Holy Spy

Chapter 18

The Giltspur House solar was an exquisite room. High, noonday sunlight flooded in from two large casement windows, both of which were glazed. Giltspur opened the latches to let in some much-needed fresh air.

A servant arrived with a pitcher of cordial and placed it on a table near the window, then poured two cups, bowed and departed.

Arthur Giltspur sat on a cushion-covered settle and swatted at a fast-moving and very noisy bluefly with his racket. ‘Got it!’ He gazed down at the inert body of the insect and trod it down to ensure it was dead. ‘Did you note how I watched it before I hit it? It is the same with tennis. You must watch the ball at all times. You watch it when it is in the server’s hand and when he tosses it up. You follow its arc to the penthouse. You watch it as a cat watches its prey. You watch it as Mr Secretary watches England’s enemies . . .’

‘What do you know of Mr Secretary?’

‘No more than any man. I have seen him at court and I met him briefly at a guild banquet, but mostly I know him by repute. I give thanks that Her Majesty has his services. He labours in the dark sewer of political intrigue so that Elizabeth and her subjects may sleep sound abed at night. If you are one of his chosen, then I must respect you, too. But you are not here to listen to my musings. You are come about the death of

my uncle. You believe Katherine to be innocent, do you not?’

‘You seem well informed.’

Giltspur sipped his cordial. ‘Severin Tort has briefed me. He came to me late last night. I know all about you and Kat, as you call her. He told me you had some evidence that all might not be as the murderer claimed in court.’

Shakespeare nodded. Without mentioning Joshua Peace or his own meeting with Kat, he rehearsed what he knew and his own feelings about Kat’s character.

‘Then I think we have similar thoughts. I cannot believe Katherine commissioned Uncle Nick’s murder. She brought only joy and life to this rather cold and empty house.’

‘But she had cause to kill him, did she not, Mr Giltspur? Had she not been implicated by Cane, she would now be an exceedingly rich widow.’ He met his host’s eye, with meaning.

‘Say it, Mr Shakespeare. Say what you are thinking.’

‘I am thinking that you, too, would become very wealthy were your aunt disqualified from inheritance by reason of her crime.’

Giltspur smiled. ‘You believe the prospect of inheriting his wealth gives me a motive for the murder of Uncle Nick and the condemning of Katherine?’

‘Some might think so.’

‘What if I were to tell you that I am already very wealthy?’

Shakespeare said nothing, waited for him to continue.

Giltspur sighed. His eyes were amused, as though he were making merry at a schoolfellow’s expense. ‘Very well. Let me complete the picture for you. Of course, Severin Tort could have told you all this, but he is probably so long versed in the ways of lawyers that he is reluctant to say more than he has to, lest he be thought a betrayer of confidences. But this is the way it is. My father, Philip Giltspur, was Uncle Nick’s elder brother. They worked together and traded together and built up their remarkably profitable concern: the greatest fishing fleet in the realm. And when my father died ten years ago, I inherited his half. This house, too, is half mine, Mr Shakespeare. I have never wanted for anything nor could I possibly have need of more treasure. And before you ask, I loved Uncle Nick as well as I loved my own father. His death has hit me like the blow of a hammer – and I very much want anyone involved brought to justice.’

Shakespeare still held his eye. Was there more there, inside him, unspoken? Surely a man brought low with grief would deny himself the pleasure of the tennis court. Would he not, too, adopt a more sombre aspect?

‘Again, I know what you are thinking. But I will not spend my days in black weeds. We live with death, and so it is my duty to live my life to the full. If you think the worse for me because of that, then so be it; but I refuse to play the hypocrite.’

‘I wish only to get to the truth, Mr Giltspur.’

Giltspur raised his palm. ‘Indeed, and it is your job to have suspicions. Mr Secretary pays you for your jealous mind. Think nothing of it. I desire every bit as much as you to find the truth of this matter. If Katherine is behind it, then she must pay the penalty. But if she is not, then we must clear her name and look further afield. You must look further afield, sir. But you are not alone. I will give you what little assistance I can.’

‘You could begin by telling me what you know of your uncle and his business dealings – and then I would like to be taken around this house. I would like to know more about the way he lived. Who makes up this household? I see you have many sentries, all armed, even within the house itself.’

‘The walls are ten feet high and yes, we do have guards, to keep out unwanted intruders.’ He raised an eyebrow in Shakespeare’s direction with meaning. ‘I think you can imagine why this is necessary.’

‘I believe the Queen herself does not have such security.’

‘Perhaps she does not have so much gold.’

Shakespeare pushed on with his questioning. How many servants did he keep? Were there other kinfolk here? ‘And I would like to know more about your uncle himself. Was he married before? Did he have enemies? Most wealthy men do, Mr Giltspur. And if so, who might have wished him harm?’

