‘Mr Hey- Philip. How do you fare?’
‘Very well indeed. How is that wife of yours?’
‘Amy? Amy’s gone with the earl and countess.’ He frowned a little. He knew he had told Philip that before. Amy had left right after Twelfth Night, when a small group of men and women accompanied the noble couple to inspect Tutbury. It had been a wrench, not only because he would miss her, but because he disliked the idea of being left alone amongst people who were still strangers. He had gotten to know names and faces, but a couple of weeks wasn’t time enough to make friends. Besides Philip.
‘And no word from her? Can she write?’
‘She can write a fair bit,’ said Jack, a little defensively. ‘But … why should she? She shall have her hands full.’
‘Quite, quite.’ Heydon waved his hands in the air in a dismissive gesture. ‘Are you very busy, my friend?’
‘Busy enough. How about you?’
‘Me, I haven’t enough to do, mate. With the earl away, there are no letters for me to read through. Shockingly poor grammar, the earl has. No,’ he said, tapping his nose, ‘all that’s come in is a letter from the privy council. Saying that the Scottish queen is to be locked up in Tutbury, the poor lady. Nowhere else, no matter the complaints the earl might discover about the place.’
‘There’s something,’ said Jack, unsure of himself. ‘So, we’ll have to go there?’
‘So it seems, more’s the pity. From what the servants say it is a poor sort of a place. But let’s not linger on that. I’m sure your wife will make it up good and pretty for us. Do you have time for a talk?’
‘Yes, if it pleases you. Something troubling you?’
‘No, not at all – apart from all the talk about this Scottish queen and what it’ll mean for … for us all.’
‘It excites everyone, I suppose. What she’ll be like, I mean.’
‘Have you thought on it?’
‘Not really.’
‘I suppose you know she’s of the old faith?’
‘Yes, that’s why she fetched up here isn’t it? The Scots are reformers, aren’t they?’
‘They are that. Some of them. The ones who govern now, at any rate. A barbarous and stiff-necked people. Yet many aren’t. Reformers, I mean.’ Heydon paused, giving Jack a measured look. ‘You know, in Europe most prefer the old faith. If you travel you have to stick hard by it, else you’re apt to get a dagger in the back in some nations. The Spanish, the French, the states of Italy. It’s only on this isle that the root of the new faith has taken in each corner.’
‘I hadn’t thought about it,’ said Jack. In truth, he tried to think of religion as little as possible. Yet he could sense that Heydon expected something from him. ‘The duke of Norfolk is of the new faith.’
‘Is he, though?’
‘Yes,’ said Jack flatly. ‘My fath- my family, they were hot on the new faith too when I was a boy. Very hot on it.’ He did not say that his father had been a fanatical reformer, amongst other things.
‘And you? Are you so hot on it?’
Jack shrugged. ‘I believe in God. I think He understands what goes on and judges as He can. Can’t really know much more than that.’
‘A noble sentiment, mate. An answer worthy of a Sybil. Yet it’s no crime to prefer the old faith, no crime at all. I mean – the new one’s only going to be around as long as the queen lives, so you needn’t sell your soul for it for long. Tell me, would you like to hear how they worship in France, and in Italy?’
‘I …’ Jack struggled, not sure how Heydon wanted him to answer. Heydon leapt on the silence.
‘I don’t mean to force you. It is just that … well, with this noble household about to undergo a change, it might be worth your understanding better of the mysteries of the Catholic faith. It’s no crime – you won’t be doing anything wrong.’ He gave a big foolish smile, as though he was explaining something to a child. ‘As long as you attend the household services in the chapel you are doing your duty by the queen.’
‘Would you like me to?’
‘I would – I don’t … there aren’t enough folk to talk to. You can only rely on men you can call friends, you know.’
‘When?’
‘Whenever you like. This evening. Your wife will be away a while yet. Do you think she should like to open her mind to workings of the world? I mean, you won’t be led by her of course.’
‘I think … my wife would wish me to do as I wish.’
