The Spymaster's Daughter

by Jeane Westin

  “Not at all,” he said, pushing his plate away and wiping his mouth on his handkerchief instead of his sleeve.

  “The food is not to your liking, either?”

  He shrugged, but kept his face pleasant. “While a brewer’s apprentice, I learned to like pottage and workman’s stews of potatoes, tomatoes, turnips, parsnips, and such in broth with a bread of rougher grain. I found myself with a quieter stomach and more vigor than when my meals were all too much of game.”

  “But food from under the earth is considered poor,” she said, frowning.

  “Perhaps by those who have not tasted it,” he said. “Would you like to—”

  Frances laughed. “Jennet would think you were poisoning me.”

  “The punishment for poisoning your mistress is the boiling death.” He grinned to make the response, though true, a jest. “I like my food boiled, but that’s as much heat as I desire.”

  “Robert, I will try your pottage…someday.”

  “When it is your wish, my lady, but now I must to your father’s work.”

  “And I to Dr. Dee’s chambers.”

  “I will escort you there, Lady Frances,” Robert said. There were far too many rude young ne’er-do-wells with no better occupation than to trouble ladies without servants.

  He would never have her waylaid, though she was no easily frightened ninny. Such duty befitted a servant, he told himself again…a servant who was fast becoming far more caring of her than he needed to be. He searched for a more truthful explanation, admitting that in spite of all his attempts to keep the distance demanded of his rank, he had been unable to maintain enough separation in his thoughts.

  After he had held her trembling body in the night, he had felt the heat of her soft skin for hours. If she had branded him, he would have carried no more intense warmth.

  Leading the way through corridors past the magnificent Chapel Royal, he stopped to look inside, as he always did, admiring again its hammer-beam roof and wonderful carvings everywhere. A quick glance revealed Frances’s aunt Jennet kneeling at prayer in the transept shadows. He heard Frances catch her breath, and saw her turn and enter the chapel.

  He followed and took his proper seat behind her, unable to look away from her white shoulders, slender but strong enough to carry her sadness. A beam from the high west-facing windows cast its light on her slender neck and the soft whiteness he was trying, and failing, to forget. Yet how could he ignore such loveliness when no one could see him? And why should he deny himself that small pleasure?

  He waited for her to bow her head in prayer, but she did not, staring toward her aunt.

  Then he saw what had turned her into the chapel and what she now must see with some horror: Jennet’s fingers moving against her bodice as if she were saying the rosary of the old faith. Did she still secretly cling to the ancient ways? And in the queen’s palace, where recusants were seen as traitors?

  Robert knew what Mr. Secretary would do if he found a Catholic in his household. She would not be spared. His strict faith and dutiful reading of the law would not allow it, no matter how close in blood the woman was. For a moment Robert’s mind was torn between duty and cruelly taking a beloved aunt from Frances. The moment passed as he realized he knew he could do no such thing. Refusing to wonder at a choice that made him equally a traitor, he tried to stop all such thoughts. Still, the sense of her so close was almost more than he could abide.

  What he felt for Frances was not just the hopeless excitement of an impossible and even dangerous attachment. There were more of those in Elizabeth’s court than he could count…even a high lady or two who would not mind a discreet tumble with him in any dark corridor. Yet he could think of no one but his mistress. Fool!

  This madness had started in the coach on the way from Barn Elms. He had recognized something in her face, her eyes, something that he saw in his own mirror…betrayal.

  Or could he have seen what he wanted to see?

  He had to take his roving mind in hand. She was merely being kind to him. And she was a married woman, a queen’s lady, and he…a bastard of low rank.

  He clenched his fists, forbidding further runaway thoughts, though he doubted the ban would last the day. She would come to him again in the night.

  Frances breathed deeply, inhaling incense, trying for a face of solemn reverence, though she had long since had to deliberately wear that mask. If the sacrament of marriage meant nothing, then she had come to doubt all church ritual. Her rejection by Philip had ended in her rejection of the Church…although she kept these feelings hidden and secret. In Elizabeth’s England, as in her father’s house, it was best to follow the new Protestant faith.

