State of Treason

by Paul Walker

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What was the nature of your departure from the Morton household?’

  ‘I was told that the babe was born and breathed, but was before its term and likely to die. I was dismissed and my promise never to speak of the matter rewarded with coin. I stayed close and some weeks later heard that the babe still lived, but Morton had men of arms send me away under mortal threat.’ He closes his eyes tight. ‘To this day I do not know where… Sheldon lies, or if the babe survives.’

  John says, ‘Your sin was grievous; this premature and coarse ending to your life a just reward. Nevertheless, no man has met God without stain on his soul. There are many wicked diversions on this earth sent to confound our attempts to remain pure.’ John clasps his hand on his chest and is silent for a moment. ‘How was your living in the after years?’

  ‘I journeyed to the Low Countries and was tutor to a family of some wealth in Delft. I… I was full of self-hate and easily swayed by earthly pleasures. I was sent away when I was found insensible through an over-indulgence of wine and returned here. My story will be familiar. I was dissolute and as time passed I came to realise… to understand that my mind was set on a fall that would lead to this foul end. I revelled in my misfortune at the card tables, delighted when I was spurned by friends and savoured my aching belly when no scraps of food could be found. It was just punishment for my greatest sin.’ His breath catches and the bubbling in his throat causes him moments of panic. It is not pretty to watch him struggle to hold a fast-fading grip on life. He recovers. ‘It is a relief to share my shame with a man of such godliness, Doctor Foxe. Please do not stint on your damning because of my pitiable state.’

  ‘I will not, you can be assured. I will ask my friends to leave us alone while we speak of your soul and His grace. Before this, you will provide the date of your leaving the Morton house. Doctor Constable will write this down and you will add your name to mark the end of this part of your arrangement.’

  ‘It was the month of August in the sixtieth year and perhaps the tenth or twelfth day.’

  I hand the paper and quill to Gore. With John’s help, I lever his body upright and he makes his mark with trembling hand. The effort exhausts, he sinks back and is wracked by a heaving and gurgling in his chest. I wonder if this is his end, but the fit subsides. Askham takes his leave, I start to follow then turn back to Gore and say, ‘You have a daughter; a fair maid with fine sensibilities. It is my attachment to her that brought us here.’

  My conscience will not let me leave him without this information, which will likely ease his last moments more than any words from John.

  We wait for John below. Three more patrons have entered the inn, but they do little to disturb the hushed anxiety that attends our presence. Della busies herself with serving, cleaning and tidying while others mutter with heads bowed, fearful of catching Askham’s gaze. We wait and watch in silence. It is a half hour before John descends the ladder with great care. I hand Della a sixpence and we depart, thankful to put this place behind us.

  We speak little of our time at the Silver Bell on our return. When we have crossed the bridge John asserts that he would welcome conversation over a cup of wine, and that we should seek a place of comfort away from my house at West Cheap. Askham suggest that we should make for the Bear and Ragged Staff, which he knows to be a reputable inn.

  Askham orders that meats and pickles with a jug of claret be brought to our table. The change in our situation could not be more different from the hovel we have left. The straw is clean, the fire warming and the laughter of good company lifts my spirits. I ask John if Gore still breathed when he left.

  ‘He did not reply to my last questions. His eyes were open and there was faint movement in his chest, but his end was near and he will pass before the day is out.’

  ‘A weak man and a wasted life,’ says Askham.

  ‘Indeed,’ replies John. ‘At the last he was able to muster his senses, admit his errors and open his weakness to His grace.’ He pauses while our refreshment is placed on the table. ‘The date, William. You will know that its significance does not escape me.’

  I am prepared for John’s insight, although it is clear from Askham’s expression that he does not share John’s understanding. ‘I must beg your forgiveness for not sharing this intelligence sooner, John. I have concerns…’

  ‘This was too great a matter to keep hidden, William. It is apparent that the young Mistress Morton is the “unknowing maid” in the coded message. Her birth date closely matches that on the false chart of stars.’

