The Queen's man

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Sir Francis Walsingham was almost cheerful. No, Shakespeare corrected himself, not actually cheerful. That would be too much to hope for; the Principal Secretary had the permament look of a bloodhound that had been denied its supper and was not given to smiling. But certainly remarkably even-tempered and at ease.

They were in Walsingham’s office at his mansion in Seething Lane, London. It was an austere place, much like his country retreat, Barn Elms. The chairs were plain, unadorned oak, as was the table. There were no hangings on the wall and little light, for the windows were often kept shuttered through the day. The table and shelves were a litter of papers, books and maps. Only Mr Secretary knew what they all were; only he could locate a particular document or letter, for there seemed to be no method to the disarray.

The only symbol of Walsingham’s power and position was the painting that adorned the wall opposite the window. It was modestly sized, perhaps six feet wide by four feet high, and it showed the eighth King Henry in splendour on his throne, with Queen Mary and her husband Philip of Spain to his right, and his son King Edward VI and daughter Queen Elizabeth to his left. The divide between the Catholics and Protestants was sharply evident. Shakespeare’s eyes strayed to the picture. He knew well that it had been a gift to Sir Francis from the Queen. It always surprised him to see Philip of Spain among the Tudors.

‘Keep your enemies close,’ Walsingham said when he saw the direction of Shakespeare’s gaze. ‘It is a lesson for us all.’ He poured two silver goblets of sack. ‘You have done well, John. Very well. I thank God you were there to save the Scots devil.’

Shakespeare could not disguise his incredulity. He was expecting to be berated; this was not at all the reception he had expected. ‘Sir Francis. .’

‘I know. You imagined I would have wished Mary Stuart dead.’

‘Indeed, I assumed so.’

‘Well, you would not be far from the truth, John. But do you not think I could have ordered her throat slit before now, had I so wished it? No, that is not the way for a civilised country to go. I want the woman to be condemned for her crimes in open court and to suffer the full force of the law of England. She came here as a guest and she has repaid our generosity by conspiring against us. When eventually she faces the executioner, the capitals of Europe will know that her death was lawful, just and deserved.’

Shakespeare saw no sign of dissimulation, but that meant nothing. He knew enough about Mr Secretary to realise that he could call an apple a pear and have you believe it. ‘Mr Slide suggested-’

Walsingham tapped his right index finger twice on his table. It was an impatient gesture. ‘Pay no heed to Harry Slide. He has a mind of his own. The problem is he thinks he knows my mind. Harry Slide is a useful man in his own way, but he is limited. That is why he is the hireling and you are my apprentice and my great hope. Consider this your blooding.’

‘You flatter me, Sir Francis.’

‘I flatter no one, not even Her Royal Majesty.’

‘But someone paid Slide to organise this assassination attempt.’

‘Indeed they did.’

‘And if not you, then why send me to both Sheffield and Stratford?’

‘Do you think to interrogate me, John? Is this wise?’

‘When first you took me on as your assistant secretary, you told me you liked plain speaking. Forgive me if I now talk out of turn, but I was lured along a merry trail and I would like to know who set me on it.’

‘You were blooded and you survived. Yes, I knew some mischief was brewing, but I was not certain what form it would take. When it was suggested to me that you might investigate the papist conspiracies in your home county, I was naturally interested. Yet I had no notion as to what you would find.’

‘Then this is my lord of Leicester’s doing.’ It made sense, of course. Had not Hungate mentioned a ruby he might have won had Mary died?

‘I did not say that.’ Walsingham paused and tapped his finger on the table again. ‘As you know, he has interests in Warwickshire, but that does not mean he was involved in the attempt on the Scots devil’s life. The important thing is that you discovered the plot and stopped it, for which I have already commended you.’

Shakespeare was not wholly convinced, but there was little advantage in pressing the point further. ‘Indeed you have, and I thank you.’

Walsingham nodded. ‘But you are still fretting. I see it in your eyes. You don’t understand exactly why I did not tell you my fears before you left Oatlands. And my answer is that I trusted you to solve this puzzle yourself and bring the answer to me. And now you have proved me right. However, I must say this: not everyone is happy with you. .’

Shakespeare held Walsingham’s gaze. ‘Sir Francis?’

‘There is the matter of the Earl of Leicester’s man, who has disappeared. What do you know of him?’

‘Ruby Hungate? Very little. I met him at Oatlands, then Stratford, and then at Sheffield where he seemed primed to do murder. Why?’

