A Second Daniel

by Neal Roberts

  P.P.S. Doctor Lopez says that he has exhausted every means of determining whether Graves was poisoned, but that the results are inconclusive.

  Noah hands the letter to Henry, who reads it silently, stacks up all three letters, as well as Noah’s decryption sheet, folds the stack, and forcibly stuffs it securely in his pocket.

  “Come on,” says Henry. “Outside, where there are no ears. Doctor Lopez will be showing up in an hour or two, and we should digest this new information fully before he arrives.”

  Once outside, by force of habit Noah begins walking toward the maze, but Henry leads him another way that will keep them in wide open spaces, avoiding any hedgerows or other plantings that might conceal a spy. When they reach a secluded spot, Henry sets the letters ablaze.

  “As I mentioned,” says Noah, “Marie formerly believed that her ships had carried letters to and from the Netherlands at the request of Doctor Lopez, acting on behalf of Don Antonio. Now she tells us that Lopez was in fact acting on his own behalf. However, I am quite certain of two things. One, I never mentioned Tinoco to her by name, as I had no clue he was anyone’s messenger. As far as I knew, he was simply another murderous associate of Skeres’ at the Boar’s Head. So, she discovered Tinoco’s name independently of me. Two, she has also somehow discovered that Lopez has been corresponding with the Netherlands, or perhaps Spain, on his own behalf.”

  Henry nods. “As you know from our discussions, that is entirely in keeping with his character.”

  “So it appears. The night of the Boar’s Head fiasco, Graves was likely murdered, and Jonathan very nearly murdered because they heard of Tinoco’s attempt to secure Perez’s murder in exchange for a red jewel. We can say with confidence, then, that by that night the secrecy of Tinoco’s mission was already of such importance to Essex that Skeres knew, without consulting Essex further, that the immediate suppression of such information was absolutely essential.”

  “Yes, but what does it add to know Lopez was dealing for himself?” asks Henry.

  “That’s it!” says Noah. “Don’t you see? Essex was not investigating Don Antonio’s correspondence with the Netherlands. He was investigating Doctor Lopez, possibly his participation in the plot to murder Perez!”

  “So,” Henry observes, “even before the incident at the Boar’s Head, Essex had instructed Skeres to ensure by any means necessary — even murder — that no one should learn of his secret investigation of Lopez. But whose knowledge of the Lopez investigation would be so damaging to Essex that he would suppress it by murder?”

  “Whose, indeed,” says Noah, “but that of the two most powerful men in England? And they’re both here at Billingbear. The Cecils! We must broach this with them.”

  “All right,” says Henry, “but what of Jonathan’s letter?”

  “What do you think of that?” asks Noah.

  “I expect that Essex placed the pardon before the Queen, and she signed it without consulting the Cecils. Very disturbing. Let’s go and tell them. I see no advantage in withholding news of the pardon from them even for a moment, as it’s already publicly known. Perhaps we’ll mention Tinoco later on. Let’s wait and see about that.”

  “Agreed.”

  They find the Cecils at work in the spare upstairs room that Henry has set aside for them. The doors and windows are wide open, and a steady breeze passes through. As the Cecils are ostensibly on summer holiday, they’re dressed far more casually than is their habit at court, and they’ve pared down their pool of secretaries to a mere two. Even with the reduced workload, stacks of papers are strewn about the room, covering nearly every surface. In a lighthearted concession to their holiday, atop each pile sits a colorful, highly polished stone they’ve found somewhere on the Billingbear grounds, serving as a paperweight.

  Lord Burghley sees their approach and interrupts his dictation. “Gentlemen, how are you on this fine day?”

  “Very well,” replies Henry, unsmiling. “And you?”

  “Also well. You seem preoccupied,” observes Burghley.

  “Would you two gentlemen be available to walk with us briefly outside? We should like to discuss one or two things with you.”

  Burghley looks to Sir Robert for any objection.

  Sir Robert asks, “Would it be just as well for you to speak with us here in this room? Messieurs Cranch and Johnson have more than earned a break.”

  Henry nods.

  “Gentlemen,” says Sir Robert to the secretaries, as he ushers them out of the door, “we’ll see you at dinner.” He shuts the door firmly behind them.

