Brown folded his arms across his chest, still staring her in the eyes. She met his gaze and held it until he relaxed. ‘I have others who wish to speak with me,’ was all he gave her. A rising urge to know who, though, gnawed.
‘I thought so,’ she said. ‘I … I know I’m not supposed to know who the others are, but…’
‘Some are too grand to meet in mud and mire,’ he shrugged. ‘I thought she might have forgotten a glove, I …’ Colour rose in his cheeks. Amy’s jaw jerked in an involuntary half-smile. ‘Why have you come here? You little fool. If you were seen coming hither then you’re known. You’re no good to me. And I – I am known too.’
‘It couldn’t wait, sir, I promise you.’ She waited for him to invite her further into the room. He had slammed the door behind her as soon as she’d entered. He did not. Instead he walked over to the closed window and stood with his back to it. She looked around. The chamber was spartan, devoid of any personal effects. It suited him.
‘Well?’
‘It’s Heydon, sir. The priest. He … he has turned my husband. I suspect he had drawn him into some plot. Some foul deed. He has promised him that he will become a hero for the Catholics.’
‘You have proof of this?’
‘Out of both their mouths. Heydon, he said that anyone who tries to stop him will be in danger. I supposed that meant us.’
‘Us? There is no us. What have you told him?’
‘Nothing. I only warned him to leave my husband be. But … only, he said that he knows he’s being watched.’ That was gilding the truth a little, but only a little. ‘And I thought that … when he said he would make my husband a hero, I thought that it might be some design upon the queen’s life. You said it’s what they aimed at, that lot.’
Brown’s brow knitted. It was the first time she had seem him look flummoxed. ‘The priest has returned from Scotland then,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘And is making converts.’
‘Yes, and I –’
‘Silence.’ Amy closed her mouth. ‘It might be the case. Yes, the rumbling in the north. The discontent. It might also be part of some grander stratagem. Destroy the sovereign, raise the north, and free the Scotch viper. All threads in a great tapestry.’ He turned a sardonic smile on Amy. ‘You realise that if you speak truly you have hanged that pretty husband of yours?’
An icy hand descended on Amy, despite the heat of the room. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I thought … I only thought that if I brought you this, you could stop it. Jack – well, Jack isn’t anybody really. But that priest is a gentleman. He’s to blame. You could … I suppose you could forget about Jack. I promise to you that if Heydon is gone he’ll never be any trouble. He just … he falls under spells.’
Brown seemed to consider this. ‘I promise you nothing, woman.’ Before she could reply, he said, ‘but that I can try.’
‘It is all Heydon. Get rid of the priest and all will be well. The queen will be safe.’
‘No. The other queen will attract new priests. New popish plots. Oh, we know something of your husband’s friend.’
‘What?’ asked Amy, her eyes widening in anticipation.
‘Philip Heydon. He comes from an old family in Newcastle. Wandered from them all, a disgrace to them. Learnt a rough and uncivil tongue in the stews of God-knows-where. We have traced his movements from up there to the continent. Throughout the last years he has travelled backwards and forwards, consorting with papists at Rheims and in Paris. We lost him a while ago. Until he turned up begging service with the earl of Shrewsbury, affecting kinship to some other northern Heydons. Oh, we’ll take him up, to be sure. He’ll swing. But not quite yet. Not until his whole design is revealed to us, his entire chain of Catholic filth.’ Brown drifted off, before appearing to remember that she was there. ‘As you are here, have you any other news?’
‘Only that the Scottish queen is still ill.’
‘Not been testing that vial I gave you on her, have you, girl?’ he said, giving something close to a smile. She ignored it.
‘And the earl too. His gout. The countess, she still spends time with Queen Mary. Sewing and that. I don’t think she enjoys it, poor lady.’
‘Forget the countess,’ said Brown, his voice sharp. ‘And Shrewsbury. There has been a sight too much familiarity between the whole pack of them, then.’
‘Give over – it’s not their fault. It is her – her presence. It … wears them down.’
‘Forget them, I said.’