  ‘I confess that my growing regard for Helen may have clouded my judgement. I cannot dispel thoughts that her innocence may be no protection against strong questioning.’

  John folds his arms and sits back in his seat, while I see that Askham has grasped the substance of our words.

  ‘Do you have further perceptions from this intelligence?’

  I see John will not leave this and it will like to ruffle him further if I do not flesh out some of my thinking for him. ‘There is a connection with the great adventure led by Sir George Morton and Captain General Hawkins. Quite how that connection is forged I am unsure.’

  Askham says, ‘The adventure is planned with a large number of ships and fighting men, as I understand.’

  ‘Quite so,’ joins John, ‘And are we confirmed in our belief that this undertaking has no secret and malign purpose?’

  ‘I cannot countenance Sir George’s involvement in the conspiracy,’ I answer. ‘Surely there can be no question of his loyalty when he seeks to bring glory to Her Majesty’s name and enlargement to her treasury?’

  ‘Only if we are firm in our conviction of the true purpose of the venture.’

  Askham says, ‘Captain General Hawkins was rewarded for his part in the uncovering of the plot of Roberto Ridolfi. Does that not vouch for his loyalty?’

  ‘He posed as a follower of Rome to gain the trust of the Spanish. I had some part in our defence against this danger to Her Majesty and had dealings with Captain Hawkins. I was not easy with his deception. His enactment as a zealot for the old religion was too deep and convincing to be without foundation. He was paid handsomely for his trouble and I have difficulty in trusting a man with such mercenary leanings.’

  So that is why the meeting between John and Hawkins was somewhat strained. The root of mistrust goes back to the plot named after the Florentine banker. The Duke of Norfolk lost his head for his part, for all he protested that he was not a Catholic and followed the example of his former teacher – one Doctor John Foxe. If John’s love for a former student colours his view of Hawkins then it may be problematic to transform his view to my way of thinking. But is my mind set? It is three-quarters there and I must strive for some time to reach near certainty.

  I say, ‘I must beg your indulgence and ask for your consideration of friendship by delaying a report of our findings and conversation today to Mister Secretary or Master Mylles. This would be a short adjournment of three or four days, during which I will contrive to arrange a meeting at my house with Sir George and Captain Hawkins. There, you John, with Captain Askham in attendance, can put firm questioning to these men about the venture. From their answers you may be satisfied of their loyalty, find sufficient doubt to warrant further interrogation or damning evidence of their involvement in the conspiracy. Whatever the outcome, I will then be ready to meet with Mister Secretary and present what I believe will be a feasible strategy for revealing the true nature of the plot and arraignment of the prime conspirators.’

  They stare at me in silence. Have I overestimated their regard for my abilities and steadfastness? Do they dare risk displeasure from Walsingham by withholding this intelligence? Their faces do not tell me which way their thoughts incline. I see John glance at Askham and receive a faint nod of his head in return.

  John says, ‘Two days, William. We will allow two days and no more.’

  Thirty-Two

  I decide that I will deliver
the message to Morton and Hawkins in person. A short note requesting an urgent conference would likely arouse concern and result in a return note, asking for elaboration or clarification. I may have awkward questions posed, but I will be there to protest necessity and an assurance that good reason will be provided in time. I have no doubt that my mark will fall when they discover that this is a ploy to lure them to an uncomfortable interrogation, which questions their loyalty to the crown. Well, there it is. I am set in my resolve and must endeavour to find ways to recover my standing in due course.

  I hand Cassius to one of Askham’s men who accompanies me and pray that I will not have to deal with Wensum as an intermediary on this visit. It is Lucy, Helen’s chambermaid, who answers my call. She bobs a greeting and bids me enter.

  ‘Good day to you Lucy, will Sir George be free to answer my call? My words will be brief.’

