by S. J. Parris
"Master Florio!" I said, forcing brightness into my voice. "What brings you here?"
"Have I disturbed you, Doctor Bruno?" he asked, peering around me to survey what he could see of the room. "I can come another time if you have company-I thought I heard voices."
"That is an unfortunate habit I have of talking aloud to myself," I said. "It is the only way I can be sure of winning a disputation."
He laughed warmly and shook his head. "As for that, you were hardly given a fair fight, Bruno, and those of us who are not blinded by prejudice know that. I have come to see if you dine at high table this evening? We have hardly had any time to talk and I should like to stake my claim to your company at dinner."
"Oh-yes, certainly." My eyes flickered toward the curtain and I made an effort to draw them back to Florio. "But, I wonder if you would mind-first I must use the…ah…the pot before I leave."
"Oh-of course. I can wait for you downstairs."
As I pulled the door to, I could hear his feet shuffling on the landing for a few moments before descending. When I was sure he had reached the bottom of the stairs, I drew back the curtain and Sophia stepped into the light, a smile on her face despite herself.
"I feared I would be caught here all night," she grinned.
"I could think of worse fates," I said, and regretted it instantly when she responded with a sad, embarrassed smile.
"I am sorry," I said, flustered, "I thought it would not do your reputation nor mine any good if you were found here. But first you must tell me of this danger. Has someone threatened you? Is it because you know something?"
Her eyes snapped up, shocked. "About what? What would I know?"
"I only thought-because there has been one violent death in the college-"
"That is nothing to do with me," she said, with surprising sharpness. Then she sighed and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. "It is all too complicated, Bruno-I can't tell you now if you must rush away. I will wait and explain another time."
"But"-I took her gently by the shoulders and looked her straight in the eye-"do you fear someone will hurt you?"
She bit her lip and twisted away.
"Remember I said I dreamed of some great adventure that would change everything? You told me to be careful what I wished for." She fell silent for a moment. "How do you know if you can trust someone, Bruno? I mean, if you must trust them with your life?"
"The answer is that you cannot know until they have proved themselves. But what has happened to you, Sophia? Who is it you are afraid to trust?"
"This is all just foolishness." She knit her fingers together and glanced up at me as if embarrassed. "I am sorry, Bruno-I should not have troubled you."
"It is no trouble-" I turned sharply at the sound of a creak on the landing outside, though I had not heard footsteps climbing the stairs.
"Go, then," she said, pushing me toward the door. "I will leave when I am sure it is safe. I am used to sneaking about the college by now." She forced a smile. "And, Bruno-I am sorry about…you know."
"It is I who should be sorry. I did not mean to impose on you." I stopped, awkwardly rubbing my thumb along my lower lip, unsure of what best to say.
"You did not," she whispered, shyly. "The fault is mine. I was drawn to you from the first, but there is nothing I can do about it now. You can't understand, Bruno. Perhaps I will have a chance to explain everything, but you had better go or my father will send someone else to find you."
I squeezed her gently by the shoulder once more, not knowing what else to do, and she reached up and softly placed a kiss on my cheek.
"You are certain you will be all right?" I asked, pausing at the door.
She nodded. "I will wait a few moments and then slip out. They will all be in hall by then."
"I meant-the danger you spoke of?"
She pressed a finger to her lips then and nodded, gesturing for me to go. I took a last look at her and closed the door behind me, silently furious with Florio for his ill-timed interruption.
Outside, the bell had stopped and the quadrangle was empty; a murmur of conversation drifted through the tall mullioned windows of the great hall, all lit with the glow of many candles as I followed Florio reluctantly to the door, thinking of Sophia.
