words, lines and other markings; perhaps there are too many and their order too careless, as the result is more confusion. I take another roll of paper and start to reconstruct the schematic. After an effort of close attention, I pin it to a cupboard and stand back to survey the whole. I have drawn a line inking the phrase in the coded note about the ‘great burning at d’ in February with Hawkins’ assertion that the venture fleet will sail from Dartmouth in the same month; February. There is an itch in my thoughts of another occurrence where this month was writ. It was… the scraps of Millen’s transit chart pieced together by Mylles, where the twenty-fourth of that month was marked for the demise of our Queen; further confirmation that the two plots are connected. Yet, I must delve deeper into these markings to discover a reason for their association and clues for players in this web of scheming and trickery.
I am fastened on the death of Millen and the destruction of the library at Mortlake. I cannot unpick anything from my paper that will enlighten. It requires an effort of deep concentration to review events of past weeks. A cracked head in the fall from Cassius may have caused a disconnection in my brain. Did I mention Millen to Darby Wensum on his visit to West Cheap and before the Mortlake incident? It was an unplanned enquiry, but does my memory speak true, or does my dislike of the man create a false recollection? I pick up my quill and mark key moments in my meetings with Wensum. There was a conversation with him about the shadow staff at West Cheap. Hicks stated that he may have revealed Hutchison’s name as the maker while I was absent from their company. Then, there was the peculiar supper at Leadenhall with Wensum and the dozing Morton. That was the night of my rescue from an assured death by Askham. Why did I have no escort? Do I recall my departure? Yes, I think Wensum offered an excuse for the absence of men to guard my journey. My recollections from that night are no more than fragmented disorder, yet… I see the marks of Wensum on my paper and there is another name that should be bonded – Oxford. Helen stated that the Earl visited while Sir George was absent. Why? There is no logic to one of Her Majesty’s favourites as a conspirator. Perhaps it is lack of coin to feed his extravagance, or John’s suspicion that he harbours an attachment to the old religion. Somehow, I fail to see the Earl with a strong devotion to any cause, save his own amusement.
I pause from my reflections and seek my mother so that she may renew the tight wrappings on my arm. My wrist is sore, but the swelling has subsided and I can free myself of the encumbrance of a sling. She calls for Mistress Hilliard to bring fresh linen and we retire to the parlour to tend the injury. The stripping and winding takes some time and my mind returns to the mysteries of the coded note. If the letter ‘m’ is Morton and ‘d’ designates Dartmouth, what can ‘p’ signify?
‘Your thoughts are far away from here, William,’ says Mother. ‘Do you daydream of a particular person?’
‘There are several person never far from my thinking, Mother, and one of them is you.’
She raises her eyes and offers a faint smile, then turns to a heavier subject. ‘The funeral for poor Gregory is fixed for Saturday next. I have sent word to his family in Essex. I know their living is meagre and it would be a kindness to offer something as a mark of our respect.’
‘I had thought to make them a gift of Gregory’s horse, saddle and trappings.’
She murmurs her approval and Mistress Hilliard touches my arm gently as a sign of her regard for my offer.
The tending and wrapping are done. I swing my arm a little to savour the small progression towards a mended body. I thank them for their attention and return to my library musing on the singular letters. Does a ‘p’ denote Arthur Perse? No, he is too insignificant a figure. The ‘m’ may represent a class of men such as merchants, not the family name Morton; a letter ‘d’ could indicate any number of places or people. In that case ‘p’ may signify: prince; principal; palace; or… My mind races in too many directions of chance. I must collect my notions and sift them with care, so that only those suppositions that bear the closest inspection remain.
One of Askham’s men knocks at the door and informs me that the Captain waits for me in the receiving room. First, I must take down my schematic and secure it in a private place to prevent prying eyes reading my incomplete perceptions.
‘Good day, Captain, will you take a cup of wine?’
‘Thank you, Doctor. I believe Mistress Hilliard has the supply of our refreshment in hand.’
He has a pensive look about him. He is a diligent man who bears his responsibilities well, but Walsingham cannot be an easy master.
‘Has the slain attacker been identified?’
‘The man is unknown, but certain qualities from his person and weapon suggest that he was not an English man.’
‘Oh?’
‘His skin is darker than would be common in our climes and his dagger was not forged in this country. It is an uncommonly fine weapon for a rough man and bears the marks of a maker in Seville.’
‘A Hispanic, then?’
‘Yes.’
Mistress Hilliard appears with our wine. She hesitates before leaving us, begs to be excused, but wants to know if she should prepare another soother for John. He has already had three and she worries that an excess may be harmful. I cannot
help but smile at John’s attachment. I assure her that a fourth would benefit, but that she should ration him to no more than six in one day.
‘Your mother runs a fine household, Doctor. I do not wonder that Doctor Foxe has settled here in cosiness and contentment.’
‘Thank you, Captain.’ I raise my cup and we both take a mouthful of claret. ‘Are you here to consult with your men, or do you have a wider purpose?’
‘A man has been found who answers to the name, Tomas Gore.’
I sense my heart quicken at this news, but should not appear too eager.
‘My thanks again, Captain. I held no great hopes for his discovery, though it seems your network of watchers was a match for my test.’
‘He lodges at an inn in Southwark. I know the inn, the Silver Bell. It is a mean place, frequented by pox-ridden whores, cutpurses and other malefactors.’
‘Nevertheless, I should like to question him.’
‘Then I will accompany you.’
‘Your men…’
‘They will stay here to guard your house. Besides, it is my understanding that you would not wish your meeting to be more widely known.’ He senses my uncertainty and adds, ‘We will be safe in daylight hours. There will be few who care to hazard their destiny against my sword.’
I am grateful for the security of Askham’s company on my journey, but discomfited by the thought that he may hear words from Gore that uncover the connection of Helen’s birth date to the conspiracy. Well, this knowledge will out eventually and I must find a way to manage it.
*
Our journey to Southwark is uneventful. The air has warmed a little so that our way is over slops of mud rather than iron-hard ground. Our passage over the bridge is unhindered. Askham’s authority and bearing is noted and helps to clear the way through the usual confused mingling of people, carts, stalls and other clutter.
The Silver Bell is in a narrow lane and its exterior is not inviting. An overhang from the first storey has collapsed leaving rough chambers fully exposed, while other areas are patched and mended by careless hands. It is a wonder that the whole does not crumble. Askham beckons a man selling codlings from a cart and gives him a coin to hold our horses. There are two doors and we choose to enter by the one that has the appearance of more security and height, although even this one requires both of us to stoop low. Inside, it takes a short time for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. We are in a crude space of low beams, filthy straw and primitive furnishings. The stench is high, but perhaps not as harsh as I anticipated. Five men gathered around a barrel stare at us. Two women with uncovered hair rest full-length on benches and an old man lies on the floor, his mouth gaping wide and head resting at an odd angle against a wooden pillar. He may be dead or merely sleeping. Another woman appears from the gloom and breaks the quiet by enquiring how she may serve us. She is young and sways her hips invitingly at Askham. If she was cleaned and taken out of her rags she might be considered pretty. Now, her attempt at enticement is ludicrous and revolting.