‘Sir Thomas Lucy says he returned to Stratford and went into the Forest of Arden to discover the whereabouts of the sister of the priest Benedict Angel. Sir Thomas suspects the young woman was up to her own pretty neck in conspiracy.’

‘I know nothing of that.’

‘Well, then I must accept what you say. Just as you must accept that I had no knowledge of this conspiracy against Mary Stuart.’

So this was how it would be, Shakespeare thought. A stand-off.

‘And with that settled,’ Mr Secretary went on, ‘let us now move to other matters. Tell me your thoughts regarding these disgraceful traitors, these Ardens. What are we to do about them?’

‘Edward Arden and Hugh Hall are returned to Warwickshire.’

‘Should we arrest them?’

‘On what charge?’

‘Conspiracy.’

‘It is possible, but then Harry Slide would have to give evidence against them. There is no one else. Would you like to see Slide in court testifying?’

Walsingham almost seemed to laugh at the thought, but there was no humour in his eyes. ‘You are right. Men like Slide must always be kept in the shadows. But there are other ways. With persuasion, Arden and Hall will confess. I am sure Mr Topcliffe could extract the truth from their lips.’

‘Topcliffe is a cruel and savage man. I have seen him beat a man halfway to death without cause. He destroyed the home of a Yorkshire gentleman named Bassingbourne Bole for no reason other than brutal vengeance. Forgive me for speaking plain yet again, but I cannot stomach Topcliffe.’

‘I know all about Bole and the priest he harboured. Bole has since denounced the Pope and all his agents and has been pardoned. The priest, Edenshaw, has been hanged in Sheffield, convicted of treason. As for Mr Topcliffe, I told you, he is strong meat. But we need such men. We are fighting a foe that tortures and burns men and women simply for not being Catholic. No one is killed in England for their beliefs, only for treason.’ Walsingham fixed Shakespeare with a stare. ‘But still — ’ his voice softened — ‘I believe you are probably right about Arden and the priest Hall. Leave them be for the moment. They are best watched, for they may lead us to other conspirators. As for Somerville, he will be arrested as soon as he comes within a furlong of the court.’

‘If he does not shoot himself first.’

Walsingham rose from his hard chair and walked across to a bank of shelves at the east of the room. He hunted through a pile of official papers and dragged out a large map, which he brought back and unfolded across the table. ‘Now, to the matter of the bosom serpent. I am pleased that you and Mr Topcliffe managed to agree on this at least, that she is no longer safe at Sheffield.’ He placed his slender finger upon the point where the rivers Sheaf and Don converged. ‘This is a map of England, John. The question is, where are we to put the Scots devil if Sheffield is not suitable?’

‘Not Tutbury. It is rotten and would take a great deal of work to be brought to a good enough standard to house a queen.’

‘One could almost think you had a soft spot for the witch. Be careful, John, for she has a way of beguiling men, as Norfolk found to the cost of his head.’

‘And yet she is a queen, and a cousin of our own dear sovereign. She has her own court and privileges. Is she not to be treated as a monarch?’

Walsingham ignored the question and continued to stab his stiletto finger at various places on the map. ‘Wingfield Manor? Fotheringhay? What of one of the great Norfolk houses? Or Suffolk — Framlingham Castle?’

‘There is a great deal of coastline around Norfolk and Suffolk.’ Shakespeare leant over the map.

The Principal Secretary looked up. ‘You are thinking well. I like that. Anyway, this is for the Privy Council to talk over at another time. I have your report and it will most certainly be used in our debate. For the moment, I have one more matter to discuss: the letter from the Scots devil that you say was found in the clothing of the priest Benedict Angel.’

‘Has Mr Phelippes deciphered it?’

‘No, nor is he likely to. He says it is meaningless, that the cipher is no cipher at all but a muddle of letters and insignificant symbols. He says too that the signature is not the hand of Mary Stuart, but a poor forgery. I rather suspect Mr Slide’s hand in this. It is the sort of thing he would use to gain the trust of those whose company he intended to infiltrate. As it is, he was most fortunate that his guise as Buchan Ord was not uncovered by Arden and the others, for what he did not know — and what Mr Phelippes has since discovered — is that the real Mr Buchan Ord and Benedict Angel knew each other well.’

‘They knew each other? How can that be? Harry Slide could not have infiltrated the conspiracy if he was known.’

‘Buchan Ord and Benedict Angel were ordained together at Douai.’

