by David Field
He was contemplating a return to the outer desk at which he’d first announced his arrival what seemed like an hour ago, and advising the pompous official seated behind it that he’d return at a more convenient time for Master Walsingham, when he was approached by a scrawny little man with a dripping nose and inky fingers. ‘Follow me,’ the man requested, and Tom duly obliged.
Walsingham was greyer around the head than Tom remembered him as he rose from behind his desk and shook his hand. ‘Welcome back to London, Constable Lincraft,’ Walsingham said without any apparent movement of the lips. ‘Do you find it much changed?’
‘I were just a boy when I left, my lord,’ Tom replied deferentially, ‘and it weren’t very often that we come this far west.’
‘No, quite,’ Walsingham nodded as he waved Tom into a chair in front of the long desk piled high with papers. ‘Newgate, wasn’t it?’
‘You’re well informed, sir,’ Tom smiled politely, and Walsingham smiled back. ‘In my line of work, one has to be. So how go matters in Nottingham?’
‘As lawless as ever,’ Tom admitted. ‘Much work for constables, anyway. But I’ll guess that London’s much worse, from the little I remember, and from what I’ve seen since I got here yesterday.’
‘There are places infinitely worse than London,’ Walsingham advised him as his face fell. ‘I myself have just returned from Paris, where the massacre that I witnessed made London seem like the gardens of Kent by comparison. Has word of it reached Nottingham?’
‘Street gossip, largely,’ Tom replied tactfully, ‘although in the church that I goes to there were talk of a massive slaughter of Protestants whose bodies were chucked in the river what flows through Paris.’
‘It was a terrible sight to behold,’ Walsingham recalled with a shudder, ‘and we must be ever vigilant to ensure that such never occurs here. And we may be assured that if the Catholics ever reach such a position of prominence as that dreadful Guise family in France, then we may expect similar outrages here. Hence my summons to you and your colleague. You come alone, however?’
‘Yes,’ Tom admitted. ‘Giles has a new lady in his life, and rather than drag him away I’d thought I’d come down on my own and see what it is you’re wanting of us. Is there a risk of Catholic intrigue in Nottingham?’ Walsingham frowned.
‘I need to remind you of the oath you swore when you became Queen’s Constables – both of you. That was not an oath that can be taken lightly, and once taken it cannot be resiled from. It requires you to work whenever – and wherever – you may be needed in the defence of the realm. You presumably understood that at the time – again, both of you?’
‘Yes,’ Tom conceded, ‘but that were two years ago now, and we hasn’t either of us heard from you in all that time. Nor has we been paid any money.’
‘The first of those complaints has already been addressed, since you are here today,’ Walsingham reminded him bluntly. ‘As for the second, did you fondly imagine that you would be remunerated for doing nothing?’
‘Suppose not, but why did you bring me all the way down from Nottingham?’ Tom enquired, and Walsingham nodded, in acknowledgment that Tom was finally asking the right questions.
‘Have you ever heard of “The Society of Jesus”?’
‘Can’t say I has,’ Tom admitted, ‘but it sounds like one of them Popish clubs.’
‘And if it is, you would presumably be opposed to it, given your strong Protestant persuasions?’
‘Of course, but so what?’
‘The “so what”, Tom, is that they are operating something called “The English College” across the Channel in France. A place called “Douai”, although that need not concern you at present. What must concern you, if you are to be of service to England, is that this college is training Catholic priests, then smuggling them into England, where we believe that they are being given sanctuary in the country houses of rich nobles.’
‘But they isn’t preaching?’ Tom enquired, at a loss to understand where this was leading.
‘If they were doing so openly, we could of course have them apprehended and brought to trial, along with the nobles who are hiding them, given that the Pope peevishly excommunicated Queen Elizabeth, and called upon all Catholics to serve God by removing her from the throne. Anyone doing so would of course be guilty of treason, but the Pope anticipated that and further threatened anyone continuing to obey her orders with excommunication, and this has inspired more than one plot to replace Her Majesty with Mary of Scotland. When we last met, it was as the result of your loyal service in helping to expose one of those plots, by the Italian merchant Ridolfi. Norfolk lost his head for his part in that one, but he is by no means likely to be the last to risk his life in plots against the throne. The presence of these “Jesuit” priests in the households of the high-born can only encourage more along the same lines.’
‘So where does I come in?’ Tom enquired, still at a loss. Walsingham sat back in his chair as he explained.
‘These priests are being smuggled into England under cover, probably at dead of night, and on board vessels that are otherwise engaged in legitimate trade. English sea captains are no doubt being handsomely rewarded for taking on this additional human cargo.’
‘How does you know that?’ Tom enquired, and Walsingham glared back testily.
‘That is of no concern to you. I have learned that for covert schemes to be successful, those taking part in them need only know of those matters that have a bearing on the part they are to play. You need know only that these agents of Rome are being smuggled into the country on English trading ships.’
‘I’ve never been to sea in my life,’ Tom objected. ‘No,’ came the reply, ‘but you’re familiar enough with alehouses, are you not?’