‘Splendid. I’ll visit you in your chamber.’ He flapped his hands in an exaggerated flourish. ‘And there I’ll introduce you to the world without your even having to set foot on a boat. You’ll smell the scents of French cathedrals and taste the wine of Rome. Jesus, it’ll be good to relive it all myself, stuck here.’
Philip Heydon walked away without looking back, leaving Jack standing in the courtyard alone and cold.
***
Everything that Chatsworth was, Tutbury was not. Where Chatsworth was modern and inviting, Tutbury was ancient and surly. Where Chatsworth sang of a bright new world, Tutbury brooded on its hill and whispered of secrets. It was, Amy thought, like looking into the past. Not in the way that some people did – it was not a place of verdant fields and polished yellow stones, of knights and fair ladies. No, it was not a place of the imaginary past, gilded with honour and virtue, at all. It was the real past. Crumbling, washed out, stinking.
The sight of it had filled Amy with dread, not helped by a growing sense that it was unwise to leave her husband at home. She had hoped that he might be required to come along on the visit, but the earl and countess had brought only a skeleton crew of workmen, a gentlewoman, and women to clean. Something of the Shrewsburys’ disgust and anxiety had communicated itself to their servants. When they had rode into sight of the castle, a feeling of gloom had sunk into everyone’s bones. The earl rode ahead with the men whilst the countess, known to all as Bess, had stayed with the women.
Bess looked like a mother bear in her furs. She spoke with an unashamed Derbyshire accent that one could cut with a knife. ‘Right, my girls,’ she said, reining in. It came out ‘me gehls’. ‘You’re all going to have a job of work getting this old mausoleum fit for company. The men are gone on ahead to see what we need. They’ll see to the furnishings. They’ll strip Chatsworth and Sheffield bare if they have to. You will have to get on your hands and knees and scrub, scrub, scrub. I hope none of you are afraid of hard work.’
A little murmur of nervous laughter animated the women.
‘Good,’ said Bess. ‘I like that. Now have a care here. You’ll have heard there’s been murder done about these parts. You’re not in Derbyshire now. This is Staffordshire, where they breed ‘em to kill and respect none but themselves. Speak to no man and keep your heads down. Come, the earl should have opened up the place by now.’
They wound their way up through the village, ignoring the appearance of curious locals, and up the hill and through the curtain wall to where Tutbury Castle crouched. It was an old L-shaped building with a tower at the corner. The shorter arm of the L comprised an old timber and plaster hunting lodge, its wooden joints cracked and splintered. Some of the stones from the tower had fallen to the ground. The hill on which it sat sloped down to wooded parklands, and the narrow windows were either empty sockets or hung with rotting wooden shutters. Amy wondered how even the full household at Chatsworth could ever have hoped to get such a place in order.
They left their horses with one of the earl’s men – one of Jack’s stable hands – in the courtyard. If there was a stable, it would likely be overgrown and dangerous, as the courtyard felt. Amy turned to one of the young maids who had accompanied her, Alice, and whispered, ‘we can’t make this place up. It looks like it could fall down tomorrow.’
Bess turned, her ears apparently sharp. ‘What was that, girl?’
‘I said we’ll have a job getting this place fair. It looks like it could fall down.’
Anger passed briefly across the c
ountess’s face and was replaced by a grin. She looked odd in her finery. Her face and body seemed made for openness and honesty, whilst the rich clothing was meant for severity and imperiousness. Little pearls on her hood and a diamond collar around her throat framed a face that, when she smiled, looked only motherly. ‘Well said, wench. A good thing then I don’t fear hard work, nor any of my folk. Is that right?’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘Let us look inside. Perhaps it shan’t be so bad.’
It was worse. Bess seemed to acknowledge it herself. Her husband had paused inside with the men and stood peering at a window in what looked like an ancient great hall, his hands behind his back as he bent forward. ‘I really do not see how it can be done, my dear heart.’
‘It’ll be done because it has to be done and there an end to it, my lord.’ The countess had one hand on her hip. She nodded curtly, apparently to convince herself. ‘Your men, my girls. We’ll do it. You see if we can’t. If I can see the rest of the place I should have some idea. Wait but a moment, my lord.’