  ‘Oh, Sir George is away, Doctor Constable. I believe he has business by Aldersgate. Shall I take news of your arrival to Master Wensum?’

  ‘No, that will not be necessary, Lucy. I will wait for his return, or… may I leave a message with your mistress?’

  ‘I fear she is also away, sir. The mistress has been called to the Palace with Mistress Dee. There was much excitement and work to prepare their finest clothing, ribbons and trinkets.’

  ‘Whitehall?’

  ‘Yes sir, they are to be received at court. It is a particular honour, is it not? My mistress… she will turn many heads with her comeliness… if you beg my pardon, sir.’

  ‘Yes, I am sure you have dressed and prettied your mistress well, Lucy.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. They are not long departed and my wits will not calm with fancying and delight at their good fortune.’

  ‘In that case I should like to write a note for Sir George.’

  She leads me to a chamber and brings materials so that I may write a hurried note. It is not the method of delivery I had planned, but it must serve as I cannot wait for his return. I congratulate Lucy once more and take my leave. I am filled with dread at imaginings of Helen’s questioning by Walsingham, Mylles or other interrogators whose manner may be even more direct than those I know. Surely John and Askham would not have broken their word to afford me two days grace? Could Walsingham’s own enquiries have been the reason for her summons? Whatever the source of this unwelcome distraction, I must make haste to Whitehall and hope that my intervention will allow her release. And why has Jane Dee also been summoned? There can be no suspicion of her involvement in the conspiracy.

  *

  My journey to Whitehall is slowed by a flurry of snow with a wind from the west that bites and clings, so that I am lumbered in a heavy white covering at our destination. I make directly for the physician’s quarters and bid a fire be renewed in my chamber. Forester finds me warming hands and feet with steam rising from woollen breeches. He asks me to attend to the urgent needs of two gentlemen and a chamber lady with pained bellies and loose movements. I control my impatience with difficulty, but a refusal would sit oddly with my station here. I answer that I will consult with them shortly. He advises that his assistant will bring them to me as their incapacity will not allow them to circulate freely in the great court.

  I am thankful that my consultations are brief. The symptoms are not severe and I suspect in all cases caused by an over-indulgence of poorly-cooked meats. I instruct an abstinence from food for three days, excepting a breakfast of posset fortified with brandywine. The last gentleman is leaving my chamber as Forester appears and says it would be a kindness if I could also call on Doctor Huicke. I submit to his petition, but it is already two hours past midday and the Doctor will have to wait until my primary concern here is resolved.

  My aim is to seek an audience directly with Walsingham himself, and I see his scribe Padget emerging from his chamber. He informs that Mister Secretary is at his house in Seething Lane, but Master Mylles is presently unattended. It seems I will have to settle for my second preference.

  ‘Doctor Constable – William – this is an unexpected pleasure.’

  He is reclining in his seat, both feet on a stool and feeding off, what looks like a large chop of meat, held in both hands. He wipes his mouth, throws the chop on the floor and bids me take a stool by his table.

  ‘Good day to you, Master Mylles – Francis. I trust I do not disturb your work.’

  ‘My mind continues in its occupation through greater disturbances than you bring, William. I am happy to see your arm mends.’ He drinks greedily from a pewter cup. ‘Forgive my coarse way of refreshment; I find business rarely pauses to allow the convenience of an easy dinner.’

  ‘There is nought to forgive. You must nourish your physical being for a perceptive mind.’ My mouth is dry and I would be glad of a cup of wine or beer, but he does not offer. ‘I have attended patients here and thought to exercise this opportunity to confer with you on our progress.’

  He grunts an understanding and shuffles papers on his table. ‘No more has come from the attack on your house, save we believe that the killed assailant was from foreign parts. Two men have been questioned on their association with Millen. One is held for further insights as his religion is untrustworthy. The other is innocent and has been freed.’

  ‘Are no more suspects questioned – a woman perhaps?’