  Henry begins. “You have heard that Marlowe’s killer has been pardoned by Her Majesty?”

  Burghley and Sir Robert gape at each other in horror. There’s no feigning that look. Sir Robert begins pacing, staring sternly at the floor.

  “We’ve heard no such thing, Master Henry,” replies Burghley. “Oh, my! This does cast a pall on things, does it not?”

  Noah asks, “Upon whose advice would Her Majesty sign such a pardon, if not yours?”

  “It can only be Essex,” says Sir Robert. “I cannot believe he would undercut us so brazenly.” He turns hesitantly to Noah. “Master Ames, I hope it is understood that you are not at liberty to repeat anything you hear from us. It would be not only a breach of your honor as a gentleman, but a crime against Her Majesty. You understand this?”

  Noah is taken aback to be so forewarned. “I do understand.”

  Henry looks at Noah. “That must be what Essex was doing at Windsor Castle yesterday morning.” He turns to Burghley. “Master Ames and I went riding in Windsor Park yesterday morning just before breakfast, and saw a train dressed in Essex’s livery enter the castle gate. By the pennant, Her Majesty was in residence. He must have got her to sign the pardon then and there.”

  Satisfied that it was not the Cecils who approved the pardon, Noah wishes to broaden their report. “May I, Master Henry?”

  Henry nods. “Please do.”

  “Gentlemen, we believe that Lord Essex has been secretly investigating Doctor Lopez’s dealings in the Netherlands and possibly Spain for some time. At first, I thought Essex was investigating Lopez simply to assure himself of Lopez’s loyalty as a former Walsingham agent. Then, it appeared that he was investigating Don Antonio’s correspondence with the Netherlands. But I have only today received information that it is Lopez’s own contacts with the Netherlands that are of interest to Essex.

  “In addition, we have begun to assemble some facts we’ve learned from disparate sources. It appears that Lopez’s messenger to the Netherlands is a Spaniard named ‘Tinoco,’ and that this Tinoco may somehow be involved in a plot to poison a visitor to the English court, one ‘Perez,’ whom I met briefly at Lord Essex’s party the day before arriving here. Tinoco has been seen with Nicholas Skeres, one of Lord Essex’s attendants, and apparently has been attempting to arrange the poisoning of Perez in exchange for a ruby.”

  The Cecils seem more perplexed by Noah’s having assembled these disparate facts than by the facts themselves. In fact, his comments appear to strike them more as confirmation of existing suspicions than as news.

  “He is making his move, Father,” says Sir Robert. “This is about disgracing us, so that he can secure the Attorney Generalship for one of the Bacons.”

  “Slow down, Robert,” says Burghley. “Master Ames, what sense do you make of all this?”

  It’s Noah’s turn to be perplexed, and he does something he’s rarely done in the presence of anyone in a position of authority. He reasons aloud. “Honestly, m’lord. Although I cannot tell whether this is a plot by Essex, or by Lopez, or whether those two are working with or against each other, this intrigue seems to be entirely separate from the one involving Essex’s attempt to take over Walsingham’s spy network. Indeed, it was only Lopez’s involvement in both intrigues that made the two seem one.”

  Sir Robert looks to his father. “What have we to say to that, Father?”

  Burghley strokes his bear
d. “Tell me, Master Ames. What is the feeling at the Inns of Court concerning Francis Bacon for Attorney General?”

  Noah is amazed at the revolutionary pace at which the subject has been changed. Or has it? “Essex has made no bones about wanting that office filled by any Bacon he can get,” he says. “He has visited them several times at Gray’s Inn, rather ostentatiously. A few weeks ago, he made a theatrical show of picking them up at the inn, and giving them a lift to Westminster as a conspicuous part of his retinue.”

  “Do you have a sense how the barristers generally feel about that?”

  “The Bacons are more feared than liked. Anthony is the more respected of the two, but he is often ill with stones. I would not wish such pain on a dog. Francis is generally believed to be the more intelligent of the two, but he is quite inexperienced in court.”

  “And if it is a choice between Francis and your candidate?”

  “My candidate?”

  Burghley smiles. “Yes, your esteemed competitor at loggats.”

