The Heretics

Chapter 24

TWO DAYS LATER, Shakespeare arrived at Trevail Hall. He found the old building bathed in late evening sunshine. Its grey stone walls nestled into warm folds of woodland as though it had always been there, placed by God rather than man. It seemed to Shakespeare the most perfectly proportioned house he had ever set eyes on.

He trotted his horse up to an arched gateway, which led into a pleasant courtyard. A groom appeared and took the reins while he dismounted. The groom summoned a serving man, who informed Shakespeare that Lady Trevail was visiting the Godolphins for a few days. It was only a short ride away, or there was an inn close by if he so desired. The hour was late and it would be dark soon, but Shakespeare accepted directions from the footman and rode on.

Godolphin House was only two miles further on and the sun had just dipped below the horizon as Shakespeare made his entrance. It was built around a courtyard, with stables near by. Like Trevail Hall, it was made of granite, but it was larger and more splendid, as befitted the deputy Lord Lieutenant of the county, Sir Francis Godolphin.

He heard music. The leaded windows were lit by the flames of many candles. Shakespeare handed his horse into the care of the stableman and went in search of a servant. A pair of pikemen barred his way and made him wait outside while one of them went to fetch a more senior officer. After a few minutes a grey-haired man appeared in black clothes and a crisp white ruff, inquired after the nature of Shakespeare’s business, then asked him to wait in an ante-room.

‘Sir Francis might be a few minutes. He is entertaining guests.’

Shakespeare turned away and examined his surroundings. The room was richly appointed with linenfold panelling. Indeed, the whole house reeked of the great wealth that the Godolphin family had accrued from the mining of copper and tin. He swung round at the sound of footsteps. A man of military bearing with a ruddy face and a good-humoured aspect stood before him.

‘May I inquire who you are, sir?’

Shakespeare gathered that this must be Sir Francis Godolphin and bowed to him. ‘John Shakespeare. I am from the office of Sir Robert Cecil.’

‘Good evening to you, Mr Shakespeare. You are welcome.’ He took his guest by the hand. ‘And you will be pleased to know that you are arrived in good time for the dancing. Come, sir, join the revels for you have come a damnable long way and must need stretch your legs and take wine and food.’

‘If I might just explain why I am here.’

‘Well, I hope you are here because of the hostile Spanish shipping in these waters. I would like it all the more if you could tell me that you have brought a company of fighting men with you, but I fear from your face that you have not.’

‘Have there been more sightings?’

‘Spanish ships-of-war have taken an English merchantman in the Channel and it is possible they have captured more fishers, six men of Newlyn, whose craft has not returned to safe harbour. The Spanish galleys have also been spotted off the north shore of Cornwall, past St Ives and close by St Eval. That was three days ago. I am informed that Grenville raised a militia, armed them with calivers and manned the beach; the Spanish did not attempt to land. Of course I have sent messengers with all this to my lord of Essex and to Cecil, but it would be well if a voice such as yours were to press our case to the Council, Mr Shakespeare.’

‘I will take back your reports and recommendations to Sir Robert. But I am also here to talk with a guest of yours, Lady Trevail. A private matter, Sir Francis, but one of most potent concern to the realm.’

‘Sir, it is not my way to inquire into other men’s secrets, so I will not ask you to explain yourself. All I will say is that Lucia is among my oldest friends, and I would wish you to treat her with courtesy and respect, whatever your business with her. Do I make myself clear?’

Shakespeare bowed again. ‘Indeed.’

‘Good man, then come and join the merry-making. We will talk more of hostile Spaniards on the morrow.’

Lucia Trevail had shrugged off her modest court attire and replaced it with a dazzling gown of gold and silver threads that caught the light and made her the centre of attention for every man and woman in the room. In the light of the candle flames, Shakespeare thought her sublime.

There were about fifty guests in the hall, talking and drinking in little groups to the sound of viols and lutes. Shakespeare stood at the entrance as Godolphin clapped his hands for silence. The music ceased, and all eyes turned to him.

‘Lords, ladies and gentlemen, we have an unexpected guest, Mr John Shakespeare. Please do me the courtesy of extending him a warm Cornish welcome.’

The guests all nodded their heads in acknowledgment, but Shakespeare’s own eyes were fixed on Lucia. She smiled and left her group to step towards him.

‘Mr Shakespeare, what a marvellous surprise.’

He took her small gloved hand and kissed her fingers. ‘My lady . . .’

‘Am I so irresistible that you travelled this far to see me?’

He laughed. ‘I would, of course, traverse the Straits of Magellan and swim the Pacific Ocean for the honour of kissing your hand.’

