A Second Daniel

by Neal Roberts

  Noah is relieved to see that his point is not lost on Essex, whose apprehension reflects the realization that he’ll never have the paper translated until Noah elicits all the details about the illicit manner in which he acquired it.

  Coke turns to Essex. “If the Crown wishes to proceed further with this exercise, the Court must grant the defense’s request for voir dire on this point.” When Essex makes no immediate reply, Coke says, “It’s up to Crown counsel.”

  Essex, his back turned to the crowd, is patently furious at Coke and Noah, when the only one he should be upset with is himself. Essex catches the eye of Southampton, who confers with him a moment and then turns to the crowd.

  “His lordship calls for a dance!” announces Southampton gaily.

  There’s a confused smattering of applause for this abortive exercise, which even the crowd must know has gone badly for Essex. But the initial confusion quickly dissipates in the gentlemen’s earnest competition for the most attractive dance partners. Jessica extricates herself from a group of such supplicants and approaches Essex, who forces a smile.

  “M’lord,” she says. “I am so sorry, but I must be going now, as I have a long journey to undertake tomorrow. Please accept both my profound gratitude for your incomparable hospitality, and my sincerest regrets for departing too early from such a delightful opportunity to converse further with your lordship and your many dear friends.”

  Essex nods his approval. Her beauty seems to have pacified even this beast. “Thank you for attending, m’lady,” he replies. “I hope you shall come again.”

  Jessica curtsies and extends her hand toward Noah. “Papa?” she says, requiring him to offer her the crook of his arm.

  As Noah approaches, for a brief moment, Essex’s eyes lock with his. From Essex’s glower, Noah learns two things: One, Essex is a sore loser.

  And, two, by no means is this over.

  Chapter 18

  AT PRECISELY NINE the next morning, Noah receives a note from Jessica informing him that she’s helping her Aunt Beth pack for a visit to Beth’s relations in Brentwood, northeast of London. Jessica reports that when she extended Henry’s invitation to Beth, the response was: “No, dear. You go ahead and have a good time with your father and the goyim. I’d rather spend the summer with my own kind.”

  Jessica’s message concluded with the assurance that she’d arrive at Gray’s Inn with a cart no later than ten. It’s now eleven, and Noah still awaits her, sitting on his trunk in front of the inn, his patience wearing thin.

  About ten minutes after the hour, Jessica drives up in an open carriage drawn by two horses, both of whom look as though they’ve seen better days and would rather be anywhere else, even if that means the knacker’s. The stable boy begins to water and feed them, but it does little to raise their spirits.

  Preparing to lift his trunk and place it onto the floor of the cart, Noah looks into the cart’s bed just in time to realize there is no room. Jessica has packed a trunk easily thrice the size of his. He tries to shove it aside, but it will not budge.

  “What did you pack in here? A corpse?”

  Jessica places her hands on her hips. “Yes, Father. I packed a corpse in my luggage. I always pack a corpse in my luggage. Don’t you pack a corpse in your luggage?”

  “No. I usually gouge the teeth out as a keepsake. Much lighter.” He shoves her trunk again, and huffs. “You know, we’re not moving in. It’s just a summertime visit.” Jessica folds her arms and turns away, her pert little nose in the air. “Oh, this should be loads of fun,” he says.

  He hoists his trunk atop Jessica’s and drops it with a hefty bang. “We’ll leave as soon as the horses are watered. Billingbear is a fair distance from Gray’s Inn. At this rate, we’ll be lucky to get there before midnight.” As Noah has never been there, he’s unfamiliar with the way. Fortunately, the moon is full, and the weather clear. He takes out two oil-cloths and lanterns, as well as a map, and ties a cover over the luggage.

  As it turns out, the trip progresses more smoothly than Noah expected, until they reach the small town of Waltham St. Lawrence a few hours after sundown. Their map says they’re a mere two miles from their destination.

