by Neal Roberts
“So, since his youth,” says Noah contemplatively, “Essex has been fired with the belief that the blood of the English lion courses through his veins.” Now he’s even more perplexed. “But what has this to do with what we’ve been discussing?”
Lord Burghley nods indulgently. “Patience, and you shall soon see. Until a few months ago, Essex thought Lopez was his man. It was incredibly stupid of him. Essex, more than anyone, should have known that Lopez was, is, and ever shall be for sale, not merely to the highest bidder, but to every bidder. Lopez never got over losing his fortune in the failed English Armada expedition.
“For a long time, Essex thought himself to be the sole recipient of all Lopez’s fresh intelligence from Spain and the Netherlands, and I’m sure he was paying commensurately for it. But whenever Lopez would come off a ship, or receive new intelligence, we Cecils were always the first to know. It went on like that for years, with Essex none the wiser, but none the worse for it, really.
“Then, one day, some time ago, Essex made a grand show of bringing fresh intelligence to the Queen. When he presented it to her, she laughed and said she’d known it for months. He’s not a stupid man, and it didn’t take him long to realize she could only have got it from us, and that we could only have got it from Lopez.”
“So, it is Lopez he’s after,” says Noah.
Burghley smiles indulgently, and shakes his head. He resumes his tale in the most melancholy voice. “No. That is not the way Essex thinks. Once he knew that Lopez was mainly our man, he realized that by discrediting Lopez, he could discredit us. With us discredited, he could get Bacon as Attorney General and, with that, control of the Crown’s criminal prosecutions. With control of prosecutions, he can be rid of us for good and all.
“Her Majesty has no heir. So, with us gone, there will be but an aging and childless woman between Essex … and the Crown.”
Chapter 23
THE REMAINDER OF the summer passes with little tribulation. In late June, there’s a Midsummer’s Eve celebration at Billingbear that attracts every country nobleman and merchant within twenty miles. Four families travel from as far away as York, two from Paris, and one from Edinburgh, in Scotland.
Five earls are in attendance at different times, although neither Essex nor Southampton makes an appearance, for which absences Noah and the Cecils are especially grateful. Noah remains at a complete loss to think what he’d say to Southampton about his possible half sister Marie, if she were to come up in conversation.
Jessica is in her splendor at the Midsummer celebration, and all the rest of the summer. As she regards it as her womanly duty never to appear publicly in the same outfit more than once, it takes her less than three weeks to run through every item of clothing she packed in her gargantuan trunk. When that supply is exhausted, she adopts the costly expedient of having the Nevilles’ seamstresses fashion her new clothing on a nearly continuous basis.
Although the seamstresses are well housed and well paid by the Nevilles, such personal services are performed for visitors only as a courtesy by the staff, so it all ends up costing Noah a small fortune in gratuities, called “vails.” He ends up wishing Jessica had brought a far bigger trunk. Her repeating refrain of “see?” reverberates cruelly in his mind.
On two separate occasions that summer, there are many-colored fireworks. On the latter occasion, Billingbear entertains a walloping demonstration of bright brass cannon manufactured by the Nevilles at the Gresham works, and Henry appears in a cannoneer’s uniform, igniting the long fuse on the opening cannon himself. He makes quite a sight covering his ears and running away before it goes off.
Late-summer news is that the plague has passed for the time being, and it’s reasonably safe to return to London. Reliable solicitors and attorneys have brought Noah a goodly number of interesting and lucrative cases for Michaelmas Term. Jessica has received so many social invitations for the autumn season that she needs to borrow two large portfolios from Mistress Anne merely to transport them back to London for sorting out.
Yet, as the end of August inevitably rolls around, and with it the day when Noah and Jessica will have to say goodbye to Billingbear, a wistful sadness pervades their thoughts. Although there is undeniably much of interest to be done at home, both Noah and Jessica know that nothing can compare to their time at Billingbear, and that a wholly unexpected experience such as this summer’s can never truly be repeated.
