Holy Spy

Chapter 22

‘Pass me my nightshirt if you would, Master Gage. I am cold and soaked here. And more than a little exposed.’ Harry Slide gave a wolfish grin. ‘What in God’s name have you done, Mr Maude?’ The terror and disbelief was evident in Robert Gage’s wide eyes. ‘Why, I have killed a man, Master Gage – and have saved the lives of all three of us in the process.’

‘I saw you drown him. Why? Who was it?’

‘I cannot stand here like this. Give me my nightshirt and then help me up this bank.’

Gage looked about wildly, found the folded nightshirt, and handed it to Slide, who pulled the garment over his head and smoothed it down so that it clung to his wet body. ‘That’s better.’ He stretched out his right hand and Gage helped him up.

‘Please, Mr Maude, you must tell me what you have done here, for surely you will hang for this.’

‘Now listen. No one will hang if you keep your mouth shut.’ Slide tilted his chin towards the reeds where the corpse lay. ‘That man was named Slide. Harry Slide. He was a most foul and wicked spy, an intelligencer in the employment of Walsingham. I have no idea how he found us here, but he meant us harm. My action saved us.’

‘You cannot just kill men!’

‘Indeed, can I not? Are you then not prepared to kill for God’s greater glory?’

‘No. It is a sin.’

‘And yet you are engaged with Captain Fortescue and myself in attempting to raise an army to kill fellow Englishmen and restore the true faith to this land? Is that not what you are signed up to, Master Gage? That and the assassination of Elizabeth Tudor? I had thought you a man of action, not a squeamish child.’

‘This is different,’ Gage mumbled at last.

‘Different? No, it is not different. Slide was our enemy. He would have led us to the scaffold for treason. Now, if it please you, I have work to do. This horse must be made to disappear and the lantern must be replaced. And then, Mr Gage, I require my bed, for killing men is exhausting work, as you will soon find out, God willing.’

John Shakespeare’s mind turned with images of men all coated in blood: Savage, Babington, young de Warre, Tichbourne, Salisbury and all their comrades in the Pope’s White Sons. But his more immediate concern was Boltfoot’s absence.

According to Jane, he had left the house in the early evening, complete with his weapons. Shakespeare paced the solar. A single candle burned in the room, casting strange shadows as he walked across the wooden boards. The house was silent, but soon Jane would be up with the light of day and then there would be eggs, bread and fresh-churned butter on the kitchen table. And Boltfoot would walk through the door . . .

From downstairs, he heard a light knocking at the front door. Why would Boltfoot knock? Puzzled but relieved, Shakespeare hastened down to the front door and pulled it open. A cowled figure stood before him. It wasn’t Boltfoot.

‘Come in, Mr Redd.’

Once inside and with the door closed behind him, Oswald Redd removed his cloak and cowl.

‘Mr Shakespeare, I am sorry for disturbing you this early, but Kat has disappeared. I am frantic with fear.’

‘Has she been arrested?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Where was she hiding?’

Redd shifted awkwardly, clearly reluctant to divulge the place of concealment.

‘Come, let us go to the kitchens. We will sit and talk and you will tell me all you know. And this time you will hold nothing back, Mr Redd.’

Harry Slide awoke and emitted a yawn, stretching his arms luxuriantly above his head. Light slanted in through the edges of the shutters. He would stay here another ten minutes; there was no hurry. But then he remembered the body in the reeds. Perhaps it was better to leave this place sooner rather than later.

Rising from the bed, he glanced at the four-poster and was surprised to see that Ballard and Gage were not there. Dressing at a leisurely pace, Slide fixed a ready smile to his lips and went down to the taproom. ‘Mister innkeeper, where are my companions?’

The innkeeper was a man of stout belly, grizzled beard and thick legs. His brow knotted in confusion. ‘Master?’

‘Captain Fortescue and his young serving man. They have left the chamber so I thought they would be taking breakfast here.’

‘They declined to eat, sir. They ordered their horses brought to them in great haste, then paid the reckoning and departed.’

‘When was this? How long have they been gone?’

‘An hour and a half, I would say, perhaps a little more.’

And you say they have paid the reckoning?’

Indeed, master – for all three of you. They said you had more business in the region and would be following them in your own time.’

Of course . . . of course.’ He smiled at the innkeeper. ‘But I had expected to see them before they left. I overslept, which is entirely my own fault.’

‘Will you then have some breakfast, sir?’

Yes, he would. There was no point in chasing Ballard and Gage. He would eat a fine breakfast of sirloin, manchet bread and two pints of ale, and then he would ride at speed for Greenwich.

They stopped at the edge of a meadow grazed by sheep. ‘That’s the house,’ Oswald Redd said, pointing to a thatched cottage half a mile away.

‘Who tends the sheep?’

‘My brother, Osric. It was my mother’s house and farm, but he lives here alone now. I thought it the perfect place for Kat to hide.’

‘But surely anyone who was acquainted with you at the playhouse would know of this place?’

‘No. I never had cause to speak of it with them. Likewise, these people in the village know nothing of my life in Shoreditch and London. Nor would news of events such as Giltspur’s murder reach this far.’

Shakespeare was not so sure. Plenty of travellers on their way to Suffolk or Norfolk must pass this place.

They were near a village named Chigwell, ten miles northeast of Shoreditch. It was open countryside, dotted with sheep pasture and small market gardens. Two hours ago, at the kitchen table in Seething Lane, Redd had finally admitted to Shakespeare where he had hidden Kat.

‘And when exactly did she disappear?’

‘Yesterday.’

‘Did your brother not notice her leaving.’

‘He was out tending the flock and mending walls. It could have been at any time between dawn and five o’clock.’

‘And what did Osric do when he found her gone?’