‘Of course, but what’s that got to do with priests and sailing ships?’ Tom demanded, and Walsingham sighed.
‘While our intelligence sources – which are French, and are therefore well placed to confirm that these priests are being smuggled across to England – are most reliable regarding the regular departures of ordained priests from the College, they have so far not been able to identify those vessels on which they are crossing the Channel. Once the priests reach Calais or Boulogne, they disappear into a closely guarded network of houses, and for all we know they remain hidden there for many weeks before they make the crossing. We have therefore determined that our next move must be to identify the vessels in which they travel at this end.’
‘But there’s lots of ports in England, isn’t there?’ Tom argued. ‘London’s only one of them, although it’s a big one.’
‘The vast majority of our sea trade begins life in the storehouses at Rotherhithe,’ Walsingham explained, ‘and the vessels that are entrusted with those cargoes may be found moored at the wharves along Thames Street. You are not unfamiliar with that area of London, are you?’
Tom nodded. ‘As usual, you’re well informed. My father and older brother worked as labourers on them wharves in the days when we all lived in Newgate. That were before they was unjustly put to death on the say-so of a bastard cousin of mine, but presumably you knows all about that as well.’
‘Indeed,’ Walsingham smiled, ‘so there are two reasons why you would be eminently suitable for what I have in mind for you and your colleague Constable Bradbury.’
‘Like I said already, he’s busy planning on getting himself married to a girl in Nottingham,’ Tom objected, but Walsingham’s returning smile was not a warm one.
‘Unfortunate, certainly. Regrettable, perhaps. But hardly insurmountable when compared with the need to protect the crown.’
‘I’m not sure as how Giles would agree with that,’ Tom grumbled, ‘and I suppose I’ll be left as the one to tell him. But why us? You must have lots more of these here “Queen’s Constables” up and down the country, so why a couple of fellers from Nottingham, which is just about as far from the sea as you can get in this country?’
Walsingham considered his repl
y carefully before delivering it. ‘Do you know precisely how many Queen’s Constables we have sworn in since the post was initiated?’ When Tom shook his head, Walsingham added ‘Five.’
Tom’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment, and Walsingham hastened to add that ‘You may now perhaps see why you should be so conscious of the honour bestowed upon you. Yet your only observation thus far has been to complain about the lack of payment. That will be remedied anyway, once you begin your allotted tasks.’
‘I don’t suppose as how we can refuse,’ Tom growled, ‘but you might at least tell me why the other three isn’t being involved.’
‘I didn’t say they weren’t,’ Walsingham reminded him. ‘I merely said that you and Bradbury will be, but in a different way. As I observed earlier, you need only know what you need to know.’
‘So what do you want us to do?’ Tom enquired with resignation, and Walsingham reached out for some papers on his desk and slid them across towards Tom.
‘The lease on a very insalubrious alehouse in Thames Street. It’s called the “Saracen’s Head”, and it’s all but shaded from daylight by London Bridge, which is perhaps as well, given all the dark deeds that went on in there. We closed it down after the last death following a knife fight, but now we’re obligingly allowing it to re-open in the hope that its former customers will return.’
‘You going to tell me why?’ Tom grumbled, ‘and what’s it got to do with me and Giles?’
‘Second question first,’ Walsingham smiled. ‘You just became the landlord. As for why, its clientele consists almost exclusively of sailors and sea captains. The lowest sort, of course, and therefore the most likely to be involved in this illicit transport of priests into England.’
‘So we goes in there, risks our necks every day, and keeps our ears open, assuming that they hasn’t been cut off in one of them knife fights you was mentioning?’
‘That sums it up very nicely,’ Walsingham confirmed as his smile widened. ‘Whatever profit you can make from selling whatever pigswill passes for ale in there will be yours to keep, in addition to which you’ll receive a pound a week each for your special duties for me, on top of your existing stipends as Nottinghamshire Constables. I’ve already alerted the Sheriff that you’ll be engaged on duties directly under the auspices of Secretary of State Cecil, and I’ll expect you both back down here by the end of this month. That gives you almost three weeks. You may bring your womenfolk with you if you wish – in fact, that would be preferable, since it will make your assumed roles more believable.’
Tom sat there momentarily stunned by the prospect of telling Lizzie that they were leaving their relatively humdrum life in a quiet and comfortable house in a Nottingham side street in order to reside above what promised to be the roughest whorehouse in London. As for Giles’s intended, Mary, the mere suggestion would probably be the end of their relationship, and Giles would be unlikely to be forgiving.
‘Don’t you want to know your new backgrounds?’ Walsingham enquired as he cut into Tom’s gloomy ruminations, and Tom nodded.
‘You will be the landlord, and Bradbury your brother in law fallen on hard times. You may retain your current names, but if asked you will claim to be a farmer thrown off his land for his Catholic leanings. This gives you reason for being sympathetic towards anyone seeking to restore the old religion and bring down the Protestants who were granted lands following the closure of the monasteries. Your own farm was formerly held in fee from the local abbey, and you were dispossessed by a minor noble who declined to honour your lease, leaving you bitter and seeking revenge.’