  Before she moved on, Frances bowed her head as was right on All Souls’, praying for her mother’s peace and hoping she was in heaven, hoping there was a heaven, since there was no peace on this earth. When she lifted her head, she saw she could not warn her aunt now, but she would later.

  Jennet knew that recusancy had been treason since 1570, when Pope Gregory had excommunicated Elizabeth of England and named her a heretic, thus allowing her assassination by any Catholic. In the pope’s eyes it was no crime; nor would it prevent the assassins’ entry into eternity. The queen’s life was now under daily threat, and so were the lives of Catholics in her realm.

  Frances glanced at Robert. Had he seen Jennet as she had? When she turned to him, his head was bowed in prayer, but she could not be certain. Would he take the tale to her father? He had no cause to love Jennet. Yet Frances trusted him not to bring hurt to her. It was blind faith, but she was convinced he would never bring harm to anyone she loved.

  Quickly, Frances rose and walked past the spectacular great hall, with its high mullioned windows and walls covered with Henry VIII’s fantastical hunt tapestries, and stopped before Dr. Dee’s door. Robert knocked; a servant answered.

  Frances had no more than spoken her name before Dr. Dee’s deep voice boomed from beyond the antechamber. “At last, my Lady Sidney, you honor me with a visit. I have been waiting for you.”

  “Good doctor, the queen gave me leave to come today.”

  “Yes, we have been quite busy with a new star chart that would foretell the progress of the Holland war draining Her Majesty’s purse.”

  Nodding to acknowledge Robert, Dee strode into the room, doctor’s robe billowing. He bowed and kissed her hand, his white beard sweeping across her arm. “You are most welcome, madam. My former pupil Sir Philip is indeed fortunate to have gained so beautiful a wife”—he took a quick breath and spoke on—“and, from what Her Majesty tells me, a lady of learning.”

  “The queen is too kind. I only aspire to learning.”

  “As do we all, madam.” He paused and looked into her eyes. She thought he must have been very handsome as a youth, with his clear complexion and straight nose. His wide-set eyes yet had a sparkle, and she expected he would make very old bones.

  “Doctor, I am most interested in ciphers.”

  He frowned. “I believe your interest is true, my lady, but as a friend of your father, I must pass a word of warning before we begin. Since I wrote the Monas Hieroglyphica more than twenty years ago, and more lately have delved into the world of spirits and angels, I have been suspect of trafficking in the realm of the devil. How much more would a lovely young woman like you be thought to do a witch’s work?”

  “Doctor, I am not afraid of the ignorant.”

  Dee smiled. “It is the ignorant we should most fear, my lady.” Then he nodded. “But you are as I expected. The queen also said you were a woman of spirit.” He pointed the way. “Come into my library. Master Pauley, you may wait here.”

  Robert bowed. “My pardon, Lady Frances, Dr. Dee, but I must attend on Mr. Secretary Walsingham.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  Dr. Dee nodded. “I will escort Lady Frances to her rooms,” he said, and led Frances into the next chamber.

  She looked back once, but Robert was quickly gone, the door closing b
ehind him.

  The room she entered was full of books and manuscripts in beautifully carved bookcases that stretched from floor to ceiling, their glass doors standing open. The doctor’s library put the one at Barn Elms to shame. It was grand enough to take away her breath. “I have heard you have the best library in England, Doctor, and now I believe it.”

  “Many of my best volumes are at my home in Mortlake, near your manor of Barn Elms, my lady. You are most welcome there at any time.” He swept his arm about him. “For now, please look as you like.”

  Frances began tracing her finger below the titles of the leather-bound books, astonished, thrilled, almost overcome by such treasures. Here was Dante’s Divine Comedy; several of Erasmus’s works, including In Praise of Folly; Sir Thomas More’s Utopia; Boccaccio’s Decameron; and Montaigne’s Essais. She touched each one reverently and turned to Dee, who was smiling at her.