  Beyond the little town, the road narrows drastically, and is closely flanked on both sides by thick woods. Just ahead of them, a slow-moving convoy of two carriages comes into view. In the moonlight, they can see a large baggage wagon being hauled by the hindmost carriage. Over its contents, a sturdy cover has been stretched and tied down. Corners and sharp edges jut up from beneath the cover, revealing trunks so bulky and numerous that they threaten to pierce it at various points.

  “Look, Father. A whole graveyardful of corpses!” says Jessica.

  As they reach the convoy, two things become clear. First, they cannot get around it. Second, it’s not moving at all, as it’s stuck in a rut. Noah stops the cart, grabs his lantern, and steps down, rolling up his sleeves, preparing to lend a hand. As he walks past the rear carriage, he sees two well-dressed young ladies inside, who smile and titter as he passes. One holds a young child in her arms.

  The front carriage is vacant. Noah assumes that its occupants got out to help pull the carriage free. As he reaches the front, there’s a strange assemblage of men. One, young and brawny, has lodged one end of a long stick under a stuck wheel, and now hangs by his hands from the free end of the stick in a failed attempt to pry the wheel loose.

  As his weight has clearly proven insufficient, two small men (one old, one young) have wrapped themselves around the young man’s legs. What little weight they can add clearly hasn’t done the trick, as the wheel has not budged. The two small men spot Noah, jump to the ground, and brush themselves off. Small as they are, they carry themselves with dignity. The older man is bearded and sage looking; the younger man, small and stooped over, is slightly hunchbacked. Although Noah can’t be sure in the moonlight, he thinks he recognizes him as Sir Robert Cecil.

  Behind them, the robust young man lets go of the stick with relief, and comes down on his feet. He rubs his hands together smartly, as though they’ve been gripping the stick a long time.

  The older man says, “I am Lord Burghley. This is my son, Sir Robert.”

  Noah smiles, and bows vigorously. “A genuine pleasure to meet you, gentlemen. I am Noah Ames, barrister at the Queen’s Bench.” He had no idea these two famous men were quite so diminutive. Sir Robert looks even smaller face-to-face than he did in the courtroom gallery that day. Although it’s indeed a pleasure to meet such strong adversaries of Essex, especially since the ordeal of last night, he wishes there were more, and larger.

  Lord Burghley and his son look at each other, Burghley appearing quite surprised. “We were just talking about you, Master Ames, before we hit this rutted stretch.”

  “Talking about me? I cannot imagine why. If you don’t mind my asking, where are you gentlemen headed with your lovely ladies?”

  Sir Robert speaks. “We’re bound for the same destination as you, Master Ames. Billingbear. Like you, we’ve been invited by Master Neville.” He leans close to whisper to Noah, though there’s so great a difference in their heights that there remains more than a foot between Sir Robert’s mouth and Noah’s ear. “’Til the plague lets up.”

  “Very prudent, Sir Robert,” replies Noah quietly. “That’s precisely why we were invited, as well.”

  “‘We?’” asks Lord Burghley.

  “Yes, my daughter awaits me in the cart.”

  “How delightful! And your wife?”

  “I’m afraid she passed away some years ago, m’lord.”

  “Oh, how awful for you! My own second wife departed some years ago, and I know the harshness of it.”

  “For me, it was a long time ago.”

  “Robert’s wife Elizabeth has been a great comfort to me, of course,” says Burghley. “She and Robert’s cousin have come with us. They’re in one of the carriages you passed on your way here.”

  “I look forward to speaking with t
hem, and introducing my daughter to them,” says Noah. “In the meanwhile, may I assist your coachman?”

  “By all means, Master Ames, but please do not injure yourself.”

  “No, indeed! I shall do my best to avoid that.”

  The coachman is only too delighted to accept his help. Together they hang from the stick, which tugs the wheel up out of the rut, at last. The horses do the rest, pulling the carriage free.

  Noah bows to the Cecils. “I very much look forward to talking with you gentlemen in the coming days.” He picks up his lantern, and returns to his cart, tipping his hat to the ladies as he passes. They titter again, right on cue.

  In the lantern light, he detects concern in Jessica’s face. “What’s the matter, my dear?”