  “Oh! Actually, I hadn’t even thought of Coke for that position, as I believe he’s about to be appointed Solicitor General, which is regarded as being just one step beneath Attorney General.”

  “Oh, he’s already Solicitor General,” says Burghley. “Her Majesty signed the papers some days ago.”

  “Well, then, m’lord, if it’s Francis Bacon or Coke, it’s Coke, and by a long shot. Not only has Francis never won — or even played — a round at ‘loggats,’ but he is quite young to aspire to be Attorney General right now.”

  Burghley shoots a commiserative glance at Sir Robert. “Unfortunately, we have one or two candidates of our own for senior positions who are not quite as seasoned as they might be.” Evidently, as Henry suggested weeks ago, young Robert is being groomed to fill his father’s position upon retirement.

  “I see,” says Noah. “Well, I have additional reservations about Francis Bacon.”

  “Tut — ” says Henry, raising his hand, then dropping it. He clearly wishes Noah had stopped before saying that, but it’s too late.

  “What is it, Master Ames?” asks Burghley.

  Henry throws up his hands in consternation. “Well, you’ve started it now, Ames. Go ahead. Just be careful to distinguish known fact from suspicion.”

  “Well, I believe — and others at Gray’s Inn also believe — that Francis Bacon was … intimately involved with Christopher Marlowe, whom we suspect was murdered by the same person who murdered Stephen Rodriguez at The Rose — ”

  Burghley turns to Sir Robert. “Rodriguez? Is that the Rodriguez who married Southampton’s sister?”

  Sir Robert interrupts hesitantly. “Begging your pardon, Father, I expect that your question inadvertently conflates two persons into one. The earl’s sister ‘Mary’ is quite plain. The beautiful one who married Rodriguez is named ‘Marie,’ and she is not the earl’s sister. At least, not his full sister.”

  Noah’s head swims. Sir Robert is the second knowledgeable person to suggest openly that Southampton’s father was also Marie’s! Why has he neglected to investigate whether Marie is more involved in this whole Essex affair than he knows? Has he been blinded by beauty? Although he supposes that he deserves whatever comes his way on account of his own blindness, he prays that his neglect will not redound to the detriment of Jonathan, or any other innocent.

  Burghley says: “Permit me to stop you right there, Master Ames, as to continue would drag you much deeper into this affair than you might wish to find yourself. Suffice it to say at this point that the … connections … you have detected between the Marlowe murder and the murder at The Rose are already the subject of speculation at court. There may well be one mind behind both murders, and the Lopez investigation, as well. And all those affairs may in turn be related to the Attorney General contest. That is all we really should discuss with you about the matter now.” He looks sheepishly at Sir Robert and Henry. “Actually, it’s considerably more than we’d planned.”

  Noah bows. “Gentlemen, I am at Her Majesty’s service, and yours, at any time. My loyalties are quite undivided in this.”

  Burghley nods. “We have every confidence that such is the case, Master Ames, or we would not have discussed these matters with you at all.”

  Walker knocks at the door and opens it unbidden a moment later. He sticks his head in, and curtly bows three times in rapid succession. “Gentlemen, Doctor Lopez has arrived.” As he’s about to close the door, Henry grabs it and follows him down the hall, talking all the while.

  Noah is left in awkward silence with the Cecils, and decides to make the most of it in a way they’ll remember. He earnestly looks each of them in the eye in turn. “Please do not hesitate, gentlemen.” He bows low, walks out through the open door, and closes it behind him.

  Dinner, which consists of a summer version of mince pie with garden vegetables, passes in small talk. The wine flows freely, and even Henry overindulges in a manner that has, for him, become rather the exception than the rule. Afterwards, Mistress Anne leads Burghley, Sir Robert, Henry, Noah, and Doctor Lopez up to the parlor for cognac, smiling at each of them as she leaves. She closes the double doors elegantly on her way out.

  Doctor Lopez has already had well more than two full bottles of wine, which seems rather to have agitated than relaxed him. He enters the parlor unsteady on his feet, and badly out of breath from climbing a single flight of stairs. Henry pours a small cognac for Burghley, Sir Robert, Noah, and himself, but a full goblet for Lopez.

