‘Stop there. Help is coming. Help is coming!’ - the booming voice of his father who, unable to match Tom’s speed, was making his presence felt from a distance.
He stumbled through the side gate into the rear of Bolton Hall. The garden was empty. Hands resting on his knees, he desperately gulped lungfuls of air. He tried to call his mother but couldn’t make enough sound. Staggering back to the gate, he saw his father coming towards him, his progress now reduced to an unsteady jog. Tom turned left and continued up the path to the front corner of the Hall. Still there was no one but he could hear a woman sobbing. He continued to circuit the house, past the front door, before turning left at the far edge of the building. The sound was louder now and he followed the side of the house through the gate into the kitchen yard.
He slid to a halt. His mother was kneeling in the yard with her back to him, leaning over the body of the Dutch twin Jan, a folded cloth covered in blood pressed against his side. She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Tom! Thank God. I need you to hold this, press it tightly against the wound while I get more cloths.’
If he hadn’t known better, he would have put his mother’s matter-of-fact manner down to shock. But he knew Beatrix Tallant was one of those singular people who remain calm, in fact become calmer, in any crisis.
Tom did as he was told while his mother ran into the kitchen. Jan was very still and pale, his breathing shallow. His father stumbled through the gate into the yard. ‘Sweet Jesu,’ he exclaimed, surveying the scene. ‘Your mother, and Ellen, are they alright?’
‘Mother seems unharmed,’ Tom replied as he renewed the pressure on Jan’s wound, the blood continuing to seep through the cloth.
‘And so is Ellen, thanks to Jan.’ It was his mother, returning with fresh cloths to stem the bleeding. ‘Ralph, she is in the drawing room, very shaken. Please go to her. Tom I will take over here. You must fetch Elizabeth. I need her nursing skills. Go now. Quick!’
‘I will send a servant to her house immediately. I must find who did this before they make their escape,’ and wearily picking himself up, he sprinted towards the entrance, returning several minutes later.
‘There’s no sign but I can see dust in the air on the road entering Clerkenwell. If that’s them, I’ll never catch them on Meg before they’re inside the City wall.’
Two hours later, Ralph, Beatrix and Tom were sitting in the drawing room at Bolton Hall, piecing together what happened. ‘So you are in no doubt that their aim was to kidnap Ellen?’
Beatrix frowned at her husband’s question. ‘No doubt? You ask a lot, given the utter confusion and terror. But, yes, that seemed to be the reason for their visit. Five of them came to the house while I was in the back garden and Ellen was inside. One, a woman, knocked at the door while the other four hid in the bushes. She had a message for Ellen and was dressed and acted respectfully. The servant asked her to wait outside but when he went to close the door, the other four appeared and pushed their way in.
‘They rounded everyone up, including me, in the kitchen yard, holding a knife to the servant’s throat to persuade us to cooperate. But they didn’t know Mark was in the stables, doing a job for me, and Jan was helping him. And neither of them had a clue what was happening.
‘One of the men grabbed Ellen to separate her from the others. She screamed and that’s when the trouble started.’
‘That will be the scream we heard,’ Tom said.
‘And so did Jan and Mark’, his mother continued. ‘Moments later Mark arrived in the kitchen yard, followed by Jan carrying his flintlock pistol, and all hell broke loose.’
‘Jan had a pistol? Was it loaded?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I told him to keep it close at all times, given the situation. He must have had it with him in the stables.’ Ralph answered.
‘Jan’s English is not so good, so he pointed the pistol at the tallest man, saying ‘Lady Ellen, let go’ over and over. One of the gang must have thought the gun was not loaded and rushed Jan, who shot him in the leg. The man went down clutching his thigh and swearing, while the other three threw themselves at Mark and Jan, and the woman kept hold of Ellen. Mark seemed eager for the fight, probably after the punishment he received last time, and he started wrestling with one of them while the other two went for Jan.’
‘They stood either side of him to divide his attention. Jan ran at the tallest who pulled a knife. He was so brave. He didn’t hesitate for a moment, continuing his charge and knocking the man to the ground, then punching him in the face over and over.