  “By the light in your face, I see you are a true lover of books, my lady.”

  “Aye, good doctor, of certain books. I am not a one for”—she took in a cautious breath and looked about to see whether they were alone—“sermons or long tracts on religion, new or old.”

  “Sit yourself, my lady,” he said, holding out a chair at a long table for her. “You will not find too many such here, unless the kabbalah is your interest.”

  She sat in the chair he held for her and wondered how she would broach the subject of his grille cipher she had heard so much about. She didn’t have to.

  “I understand from Her Majesty that you are your father’s daughter and have his interests.”

  She smiled, relieved. “Yes, Dr. Dee, most interested. I have read Trithemius’s Steganographia, but I wish to understand it better.”

  “Everyone needs a guide to Trithemius. His work is magical, though magic is simply gaining knowledge of the hidden forces that rule over nature.”

  “Book three is full of secret codes that I cannot divine.”

  “Do not despair, my lady. Many have tried to understand his ciphers, but no one has yet been able to break them, though I continue to try.”

  “Next, I am most interested in your grille code, if you would be so kind as to explain it.”

  Dr. Dee smiled. “Ah, and you could delight Sir Philip with a secret message.”

  Frances did not deny this idea, since it so pleased the doctor.

  “I taught the grille cipher to him. It is quite simple and yet secure.” He took a piece of vellum and scraped off the geometric figures of the previous drawing and turned it to the back. “This is the grille cipher I made for Philip; he will recognize it immediately.”

  Dipping a quill into his ink pot, Dr. Dee quickly drew a frame and then ten lines across and ten lines down, marking a number of squares. With a knife, he began to cut out the marked squares, leaving holes in the grille. “This is a very good method for short communication that cannot be read unless the other person has the same grille with identical squares cut out. If you wanted to write, ‘Philip, come quickly by Twelfth Night. I must see you,’ you would write your message in the random squares so that they appear as single or double letters on the sheet beneath.”

  Frances leaned forward, looking intently at the letters as they appeared under the open grille squares. Her heart seemed to swell inside her breast. It was simple, though secret as well, and she understood it readily.

  “Then, good doctor, I would need to fill up the page beneath with a more innocent message so that my real meaning may not be read unless that person had the right grille.”

  “Excellent, my lady. You have a quick mind. It would, indeed, all be unremarkable to someone without the grille.”

  Frances smiled, thinking how surprised Philip would be to receive a grille message from her. Would he be angered? Yes, she decided, he probably would be, since she had entered a realm reserved for men.

  She leaned back in her chair. “A grille message would be amusing, Doctor; I might do that, but…I am more interested in learning how to break ciphers of some length and seriousness.” She took a deep breath. “You should know now that my father does not approve of my curiosity about ciphers.” She had to be honest with him.

  Dee sat back and stroked his pointed white beard. “And he is right to disapprove, my lady. Breaking ciphers is far more difficult than your interest in mathematics…and ofttimes more dangerous.”

  Frances tried hard to keep anger from her voice, though she did not hesitate to allow her disappointment to show. “I hope, good doctor, that you do not believe a woman’s brain is too delicate for ciphers.”

  He smiled. “Once I did, but, my lady, I have been an agent for Her Majesty these too many years to think such now.”

  “Please tell me everything I should know.” She heard the pleading in her tone, but did not care. She would sacrifice pride for knowledge.

  “I cannot tell you everything, my lady.”

  She closed her eyes and heard her heart pounding in her ears. “You refuse to help me.”

  Dee smiled and raised a hand as if to wave away any misunderstanding. “No, no, not that. Ciphering is not something that can be completely told even by me…even by your father, Mr. Secretary.” He took a deep breath, stirring his beard. “What I am saying is that you must do it, my lady. There are a few things I can tell you, but in the end you must have the head for it. To know that…”

  “I do have the head for it!” Her voice was more excited than she intended. “At least, I must try, or never know for certain.” She pleaded with him. “Please, Doctor, what is the knowledge I must have to begin?”

