‘Oh, really!’ I said, exasperated.
‘I think I hoped that perhaps you wouldn’t let yourself be caught. Perhaps you wouldn’t try to make off with the chest.’
He had no idea how much I wished I hadn’t!
‘Everything seemed to slow down,’ Frost said wearily. ‘Indeed because of the succession of invalids in the attic, I thought you would never begin to search there – until dear Jane came to the rescue.’
‘You surely don’t mean …?’
‘What? No, no! Jane is as innocent as an angel, she simply wanted her lute. But to get back to the point, I have to tell you that I am not on the side of Mary Stuart and Spain. I am not a Catholic, or anything else, now. I was a Catholic once, but I lost my faith.’
Evening was near and the daylight was fading. But the firelight played over his pale face, tinting his skin and hair with red, as if he was becoming flushed. Perhaps he was, I couldn’t tell. ‘I see,’ I said. ‘Or rather, I don’t see.’ Anger was being replaced by incomprehension. Confused, I asked: ‘How did it happen?’
‘It began on a starry night, with a crescent moon and thousands upon thousands of stars. I began to think: “Can all this just be a setting for human beings?” And then I read some books about stars and planets, and it all seemed so huge, so vast – all that, and just us in the middle, with all our faults and flaws and muddles … Then I woke up one morning and knew I didn’t believe in my religion, or any religion, any more. It was odd, and I struggled against it at first. For some time, in fact. It felt so strange, like losing a foothold or falling off a cliff. Then at last came the sense of freedom. And for years,’ said Frost, ‘I have been falsifying the information that I’ve been passing to Spain.’
‘You’ve been …?’ I was too astounded to finish the sentence.
Frost nodded. ‘Yes. Even before that shattering starry night, I had been becoming horrified by what I had heard of the Inquisition and knew I couldn’t go on supporting Spain. I have no wish whatsoever to see their beliefs enforced here in England. Or any belief, come to that – but certainly not theirs. That is why I have agreed to work for Walsingham. But he mustn’t know my real reason – my loss of faith.’
‘Why not?’ I said, bewildered. ‘If it has led you to work with us …’
‘Loss of faith is a dangerous thing to admit, even to Walsingham. He opposes the Catholics but he is ardent enough in his own beliefs. And we are all supposed to obey our sovereign and accept what religion we are told is right. I needed to explain my secret to you in private because you must not be confused about the way you are to guide my daughters. The girls don’t know about my changed beliefs, though I suspect that Lambert guessed something. He has upbraided me at times for being lax about Catholic observances.’
‘I overheard him doing so once,’ I said.
‘Did you? I have dismissed him, of course. He knew nothing of the plot, by the way.’
‘I know. Walsingham said as much to me. Dr Lambert,’ I said reminiscently, ‘always reminded me of a puzzled spaniel. I think he may have sensed that something was going on but didn’t know what.’
Frost said seriously: ‘Although my girls are unaware of my changed beliefs, they do know about the plot against you. They had to know, since I was consigning them to you. But I have lain awake wondering what they now think of me, and fearing that you will be unkind to them because of me. One reason why I asked to see you was so that I could beg you to promise that you will not. Please promise that! Please promise me that you will not! Please!’
‘Of course I promise!’ I found I was surprised that he needed to ask, so far had I been from intending anything else. Indeed, I had been worrying over how to overcome their hostility.
‘I hardly knew what else to do with them while I was away,’ said Frost. ‘They are too young to be left without guidance. Also, I fear that society may look sideways at them on my account. Your social position may protect them, and they know you and have some respect for you. Those were among my reasons for choosing you. Moreover, after getting to know you myself, I found that I trusted you.’
‘You can,’ I assured him.
‘Thank you. I am truly grateful. Now, I must tell you how I wish you to guide them. They have been reared as secret Catholics. But now, for their own safety and happiness in a dangerous world, I ask you to encourage them to adopt Protestant beliefs. I wish you to find Protestant husbands for them. Guide them well, I beg you. I had to explain this – and to request this – face to face. I am sure you understand.’