In the house, Noah and Jessica bid goodbye to Mistress Anne and her children, the Cecils having left two weeks earlier to attend to Her Majesty’s affairs. Noah is careful to leave each of the servants a vail large enough to say that he or she is much appreciated. Although, to be sure, his gratuities cannot approach the size of many left by the wealthy, they’re nevertheless more than he can comfortably afford.
The stableman brings Jessica’s open cart around. It’s been cleaned and polished so well as to be unrecognizable as the one they arrived in. Noah’s initial confusion is compounded by the replacement of Jessica’s horses with different ones, much younger and larger.
Noah looks inquiringly at Henry. “Whose horses are these?”
“They’re yours. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve exchanged them for the two you brought up here, who are now safely out to pasture. My stableman says that one of them is actually good for breeding, so we’re putting him to the most pleasurable kind of work. Neither of them has very much time remaining on earth, I’m sorry to say.”
“Henry, you’re joking! Why, I could never accept — ”
Henry laughs. “Of course you could. And here’s someone I know you could never turn down.”
As Noah turns to look, Bucklebury is led out, the black beauty he’s ridden many times this summer through Windsor Forest. All saddled and ready to go.
Noah turns to Henry, gratitude welling up in his breast. “I — I don’t know what to say to such generosity.”
“Well, a simple ‘thank you’ might do.”
“‘Thank you?’” Noah seizes Henry’s hand and shakes it energetically. “Thank you so much, my good friend!”
Jessica, who’s overheard all this sitting in the driver’s seat of the open cart, shouts: “Thank you, Uncle Henry!”
Henry shouts back: “You’re both most welcome! Thank you for being such wonderful guests.” He leans in to Noah, and speaks in hushed tones. “I expect that, before all is said and done, you’ll need these horses more than you know. Especially Bucklebury. So, take good care of them.”
A frisson of fear rides up Noah’s spine. Abandoning the temporary haven of Billingbear, he feels more uneasy than ever, as though disturbed parts of his mind have returned to their highest state of vigilance.
“I shall take the best imaginable care of them, Master Henry. And thank you again.”
As Noah and Jessica depart through the gate, Henry waves to them and they wave in return. Once through the gate, Noah’s stomach begins to churn. Just as he begins to contemplate that he’ll be unable to offer Jessica any real protection on the upcoming journey, five young horsemen sidle up to them.
It’s Jonathan and the four jesters.
“Well, bless my soul,” says Jonathan in his best imitation of a North London accent, “if it ain’t that Ames fella from the courthouse!”
“What are you all doing here?” Noah demands sternly, though in truth he’s never been so glad to see anyone.
“We thought we’d escort you home,” says Jonathan.
Noah suddenly realizes each of them is armed with a full-length sword, and all but the Bennett twins are wearing pistols. “Expecting company?” he inquires.
“Always,” replies Jonathan jovially. “But, arming ourselves like this is mostly intended to avoid company altogether. Let’s enjoy the ride.” He tips his hat to Jessica, with whom he seems quite smitten.
“Why, Master Hawking,” she says, “you look most dashing.”
He bows in the saddle. “And may I say, Lady Burlington, that you are the loveliest thing
your humble servant has seen since you left London?”
Jessica pretends to give it some thought. “I suppose you may say that. Yes,” she decides, “you may say that whenever you wish.”
Jonathan smiles, and leads the way to the road.
As they turn east toward London, with the late morning sun reaching its zenith, their heads and shoulders begin to overheat, disinclining them to much conversation. Noah shakes off his torpor to pull Bucklebury up alongside Jonathan.
“Any news of note?” asks Noah.
Jonathan shrugs. “Not much about the Essex affair since early July. Since then, I’ve even taken a holiday of my own. I’ve begun broadening my education beyond weapons, to include such things as medicines and poisons.”
Noah raises an eyebrow. “Idle reading?”