She gathered her skirts and strode through a door in the hall and further into the chain of rooms, leaving her husband and servants in her wake. Everyone stood their ground, unsure what to do. Bess’s gentlewoman looked close to tears. Shrewsbury gave an awkward smile and had turned his attention back to the window when she reappeared, her face set. ‘I can see how it could be done. Yes, I can see how it could, but not that it should. We should have to fetch every stick of furniture from Sheffield and bring it here.’ She put a hand to her temple and kneaded it. ‘Days … weeks … In fact … In point of fact, Sheffield would be better altogether. Save the men the job. Yes, husband. You write the queen and you tell – you ask her to have the Scottish queen sent to Sheffield. We will entertain her there. She shall be quite safe there, tell her.’
A light went on behind Shrewsbury’s eyes and shone out towards his wife. ‘Yes, my dear. Yes, I really think that would be best. I will write the queen and ask her.’
‘Do you not think it better to go to her, husband? To go and make plain your view of the matter?’
‘Yes, my dear. A most worthy suggestion. I shall go forthwith to London. In truth I shall be glad not to tarry in this evil place longer than a day’s hunting.’
‘Fine, fine. And I shall make haste back to Chatsworth and await the queen’s pleasure. Just leave me one man to watch over us and keep the horses. Now make haste, husband.’ Her words began to spill over one another. ‘My girls and I shall take some refreshment in the village and then be off.’ She stepped forward and embraced him, in full view of the assembled servants. Amy felt relief wash through her, not at the thought of shirking hard work, but, like Shrewsbury, of being free of the foulness of Tutbury Castle.
The earl rode off with his men whilst the women descended upon the village inn. There, Bess gave way to her rank and took a private room with her stony-faced attendant, where she could dine and be waited on in peace. The tavern keeper was almost lost in his own bowing, despite the countess’s constant attempts to shrug him off. As she left the big open front room, she paused, beckoned the man over, and preceded him into the private chamber. Before the door banged shut, Amy heard her say, ‘this man who turned up dead. I don’t like it. The earl don’t like it. Smells of popery. Who was he?’
Left in the gloom of the tavern, the girls nibbled at some bad cheese and dried fruit, none in the mood for talking. Amy’s mind soared at the thought of being reunited with Jack. It was a strange thing, being separated from someone you saw every day. You thought you might welcome it, welcome a chance to have a break, but the opposite was true. You found yourself turning to say something to them and they weren’t there. Or you imagined what their response to something else might be but heard it only in your head and wondered if you had got them right or wrong. Soon enough she could stop wondering. Only … only, what might that strange Heydon man have been up to in her absence? She did not trust him. She did not like him. Throughout he Christmas revels he had courted her, paying her foolish compliments. Each time she would turn to see Jack, a stupid eager look on his face, as if thinking, ‘isn’t he nice, Amy? Isn’t he?’ Rather than endearing Heydon to her, that look always made her even more wary. No gentleman befriended the son of a yeoman without wanting something in return. Jack might be willing to believe it could be so, but she was not. The man had some other motive.
She was still musing when Bess and the tavern keeper came out of the private room. ‘My thanks, my lady, my humble thanks. You’ve done me such honour today, I can’t tell you.’
‘Fine,’ snapped Bess, one hand on her hip. ‘My thanks to you, tapster. Your goodwill shall be remembered hereafter. And …’ she dropped her voice, ‘recall what I said. If there are any further whispers about anyone coming here and taking anything, you tell me. Or my husband. But I should like to hear of it.’
‘Of course, my lady, at once. The smallest bruit, yes.’
‘Good man.’ Astoundingly, she clapped his shoulder as a man might before turning her back on him. ‘You are refreshed, my girls? Good. Let us make haste then, there is no sense in wasting any more time. And let us hope none of you have to return.’
As the women remounted their horses and began their journey back towards Chatsworth, Amy began to feel the oppressiveness that the castle had brought over her dissipate. On the road outwards, she turned to give the place one last look when she spotted something that made her heart leap. Her old friend, the man in brown, was standing in an alley between two of the village houses, watching them go.