‘Well, I can answer two of those questions straightway. Yes, Uncle Nick was married before, twenty-five years since. But his wife died in childbirth at seventeen years of age; the babe died, too, so he has no issue. I am told he loved his wife very much and that he could never bring himself to find a new wife – until he met Katherine and fell under her spell. She charmed him and he was beguiled. I am sure you know all about that, sir. At the time of his death, Uncle Nick was fifty-six, but he was no December fool falling for a May schemer. He knew what he was about.’

‘What other kinfolk did he have, apart from you?’

‘There is only one other relative here: my grandame.’

‘I would like to meet her.’

‘That may not be possible. While she has the constitution of a ploughhorse, she has taken the death of Uncle Nick very badly. I think she has aged ten years in a week. She scarcely stirs from her apartments. But as you are here, I shall send messages to her. She must wish this matter concluded satisfactorily, as much as you and I do. And she can only say no.’

‘Thank you, Mr Giltspur.’ He hesitated a moment, then forged on. ‘And what of your uncle’s enemies?’

‘I am sure there were people he loathed and others who disliked him. Which of us can honestly say otherwise? But in my uncle’s case, I could not name them. He was a genuinely likeable man. His handshake was his bond and to my knowledge he never reneged on it. I did not play a great role in the fishing fleet, but I never heard him speak ill of anyone with whom he had dealings.’

‘I have one more question for the present: what manner of man is Mr Sorbus?’

‘He had been with Uncle Nick for as long as I can recall. To tell true, I have no idea whether he even has a Christian name or not. We always called him Sorbus, nothing more.’

‘He seemed very reluctant to grant me access to you.’

Giltspur laughed loud. ‘That is Sorbus! He is the gatekeeper. He believes his main purpose in life is to keep the common rabble away from his master and his master’s family. I am afraid he has airs more haughty than a Hatton or Leicester. As far as he is concerned, you are the common rabble, Mr Shakespeare.’

‘How did he take to his master’s new bride? Was she, too, part of the common rabble?’

‘Oh, the commonest of common rabble. I saw the way he looked at her and how he affected not to hear her when she gave him commands or made requests of him. No, no, Katherine would not have been at all to Sorbus’s taste. The mere sound of her northern vowels must have given him an apoplexy.’

The house was not as big as Shakespeare had imagined from its wide frontage, tennis court and elaborate courtyard. Yet he considered it to be all the finer for its relative compactness; every room had been renovated or built anew with the wealth accrued by the Giltspur brothers. Even the extensive kitchens had a modern character. What was most surprising, however, was the number of servants. Shakespeare lost track of them, but estimated that there were twenty or more, which seemed a great number for a household that until recently had consisted of only Nicholas Giltspur, his new wife Kat, his mother and his nephew Arthur.

‘Has there been any trouble with any of the serving staff, Mr Giltspur? Has anyone been dismissed recently – someone who might perhaps bear a grudge?’

‘I think that most unlikely, but you would have to speak to Sorbus.’ They were walking through the hall. Giltspur raised his racket to point ahead. ‘And speak of the devil, there he is. Sorbus!’

Sorbus acknowledged the summons with a stiff little bow and walked with his precise, measured steps towards Arthur Giltspur, where he bowed again and said, ‘May I be of assistance, master?’

Of course, thought Shakespeare, this young man is now the steward’s master. How was the surly old retainer taking this change of circumstance? No, the word old was wrong. He might have been with Giltspur as long as his nephew could recall, but Sorbus was not old. Shakespeare put his age at about thirty-five. He was a stiff-shouldered little man with a nose as sharp as a sundial’s gnomon and a costly suit of clothes in unseasonal black broken only by the crisp white ruffs at his cuffs and collar.

‘Master?’

‘Mr Shakespeare here would like to ask you some questions. Do him the courtesy of telling him everything he wishes to know.’

‘Yes, master.’

The lack of conviction in Sorbus’s voice was deafening.

‘Did anyone among the servants bear a grudge against your former master?’

‘A grudge, sir?’

‘You know what a grudge is, do you not, Sorbus? It is a desire for retribution for some perceived hurt.’

‘Forgive me, Mr Shakespeare. Of course, I know what the word means, but I wondered why you should use it in respect of the servants. I run a well-ordered household. If a man or woman did not measure up to my exacting standards, they would be dismissed instantly.’

‘And such a one might have cause to feel vengeful towards this house and all in it.’

‘If you say so, sir.’

Shakespeare looked from Sorbus to Giltspur, who shook his head and laughed.

‘Really, Sorbus, I think you could be a little more helpful. Mr Shakespeare wishes to discover the truth about Mr Giltspur’s murder.’

‘So I am told, master.’

‘Who acted as Mr Giltspur’s valet?’

‘That was Thomas. He has now left, for he is no longer required.’

‘Do you know where he has gone?’

‘To Norwich, I believe, whence he came as a boy. Mr Giltspur here was most generous and agreed to a pension of five pounds a year.’

‘It was the least I could do,’ Giltspur said. ‘He loved my uncle as though he were his father. He was broken by the murder.’