AFTER THE MEAL I returned to my chamber to consider how I might find an opportunity to speak again with Sophia. Her outburst earlier had troubled me greatly; if, as I had suspected, she knew more than she was willing to share about the circumstances of Roger Mercer's death, then it was all too likely that she was in serious danger, especially if Mercer was killed to silence him. But who was this mysterious person she was being asked to trust with her life? And then there was that kiss. I stood before the fireplace and glared at the man in the glass, his unshaven chin and unruly hair, and frowned at him in disapproval. I had behaved like a boor, I told myself; she had come to me in distress because she believed I knew how to listen, and instead I had thrown myself on her like a stag. My reflection looked back with large, dark eyes that seemed to venture a counterargument: she had wanted me to hold her, she had at first responded when I kissed her, before some pang of conscience or honour abruptly obliged her to step back. She felt drawn to me, she had said, and yet would not explain her sudden change of heart. Was this obstacle that I could not understand her preexisting affection for someone else? Was that connected to her fears? Damn Florio, I thought bitterly, though I had appreciated the young Anglo-Italian's friendly manner and his breezy conversation, as the other Fellows seemed sunk in introspection and had spent the meal throwing apprehensive glances at Mercer's empty chair.
I was still staring moodily into the mirror when the door to my chamber was flung open without ceremony and I turned with a start to see Sidney, his tall frame filling the doorway, a short green cape slung from one shoulder and brandishing a bottle of wine in his right hand.
"I have escaped from the Pole for one evening only!" he announced triumphantly, slamming the door behind him, pulling the cork from the bottle with his teeth while scouring the room for drinking vessels. Finding none, he eventually sat down on the chair beside the writing desk under the window and took a long swig from the bottle.
"Just as if we were students again, Bruno," he smiled, raising the bottle to me in a mock toast. "So." He pointed a finger at me sternly. "You abandoned me to Laski all day, so you had better have some worthwhile news for me, Bruno, or I shall consider it poor sport of you. What the hell have you been up to?"
He held out the bottle and I drank gratefully, before giving him a brief account of all that had happened since the previous night. I showed him the papers I had found under my door, then told him of my discovery in the library, my unexpected stumbling across the Catherine Wheel Inn, Cobbett's curse of Rowland Jenkes, Coverdale's threats to me and subsequent disappearance, and finally Sophia's fear that she may be in danger. I tried to convey this latter in a neutral tone, saying nothing of my interest in her or of my badly judged attempt to kiss her, but still a smile curved across Sidney's face and his eyes took on that old lascivious gleam.
"No wonder you have shunned my company, Bruno, you sly fox," he said, cuffing me on the shoulder as he rose to reclaim the bottle. "So the rector has a daughter, eh? No such luck for me at Christ Church-all I have to look at are jowly old men and spotty boys. Are you practising the old Italian magic on her?"
I smiled, but looked away. "The fact that she thinks she may be in danger is my only concern," I said, ignoring his snort of derision. "She would not say, but I suspect it may be connected to the murder of Roger Mercer, and if that in turn is connected to this nest of Catholic conspirators at the Catherine Wheel-"
"Then you must investigate the Catherine Wheel at the first opportunity," Sidney said, passing the bottle back, considerably lighter. "That is a job I cannot do-my face is too well-known. It was for this that Walsingham wanted you, Bruno-you can pretend to be one of them. Gain their trust, work your way in among them. You have some excellent leads
, I must say. The books, that boy parroting the Litany of the Saints. They may simply meet to say Mass, or they may be plotting against the government with the backing of France or Spain. Find out what you can."
I nodded, though the thought of trying to dupe Jenkes and his hard-faced cohorts at the Catherine Wheel was not one to take lightly.
"And now," Sidney continued, standing and stretching his long arms above his head, "I have some news for you. The keeper of Shotover Forest is indeed missing a hunting dog. One of five Irish wolfhounds hired for a hunting party a week ago-the gentleman in question reported that the dog had been startled by a noise and taken flight. Apparently they searched the forest for it but to no avail."
"Did he tell you the gentleman's name?" I asked eagerly.