  He leaned back, looking at her with an interest that had never lagged since she had first appeared at his door. He spoke in a low but clear voice. “First, you must determine in what language the message is most likely enciphered. Your father deals with English, French, Spanish, Italian, Latin, and German, and he has secretaries who know those languages. The Scots queen, even when writing in French, uses English words and Latin to confuse.”

  “I have no doubt my father’s secretaries are most skilled, Doctor; nor do I seek to replace them…only to see, for myself, what I can do…especially with what the Scots queen is writing. She is a woman, after all. That might give me some advantage.”

  His face relaxed as she spoke. He understood as no one else had.

  “There is nothing straightforward about ciphering, my lady. Have you heard of the bead cipher?”

  “No,” she answered, leaning forward.

  “Different-colored beads or stones can stand for letters or numbers.”

  Frances was astonished. A bead cipher! How ingenious!

  “But let us not complicate. We will study the most common letter-substitution ciphers. You see, in each language certain letters in the alphabet are more common.”

  “Yes?” she said, urging him on.

  He smiled. “In English the letter e is most frequent, followed by t-a-o-n. In French, e is followed by s-a-i-t.”

  Frances looked about for a blank sheet. “May I write those down?”

  “I will prepare charts for you to study, my lady, but it must be our secret. In the wrong hands, they could do harm. It is not meant for everyone to know these things.”

  Her reply was eager. “If I could not bury a secret knowledge, then I would make no good intelligencer.”

  “Women are not known to keep secrets, Lady Frances,” he said, his mustache lifting in a tease.

  Frances laughed a little, relaxing. “Good doctor, we do not tell all we know. You men would not like it.” She became serious again. “But surely there must be more to ciphering than letters substituted for letters.”

  “Oh, there is, my lady. There are frequencies of double letters, but the way you thwart the decipherer is to not use them. Instead of double l, t, or s, use only one substituted letter to make your message less easy to decipher. That is not all. Always look for patterns, repetitions. And there are place-names and greetings that will give you clues if you know the sender, as your
father usually does or has his suspicions.”

  “And if I were ciphering, I could disguise common names….”

  “Exactly, by using a number…or another symbol, previously agreed upon…which you will not know, but must guess. When you break a cipher, it is knowledge and intuition you need…with a blind man’s luck mixed in.”

  Frances nodded, drinking it all in as if it slaked a great thirst. “London could be the number one…or wait, good doctor, that would be too obvious. Another number representing its rank in world cities.”

  “Agreed on by both parties, the sender and the receiver. That will make it more difficult for the decipherer…you, my lady.”

  She nodded, knowing that it would take trial and error, which made her all the more eager to begin. Now that she knew this much, she wanted most of all to try her hand—and head—to see whether she had the natural ability necessary. She thought so, felt it in her heart, but must see it on paper.

  Dr. Dee talked on, so she had to restrain her impatience, wanting to begin immediately. “And, my lady, there are letters added that have no meaning at all, called ‘nulls,’ inserted just to confuse and make deciphering more difficult. And most difficult of all, Lady Frances, is to keep a cipher short. The longer the message, the more repetition, the more likely it can be broken.”

  “I will remember. I will remember everything, Doctor. But now I must leave you to your work.” She had seen Dee eyeing an unfinished chart.

  Following her glance, Dee nodded. “I am busy preparing the queen’s chart of the planets’ alignment, but I will make your ciphering chart next.”

  Frances nodded and pressed her lips together, excitement almost closing her throat, her mind on deciphering, on seeing random letters become a message of importance.

  She wanted to start immediately, but suspected that she might have to wait longer than she wanted.

  A real intelligencer would wait as long as necessary.