Before leaving Nonsuch, Shakespeare had pressed Cecil for more information, but none was forthcoming. ‘I wish you to meet her without prejudice, John,’ was all he would say.
The Earl of Derby must have gone cold as he read the letter Hesketh had brought from Prague, thought Shakespeare. As the earl was a direct descendant of Henry VII, and under the terms of Henry VIII’s will was a prime claimant to the throne, the letter entreated him to become a figurehead for England’s Catholics, and to snatch the crown for God and the Pope. Become a figurehead for England’s Catholics? God’s teeth, how could the earl not have recalled the grisly fate of the last Catholic figurehead — Mary Queen of Scots? That proud head had been lopped off at Fotheringhay Castle in a drenching of blood.
The earl did not seem the stuff of such martyrdom. He loved life too much. Poetry, plays, the hunt, gaming, his beautiful wife and daughters: that was where his devotion lay.
But as he read the Hesketh letter, he must have realised he was in an awful trap: if he even talked the contents over with the wretched Hesketh, he would be condemning himself in the eyes of the Queen and the Cecils. If he did not hand Hesketh over to the Privy Council as a traitor, then he, Derby, would be the traitor.
And if he did denounce Hesketh? Then he would make enemies of the whole Catholic world and of Hesketh’s kin.
In the end, Derby had had no option: to have any chance of survival, he handed the letter over to the Queen and had Hesketh taken into custody. Under questioning by the relentless William Wade, clerk to the Privy Council, Hesketh maintained that he never knew the contents of this letter. He had collected it, sealed, from a contact near London and had then ridden for Lancashire. Eventually, however, he confessed his guilt to high treason and was executed by hanging, drawing and quartering at St Albans last November.
Derby had been left badly wounded by the affair. Many Catholics now believed him a betrayer for bearing witness against Hesketh and sending him to the scaffold, while many Protestants were still not convinced that he was not, himself, a Catholic with designs on the crown of England.
Now the earl was on his sickbed. Could any man believe this to be mere coincidence?
‘This threatening letter, my lady … do you know who it was from?’
The Countess of Derby’s proud head did not fall, nor did her shoulders slump. ‘An enemy, of course.’
‘May I see the letter?’
‘It has been destroyed. We have no idea who sent it. One of Hesketh’s family, perhaps, or an enemy at court. Any number of people. Sometimes I think we are hated by the whole world, Mr Shakespeare, and I do not understand why. We are Christians and have led Christian lives, cultivating the arts and literature and learning. Never has Ferdinando strayed into politics or joined a grouping to seek power.’
What was it Sir Thomas Heneage had said to him in Cecil’s chambers at Nonsuch Palace? Lord Derby has few enough visitors these days. He did not press the issue, but asked the question he most wished answered.
‘Does the name Lamb mean anything to you?’
The countess hesitated, as the constable had done.
Shakespeare waited for her.
At last she smiled, as if suddenly remembering. ‘Why, yes, I have met Mr Lamb. He came here at Christmas, with some of the townspeople, to celebrate the birth of our Lord. Such occasions are not uncommon. My husband sees it as his duty to provide such entertainments for the local gentry and merchants.’
‘You were not at court last Christmas?’
‘Are you sent to spy on us, Mr Shakespeare? You seem to have a great interest in affairs that cannot possibly concern you.’
He shook his head. ‘No, I am not here to spy on you. But, yes, this does concern me, as I shall explain.’
‘Very well. My husband considered it unfitting to go to court at Christmas, following the recent stir. He was not sure how welcome we would be.’
Shakespeare understood. ‘What do you recall of Lamb?’
‘I did not mark him much, but I do recall I was introduced to him and thought him a pleasant man. He had an easy manner. Why, what makes you ask about him?’
‘He is dead, my lady, shot as a deserter by a provost marshal named Pinkney, who claims to be responsible only to the Lord Lieutenant. His lordship your husband is, of course, Lord Lieutenant of this county.’
The countess was clearly shocked. Her fair skin blanched to a deathly pallor. ‘Father Lamb is dead?’