Shakespeare rapidly ran through the implications. It was the death of Benedict Angel that saved Harry Slide from discovery. Was that mere chance? ‘Then. .’

Walsingham nodded. ‘Harry did what he had to do, John.’

Shakespeare’s blood ran cold. Benedict Angel must have realised Slide’s deception as soon as he saw him — and so Slide killed him there and then, without compunction.

What Walsingham did not know was that thanks to Shakespeare, the deadly Mr Slide had been entrusted with the lives of Florence and Audrey Angel. .

The grey seas of the Channel were whipped into a frenzy by gales. All ships were confined to harbour and even there they were not safe from the storm. Harry Slide had the shutters open in his small, top-floor room at the Buckland Arms, the squally rain lashing his face. Below him was a scene of devastation, with broken masts and spars. Two packet boats had capsized, their shattered hulls drifting into other shipping.

It had been like this for two days. The inns of Dover were full of would-be voyagers waiting for the storm to cease. Slide was sharing his loft-room with three other men, all travelling alone. They took it in turns to have the truckle bed to themselves while the others shared the tester bed. There were no comforts here.

Behind him he heard the latch being lifted and did not bother to turn around to greet one of his fellow travellers.

‘Mr Slide. .’

The voice jolted him and he turned a little too suddenly. John Shakespeare was in the chamber, the hair on his head scraping the low ceiling. He had closed the door and had his back firmly against it.

‘Mr Shakespeare, you gave me a fright! I beg you do not creep up on me so.’

‘And how would you like me to creep up on you?’ Shakespeare’s voice was soft. These walls were mere partitions.

‘Not like an assassin.’

‘If I were an assassin, you would be dead. But I think you probably know more about assassination than I do, Slide.’

‘Mr Shakespeare.’ Slide spread his hands out in appeal. ‘I had to do what I did. Hungate was about to kill you, and then he would have done for Mr Cooper and the women in the most horrible manner, flaying them alive.’

‘That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. I am referring to the murder of Benedict Angel. Garrotted. By you.’

Slide gasped, as though horrified by the accusation. ‘That, too, was Hungate, I swear it. He had to have his revenge against the whole family.’

‘Not so,’ Shakespeare said grimly. ‘You killed him because he knew you were an impostor. When you took on the guise of Buchan Ord, you had not realised that he and Angel had known each other at the seminary in Douai. It was a foolish and careless error by your master, but one you corrected by committing murder.’

‘I deny it absolutely.’

‘Yes, I rather imagined you might. But your denial does not make it untrue. I am certain, too, that you sought to muddy the waters by adding the rosary to the neck post mortem and the host and wine to the mouth — as though this crime was committed with some religious motive, which it was not. But I am not here to fight with you over this, nor have you arrested or taken to court. I know you have courage and that you saved my life. I know, too, that you put yourself in grave danger infiltrating the court of Mary Stuart and fomenting conspiracy at Arden Lodge. But I am here to protect Florence Angel and her mother, and to ensure that you earn your rubies diligently.’

‘Why should I wish these women harm?’

‘Because they know too much about you. Soon, they will learn the truth about the fate of the real Buchan Ord and they will guess that you killed him and Benedict. It is an assumption I would make myself, certainly in the case of Father Angel. And believe it or not, Mr Slide, there are still people with power in this country who believe that murder can never be justified and will come after you.’

‘You are, indeed, making out a good case for me to kill them.’

Shakespeare smiled. ‘You do not need me to put such notions in your head. I am sure you have thought all this through yourself. And that is why I have come here. An accident at sea, a highway confrontation with supposed robbers while travelling through France to Brabant. It would be all too easy for them to disappear. But I will not let it happen. Within the past hour, I have spoken to Florence and my Aunt Audrey, whom I am pleased to find almost restored to health, and I have told them they must send word to me when they are safe arrived at St Ursula’s in Louvain. I have taken a sample of their handwriting and we have agreed a number of words that will be included in their missive, so that I will be certain the letter is truly from them. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Mr Shakespeare, I understand.’

‘And Mr Slide, I promise you this. If I do not receive word that you have delivered them safely and in good order — using gold from your own engorged purse, as agreed between us — then I will break you. And that will be easier than you might imagine, for I will find a way to let the Earl of Leicester know what happened to Mr Hungate and, just as importantly, who sliced the ear from his body to take possession of his rubies. Would you really like my lord Leicester as your enemy?’