‘Yes, I do understand,’ I said. ‘I will try. But please, Master Frost, you have still not told me why you agreed to help Hunt. That I can’t understand. It wasn’t just because you disapproved of my reputation, surely? And why did you go on with it when you had changed your mind about that? Were you afraid of Hunt? And how did you even get to know him?’
‘We met when he was visiting his brother, Simeon Wilmot, here in the Tower. I was also visiting a friend who was a prisoner here – a foolish former tutor of mine, a Protestant minister who had preached an unwise sermon before the queen when she was supposed to be going to marry a Catholic prince. He rebuked her and got himself locked up. He’s free now, and I trust won’t make that mistake again. He tried to tell me that he was prepared to face martyrdom for the sake of his faith, but I told him he would change his mind when he was on the scaffold. I think it had an effect.’
‘Wise advice,’ I commented.
‘I think so, too. That day, by accident, I met Hunt. We liked each other. We became friends. But he never realized that I had a Catholic household. Lambert was always discreet in the presence of people he didn’t know well. I was sympathetic when I learned how Hunt’s brother had tried to rid England of Mary Stuart. She is dangerous. She is the key that could unlock England for Philip of Spain. I understand why you didn’t want to—’
‘Murder her,’ I said coldly. ‘I have undertaken many secret tasks for the queen but never that!’
‘Quite. But I still rather wish you had made an exception for Mary Stuart. I am sure you would have been most competent.’
‘Thank you!’ I said. And not at all in a grateful voice, but Frost didn’t seem to notice.
‘You say,’ said Frost, ‘that you doubt that I really joined in Hunt’s plot against you just because I disliked your unwomanly reputation. You may be wondering what else was in it for me. Well, there was an inducement. That is what kept me to the plan even when I had ceased to disapprove of you and had even begun to hope that you would escape my toils.’
‘What was it?’
‘My ship – well, our ship, since I share her with my brother – is old. She needs too many repairs, too often. I really do need to replace her, and Hunt offered to do so at his own expense. My brother could be told that I had prevented some dishonest person from stealing valuables that belonged to him, and that this was a practical form of thanks.’
He spoke in a perfectly ordinary tone of voice as though such a mundane, mercenary reason for endangering two lives was quite reasonable. For a moment, I was staggered into silence. Then I said: ‘Now I know my value and Brockley’s. Our combined worth is that of a merchant vessel. Well, well. No wonder you don’t want Walsingham to know everything!’
There was a moment of tension in the room. It emanated from me. I was recoiling from this snowman of a man with his twisted ideas. He seemed to regard religions as if they were organizations that one could join or resign from as a matter of convenience, and he seemed quite unable to understand – or even recognize – the horror of the danger that Brockley and I had faced. He seemed indifferent to it, even though he had faced that danger himself. I was trembling with hatred.
With a giant effort, I kept myself still and quiet and let my outrage settle, and then I said: ‘I have agreed to be discreet. And I don’t want your daughters to be caused any more pain. For their sake, I will do nothing to blacken your name further in Walsingham’s eyes. When I report on this meeting,
I shall tell Walsingham that you wished to discuss your daughters’ education, and that you also told me that tales of the Inquisition gradually convinced you that you were wrong to spy for the Spanish so that already, on your own account, you have begun to pass them false information.
‘Yes. Thank you.’ He smiled broadly, looking amused. ‘You told me a tale of eighty warships being made ready before Christmas, did you not? Was that false information?’
‘Yes,’ I said shortly.
‘I thought so. But I was ahead of you. I didn’t mention shipyards in the north, but I had already warned Spain that a hundred and five warships were likely to be ready early in the new year.’