"He certainly did," Sidney said, leaning casually on the mantelpiece, proud of his information. "It was a Master William Napper of Holywell Manor, Oxford. But any huntsman will tell you that a trained wolfhound wouldn't just bolt like that-they have better discipline than most of the queen's soldiers."
"Napper?" I jerked my head up, surprised. "That is strange."
"Why so?"
"Your new friend Master Norris-I think he stables his horse at Holywell Manor. I saw him heading there this morning."
Sidney put his head on one side to consider this, and at the same moment I noticed something that made my heart drop like a stone.
"That is a coincidence. The family are well-known, of course," he continued, ambling back to the window to peer across the courtyard, "but William Napper has always been what we call a church papist-he toes the line, attends service like a good citizen, even if everyone knows he holds a different faith in his heart. It is the younger brother, George, who has gone looking for trouble. He studied in Rheims and is currently detained at the Wood Street Counter in Cheapside. Curious that young Norris should associate with them. I suppose we must keep an eye on him as well." He turned to face me. "Bruno, are you even listening to me?"
"One moment, Philip." I was not the neatest of men, but I was certain I had not left the books and papers on the desk in the state of disarray that I now observed. Rising quickly from the bed, I lifted a few sheets to confirm my suspicion, then began frantically rifling through the papers that remained. Someone had already searched my desk; Roger Mercer's almanac and all the theories I had jotted down about his death were gone.
"Sophia," I whispered, disbelieving.
Chapter 11
The rain's steady rhythm against my windowpanes woke me early on Monday morning even before the chapel bell had summoned the men of Lincoln to Matins. A thick cover of cloud had returned in the night and the sky was the colour of slate, the quadrangle slick with puddles. Again I had been too preoccupied to sleep well. Sidney and I had sat up late into the night exchanging theories, but we had only a cat's cradle of speculation and nothing conclusive to untangle one thread from another. I needed to find a means of speaking to Sophia Underhill before the day was much older; either she had taken Roger's almanac and my notes from my desk, or someone had seen her leave my room and taken his chance, surmising that the door would be unlocked.
As I swung my legs over the side of the bed, I glimpsed something white on the floor beneath it and reached down to retrieve a piece of paper. Turning it over, I saw that the writing on it was my own; it was the copy I had made of the strange code at the back of Roger's calendar, and my efforts to write some basic sentences using it, a task I had set myself before falling asleep the night before last. The paper must have slipped under the bed and escaped the attention of whoever-and I was still reluctant to believe it could have been Sophia-had taken all the other notes from my desk while I was out with Florio the night before. At least, then, I still had a copy of the code-but I was no closer to tracking down any letters Roger Mercer might have written or received using it. I was now certain that the person who searched Roger's room before me, and perhaps Slythurst after me, had been looking for just such letters or documents. What I still did not know was whether either searcher had found them.
Sidney was still burdened with the entertainment of the palatine, but had promised to look into Gabriel Norris's connection with the Napper family and see what he could discover about William Napper's hunting party when the dog went missing. My task was to visit Jenkes's shop in Catte Street on the pretext of purchasing some books, to see what I could learn about his illicit business there, and then to brace myself for another meal at the Catherine Wheel in the hope of further conversation with Humphrey Pritchard. I confess to a slight twinge of conscience at the thought of manipulating the trust of a simple-minded potboy-but I had a job to do, and I tried to concentrate on the long view, as Walsingham had instructed. Unlike my employer, however, I was not a natural politician, and the idea of sacrificing individuals to the hazy concept of the greater good did not sit easily with me. Before I could turn my attention to any of this, however, I needed to find a way to speak to Sophia.
I had decided not to attend Matins-one show of piety during my visit was enough, I felt-and instead spent the early part of the morning trying to read by my window in the hope that I might see Sophia if she crossed the quadrangle on one of her regular visits to the college library. I knew that the rector would never admit me if I asked to speak to her directly, so my best hope was to wait and see if she would venture out when the students were all at public lectures-assuming that her father would still allow her that privilege. My stomach moaned at the lack of breakfast, but I dared not go in search of food in case I missed Sophia.