‘The other man dragged Ellen to the gate, helped by the woman. Jan grabbed him and he let go of Ellen, kicking Jan hard. Meanwhile Mark had felled one and turned his attention to the tall man who had been punched by Jan.
‘We were getting the upper hand and then…and then everything became a disaster. Sensing they were in trouble, the woman let go of Ellen and calmly took a dagger from her belt and stabbed Jan in the side, twice and he collapsed to the floor. Everyone stopped, then we heard Ralph’s voice, saying you were coming. It seemed to stir Ellen who, free of the woman’s grip, ran back to the kitchen shouting ‘My father is coming, he’s coming. Now you will suffer.’
At that, the man and woman nodded to each other and ran towards Mark, threatening him with the knife. He backed off and the gang picked up their injured friend, escaped through the gate and ran away from the house.
A minute later you arrived while I was trying to stop Jan’s bleeding.
‘How is he?’
He’s in his bedroom, tended by Elizabeth. His wounds are deep and I fear for him.’
Beatrix gazed around the yard, a beleaguered expression on her face: ‘We must all pray for Jan. I owe my daughter’s safety and possibly her life to that brave young man.’
Chapter 14
Little Salisbury House
Lucy Carlisle clapped her hands like an excited child and broke into a beaming smile.
‘My goodness. How clever you are, Elizabeth. You have quite made my day.’
They were sitting in the elegant drawing room at Little Salisbury House. Elizabeth had arrived to find the Countess of Carlisle in consultation with her dressmaker, fabric swatches and patterns scattered across the floor. The man was promptly dismissed, and Lucy waited until he had hurriedly gathered his samples and left before retrieving a letter from her writing desk.
‘This message is from a good friend in the intelligence service. He prides himself as a code-breaker and with good reason. He has cracked many in his time for kings and queens across Europe. I thought ‘what better way to test yours’, so I sent him a sample.’ Lucy picked up the letter again, ‘which he describes it as ‘unfathomable’ and begs me to tell him who created it!’
Elizabeth lent forward. ‘But Lady Carlisle, you promised…’
‘Do not worry, my dear. Now I have such an important friend, the last thought in my mind is to share you! Your obvious genius for coding is safe with me. But you must tell. How did you think it up?’
‘Like all my codes, it’s based on new thinking in mathematical science. In my experience, it’s an area of singular ignorance among most courtiers and even their intelligencers, so it suits my purpose. This latest cipher is based on logarithms.’
‘Logar…?’ Lucy struggled with the word but appeared impressed.
‘I find code breakers can be daunted by a purely numerical code, so the cipher I have created for you requires not one, but two sets of numbers.
‘Most frustrating.’
‘Hopefully. Let me explain. You have a message you want to send. First, you use a coding book to assign a number for each letter in the message. For example the letter ‘A’ could be the number ‘8’. As you know, many ciphers use this method. All the letters are transformed into a set of numbers which, on the face of it, cannot be deciphered. But if someone steals your coding book, it is a simple matter to look up each number and find the corresponding letter. Soon the message is revealed’.
‘As I have dis
covered in the past, to my cost,’ Lucy smiled ruefully.
‘But now I have added a second set of numbers, using a specific logarithm table based on the number 2. So, as we said, let’s imagine the letter A is represented by the number 8 in your code book. Using your logarithms, it would then change from 8 to the number 3.
‘Why?’ Lucy asked, her brow now creased with a frown.
‘Because logarithms tell you how many of one number you need to make another number. In this case, you require three number 2s to make 8 – 2 times 2 is 4, and 2 times 4 makes 8. So the new code number for 8 is 3!
‘Elizabeth. You are doing a marvellous job so far explaining your system to a dunce like me. I am keeping pace, just. Pray continue, but not too expeditiously.’
So, if you base all your logarithm calculations on the number 2, you can produce a second number for every letter in the alphabet. So ‘A’ becomes 8 , which becomes 3. And, say the letter ‘B’ is 32 in your code book. You look at your logarithm table and you find the number 2 is used 5 times to make 32. So the new number for B changes from 32 to …
‘5?’