‘He checked her chamber and saw that her belongings had gone, too. Then he sat and waited until I arrived.’

‘Was there any message left to tell you she was going? That she was sorry, perhaps?’

He shook his head vigorously. ‘Nothing.’

‘And nothing to suggest that officers of the law came and took her away?’

‘No. The house was not disturbed in any way.’

‘Did she ride or go by foot?’

‘Our mare is still in her stable. So unless someone brought her a mount, then she must have walked.’

‘Well, let us ride on. I wish to see where she was lodged.’

They trotted across the meadow, scattering sheep as they went. The life of a farmer with little acreage could be hard, but this looked a comfortable place and Shakespeare wondered why Oswald Redd had ever considered leaving.

Redd pushed open the front door and called out. ‘Osric?’ There was no response.

‘We will seek him out later if need be. First, show me her room.’

They ascended a ladder to the first floor. The bedchamber was on the left, through a low doorway with no door. The bed was plain and old. It might, thought Shakespeare, have been here since the Black Death. How many people had been conceived, born and died in it? Kat would not have felt comfortable here.

‘What were you planning to do, Mr Redd?’

He looked puzzled. ‘I do not understand the question, sir.’

‘Well, let me put it this way. Where would she have gone from here?’

‘She would have stayed here. It is safe enough, and a comfortable life.’

‘This is a sheep farm!’

‘I was planning to leave the playhouse and come here to run the farm once the hue and cry had died away. We would have married in time. It will still happen if we can find her.’

‘Are you seriously saying that you believe Kat Whetstone might have become a shepherd’s wife? Do you know nothing of her?’

Redd bridled. ‘I know her better than any man, Mr Shakespeare. She is the love of my life and it was a cruel day when Nicholas Giltspur chanced upon her with his great wealth. Any young woman’s head might have been turned by such riches.’

Shakespeare could see the anguish in Oswald’s eyes; she had forsaken him not once but twice. Perhaps none of them knew her. He himself had clearly not known her as well as he had thought, for he failed to see what might have made her desert his bed for the doubtful charms of Oswald Redd’s. Was there some hidden frailty that made her betray every person who trusted her?

In the corner of the room, there was an old coffer. Shakespeare lifted the lid. The comforting smell of wool rose to his nostrils. The coffer was packed with folded clothes and bed linen. Idly, he picked up the topmost sheet. Beneath it, he noticed a dress. Though plain, it was made of fine linen; it did not look like the attire of a farm wife and certainly not that of an old woman. He pulled it out and held it up.

A chill ran down his spine. ‘This is Kat’s. She was wearing this when I saw her at your house in Shoreditch.’

Redd nodded. ‘It was indeed the dress she wore when she was with me. She brought no other when she fled her home.’

‘Then what is she wearing now?’ Or what has been done to her …

They heard a sound downstairs.

‘That will be Osric,’ said Redd. ‘Come down when you are ready.’

Just as he had done at Giltspur House, Shakespeare searched Kat’s bedchamber in the thorough manner he had learnt from Sir Francis Walsingham. He removed all the blankets, sheets and old clothes from the coffer but discovered nothing more of interest. He looked beneath the mattress, in the gaps between floorboards, in any nook or hole in the wall, however small. He tapped at walls for hollowness and closed and opened the shutters to see whether any hidden message or object should fall out. Then he lifted the old, scratched washbasin to peer underneath and did likewise with the ancient vials of herbs and potions that seemed more likely to have belonged to Redd’s mother rather than Kat. All the time, he felt a gnawing fear: who had hidden the dress – and why?

He went downstairs to question Osric Redd. You could not mistake the two men as anything but brothers: both had complexions the colour of a Thames salmon, but Osric was nowhere near as well favoured as his brother.

‘When did you last see Kat?’

‘Yesterday morning. Dawn. She made the breakfast, then I went out and she weren’t here when I came back.’

‘What was she wearing?’

He shrugged. ‘Didn’t notice.’

‘And what was her humour?’

‘Don’t know. She were making breakfast. Mutton broth with beans. Same as I always have.’ He shrugged again and looked at his brother for guidance.

Oswald put an arm around his brother’s shoulder. ‘Osric is not like others, Mr Shakespeare. He’s happier in the company of sheep than people. He’ll spot the staggers, scab or scrapie sooner than he’ll note a broken leg in a man. He understands them and will note their temper when the same will go unnoticed in a human. Isn’t that so, Osric?’

‘I like sheep.’

‘Mr Redd, a word in private with you, if I may.’

Redd nodded to his brother. ‘Off you go then, Osric. Time to feed the pigs.’

‘I don’t like pigs.’

‘I know you don’t, but you like bacon, don’t you. And without pigs, there’ll be none. Now off you go.’

He grunted. ‘She took my jerkin, you know. Why’d she do that?’ Without another word, Osric walked out.

His brother watched him go, then smiled grimly at Shakespeare. ‘Before you ask, the answer is no. Oscric could not have harmed Kat; he has never harmed any creature. Wouldn’t even slaughter a hen, let alone one of his beloved sheep. Slaughterman has to do it for us.’

‘Her dress was abandoned and hidden.’

‘I know nothing about that – nor does he. I doubt he ever spoke more than half a dozen words to her.’

‘Mr Redd. We have two possibilities here. Either Kat has taken Osric’s jerkin and other articles of clothing from this house and run off wearing them, or something has happened to her and she has never left.’

‘Osric’s done nothing to her. If he says she took his jerkin, then that’s what happened.’

Shakespeare sighed. ‘Come, Mr Redd. Show me around the rest of the house and any outbuildings you have here. And set a fire for we must burn Kat’s dress. It would do you or your brother no good at all for it to be found here.’