‘I can do that nicely from my own experience, without the need to invent fancy stories,’ Tom replied acidly, ‘but what’s Giles’s story?’
‘He’s your wife’s younger brother, and a former soldier who served Elizabeth in helping to suppress a rebellion by northern earls some little while ago. The acts of brutality he was obliged to both witness and carry out when the rebellion was put down have left him sickened and disillusioned. He is seeking some new way of earning his living, and you’ve provided him with just such an opportunity. Hopefully, with a background like that, it will only be a matter of time before he’s offered something more directly connected with guarding priests.’
‘And the women?’ Tom enquired, at which Walsingham spread his hands in an open gesture. ‘Do I have to think everything out for you? Your own wife will obviously be keeping house in the commodious rooms above the main alehouse, and possibly supplying food for hungry sailors, while your colleague’s wife – if suitably young and comely – can be the sort of pot girl that might be expected in an establishment like that, attracting in the sailors.’
‘Will you be paying them as well?’
‘No – you will, out of the profits you make from the liquor sales. Only you and Bradbury will be remunerated. The place is furnished, after a fashion, so you can all move in with the minimum of delay. Someone will attend your premises on a regular basis in order to collect any information you may have managed to acquire. If challenged, he will show you this ring, which has my personal seal on it. Do not, under any circumstances, allow yourself to be seen here again in Whitehall. Once you leave here today, you are on your own.
‘Probably in more ways than one, once I goes home and tells Lizzie,’ Tom replied gloomily as he rose to leave.
Chapter Three
‘The first thing we does is give the place a damned good clean from top to bottom,’ Lizzie announced with a grimace as she wiped her fingers along the grimy counter and held them up to display three months’ worth of dust, along with the corpse of a long-dead insect. ‘Come on, Mary – you can help. Robert, go and get some water from the conduit down the street, and Lucy can look for some old cloths, then we can get started. Nobody gets any supper until this here place is fit for decent folks to eat in.’
She’d been like this ever since the day Tom, with bated breath, had announced that they were commanded down to London. She’d been partly mollified by the prospect of additional money, and Tom’s tentative agreement to at least make enquiry at the Free Grammar School regarding a place for Robert. Then she’d set about leaving their Barker Lane house as clean as scrubbing could make it, ahead of packing all their clothes into bundles and covering them with sacking that would protect them from mud and dust on the four day journey south on the wagon hired with some of the money that Walsingham had handed to Tom in a velvet bag before he left Whitehall. Tom was not entirely sure what had so galvanised Lizzie, and was fearful to ask in case she had a change of heart about spending what might be several months in London.
Giles had initially been a far harder nut to crack, when advised that his new-found relationship with Mary must be put on hold, and that the wedding that they had begun to plan in their imaginations would be even further delayed. Then, in what Giles could only regard as a miracle from God, Mary had announced that if Tom and Lizzie would ignore their sin, she wanted to accompany Giles to London. ‘You’re the feller I wants for the rest of my life,’ she’d announced as tears rolled down her face, ‘and the rest of my life starts tomorrow. Besides which, I don’t want one of them London hussies to get her claws into you, so we goes together.’
Lizzie had been very accepting of the fact that Giles and Mary would be living in sin under their very noses, once she met Mary and realised that she was a cut above the sort of women that Tom and Giles normally came across in the course of their duties. She would also be a fitting companion for her, and any remaining doubts had been dispelled when the children Robert and Lucy had taken to her so naturally, and Lizzie realised that at long last here was someone who might help to keep their offspring both amused and well behaved, since Tom seemed to regard the job as beneath him.
After three days of sweeping and scrubbing Lizzie declared the accommodation on the floor above the alehouse to be clean to her satisfaction, by which time Tom and Giles had taken their first delivery from an overjoyed brewer of indifferent ale that the two m
en agreed they preferred to sell rather than drink. Less than twenty-four hours after they reopened the front door they were knee deep in returning customers, and although they were even rougher than Tom and Giles had dreaded, they spent freely, and within a week the establishment was as well patronised as it had ever been by the lowest dregs of the dockside community that it served.
However, all was not sweetness and light as they adapted to their new lifestyles and awaited the opportunity to overhear something that might interest Walsingham and justify their new existence. The drunken brawls, the spillages and the vomit they had anticipated, but not the surly resentment of their dubious clientele that the new landlord was not prepared to tolerate whores lounging in the doorway, or flouncing in to claim a seat on the knee of some inebriated mariner only too happy to fritter away his latest discharge money.
It was Mary who bore the brunt of this, when drunken sailors misunderstood her precise function in the place, and she swiftly learned how to fend off wandering hands and ignore disgusting invitations. Giles would hover about her like a seagull attracted to a fish market, and more than once was obliged to eject a drunk who had overstepped the mark. Tom, for his part, was obliged to block his ears to the profanities that seemed to constitute the only conversation of which his customers were capable, and, at least initially, he insisted on Lizzie remaining upstairs, safely shielded from all the foul oaths, drunken brawls and filthy personal habits that disgraced the lower floor of the premises within minutes of their opening for the day.