‘Yes! It’s that simple to use, and with this double lock, your secrets are safe even if your coding book is stolen. Equally if, by unlikely chance, your enemy realised your cipher was based on logarithms, they would still require the code book to make sense of it.
‘There is no such thing as a foolproof code. So my aim, with each new cipher, is to stretch the probabilities of discovery still further. This should give you the security you require.
‘Who is the genius who thought of log…logarithms ? I must write to him with my congratulations.’
‘They were developed by a Scottish mathematician John Napier. Sadly he has since died. But others continue his work, such as John Pell whose ‘Introduction to Mathematics’ has taught me much. I am in occasional correspondence with him.’
Lucy sat back and regarded Elizabeth anew. ‘Is it commonplace for you to correspond with men of learning?’
‘Oh yes. On many matters of natural science and mathematics. There are so many discoveries…almost every week.’
‘That cannot be easy. A woman on her own. Are you not mocked by men and your intelligence insulted?’
She smiled and lowered her eyes. ‘Indeed, I have lost count of how often I am told to ‘know my place’, but rarely by scientists; and the views of others are not really important, are they?’
Lucy broke into spontaneous applause ‘Elizabeth Seymour. I like your spirit! I think you and I will have much to talk about in the future. But in truth, I am also a little jealous of your learning. Did your father encourage your education?’
‘Yes. I am fortunate that both my parents supported my interest in mathematics and science. Now I have grown up, I can see what an unusual approach that was, and am grateful for it.’
‘Unusual? I would say unique. My father, the Earl of Northumberland, had a natural curiosity and he valued knowledge. He too was interested in science and spent much of his time conducting experiments while imprisoned in the Tower of London.’
‘Yes, I have heard of him -the ‘Wizard Earl?’.
Lucy frowned at her father’s nickname. ‘My brother Algernon was tutored daily by scholars and scientists, but father had no interest whatsoever in educating either Dorothy, my elder sister, or me. When we visited him in the Tower, he used to say ‘women are as wise at 15 as at 50’.
Elizabeth’s face became animated. ‘You used to visit him in the Tower? Then did you meet Thomas Harriot? I believe he was the first person to make a drawing of the Moon through a telescope, even before Galileo! Your father was his patron. He was known as one of the Earl’s Magi.’
Lucy paused and then went again to her writing desk, returning with another piece of paper. She sat at the table and handed it to Elizabeth. ‘This is a letter to Dorothy that I have started. Read it. No, please do, there is nothing scandalous in it - yet.’
She took the letter and started to read its contents. She stopped at the second line, lowered the page and her eyes.
‘What do you see?’
Elizabeth looked up and held Lucy’s gaze. She spoke softly. ‘I see you have not had the opportunity so far in your life to express yourself clearly.’
‘Nicely put. Honest yet careful. I see we are going to get on famously, young lady. Yes, I cannot spell. So you can see that my father’s world of wizardry and magi was denied me, and my sister, as was any sort of useful education. I have no idea who Thomas Harriot was, or is. When I send hand-written invitations to the lords of the land to attend my salons, they never comment on my spelling. Maybe they expect little better from a woman, or perhaps they are too busy staring at my bosom. Either way, it says naught for their appreciation of my intellect, does it?’
Elizabeth was finding it difficult to divine Lucy’s mood or feelings, which was not a common experience for her. Increasingly, she was fascinated by this woman.
‘When my husband, the Earl of Carlisle, was alive our parties were the talk of London. We entertained lavishly and, in time, I became the darling of the Royal Court. This allowed my husband to promote his influence over the King in affairs of state. I also was taken increasingly into the Queen’s confidence. When my husband died, I had to find other ways to sustain that influence.’
‘Why?’
‘Why? Well, why not? Despite my lack of education, I had risen to a position of importance. I knew this was not simply because of my husband and I was determined to prove that. I would use every natural asset I possessed – yes, in particular my attractiveness to men - to retain my position at court as the Queen’s trusted and influential advisor.’