‘Yes, sir. But … will you do something? About Heydon?’
‘Something will be done.’ That was not quite an answer, she thought. Then he put a hand up to his chin, where some silver whiskers sprouted. ‘Do you trust me, Mrs Cole?’
‘I … yes, sir.’ She thought, one always trusts someone until they ask that question.
‘I wouldn’t be surprised if there are changes afoot in yonder household. Soon. Queen Elizabeth cannot fail to hear that your old master is in correspondence with that Scottish strumpet. And when Master Secretary decides it is time she should know – then … then, the Catholics’ house of cards will tumble.
‘Now, get yourself away from here, woman. Make sure you are unseen. If you come here again our meetings will be at an end. And then,’ he added, ‘I shall not only leave your husband to his fate; I shall see to it that he swings as high as the filthy rabble he has taken up arms with.’
Amy left, walking dejectedly back up to the manor. She did not trust Brown, not when it came to saving Jack. In fact, she had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that the man would let any plot unfold, even until Queen Elizabeth was in real danger, just to scoop up as many conspirators as possible and have them gutted on the scaffold.
***
Jack turned the gemstone in his fingers. It caught the light, reflecting a rainbow. It was real – not one of the cheap pieces the countess of Moray had foisted on him and Heydon. It came with a gold ring and, more extraordinarily, a promise of money. Vast sums of money – thousands. It came from the duke of Norfolk and was addressed to his beloved, Queen Mary. Finally, too, there was a small package of money designated ‘for the faithful servant.’ Jack slid that into the pocket hanging from his own belt. He had worked enough for it.
Jack dutifully secreted the items and letters on his person, before setting off to find Heydon. Letters and presents for Mary had mounted up and he had had a lot to sort through. He was quite willing to pass the things on, to do his part in encouraging the marriage. But it seemed a fruitless thing. He had heard in Scotland that the Scots would keep Mary wedded to her brutal, rapist husband, Bothwell. More than that, the thought of shifty-eyed Norfolk, small and scrawny, taking a beautiful woman like Mary Stuart to his bed filled Jack with something like revulsion. She had never even seen him and would be unimpressed when she did. The only reason for the marriage would be to free her from captivity, and Jack knew that there were surer means of doing that. It was none of his business, really, but he would raise it with Heydon.
With the packet secure under his coat, he went out into the courtyard. He had thought to find his friend somewhere inside and was relieved to hear his voice coming from the manor’s guardhouse. Heydon was playing dice with a soldier, laughing at how poor the man’s game was.
Jack stuck his head into the small room and nodded. He had grown adept at those little upwards nods, the kinds that signalled, man-to-man, that there was something to discuss. Heydon smiled. ‘Well, lads, I’ve relieved you of enough cash for one day. You can owe me your losses. But I don’t mean to wait around forever.’
He followed Jack outside on a wave of good-natured grumbling. ‘I have letters and gifts for the queen.’.
‘What’s that?’ Jack patted his chest in response and jutted his chin up towards the house.
‘Can we speak?’
‘Yes, Jack. Follow me.’
Heydon led them up into the house, to the small chamber used for books and accounts. When they were inside, he shut the door before taki
ng a seat on a book chest. He left Jack standing. ‘What’s on your mind, mate?’
‘I have this all for Queen Mary. From Norfolk. Gifts and letters. The usual stuff.’ He produced the leather packet and handed it over. Heydon emptied it out on the desk in front of him – a wooden board supported by other book chests.
‘Money, too? The good duke is an earnest suitor. Is this all you wanted? I’ll pass it to her Majesty.’
‘No, Philip. I was thinking.’ Heydon cocked an eyebrow. ‘About this Norfolk business. What is the point in it?’
‘It’s what the queen wants. It’s what the men of the north want, or some of them.’
‘But surely … I mean, if our plans are to happen, then all of this – it’s all bootless. It’s not the queen’s marriage to Norfolk that’ll free her, nor get the north up in arms. It’s that other thing.’