  With a puzzled expression, she looks to her right, then her left. “I thought I heard something moving back there. I was about to call to you, when it scurried away.”

  Noah takes the lantern and explores the area behind the cart, but can find nothing. “Probably just a fox,” he says upon his return.

  She says nothing, but pulls her cloak more firmly about her shoulders.

  The moonlit darkness, which formerly seemed protective, now seems to close in. But for the good fortune of running into the Cecils, Noah and Jessica would be completely alone on the road, and the darkness would provide any adversary with cover. To anyone intending harm, Noah’s brief absence from the cart surely presented a moment of maximum opportunity. While he suppresses his imagination before it can conjure up every horror capable of being inflicted upon Jessica, he resolves never again to leave his only daughter in such an exposed position.

  Perhaps conversation will shake off their shared sense of danger. “You know who that is up there?” he asks, pointing with his chin toward the Cecils’ convoy, which has begun to move.

  “No, and I’m tired. Do I really care?”

  “I’m sure I can’t answer that.” He shakes the reins, and they begin to move again. “Still, you’ll be spending time with them. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

  “Oh, all right.” She pouts, shifting around uncomfortably on the hard bench. “Who are they?”

  “William and Robert Cecil,” he replies. When this draws no reaction, he adds, “Who happen to be England’s Lord High Treasurer and Secretary of State.”

  She sits up, wide-eyed. “You jest, Daddy!”

  “No, it’s true. They’re father and son.”

  “Are they … married?”

  Noah laughs. “The son’s wife is in the second carriage. The father is twice widowed, and old enough to be your grandfather.”

  “Oh, I see,” she says with disappointment.

  “They said they were discussing me when I showed up to help dig them out.”

  No response. Same old Jesse.

  They follow the convoy for a time. Soon, it halts before the gates of a giant house whose shape vaguely suggests a church or monastery, at least in the moonlight. Jessica, who has been drifting off to sleep, now awakens. “Are we there?” she mumbles.

  “I’d imagine so. Let’s wait to see what happens up front.” He glances around nervously in the darkness. As they’ve halted outside the gates of their destination, anyone seriously looking for him would now know precisely where he is. He’s reminded of Henry’s admonition about the disloyalty of some of the servants at Billingbear, and expects this would be a perfect site for an ambush. He wonders if he’ll ever again feel secure, whether at Billingbear or anywhere else.

  From here, the main house appears to be at least three stories high, topped by twelve soaring gables. The layout appears much like that of Gray’s Inn, that of a proscenium stage flanked by two thrust aprons.

  A man’s voice at the gate wafts toward him on the breeze. It sounds as though it belongs to Walker, the Neville’s footman from town. Several men noisily approach from the front of the convoy. As Noah awaits their appearance, he pats the dagger in his vest.

  He’s relieved to find that it is indeed Walker, leading the Cecils back to their trunk-laden cart. “Let’s take a look,” says Walker, untying the cover and tossing it back to reveal the massive trunks. He whistles softly.

  Jessica thrusts her face into Noah’s. “See?” she exclaims in a whisper.

  “I’ll do the best I can, gentlemen,” says Walker, “but I’m afraid we won’t have a full complement of menservants for another day or two. The really heavy trunks’ll have to wait for their assistance.”

  Noah thrusts his face into Jessica’s. “See?” he retorts.

  Over the ladies’ protests, Burghley decides that all but three of their trunks will remain in the stable overnight.

  Walker smiles broadly at Noah’s approach. “Why, Master Ames!” He bows genially. “We were told to expect you, as well. It’s good to see you.” Fortunately for Jessica, her single behemoth will be brought up tonight.

  In a moment, the gate opens and Walker directs the newcomers to a carriage house near the rear entrance of the main building. Once the Cecils’ train has been disassembled and stowed away, a young stable boy disengages the horses from Noah’s cart and, with Noah’s assistance, rolls it back into a stall, with Jessica in the driver’s seat.