Shakespeare nodded, noting the title. He had not mentioned that the dead man was a priest. ‘He died with a plea on his lips — a plea that I should save his lordship, though he did not specify what I should save him from.’
Her hand went to her slender throat. ‘Mr Shakespeare, if you are trying to frighten me yet more, I confess you are succeeding …’
‘Would I be correct in thinking that you knew Father Lamb rather better than you have acknowledged?’
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘It has long been rumoured that my lord of Derby is of the old faith.’
Suddenly her manner changed. ‘I ask again — are you sent here to spy on my lord of Derby? Shame on you, Mr Shakespeare!’
He shook his head. ‘That is not why I am here. However, I am worried that I may have walked into something of great moment and I would be neglecting my duty if I ignored it.’
‘Tittle-tattle. Assume nothing, Mr Shakespeare,’ she said, almost spitting the words. ‘Assumptions are dangerous, as neighbour Hesketh discovered at the cost of his head.’
‘I apologise if I offended you, my lady. In fact, I am here to see Dr Dee, whom I gather is your guest, that is all, and to request your assistance in protecting him. It is feared he may be in some peril, which I shall explain to you.’
The countess’s face softened again. ‘Forgive me, Mr Shakespeare, I quite understand your concern on our behalf. But I would beg you to understand that these are trying times for our family. We are crossed at court and crossed in this county. My lord has enemies — powerful enemies — who would happily see his head on the block. Our complaints go unanswered. Even my husband’s rightful request to be honoured as Chamberlain of Chester is ignored. He is snubbed. In his place, they choose the upstart Egerton, who was once our attendant. I do sometimes think he would take on our whole life if it were in his power.’ She sighed heavily. ‘And yet that is not the worst of it, Mr Shakespeare. For that you must look to Richard Hesketh’s own brother, the attorney Thomas Hesketh, who speaks so ill of us that I doubt we have a friend left in the county. And you must know that this Thomas Hesketh is so close-coupled with Sir Thomas Heneage that a blade of grass would not pass between them.’
Shakespeare frowned. What was she intimating? Never had he heard a bad word said of Heneage. Everyone liked him. And yet there seemed to be some ill-will here. Perhaps Heneage had not been the earl’s preferred choice to succeed Walsingham as Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster. He would delve no further. For the present.
He bowed. ‘I am sorry these days have been so hard for you.’
She waved her hand. ‘I had not meant to concern you with our worries. Please, Mr Shakespeare, tell me exactly what it is you require from me in the matter of Dr Dee. I shall do my best to provide every assistance.’
‘I would ask for your two stoutest guardsmen. Dr Dee needs a permanent escort. I am charged by Sir Robert to bring him to Kent as soon as arrangements can be made and your guardsmen will need to come away with us for protection.’
‘Is he not safe here? I would hate to think that a guest of ours was in some danger.’
‘He has knowledge that our enemies would dearly love to obtain. No disrespect is meant to you or his lordship, but it is felt by Sir Robert that he could be more easily protected elsewhere.’
‘Well, then consider it arranged. You shall have your guards, for you must know that we would do anything to help Sir Robert Cecil.’
Was there an edge of disrespect as she spoke of Cecil? An edge of fear, perhaps?<
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‘Thank you, my lady,’ he said. ‘And the other matter? Might I be permitted to see your husband? I will not tax him if he finds my presence troubling.’
‘I will talk with his physicians. In the meantime, I will have Cole take you to Dr Dee in his quarters. And please tell Sir Robert how eager we were to cooperate and assist in every way possible. I greatly desire to retain his love and trust, as does my husband.’
Janus Trayne lay back on the narrow bed. Walter Weld looked down at him with scorn, then cracked the side of his head with a riding crop.
Trayne recoiled from the blow, but knew better than to cry out.
‘Anyone could have seen you come here, you dog’s pizzle.’
‘No one saw me, Mr Weld, I promise you.’