‘Ah, Jack. Yes, of course, you’re quite right. But Queen Mary knows nothing of … that other thing. This,’ he waved an arm over the jewels and letters, ‘is where she places her faith. A belief that marriage to old Norfolk will remove her from prison.’
‘Then we’re acting with her knowledge. Without her…’ he scrabbled for the word. ‘Approval.’
‘And?’
Jack took a deep breath. ‘And I think we should lay our plan before her and see if she says yea or nay.’
Heydon stood up and came around the desk. He put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. ‘You’re thinking, Jack. Thinking for yourself. That’s a good thing.
‘But no. No, mate, we have to let this nonsense, this marriage, I mean, proceed. Don’t worry, if you fear for the good lady being wed to that old trout. It’ll never come to pass. But she would not approve anything else. I mean, for all she’s a discreet and gracious lady, she is a still a woman. She will take fright if she knows what we have put in train. No, let her fuss and pine about the release marriage might bring. It will be the usurper who puts an end to that, when she discovers it. Then – then Queen Mary might be told of our plans. Then she might be willing to put her faith in our design. But for now, no. We encourage this marriage. You just keep passing these letters – no need even to hide them.’ He winked. ‘Trust me that all will proceed. This marriage foolery buys us time for the men of the north to talk to one another. To trust to one another. The only thing that will bring us down is to mistime our adventure. Only that might lose us the game.’
As Heydon spoke, he steered Jack in a circle by the shoulder, leading him out. ‘Now off you go, mate. Don’t worry. Oh,’ he added. ‘I had another guest in this room earlier.’
‘Who?’
‘Your wife.’
‘What? Why? What did she want?’
‘Nothing much. I regret to say this, Jack, but … I don’t trust her. She has some strange ideas in her head. Thinks I’m leading you astray, I reckon.’
‘You didn’t tell her anything?’
‘No, no, no. She tried to trick it out of me. Dissembling, you know – making out she knew something. She means to protect you, mate. It’s no bad thing. It’s what a good wife ought to do. But if she gets it in her head to talk to anyone else … the earl, the countess, a soldier, even. Well then, you realise that she will have to be kept quiet.’
Heydon closed the door, leaving Jack in the corridor. A warm breeze blew in from somewhere, making a man further down the hall curse as he perched on a box and tried to fix a tapestry to the wood panelled wall. Jack walked away, wondering how on earth one could keep a woman like Amy quiet if she chose not to be.
And as much as he loved her, and despite her stinging words, he knew that she often chose not to be.
Part Four: The Fall of Leaves
1
Queen Mary leant forward. She was sitting on her gilded wooden chair underneath a canopy bearing the arms of Scotland and France. She reached out an arm clad in white silk and raised him from his knees with a flick of her hand.
‘I have missed you, Jack. You hear, my English is now not so bad as it since was.’ He looked up and found her smiling at him. The dark smudges under her amber eyes only made her look more enchanting. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘My own master of horse, he is not so very good as you were, my faithful friend.’
Jack beamed. He was in her bedchamber. The windows were shuttered against the autumn air. Heydon had brought him in, he said, at the queen’s request. For the remainder of the summer he had been doing as he was bidden – passing letters and gifts along, keeping the fantasy of a marriage between the queen and the duke alive. It was now well into September. The weather had turned rainy and chilly, but the queen’s health and spirits seemed to have returned.
‘Thank you, your Majesty.’
‘It is I who should thank you, Jack.’ He liked hearing her say his first name. It had more music to it than when others used it. ‘It is men like you who make this life easier to bear. I hope that one day I might be in a better place.’ She struggled for meaning, frowning, and slowing to a more deliberate register. ‘That I should have a means to do some favour for you.’ When she had got it all out, she smiled again, seemingly with a little glow of pride. ‘You understand this?’
‘Yes, your Majesty. And there is no need.’ She gave him such a look of warmth that he crimsoned.
‘There is need. When I am free of this place – when I am in a better one – you might join my household then. If you wish. You and your wife. This is her, is it not?’