  Noah looks up at his daughter and is surprised to find her sound asleep. Once again, he feels a sudden sympathy for her. After all, she began her day helping her aunt pack for long trip, then packed for herself and took a long, bumpy ride to Billingbear in an open cart. All the bustle seems to have quite worn her out. For Noah’s part, he’s simply relieved to have delivered her from any suggestion of plague. He wonders in passing how Beth is faring. Well, he’s out of her reach now, and will remain blessedly so for some weeks.

  Instead of waking Jessica, he picks her up in his arms and carries her down off the cart. She is surprisingly light. As he brings her toward the rear entrance, she awakens, dismayed to find herself being carried.

  “Please put me down, Daddy,” she mumbles. “This is hardly the entrance I was hoping for. I’ll walk the rest of the way, thank you.” He puts her down. Instead of entering the house immediately, she starts fussing like an actress preparing for her first appearance in a dramatic work, taking a jeweled hairband from her pocket, placing it in her mouth, smoothing her hair with her hands before binding it tight, and fastening it with the band at the nape of her neck. And all without a mirror.

  “How do I look?” she asks.

  “You look every bit my beautiful daughter,” he replies.

  “Tsk! I can never rely on you for an objective opinion.”

  “That is my objective opinion,” he huffs.

  She half smiles, gives him a peck on the cheek, and goes into the house, where she’s immediately met by a lady’s maid who engages her in conversation about her lodgings.

  Noah is shown to his room by a chambermaid.

  Preparing for bed, he glances out of his second-story window, which provides a good view of the whole grounds. Something in the distance catches his eye. All the outbuildings are silhouetted in moonlight, but in a solitary upstairs room, a single candle burns. It’s so distant and so lonely that he imagines it a sickroom. His heart goes out to its occupant, whoever it might be.

  He changes into his bedclothes, falls back on the bed exhausted, and sleeps.

  Chapter 19

  ON NOAH’S FIRST morning at Billingbear, he’s awakened by the rhythmic sawing of a great oak being felled outside his window. Luxuriating in the softness of his pillow, he dreams of a sawyer blissfully happy in his work. Then he remembers that his window was left shut the night before. For the sawing to be this loud, the oak would have to be inside the room. Reluctantly, he opens an eye, and identifies the sawyer as a fully clothed Henry, snoring with abandon on a soft chair opposite the bed.

  As he considers awakening his slumbering host, there comes a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” he says quietly. The knock comes again.

  “Come in!” he repeats, a bit louder. Henry snorts, and opens
his eyes.

  The door swings open slowly, and in walks a pretty, dark-skinned maidservant with chestnut hair, carrying a tray of coffee and sectioned tangerine oranges. The delicious scents mingle together, an exotic, pungent liqueur. She smiles at Noah, who modestly pulls the blanket up around his torso.

  “Good morning, Master Henry,” she says. “Mistress Anne said I might find you here with your friend.”

  “Master Noah Ames,” says a groggy Henry, “this is Lucy, our household treasure.”

  Lucy curtsies at the compliment, and hands Henry his coffee in a china cup. She places several slices of tangerine on a plate, and puts it on a small corner table by his chair. She does the same for Noah, and turns to her employer. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  Henry looks to Noah, and raises his eyebrows inquiringly.

  “Nothing more for me, Master Henry. Thank you. This coffee is wonderful. What a delightful way to wake up in the morning!”

  “If it is still morning. Thank you, Lucy. That will be all.”

  She curtsies again, smiles discreetly at Noah, and closes the door behind her.

  “I wonder where the Cecils have got to,” says Henry, as he goes to the window overlooking the square behind the main building. “Not yet returned from their walk in the garden, I see.”

  Noah shifts uneasily. “How did you enjoy Lord Essex’s party, night before last?”

  “Well, he really outdid himself, don’t you think?”

  “I might have done without his little … ‘legal exercise,’ I believe Perez called it.”

  “After you left with Lady Jessica, he asked me to step into a private room, handed me a paper bearing a Latin phrase, and asked whether I could translate it into English.”

  “Whatever did it say?”

  “Non servus fidelis sed perfidus debet cavere.”