Bartholomew Fair

by Ann Swinfen

  ‘The Portingall boy.’ she snapped. It was insulting, but perhaps she could be forgiven. She looked tired and worried.

  ‘Kit Alvarez? Let him come in. Do you give us some time alone, Ursula. I am sure he would not have come unless it was important.’

  She swept out of the door, her skirts brushing against me.

  ‘That is what I am afraid of,’ she said loudly, then in a quieter voice to me, ‘Do not you dare to tire him.’

  Goodrich closed the door behind them both and I stepped forward to the fireplace, where Sir Francis was seated in a large chair, padded around with cushions. He wore a long house gown of dark blue velvet, trimmed with narrow bands of coney fur at neck and cuffs. He was ever a modest dresser. On his feet were felt slippers, such as the very elderly wear. I was shocked by the sight of him. Even in the short time since I had seen him last in London, he seemed to have aged ten years. I knew that he was only fifty seven, yet he looked older than my father had done before I went away, when he was himself sick and aging, and ten years Walsingham’s senior. Sir Francis’s skin had taken on the dry yellowish pallor of a man suffering from some internal illness. Even his cheeks seemed more hollow, his eyes more sunken after this short time.

  ‘You must forgive me for not rising, Kit,’ he said, with a slight smile.

  ‘Please, Sir Francis, you must not move. It is good that you have been able to leave your bed.’ You should not have done, I thought.

  ‘Sit down, Kit, and tell me all that has been happening in London. Thomas will not have sent you without good reason.’

  ‘He thought not,’ I said. ‘He has prepared detailed reports of everything, so that you may know that all is in good hands. He has been working very hard.’ I gave him a smile as I laid Phelippes’s bundle of papers on the small table at Sir Francis’s side, next to a silver posset cup, half finished. ‘Truly, I think he has been sleeping in the office.’

  He gave a hoarse laugh. ‘That is Thomas Phelippes, through and through. The man is a marvel, but he is a worrier. He cannot leave well alone.’

  And there speaks another, I thought.

  ‘However,’ he said, sitting up a little, and speaking more strongly, ‘these reports could have been sent by any messenger. That he has sent you argues something else. Do sit down, Kit.’

  Rather nervously I took the chair on the opposite side of the fireplace, where Lady Ursula had been sitting, first removing my cloak and laying it over the back. I found the room too warm for a summer’s day, and stuffy after my brisk ride through the countryside.

  ‘You had better finish your posset, sir,’ I said, ‘or Mistress Oldcastle will be waiting outside, ready to skin me.’

  He laughed, sounding better now, and took up a long-handled silver spoon.

  ‘Very well, I will eat it while you talk. Why have you been sent, Kit?’

  ‘You have heard about the armed soldiers from the Portuguese expedition marching on Bartholomew Fair?’ I said. I was certain Phelippes would previously have sent word of that.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Well, yesterday, some further information came out. I was told it by one of the soldiers, one I knew from the expedition. It is so serious that Master Phelippes thought you should know of it and send us your orders.’

  ‘It must be serious, then, for I believe my wife and Dr Nuñez have put the fear of God and Hell fire in him.’

  ‘Aye, it is serious. It involves stolen gunpowder.’

  As concisely as I could, I told him all I knew about the theft of the gunpowder and the likely target for its use, omitting only Adam’s present whereabouts.

  ‘Master Phelippes and I have talked round and round the matter, sir, and think they must mean to attack either Sir Francis Drake’s house, the Herbar, in Dowgate, or his warehouse near the docks, in Tower Ward. Nicholas Berden and his men are searching everywhere for the Italians, but had found no trace of them by the time I left London.’

  I hesitated. Phelippes and I had not discussed this further, but I thought I should share my suspicions with Walsingham. ‘There is also Robert Poley.’

  ‘Poley?’ He looked surprised. ‘Poley is in Paris. Or by now he may be in Rheims, with Gifford.’

  I shook my head. ‘He is here in London, Sir Francis. I have seen him with my own eyes.’

  I recounted what I had seen at Bartholomew Fair, Poley and Borecroft sneaking together round to the back of the puppeteers’ tent, those same puppeteers who were somehow involved with the soldiers who possessed gunpowder.

  He finished the posset and set the cup down on the table, then leaned forward, his hands clasped in his lap.

  ‘I trust your eyesight, Kit, and you know Poley well. However, I do know that you dislike him, mistrust him. Might that have coloured how you saw him? Are you quite sure he was on friendly terms with this Borecroft? Or that Borecroft himself is part of what appears to be a dangerous conspiracy?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said miserably. It was humiliating for Sir Francis to think that my judgement was warped by my dislike of Poley, but perhaps he was right. ‘Those two men may have nothing to do with the conspiracy, or even with the Italians. I just thought that I should tell you everything I saw and heard.’

  ‘Quite right, Kit,’ he said kindly. ‘Never omit the smallest detail, for you never know what may prove important in the end. Knowledge is power. Never forget that.’

  He laid his hand on the packet of Phelippes’s papers. ‘I must quickly skim through these. Will you pass my spectacles? There, on the mantel shelf. Thomas has such impossibly small handwriting.’

  I got up and handed him the spectacles. ‘I know. I never knew such a small hand. It must be because he is short sighted. He often has his nose almost on the paper when he writes, but his sharp sight for things that are close to is a great asset in a code-breaker.’