‘What are your feelings towards Mistress Giltspur?’ Shakespeare turned back to Sorbus. ‘Might she be innocent?’ He watched Sorbus’s face closely but could detect nothing from his expression.

‘It is not my place to have an opinion, sir.’ The steward’s tone verged on insolence.

Shakespeare had had enough. ‘You may go.’ Sorbus bowed to Giltspur, but not his guest, then walked back in the direction from which he had come. Shakespeare watched him go, then spread his palms hopelessly.

‘I am sorry, Mr Shakespeare,’ Giltspur said. ‘Sorbus is a lost soul. He is trying to hold himself and this house together and he doesn’t really know how.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I am going to have to pension him off, and I think he realises it.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Come, let me show you my uncle’s rooms – and I shall see if Grandame will grant you a hearing.’

‘Thank you.’

Kat and her husband had slept in separate chambers, connected by a double door, each of which could only be opened or locked from its own side.

‘Were the rooms always like this or was it an innovation created for the new bride?’

‘I have no notion. Never did I have cause to come to these rooms either before or after the wedding. I have only been up here once and that was since the murder, to see if Uncle Nick kept any vital papers secreted here.’

‘Did you find anything?’

‘Nothing. Look around the place while I go to see if Grandame will receive you.’

Shakespeare watched him go and wondered how he spent his time; he could surely not fill all his days with tennis. Was there a woman in his life? He had said that he realised he must now learn the trade of his father and uncle, but so far he did not seem overly concerned by such matters. Perhaps he had other interests to occupy him. Shakespeare made a mental note to question Severin Tort further, for he was clearly involved in the Giltspur corporation to a great degree.

Nicholas Giltspur’s chamber was large but not palatial, perhaps twenty-two foot square. The bed was big, however, with wonderfully carved posts and a silk canopy of rich reds and golds. The furnishings included a coffer and a small chest. Shakespeare tried them and discovered they were both unlocked and empty. He looked beneath the feather mattress, but there was nothing to be seen. At the side of the window there was a shelf with a few books, mostly either devotional or containing poetry. The only other one was A Discourse on the Variation of The Compass. As taught by Walsingham, Shakespeare flicked through the pages of the books to see if any papers were hidden there. Again, nothing. Either Mr Giltspur had lived a very austere and frugal life, or this chamber had been stripped since his death.

The very absence of evidence of Nick Giltspur’s life seemed somehow to signify that there were other secrets to be uncovered, somewhere. Surely even the bleak cells of anchorites contained indications of the life lived? All Giltspur’s chamber revealed was that he had had money enough for costly fabrics and that he used occasionally to dip into books.

Shakespeare walked through the double doors to Kat’s chamber. This was very different, a much more feminine room. Yes, this would have been a bower fit for the ambitious Kat Whetstone. The bed was smaller and less ornate, but there was evidence at least of human occupation here: combs and potions, a wig, an adjoining wardrobe stuffed with expensive gowns and shoes. Beyond that, there were no clues. He was looking out of the window, down onto the central quad, when Arthur Giltspur reappeared at his side.

‘Well, we have good fortune, Mr Shakespeare. Grandame has consented to see you briefly.’

‘Thank you. Tell me, sir, where is Katherine’s lady’s maid? I assume she had one. Has she, too, been dismissed?’

‘Indeed not. Katherine remains unconvicted by a court. I will hold any man or woman innocent until proven guilty. And so Abigail remains with us. She has taken over the duties of Grandame’s own maid, who is presently in her sickbed. In confidence, I would tell you that she is not expected to survive. As for Abigail, you will see her, too, in Grandame’s apartment.’

‘Good.’

‘Then follow me.’

Shakespeare hesitated. Something was troubling him. It was the book in Nick Giltspur’s chamber, A Discourse on the Variation of the Compass. The sea. Why had he not made the connection before?

‘Mr Shakespeare?’

‘Another question: have you heard of a man named Cutting Ball, a known villain?’

‘Yes, indeed. I believe it was said in court that the murderer, Cane, was his associate.’

‘And do you know anything of the way Mr Ball works?’

Giltspur’s brow creased. ‘What do you mean?’

For the first time Shakespeare thought he saw a fleeting crack in his engaging facade. ‘I mean the character of his criminal activities.’

Giltspur shook his head, the frown gone. Perhaps Shakespeare had imagined it. ‘Why, I suppose he cuts purses. Is that not what these people do?’

‘Oh, I fear he does rather more than cut purses. He likes to cut faces, too, and he cuts away the privy parts of men who displease him. Also eyeballs, I am told. But more than that is his interest in the fleets of the realm. It is said he demands one part in a hundred of all cargoes landed at the wharfs downriver from the bridge, and that his men burn out the vessels of any who refuse him. What I find myself wondering is whether the cargoes he targets would include the shiploads of fish your family lands. What do you think? Did he ever make demands of your Uncle Nick?’

Giltspur looked perplexed. ‘What a strange question, Mr Shakespeare. And one you would have to ask Uncle Nick himself, which, of course, is impossible.’