‘I should hope you would, for such bounty is bestowed on few and is as precious as nutmeg. Now then, sir, why are you here? Yet again, you are most mysterious.’

He scanned the room. There was no sign of Beatrice Eastley.

‘Are you looking for something, Mr Shakespeare?’

‘Could we repair elsewhere to talk? I have questions to ask.’

‘Why, yes. Let us take the night air. And I should be pleased to have a few answers myself.’

Outside in the gardens, the air was warm. With their way lit by burning cressets of pitch, they wandered through arbours, across a lawn to a bank of yew, where they were well away from eyes and ears.

‘It is about Lady Susan’s companion, Beatrice Eastley,’ Shakespeare said. ‘Is she still with you?’

‘No, indeed she is not. Why?’

‘I had expected her to be here with you.’

‘So had I, Mr Shakespeare, so had I, for we left London together. Along the way, she decided she did not like me or my company, though I am still puzzled as to what exactly happened. I do not lie when I tell you that I have never been spoken to in my life the way that hussy addressed me.’

‘What happened?’

She began walking again, slowly, into the darkness where only the moon and stars lit her path.

‘We were at an inn, just before the leg of the journey towards Buckland Abbey. I was expecting to go to see Elizabeth Drake and from there we would take a little detour to the relatives of whom Beatrice spoke. At the inn, we were in our room and somehow the talk came around to matters of religion. I do not know why, but I had always assumed she was of the same persuasion as me, but it appears I was wrong. In my bags, I had a small copy of sections from Foxe’s Book of Martyrs, telling the horrific yet chastening tales of our brave English men and women who died in the fires of Bloody Mary’s inquisition. Have you read it, Mr Shakespeare?’

‘Indeed.’

‘Well, Beatrice suddenly turned into a wildcat. She snatched the book from my travelling bag and tore out the pages, one by one, and threw them on the fire. “Let their memory turn to ashes,” she said, “for they were all heretics and will burn in hell for all time.” I was shocked to my soul and perhaps did not react as quickly as I might. She picked up a cup, threw it at me and called me a heretic whore and worse. Despic able words that I cannot repeat. I shied away from her, for I suddenly wondered whether she might have a dagger, but she merely stood her ground and laughed at me. My fear turned to anger and I told her to get out. She made an obscene gesture, Mr Shakespeare, then spat at the ground by my feet and was gone. I have not seen her since, and I thank God for it.’

‘I need to find her. Exactly where did you part?’

‘A village called Bickleigh, by the bridge over the Exe. Mr Shakespeare, I cannot tell you how distraught I was. Though I did not count Beatrice a friend, yet I had always thought she must have the makings of a gentlewoman, otherwise why would Susan have taken her on as she had? And, certainly, Emilia always thought well of her.’ Lucia Trevail stopped beneath the spreading branches of a cedar. The music from the hall had faded to a distant hum. ‘I find myself agitated to think of it still.’

Shakespeare touched her arm and his fingers lingered a moment.

Her hand clutched his and held it. They were a quarter-mile from the house and the light cressets.

‘Now you must talk to me, Mr Shakespeare. What exactly is your interest in Beatrice and why have you come so far in quest of her? The last time we met you were engaged on a hunt for Thomasyn Jade. Now it seems you have switched your attention to my erstwhile companion. I believe you owe me some explanation.’

‘Very well. Beatrice Eastley is not her real name. She is Sorrow Gray, the daughter of the late keeper of Wisbech Castle.’

Shakespeare told her all he knew about her conversion and the suspicions now raised against her.

‘Sir Robert Cecil and I had great fears for you, Lady Trevail, for you are close to the Queen.’

‘Are you suggesting you suspected me of something?’

‘I did not say that, but you were in the company of an impostor. We need to be certain: did she insinuate her way into your acquaintance, or was she welcomed?’

She removed her hand from his, sharply. ‘You seem to be calling me a traitor.’

‘You have access to Her Royal Majesty. It is my job to be suspicious.’

‘What exactly do you suspect me of doing?’

‘I am simply being cautious. I must find out what Beatrice Eastley is scheming.’

‘I feel rather insulted, sir.’

‘My intention is merely to clear your name from this difficult inquiry.’

For a moment there was silence. Then Lucia Trevail shivered and smiled. ‘Come, you are right to have suspicions. It is indeed your job, sir.’

The night air was cooling. He moved towards her, but she stepped lightly aside.

‘Mr Shakespeare, we are in danger of straying too far.’ She took his hand in hers once again. ‘Take me back to the hall and let us join the dance.’