***
‘And voila,’ said Heydon. ‘With that, the fellow’s sins are shriven, and his soul purified, and he can go to purgatory with a clear conscience and the path to Heaven clear. That is what they believe anyway.’
They were seated in Jack and Amy’s chamber, Jack on his own bed and Heydon on Amy’s. ‘Is that what you believe, Philip?’
‘A leading question, mate.’
‘Sorry.’
‘No, no – I don’t mean it as a criticism. It is a good question. Yes, it is what I believe. Though I was raised as much in the new faith as you were, from when I was ten years old and the queen came to the throne.’
‘I was ten or so when she came to the throne too,’ said Jack. He thought that was about right. He didn’t know his birthday exactly.
‘And so we missed out on the Catholic faith of the queen’s sister.’
‘Those were bad days, I heard. Burning, pers –’ he struggled with the word. ‘Deaths. It was the Protestants she burned. I sometimes wished…’
‘Yes?’
‘Nothing. How did you get to be a Catholic? Was it travelling?’
Heydon lounged back on Amy’s cot, his eyes rising to the ceiling. He was a young-looking fellow to have been travelling. He gave the air of a worldly man, but in appearance he didn’t look dissimilar to Jack himself. He just seemed to carry himself with more ease. That, thought Jack, would be the gentleman in him, the breeding. ‘A little. Yes. I think so. And education, learning about the history of the world and what an old thing the Catholic faith is and what a new thing the new one.’ He sat up. ‘But listen to me, Jack – discovering the old religion – it has altered my life. I was like a lost and lonely sheep, alone in the world with my parents gone. Your parents are gone, aren’t they? And then I found this great thing: order. Fathers who never die and are never cruel. The mother of Christ who was mother to us all. No ranting hot gospellers, no beatings with bibles and all of that tripe. Just a brotherhood of faith.’
‘It sounds good,’ said Jack, not wishing to offend. And, in truth, it did sound good.
‘It is good. Do you know, Jack, I felt when I met you that you were good enough to be one of us. I honestly did.’
‘Wait, Philip – I didn’t say –’
‘No, don’t put yourself down, Jack. Believe me, it’s not everyone I could speak to so openly about this. The queen grudges no man his conscience, provided he keeps
to her faith in public – and I do.’ Jack’s mind turned, and he tried he tried to think of some polite, friendly means of drawing the conversation to a close. But he had spent too long thinking and missed the natural pause in Heydon’s speech to say anything. ‘And I will, as long as she sits down there in London and tells us what to do up here. But I felt an honesty in you, a truth. I don’t,’ he added, a little huffily, ‘take these things lightly. I’m a light man, to be sure, but not in matters of faith and friendship. It’s only that when you said you desired to travel, I saw that I might be of some service. Of course, if you didn’t mean it…’
‘No – I did. I do.’ Jack sat up and leant forward himself. He felt that somehow he had offended, and wished to take it back. ‘I am very, uh, flattered that you’d ask me.’
‘I’m no flatterer, sir.’
‘I didn’t mean that.’ He scrabbled for the words. If Amy were here, she would know what to say – she was always better with people than he was. But then, Amy didn’t like Philip for some reason. To his dismay, his new friend was getting up and brushing down the front of his doublet, as though talking to him had soiled it.
‘I’m sorry, Philip – please, just … maybe let me think about this. It is a lot to think on, this religion.’
‘Yes, Jack. And it is I who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to push you, not at all. As I said, I only heard from you a desire for something and sensed in you the light of God. Such things should not be ignored. I only ask that you speak of this to no one. Friends … well, they’re open with each other, but they keep their confidences close.’
‘I won’t,’ said Jack, a firm nod punctuating his assent. ‘I won’t say anything.’
‘Not even to your wife. Perhaps especially not your wife. She doesn’t,’ he shrugged, ‘like me.’
‘That’s not true, Amy is –’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Philip, smiling. ‘I like her all the more for it. She is watching out for you. But I shouldn’t like to get either of you into trouble if she starts talking to people about religious matters. A woman doing such things … it can be troublesome.’
A Dangerous Trade: An Elizabethan Spy Thriller Page 5