It was shortly before nine that I saw her emerge from the rector's lodgings. My heart gave an involuntary leap and I quickly gathered my cloak to catch up with her, but she did not cross the courtyard toward the library. She was dressed more formally than usual, in an ivory gown with embroidered sleeves, the hood of her short cape drawn up around her face against the rain, and she walked with a determined step toward the gatehouse. Hastily I locked the door to my chamber, though I had left nothing there of value, and folded the paper with the code inside my doublet. Walsingham's purse hung heavy at my belt. If I should be attacked in the street, I would lose everything, I thought grimly, but at least it didn't matter if the room was searched in my absence. I scrambled down the stairs and charged across toward the tower archway, slipping on the wet flagstones, but when I reached the main gate and stepped out into St. Mildred's Lane, there was no sign of her in either direction. She could not have moved fast enough to have disappeared from the street, I reasoned. Concluding that I must have mistaken her destination, I returned to the college, closing the gate behind me, when I heard the low murmur of a woman's voice coming from the porter's lodge.
Knocking gently, I opened the door to see Sophia in all her fine clothes crouched on the damp floor with the old dog's head cradled in her lap. As I entered she raised her head and smiled politely at me as if we had only a passing acquaintance, before returning all her attention to fondly mussing the dog's ears. A low growl of contentment emanated from Bess's throat as she nuzzled her head deep into Sophia's skirts. Oh to be a dog, I thought, and immediately reprimanded myself.
"Morning, Doctor Bruno," Cobbett said affably from his position of authority behind his table. "You seem in a rush today."
"Oh-no, I-good morning, Mistress Underhill," I said, bowing slightly.
Sophia looked up briefly, but this time her expression was preoccupied and she did not smile.
"Doctor Bruno. I think poor Bess is growing blind, Cobbett," she said, barely looking at me. I guessed she must be ashamed of what had happened the night before.
"Aye, she's not long for this world," Cobbett agreed, as if he had long been resigned to the idea. "Sophia loves that dog," he added, for my benefit. I blinked, surprised at the familiarity with which he, as a servant, referred to the rector's daughter in her presence. Sophia noticed my look and laughed.
"You are shocked that Cobbett does not call me Mistress, Doctor Bruno? When I first arrived at Lincoln Col
lege, I was thirteen years old and my brother fourteen. We had no company of our own age and the Fellows of the college were not used to having children around-they made it very clear they disliked our presence. Cobbett and his wife were the only ones who were kind to us. We spent half our time in here chatting and playing with Bess, didn't we, Cobbett?"
"Aye-distracting me from my post," the old porter said gruffly, with obvious affection.
"I didn't know you had a wife, Cobbett," I said.
"Not anymore, sir. The good Lord saw fit to take her these five years back. She was the college laundress for years, and a damned fine one. Still, this is how the world turns. And soon my old Bess will be gone, too." He sniffed heartily and turned his face away to the window.
"Don't say that, Cobbett, she'll hear you," Sophia said, pretending to cover the dog's ears.
"You are dressed very finely this morning, Mistress Underhill," I ventured.
She made a face. "My mother has roused herself sufficiently to go visiting," she said, in a tone that conveyed exactly what she thought of that idea. "We are to call upon an acquaintance of hers in the town whose own daughter, though two years younger than me, is recently betrothed to be married. So she and I will no doubt entertain each other on the lute and virginals, while our mothers extol the many blessings and virtues of marriage and we all revel in her success. As you may imagine, I can hardly contain my excitement." She said this with a perfectly straight face, though Cobbett misunderstood her sarcasm.
"Why, Sophia, you have no need to feel hard done by-you know you may have any husband you wished if you would only put your mind to it," he said. He meant to be reassuring, but I did not miss the shadow that passed across her face then, as if his words caused her some secret pain.