Jonathan laughs. “Hardly. As the earl has Walsingham’s whole network at his disposal, he has numerous ways of getting at people. I just want to stay a step or two ahead of him. Your Doctor Lopez has been one of my best sources, incidentally.”
“Indeed?”
“Oh, yes. Not just of reading material, either. Supplies, as well. He put me in touch with an apothecary in London, and another in Spain.”
“Supplies? Are you planning on becoming a physician? Or a poisoner?”
“Neither,” sniffs Jonathan. “Rather, a defender of myself and a more senior barrister … and his lovely daughter.”
“Well, you needn’t go polluting your brain with such nonsense on our account.”
Jonathan shrugs off Noah’s comment. “I’m studying the effects of certain drugs on dogs and horses.”
“Which drugs?” asks Noah.
“Laudanum, and other calmatives. Small quantities of foxglove derivatives, which are really toxic only in larger amounts. It may someday help me spot another case of poisoning, so that I can steer my investigators in that direction. Also … laxatives.”
Noah laughs. “Laxatives? Why?”
“No reason, except that Lopez is so knowledgeable about them, his enthusiasm is really quite contagious. You know, much of his medical practice is devoted to such … problems.”
“So I have heard. You’ll be well-advised to keep such things away from these horses, please.”
“Sacred, I assure you.”
“How is your schedule shaping up for Michaelmas Term?” asks Noah.
“Not bad, really. I was already working up a fairly full caseload before I left town a few weeks ago. I imagine there’ll be a few more things waiting for me at Gray’s Inn. And yours? How is your autumn looking?”
“Very busy. I must confess, however, that I cannot wait for Marie to return.”
“I can imagine. When is that promised?”
“‘As soon as … ”
“‘God and the seas allow.’ Yes, I know, but what is her best estimate?”
“October first.”
“So, she shall arrive at the beginning of the new term.” Jonathan smirks. “You’ll have your hands full.”
“I’ll ignore that, young man.”
When Noah discovers that Marie and Stephen will arrive at Dover a full week earlier than expected, he’s elated. The same winds that initially drove them north away from the Continent have swiftly driven them north to England, and home. The evening before their expected arrival, he makes sure that his note will be awaiting Marie when they arrive. It’s quite prim, requesting leave to pay a call at her earliest convenience.
The following morning, he keeps vigil from the window of his room at Gray’s, watching High Holborn for a carriage large enough to hold two passengers with heavy luggage. Around nine o’clock, he spots one moving unhurriedly toward Marie’s house and out of sight.
While he expects she’s received many letters seeking her immediate attention, he’d hoped that his would wend its way to the front of the queue. Yet, dinner comes and goes with nary a word. Though he considers walking nonchalantly past her house, his note has made it impossible for him to convincingly feign surprise at their early arrival. No, Marie would not like the appearance fostered by a surprise visit, so he resolves to wait.
Finally, at four, a boy arrives with a brief note from Marie requesting the pleasure of his company at dinner the following day. The following day! He thinks of all the nights he’s lain awake pining for her return. And now, to have his company dispensed with entirely on the day of her arrival? Evidently, his deepest feelings are no longer reciprocated by Marie, if they ever were, and he can’t help but wonder whether she’s found someone else. Perhaps someone she’s known a long time, who’s been waiting year after year for his opportunity to pounce. His blood boils.
Oh, why did he not take selfish advantage that first evening and make her his bedmate? Why did he take matters so slowly? Perhaps she doubts his ardency, or his self-confidence. And now all is lost. He passes a restless night, and braces himself for the worst.
Next day, he climbs the steps at Marie’s house right on schedule — not early, which would betray his eagerness, yet not late, which might appear uncaring. He’s admitted by a servant, and escorted to the upstairs parlor to await the lady of the house. In due time, she appears. Though her smile is sincere, it’s reserved, as well.
“Master Ames,” she says pertly. “And how have you been these past months?”