‘That could not have been easy.’
‘Certainly not. I had to smile and compliment men who turned my stomach. Endure dreadful creatures like Sir John Suckling sullying my reputation – Suckling Pig I call him – trampled underfoot by his vile poetry about me, suggesting I was a common courtesan, making my way on my back.’
‘Then I met Thomas, the Earl of Strafford. Again the court tittle-tattlers said he was my lover. They couldn’t imagine that we might like each other but no more. He respected me, admired my independence. But in the end even he let me down. I trusted his advice on my Irish investments, but now it’s becoming clear he may have profited from some of the dealings undertaken on my behalf.’
‘So you see Elizabeth, you’ll find the life of an independent woman, both in thought and deed, is not easy. But still worth the trouble, I think.’
Chapter 15
Waterman’s Lane, Alsatia
The boy collapsed to the floor, felled by a lacerating blow to his face. Billy Boy kicked him hard in the ribs and then stood astride his victim, looking at Jack Dancer, his eyes shining in triumph.
‘Nicely done Billy, but I’d remove those brass knucks if you want to leave him with any face.’
Billy grinned as he examined the blood smearing a crude metal band covering his right fist. ‘Aw, that’s a shame Jack. I was starting to enjoy myself. He’s no good for us. There’s no brag about him.’
Each day, crowds of street urchins pursued Dancer, begging to join his gang of cutpurses, card sharps and conmen. His rule of admission was simple. If they could handle themselves against Billy, they got a month’s trial. The deciding fight was held in a disused warehouse in Waterman’s Lane, deep in the heart of Alsatia. It was one of several Dancer owned in the haven. He liked to keep on the move, and this warehouse was just yards from the Whitefriars’ Stairs onto the river, should he need a quick exit.
‘So, he’s failed the Billy Boy test, has he?’
‘That he has, a chit of a boy, I’ve gone gentle with….aaargh!’
Billy roared with pain as the boy beneath him suddenly punched upwards, powering his fist into Billy’s crutch with a straight right arm. He fell forwards in a heap, clutching his groin. Dancer erupted into a rasping laugh, shaking his head.
The boy slowly pushed Billy off him and staggere
d to his feet. He stood in front of Dancer, the right side of his face ripped and bleeding.
‘Well, you’re a cunning shaver, aren’t you boy? Got balls too, I’ll give you that. Can’t say the same for Billy any more. What’s yer name again?’
‘Job, sir’, the boy gasped, swaying unsteadily.
‘Job? The righteous man persecuted by Satan? Well if you join us Job, you’ll see that’s true enough.’ Job gave Jack a puzzled look, his swollen right eye starting to close. Billy was now resting on his haunches, vomiting on the yard floor.
‘You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? Step out of line and you’ll soon find out. Anyhow, you’ll do for us. You’ve got guts but we’ll have to teach you how to fight proper. Billy will do that. He’ll enjoy it.’ A smile flickered across Job’s face before his eyes turned into the top of his head and he fell in a heap.
Dancer surveyed the yard, Billy now on his back and Job collapsed next to him. He shook his head, stood and walked to a trough, returning with a wooden pail of dirty water, which he threw in Billy’s face. ‘You’re becoming too cocky, Billy. Left yourself wide open there. C’mon, stand up. We need to talk’.
Still retching, Billy Boy hobbled towards Dancer. ‘That whoreson. I’ll enjoy showing him the ropes.’
‘As you should Billy, but keep your knucks in your pocket, you hear? It’s not the boy’s fault you gave him an easy target. His name’s Job, by the way. So, back to business. I’ve got some good news for you. You can stop looking for Jesuit priests, not that you were any good at it.’
Billy Boy scowled. ‘They’ve all gone to ground or left the country. All this shit about papist plots. There aren’t any of them left.’
Dancer whipped out his left arm and slapped Billy on the side of his head. ‘Don’t get arsey with me, Billy Boy. Not after that limp-dick performance. You write off the Catholic Church at your peril. They’re here all right. Biding their time.
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