Weld hit him again. ‘I should kill you here and now, Trayne. What use are you to me? You were hired to bring me the perspective glass. Instead you bring me a worthless right arm, blood-stained apparel and a tale of woe. Worse, you jeopardise everything by coming here. How do you know you weren’t followed?’
‘Please, Mr Weld, I got clean away. And I will find it. I will bring the instrument to you. I pledge it. I can find where it has been taken.’
Weld twitched his crop but did not hit Trayne again. Instead he flicked the leather tip at his wounded arm. ‘How bad is it?’
‘Bad enough. I need a little time for it to mend. Two days, three perhaps.’
‘You can hold a pistol with your left hand, can’t you?’
‘Yes, I could do that.’
‘Good. Then we shall do our work here in Lancashire, for the prize we seek has fallen into our path.’
Chapter 7
At the age of sixty-seven, John Dee was still a man of impressive bearing. His hand emerged from the wide, open sleeve of his richly embroidered artist’s gown and clasped Shakespeare’s right hand in a firm grip.
‘Mr Shakespeare, I am pleased to meet you.’
‘And I am glad to find you well, Dr Dee.’
The room was large with two leaded windows looking out across the battlements to the park and furnished with a table and stool, and a wooden crate of books. On the table Dr Dee had quills, ink, a crystal stone and a volume in which he had been writing when Cole brought in Shakespeare.
As Cole departed, Shakespeare began to explain his presence to Dr Dee and of Cecil’s fears for his safety.
Dee looked puzzled. ‘I cannot imagine anyone would wish me harm. I am but a poor sciencer. More than poor — impoverished.’
‘And a deviser of engines.’ Shakespeare lowered his voice. ‘In particular, the perspective glass.’
Dee smiled. Above his long beard, his eyes shone and creased into the handsome face of his distant youth. ‘Ah, my spying glass. So that is what this is about. Do they wish me to make another? I would require a great deal of money.’
‘No, but Sir Robert is concerned that the one you have made is in peril. You must know that it is in the keeping of a man known as the Eye. There has been an attempt on his life.’
Dee’s smile vanished. ‘By God’s heavenly angels, what happened, sir?’
Shakespeare told him of the events in Portsmouth.
‘This has made Sir Robert most anxious about your own safety. He fears that our enemies might try to abduct you or your collaborator Mr Digges and somehow attempt to coerce the secret from you.’
‘Mr Shakespeare, you do me a disservice! I would never reveal the secrets of this realm to a foreign power.’
‘I am pleased to hear that, Dr Dee. But you can surely understand why Sir Robert is concerned to look out for your welfare.’
‘Yes, Mr Shakespeare, I suppose I do. But how do you propose to protect me? Surely, I am safe here at Lathom House?’
‘I am to take you to the home of Mr Digges at Chevening in Kent. There you will be assigned to the keeping of my associate Francis Mills and his men. In the meantime, until we are there, you will have two men with you at all times. They will sleep outside your chamber and accompany you wherever you go. I will be billeted here, with you, inside this room.’
‘So we are not leaving immediately?’ Dee seemed relieved.
‘Soon. But until we go, be circumspect, Dr Dee. Do not put yourself in danger. Consult me before you consider going anywhere.’
‘Mr Shakespeare, I am a busy man. I must go to Manchester for a day or two, to the collegiate church of St Mary, and there are other matters-’
‘Other matters?’
‘Well, there is the honour I owe to my lord of Derby. I cannot leave while he ails, for that would seem most ill-mannered. But be straight with me, Mr Shakespeare. I may look old and befuddled to you, but there is more to this, is there not? There is something you keep from me.’
‘No,’ Shakespeare lied. ‘I am being straight with you. There is nothing more than your safety.’
He could not tell this venerable man that Cecil doubted him, feared even that he might sell his secrets to Spain. Shakespeare changed the subject.
‘But there is this new matter of my lord, the Earl of Derby. His illness worries me greatly in the light of the Hesketh affair.’
Dee sighed. ‘It is most unfortunate. I can well understand why you might imagine some link between his illness and the unfortunate events of last year.’