Her undeniably pleasant, but off-putting, primness strikes him as a slap in the face. She might as well have stuck a dagger into his heart. Yet, what choice has he but to play along? Better that than to be excluded from her company, which prospect does not bear contemplation.
“I have been well, madam. I was glad to learn from your correspondence that Master Rodriguez has been well received by his late father’s business associates. And I was most grateful for the additional information you so kindly provided.”
She nods. “I trust you’ve given thought to the conversation we shared immediately prior to my departure?”
Basking in the glow of her shapely face and form, he hasn’t a clue which conversation she’s talking about. “I believe I have mulled over every conversation you and I have ever had, the memories of which have lent me great support during your overlong absence.”
She regards him skeptically, but he’s sure she knows perfectly well that he has no idea which conversation she means. Which blasted conversation? The one about mutual trust? She asked whether he was being honest and forthright, but he’s still never lied to her. That can’t be it.
She leads him down to dinner with Stephen and the other children. Although he’s greeted by the children as an old friend, Marie’s coolness is evident, and he has barely any appetite.
Yet, when they are again alone and she bids him goodbye, she smiles warmly and says, “I hope that I shall ever be most deserving of your trust, Master Ames.”
“And I of yours,” he says. He bows, and leaves on foot for Gray’s with a great deal to ponder. He vows to regain her full affection. But how?
It’s mid-October, and the term is in full swing. The air is becoming crisp again, especially in the evening, and the leaves have begun to change their color.
Noah has not yet hinted at eventual marriage with Marie, as the reserve she exhibited upon her return from the Netherlands has never quite dissipated, and, in his lowest moods, he fears she’ll turn him down. Besides, he rationalizes, it would be inappropriate to broach the subject foursquare until a year has passed since her husband’s death.
Although Jessica is still favorably disposed toward young Stephen, her social schedule has left her with little time to spare for him. He seems quite crestfallen, at a loss for a way to compete with men of higher rank who shower attention and endless gifts upon her. Jessica has confided in Noah that she’s decided to remain unattached for a time. Although Noah has tried to convey this to Stephen in every way possible that will not entail a breach of confidence, Stephen has been little comforted.
One evening around sunset, Noah shuffles through the dead leaves, returning to Gray’s Inn on foot after a succ
essful trial at Westminster. As he approaches the inn, at first he’s alarmed to see a candle burning in his own window, but quickly realizes that someone hostile wouldn’t have lit a candle that might signal his presence.
Jonathan’s door is closed, which can only mean he’s out. Noah passes by, and goes upstairs. Before opening the door to his own apartment, he knocks quietly and steps back out of the doorway, lest anyone leap out at him.
“Who’s there?” asks a muffled Henry.
Noah goes inside. Henry’s clothing is spread about the room, as though he’s packing.
“Leaving so soon?” asks Noah.
Henry is folding clothing in the room he used earlier in the year. He peers around the door at Noah. “Leaving? I just got here.”
“Oh, it looks like you’re packing to travel.”
“Very astute,” says Henry. “In fact, I must appear at Westminster tomorrow, in Parliament. I’ll be meeting Burghley and Robert immediately afterwards. We’re going to Windsor in the evening, to meet with Her Majesty the following morning.”
“Well, it’s nice to know I’m living in your closet.”
Henry snickers. “No time for mirth, Noah. You know why I’m going up there.”
“No, why?”
“It’s about the earl’s great matter.”
“The Attorney Generalship?”
“Yes. There’s been a change. This is all secret, yes?”
“Of course.”
“Anthony Bacon is too ill for the job. He was supposed to go up to Windsor on October the ninth, a week or so ago, but he was in so much pain from the kidney stones that he couldn’t even get into the carriage to go. A few days later, though he managed to get into the carriage, he had to turn back. In fact, he couldn’t even go home. Instead, he went straight to his physician, Parmant, at Eton. Poor man.”
“So, it’s Coke for Attorney General?”
“Remains to be seen. Essex went up that Saturday and apologized profusely to the Queen. You’ll never guess whom he’s pushing for now.”