  ‘Why a woman? Do you have a particular one in mind?’

  ‘Millen, for example, must have had connections with women, and the frail nature of female kind would render them more compliant to your questioning.’

  ‘Ah, I catch your drift, William. I had taken you to be somewhat squeamish about the interrogation of the fair sex. But no, we have found no woman in that respect. Our searches continue.’

  His response appears straightforward and his manner does not suggest that he dances around the subject to extract more from me. He will surely know that Helen is summoned here. And Jane Dee. Millen was often at her house in Mortlake. It is plain that she suffered hurt and could have no malign connection, but even so… No, I must continue to be circumspect and not mention their names.

  ‘I wonder if I could have sight again of your excellent piecing together of the draft transit chart; also the deciphered note from the cabinet. My memory has suffered, perhaps from the crack to my head, and further inspection may help me to untangle threads from the malevolent design.’

  His eyes fix me with an expression of mild surprise, then moves his head as a gesture of assent and reaches for papers on his table. He presents the representation of the transit chart first. I examine it carefully and say, ‘Has any significance been uncovered about the date in February next year? Does it coincide with any of Her Majesty’s planned engagements?’

  He answers in the negative and I move the paper to one side. He produces a fair copy of the text of the deciphered note and turns it to my view.

  ‘Here is another reference to the month of February.’ I continue to gaze at the note as though memorising the position of each word. I sit back and say, ‘Finally, may I have sight of the natal chart contained in the box.’

  He takes another paper and places it before me. It is not the original, but a rough copy.

  ‘Here is another date marked. Has any consequence been found in the day written in the sixtieth year?’

  ‘No, we assume it is another contrived date. Do you have greater insight?’

  I do not voice my answer, but shake my head and sit back as if in deep thought. This is mystifying. He would surely have mentioned Helen’s birth date, if it was known to him. He does not have the air of someone who holds back intelligence and any further probing will surely arouse his suspicions.

  ‘Thank you Francis; that has been most helpful. I will leave you to your important work in unearthing this devilment.’

  *

  I wander the great court, greeting those few that I know before continuing on my way. I meet with Richard Joynes, who I am pleased to find in fair humor. We converse idly for some time, but my mind is else
where and he must notice my inattention as I scan the space around us for any sign of Helen. Eventually, satisfied that she is nowhere in court, I bid him farewell and go to visit Doctor Huicke.

  He is the same room I left him in that unhappy state some days past. I knock and enter. The small chamber is poorly lit with only one spluttering candle and the dying embers of a fire serving to illuminate the shapes of a bed and small table. I approach his bedside and am relieved that no straps hold the form beneath the covers. The whites in the eyes of a head turn to me and a voice croaks a word I do not understand.

  ‘Doctor Huicke, this is William Constable, come to visit you.’

  There is an unlit candle on his bedside table. I take a light from the other before it dies and replace it. I pour a cup of ale from a jug and offer it to his lips. He raises his head, takes a half dozen sips then lies back with a contented sigh.

  I say, ‘Are you well fed and cared for?’

  ‘I had a pigeon pie for dinner. The bird was good eating, but the pastry too wet.’ His voice is improved, but still faint.

  ‘Do you rise from your bed each day?’

  ‘I am harried and industrious, with many patients who seek my wisdom. They tire me. I must put them to one side so that I may serve Her Majesty.’ He turns his head to me quickly. ‘Does she ask for me? I will go to her… your arm… give me your arm.’

  His hand grabs mine and it is plain that he does not have the strength to rise on his own accord.

  ‘Her Majesty is in good health and does not require your attention this day.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I am Doctor William Constable, here to assist with your unwanted patients.’

  He points his hand accusingly. ‘Unwanted… unwanted. You are ill-mannered in the extreme.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, I misspoke. It was the wrong word.’

  ‘I have it. You have been here before seeking relief from your gouty foot.’

  ‘It is much improved, thank you.’