I did not know what to make of him. I loathed him, and yet not only had I intended to speak to him politely during this conversation, at first I had even found it quite natural to do so. He had brought Brockley and me near to a dreadful fate for a shockingly inadequate reason, and yet I still couldn’t regard him as wicked. My simmering hatred kept faltering, drowning in bewilderment. He was foolish and insensitive, but despite being beset by prejudices and mercenary temptations and a sorry lack of imagination, in a confused manner he had looked after Susie, cared for his daughters’ safety, been shocked by the Inquisition, and faced and accepted what his reason had told him one starlit night. He still seemed to have a kind of integrity – like a useful plant, a cabbage for example, trying to assert itself amid a tangle of chickweed and dandelions. But how did he, how did anyone, ever become so muddled?
I said: ‘Walsingham will be happy to learn how very willingly you will work for him. You should have mentioned all this at your trial.’
‘It was too public. I feared reprisals. I sail in Spanish waters, and Spain has sympathizers here. Such testimony might have got to Spanish ears.’
‘Master Frost, I repeat: I will keep your counsel. Walsingham will never know how Hunt bought your co-operation.’ He flinched at the word ‘bought’. ‘Nor will I tell him of your loss of faith. You are right to be reticent about that. It is better not to think too much about matters of belief. I conform, I pray sometimes, I go to church. I even enjoy attending St Mary’s in Hawkswood. But at heart I have seen too much of the world. I can’t believe it was deliberately made as it is. There is so much cruelty, so much sickness, so much grief and death …’
I thought of my first husband – Gerald, Meg’s father – dying young of smallpox. Of a hideous description that Uncle Herbert and Aunt Tabitha, my guardians, had given me of a burning they had witnessed. Of Dale’s stark terror when we were in France and she was arrested for heresy. ‘I think I lost my own faith, long ago,’ I said. ‘But I make no show of it.’
And I never would. I had held my peace and conformed. It was safer. For Dr Joynings, I was and would remain the respectable Mistress Stannard who had made St Mary’s a gift of benches and a hitching rail. I wondered how many others there were like Giles Frost and me; and whether some day the word ‘heresy’ would no longer exist, and we would be free to be ourselves. That was one more opinion I would never express aloud.
I was invited to stay at court until the new year, but I convinced the queen that I could not. The Frost girls were at Hawkswood in Sybil’s care, and until I returned she could not leave for Scotland. Christopher Spelton had been at court and went home just ahead of me. By him, I let my household know when to expect me.
I returned to Hawkswood two weeks before Christmas. I caught sight of Hawkswood with feelings of relief, as I had done a good many times before. Its chimneys always came into view first and they meant home. They meant peace and quiet and safety, and the end of what was often a tiring journey. It had now turned very cold, but although Brockley and I were both on horseback, we could not travel fast because we were keeping pace with the coach, which contained Dale and our luggage.
We therefore came into the courtyard at a dignified pace. Hawthorn, Flood and Phoebe all came out to greet us, accompanied by the twins. But whereas the others were beaming, and Hawthorn welcomed us by announcing that he already had a chicken on the spit and would make his special white-wine sauce for our supper, Joyce and Jane simply curtsied and then stood with folded hands, watching us dismount.
I slid out of Jaunty’s saddle and greeted them carefully, with tactful restraint, expressing the hope that they were both well and saying I looked forward to taking supper with them presently. They made suitable rejoinders, in polite voices. Trying to ease matters by talking of something that might interest them, I said: ‘Have you gone on with the parterre pattern? Will it make a wall-hanging?’
‘Yes, we have. It is finished.’ I was pleased to see Joyce’s face brighten. She looked round and saw Sybil coming out of the house and said: ‘Mistress Jester, may we show Mistress Stannard the parterre wall-hanging?’
‘Of course,’ said Sybil, and then said to me: ‘It is in my baggage, the twins have given it to me as a parting gift. It is a credit to our teaching and their determination to learn. But …’ Her voice became serious. ‘It is in my baggage, because I am packed, ready to leave for Edinburgh. And it is time I set off.’