Jack’s spine stiffened. He twisted his neck to see where Mary was looking. In a far corner of the room, half-hidden in shadow, Amy was bent, folding up some cloths from a prie-dieu. She must have been there the whole time, watching and listening. Heat scratched itchy fingers up his neck, under his collar. ‘Mrs Cole,’ said Mary. ‘Please come and stand by your husband.’
Amy dragged her feet towards him, refusing to meet his gaze. ‘A fine pair you are, a most handsome pair. But …’ She trailed off, seeming to read something between them. ‘You should have a care for one another. It makes me sad, in my heart, to see people look so unhappy. Be kind to one another. God has put you together, yes?’
‘Yes, your Majesty,’ they both droned, he with enthusiasm and she with barely-concealed dislike. They both knelt before backing out of her chamber, through her anteroom, and out into the hall.
Jack felt that he hadn’t exchanged more than a dozen words with his wife for months. He had, however, tried to watch her. At first it was because he had worried that something bad might happen. He did not think Heydon would hurt her to keep her quiet, but others might; and a number of Catholic gentlemen had been coming and going from the manor over the late summer. But he had begun to be intrigued by her movements also due to her strange claims about a friend. If she had one, he did not come to Wingfield. She took her meals with the laundresses, she slept in the female servants’ dormitory, she bustled about with her linens and her napkins and her clothes, out to the woods and back with sodden bundles. He began to suspect she had made the whole thing up. Perhaps it was she who was jealous of his having a friend, and she had hoped to excite the like emotion in him. That was something people did, after all.
‘Are you well, Jack?’ she asked when they were alone.
‘Yes. Yes, Amy, I am. And you?’
‘Quite well.’
How strange it was. Only a year before, they would have had an open conversation – quiet on his side, yes, but frank and laughter-filled on hers. Now there was a coldness between them, a distance. He bowed his head, realising it could never go away. If he followed through on the plan Heydon had given him, Amy might never forgive him. She would certainly never trust him. Unless she converted to the true faith herself, she might even be disgusted by him. He felt a little dirty himself.
‘I have to go and –’
‘It’s my day to –’
They cut one another off and, almost managing smiles, they went in different directions.
Jack had not made it to the stables when a rider cantered in, d
ropping from his horse almost before it had stopped. ‘What news?’ he called up to the messenger.
‘Urgent business for the earl of Shrewsbury,’ the man cried in a clipped accent. ‘For them alone.’ The man half-ran into the courtyard and called out for assistance. Before long the usher appeared and showed him inside. As always happened when someone arrived with ‘urgent business’ on their lips, a crowd began to gather in the courtyard, sharing theories on what it was all about. Jack found Amy amongst them.
‘It looks,’ she said to him, ‘like something is happening at last.’
‘What do you mean “at last”?’ She shrugged. ‘Oh look. Here’s your friend. Like a fly smelling …’ Heydon pushed through the milling throng and took Jack by the arm, shooting a hard look at Amy. Loudly, she said, ‘well I can see I’m not wanted, husband. You fellows enjoy your talk.’
‘What is it?’ asked Jack, as Heydon drew him into a shadowy corner.
‘It’s Norfolk. The bastard Elizabeth has discovered his plan to wed Queen Mary.’ Something like excitement twinkled in Heydon’s eyes. ‘It seems the old earl of Moray told her. You remember, you met that charming wife of his in Scotland?’
‘I remember,’ said Jack, picturing the huge, dark eyes. ‘He wrote to her, I suppose. He must know that the paper was stolen by now then.’
‘I’m sure of it, mate. He must have known for a while. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he thinks his sister has it somewhere here. Less surprised if this place is now searched. Tutbury is probably being torn apart right now. Moray has put fire into the bastard, all right; she’ll want Mary’s rooms taken to pieces to uncover any secret papers she might have. She wants Norfolk locked up. She wants the queen back in Tutbury, in a cell if possible. She blames the earl and countess for their lax guardianship. You know what it all means?’
‘I…’ began Jack. Then more firmly, ‘Yes. This whole marriage thing is over. We have to – I have to – look towards the other plan.’
A Dangerous Trade: An Elizabethan Spy Thriller Page 16