  “Oh, thank you, Master Neville!” Lopez slurs. “You are too generous.”

  “Not at all, Doctor Lopez. Thank you for coming all this way to examine my father.”

  “Oh, it’s my pleasure, Master Neville. I only hope that I am able to help him.”

  “So,” says Burghley, full of bonhomie, “how have things been going for you down in Creechurch? Or are you staying at Mountjoy’s full time now?”

  Lopez swallows another indelicate swig of cognac, and speaks entirely too loudly. “I spend my time in each place about equally. Although in Holborn, I have a little, you know … ” His hand signals equivocation, suggesting a sexual dalliance.

  “Oh, a swordsman, are we?” asks Henry. “I might have known.”

  “Well,” replies Lopez, “nothing so indiscriminate as might end me up with hollow bones and lunacy like … Lord Essex.”

  Noah looks to Burghley and Sir Robert, both of whom stand behind Lopez, outside his field of vision. They’re horrified. This is Essex’s physician talking unreservedly about his having a venereal disease, an egregious breach of the confidential relationship between doctor and patient. And, what’s worse, Lopez has been physician for each of the Cecils and even the Queen! What might he reveal about them under the influence of spirits?

  Yet Burghley sees an opportunity he cannot decline. Noah cannot help but admire how he avoids addressing Lopez in a manner reminding him of his professional status. “Surely, Roderigo, you are not saying that Lord Essex suffers from the French disease!”

  “Am I not!” Lopez replies. “Tell me, do you think it the behavior of a man in control of his faculties to disobey the Queen’s express command to remain in England, out of harm’s way?”

  “Oh, but surely, Roderigo, there are reasons other than madness for such disobedience.”

  “Are there? I can think of none.” Lopez looks at Henry and points to his cognac. “This is very good, you know. Very good.” He takes another large swig, and gazes at an indeterminate point on the wall. His speech is so slurred that it’s becoming difficult to make out. “Is it ‘normal’ for an earl to bang on the gates of Lisbon with his fists, challenging an entire city to individual combat in defense of the Queen’s honor … which, to my knowledge, had never been besmirched by said city? I don’t think so.” His voice begins to subside, as though his energy is nearly spent and his eyelids weigh heavy. “No, this is rather indicative of his physical and mental condition. Why, once … ” He drifts off. His eyes shu
t. In a moment, he snores loudly.

  Henry mutters, “And he says I shouldn’t drink.”

  Ordinarily, Noah would expect people to ignore such drunken talk by a professional man, and to take what he’s said with a grain of salt. But what Lopez said is truly reprehensible, even if some of it might be turned to the Cecils’ advantage.

  Henry opens the double doors, where Walker stands ready with another manservant to carry Lopez to bed. Walker takes Lopez’s shoulders and the other man his feet. Together, they lift him up and carry him out, feet first.

  Henry closes the doors and sits down again. “I heard that Lopez had said such things in a drunken state before,” he says, “but I wanted to be certain.”

  “Who was his audience last time?” asks Sir Robert.

  “Don Antonio and his son. They immediately ran to Essex and told him about it.”

  Noah speculates. “That’s enough for Essex to hold a grudge against Lopez.”

  Burghley shakes his head. “But not enough to convict him of a crime. No, when Essex gets the goods on Lopez, it will be for much more than a besotted rant. Heaven help him. And I fear Essex’s real target will not be Lopez at all.”

  “Who will it be?” asks Noah.

  “Robert and I.” Burghley shakes his head. “I am sorry, Robert. Sorry, Master Neville. But there is nothing for it; Master Ames might as well know. Master Ames, I’m about tell you something that Lord Essex believes about his own ancestry.”

  Noah nods.

  “We have no way of knowing whether what I’m about to say is true or not,” says Burghley, “but both Her Majesty and Essex believe it. And the information evidently came down to them from separate sources.” He pauses before revealing his great secret. “Her Majesty’s father was Lord Essex’s great-grandfather.”

  Noah is perplexed. “Mary Boleyn had an illegitimate child by Henry the Eighth?”

  Burghley nods. “As they both believe it, it might as well be true. The child was Catherine Carey, whose eldest daughter was Lettice Knollys, who in turn gave birth to Lord Essex.”