‘I expected that,’ I said and managed to sound matter of fact about it, though I felt as if a knife had been driven into me.
Harry came out then to join us. He was too grown-up now to rush into my embrace, but he bowed and said: ‘Welcome home, Mother!’ and the gladness in his smile was balm after the chilly formality of the twins. We all began to move towards the door into the hall, and I found to my surprise that Jane was gently tugging at my cloak. I turned to her quickly. ‘Yes, Jane?’
Jane was smiling. It was the first time I had seen her smile since she came to Hawkswood. ‘We have a guest. Master Taverner is here and is in the great hall.’
Tossing my cloak and hat to Phoebe, I made haste into the hall ahead of the others and found Martin Taverner sitting by the fire.
‘I thought your household should have the pleasure of greeting you before I did,’ he said, rising to his feet to bow.
‘You are welcome, Master Taverner. Did you know I would be coming home today?’
‘Yes. I have been staying with Dr Joynings, awaiting your return, and Mistress Jester has kept me informed.’
‘I have been to Greenwich, and have also visited Master Frost in the Tower. I have brought a letter from him for his daughters.’
Taverner said: ‘The day after that disgraceful scene in the church, I went to see Daniel Johns and Eleanor. I wanted to … apologize, I suppose. To set things right between them and myself as far as I could, though I also wished to make it finally clear that my betrothal to Eleanor was over and to wish her well for the future. Johns received me pleasantly enough. He let me see Eleanor because I wanted to, but warned me what I would find. Oh, lord, I did feel sorry for her! Poor girl, she was in bed, lying face down, attended by a dragon of a maid who glared at me as if it was all my fault. Perhaps it was. I didn’t see enough of her during our betrothal. If I had, I might have had a chance to warn her away from her uncle’s dreadful plot. The betrothal was very much an arranged business between myself and Master Stagg, and occasionally Master Johns. He left most of it to Stagg – or Hunt, I should say. He just looked for someone in some branch of the glass trade. I tried to say I was sorry for everything and wished her well but she just moaned and cursed me. At least she isn’t likely to become involved in any more questionable schemes …’
‘I daresay. But poor girl, all the same!’ I said, in heartfelt tones. ‘The aunt and uncle who brought me up were harsh sometimes. I know what Eleanor has experienced.’
‘I wanted you to be sure,’ said Taverner, ‘that there is no longer any entanglement between myself and Eleanor. I am now a free man, Mistress Stannard. I got here early today and have been talking to your wards, and most especially to Jane. From the first moment that I set eyes on her …’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I saw it.’
His eyes widened. I nodded. He said: ‘For the moment, you are her guardian. I ask your perm
ission to pay court to her.’
‘I feel,’ I said, ‘that Jane should have the final say. She has been reared as a Catholic, but her father would like her to have a husband who may steer her into safer waters. How do you feel about that?’
‘I know about her upbringing, and naturally hope to smooth that away in time. Will you call her?’
This was just what Frost had wanted. ‘Of course,’ I said.
I smiled, but my heart was heavy. I was going to miss Sybil very much. I had hoped that the Frost girls would warm to me in time and could be company for a while, but I clearly wouldn’t keep Jane for long and Joyce would no doubt follow shortly. Indeed, it would be my task to see that she found a good husband. It would be better so. The twins wouldn’t want to stay too long beneath my roof. I approved of Martin Taverner, and Jane would be safe with him. When both the twins were gone, I wondered, would I feel very lonely?
No, I would not! I had the Brockleys and I had Harry. Watching him mature into manhood was a pleasure that stretched ahead for me. And anyone who was blessed with such companions as my son and the Brockleys – and Gladys – could never justifiably call themselves lonely.
Sybil would not forget me. She had a memento of our time together in Knoll House in the shape of the parterre wall-hanging. And I would have a memento of her. Her ideas were enshrined in the new window that was soon to be installed in St Mary’s church in Hawkswood village. Every time I looked at it, I would be reminded of her.
A Web of Silk Page 24