‘Can you explain it? Did you consort with Hesketh in Prague?’
‘No. I had left Bohemia before he arrived. But, of course, I heard tell of his attempt to recruit his lordship for treason against the Queen.’
‘So you knew nothing of him?’
‘No, not at that time. I knew him before, of course. We were friends for a time in the early eighties.’
‘You shared an interest in alchemy. Yes, I have read the reports.’
‘Indeed. But we lost touch after that.’
‘But you knew those in Prague with whom he would have dealt during his exile?’
‘Some of them, yes. Mr Edward Kelley, for one. And the Jesuit, Father Stephenson, for another.’
‘Stephenson?’
‘Thomas Stephenson, a good man. He was at the College of the Clementinum, a Jesuit college in Prague. He was sent there by either Cardinal Allen or Father Persons, I believe.’
‘Were they behind the letter that Hesketh brought back to England for Derby?’
Dee shrugged his shoulders. ‘It would not surprise me, but I had also heard it testifed that Hesketh was given the letter in London. Is that not so?’
‘That is what he said. He insisted he was approached by a boy and given the sealed paper at the White Lion in Islington. But you are a man of wit, Dr Dee. Explain to me why he was at the White Lion and why someone just happened to be there with a letter for him to deliver unless it had all been pre-arranged.’
Dr Dee thought for a moment, but just as he opened his mouth to make reply, he was stopped short by a scream from elsewhere in the house. It was a cry of piercing volume and intensity that seemed to well up from the depths of the earth and ring through the ancient halls of Lathom House, an unholy howl of terror and pain and despair.
Chapter 8
The Earl of Derby’s chamber was shrouded in a sickly gloom. The shutters were closed to keep out the evening light and just one beeswax candle was lit. It guttered and almost blew out as Shakespeare shut the door. The air was stale.
He had never encountered such a weird and spectral scene. The earl sat on the edge of a great, carved-oak bed. He was wearing a white linen nightgown, streaked with stains, and was leaning over a silver basin, vomiting.
A physician held the basin for him, but averted his head, cupping his hand over his nose and mouth to shield himself from the foul stench of the earl’s eruption. Two other physicians stood further away, by a table, clearly scared, their eyes shining in the dim light. In a dark corner of the room sat an ample-bosomed woman who rocked back and forth, chanting words that meant nothing to Shakespeare.
She was stirring the contents of a small earthenware pot, which she held clamped
between her knees.
‘My lord of Derby …’
The young earl, no more than thirty-five years of age, looked up from his basin and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. His face was heavy and drained, his eyes mere slits.
‘Mr Shakespeare,’ he said quietly, taking shallow breaths. ‘I had heard you were here. It is a long time since last we met.’
‘Indeed, my lord. I have come to fetch away your guest, Dr Dee.’ He looked at the earl’s gaunt face. ‘God’s faith, I am sorry to find you in such straits.’
‘I am bewitched, Mr Shakespeare. I fear the worst. There is nothing these three frauds can do for me with their physic.’
One of the two physicians who had held back stepped forward. ‘Sir, I beg you to allow me to bleed you. There are ill humours that must be released.’
The earl tried to laugh, but immediately retched, then vomited again into the basin and beyond. Shakespeare was appalled; the earl was bringing up fleshy, rusty-blood matter that stank worse than a house of easement in high summer.
Shakespeare turned to the physician who had just spoken. ‘How long has he been like this?’
‘No more than a day and a half. It came on suddenly, when he was hunting at Knowsley. He stayed one night there, then demanded to be brought here.’
‘Have any of you three any notion what is the cause of this sickness?’
They looked at one another uneasily.
‘I am afraid we are divided in our opinions, sir. I believe it to be a natural inflammation of the gut and have treated him with three clysters of calomel, but he will have no more.’
The second physician wrung his hands together so that his knuckles cracked. ‘See the colour of his skin. He has a jaundice,’ he said. ‘I fear his liver is decayed from a surfeit of activity, food and wine. Yet he will not allow me to bleed him to release the corruption within.’
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