  ‘It is.’ He put on his spectacles and began untying the ribbon which held them together. ‘While I read these, go and find Mistress Oldcastle. Tell her I have said she is to give you something to eat, for you young lads cannot go hungry, and I’ll be bound you have eaten little today. Are you still at Ruy Lopez’s house?’

  ‘I am, Sir Francis. Sara Lopez has been very kind to me, for apart from Master Phelippes’s work I am still without employment.’

  ‘I have something to tell you about that.’ He was already studying the first document. ‘Come back when you have eaten and we will discuss it.’

  I found my way to the back of the house and the kitchen quarters, where Mistress Oldcastle was giving instructions to the cook about the evening’s dinner. He was a big man, head and shoulders taller than she and almost as broad as he was tall, but he listened submissively, with his head bent. I gave the housekeeper Sir Francis’s message somewhat nervously, but she merely nodded briskly.

  ‘I will bring you something in the family dining parlour. Do you remember where that is?’

  I nodded, for I had eaten there before, with Sir Francis and Master Goodrich. Before I was out of the door I could hear Mistress Oldcastle giving orders to the cook for my meal. I was glad to escape.

  The food, which arrived swiftly, was excellent – a thick pea soup, with bread fresh from the oven and still warm, followed by a beef and kidney pie in a rich wine gravy. To finish, one of the kitchen maids brought in a lemon syllabub, one of those I had heard being ordered for the family dinner. I ate alone, but just as I finished, Master Goodrich looked in on me.

  ‘Sir Francis would like to see you now, Dr Alvarez.’ His face was creased with concern. ‘He has been getting dressed.’

  I jumped to my feet, horrified. ‘He is not planning to return to London!’

  ‘I fear so. Why else would he dress?’

  ‘Lady Ursula will have me in chains for this,’ I said. ‘Master Phelippes only asked me to bring the papers and make my report. He is anxious for Sir Francis to rest and regain his health.’

  ‘The master has been restive for the last two days,’ Goodrich said. ‘Do not blame
yourself. If he has made up his mind to return to London, nothing anyone can say, not even Lady Ursula, will stop him.’

  I returned to the small parlour full of apprehension. Whatever Goodrich said, if Sir Francis insisted on returning to London after my visit and then fell seriously ill again, everyone would blame me. I would blame myself.

  When I knocked and entered the parlour, I found Sir Francis dressed in his usual black doublet and hose, with a tiny ruff, his clothes always making a discreet criticism of the flamboyant outfits worn by courtiers like the Earl of Essex. He was sitting at the large table in the window, writing swiftly. Phelippes’s packet had been tied up again. I knew that Sir Francis read at great speed, but it was astonishing that he could have been through all those reports in such a short time. He looked better, his face not quite so pale and sallow, and his whole demeanour without its former lethargy.

  ‘Ah, Kit.’ He took off his spectacles and smiled, motioning with them to another chair beside the table. He handed me a sheet of paper.

  ‘You will see that I have received an answer from the governors of St Thomas’s Hospital. They will be able to offer you a post.’

  My heart leapt in sudden delight. I had thought the news he had spoken of might perhaps be this, but even so I hardly dared hope. It might merely have been another spying mission for the service.

  ‘One of their senior physicians is losing his eyesight and must retire.’ He smiled. ‘He is past eighty, so it is little wonder. He leaves in two weeks’ time, so you may start then. You are to visit before that, to discuss your duties. As you are not a fellow of the Royal College of Physicians, they cannot, of course, pay you the same salary.’ He smiled sardonically. ‘I have told them they will be getting a bargain, paying you at an assistant’s rate!’

  ‘Oh, Sir Francis,’ I said, ‘I cannot thank you enough! I have missed practising my profession.’

  ‘Aye, I know you would always rather be mixing potions and salving old men’s sores than working in a quiet office at Seething Lane.’ He laughed. ‘But indulge us for the next two weeks. We must nip this conspiracy in the bud, before it can grow into a poisonous plant.’

  ‘Of course, sir, I will do everything I can.’

  ‘Now, I am coming back to London with you.’ I opened my mouth to protest, but he silenced me with a gesture. ‘I will rest again once I am at Seething Lane, but I want to be close at hand to see this business finished. I am in much better health today, well enough to ride that far. Nay, do not look so distressed. You are not to blame.’

  I feared that I was, but it was not my place to contradict him.

  After that, matters moved swiftly. I scanned the letter from St Thomas’s while Sir Francis finished his writing. It merely said what he had already told me. I was to call on Master Ailmer, the deputy superintendant, some time in the next few days, then report for duty in two weeks. I folded up the letter and tucked it inside my doublet, then followed Sir Francis out to the front of the house. Lady Ursula was there, and also his daughter Frances, the widowed Lady Sidney.

  She smiled at me and walked over to where I stood, hesitating at the foot of the steps and hoping I could avoid Lady Ursula.

  ‘Good day to you, Kit.’

  I bowed. ‘Good day, Lady Frances. I fear your mother will blame me for this.’

  I saw that she no longer wore mourning, but dressed like the pretty young woman she was, despite her early bereavement.

  ‘Do not distress yourself. We knew that as soon as my father was out of bed he would be impatient to get back to work. We will follow you to London in the coach, so that my mother can keep him under some restraint.’

  ‘He has promised to rest, once he is there.’

  She laughed. ‘I think we know what such promises are worth. Look, here is my poppet.’

  The child Elizabeth was running toward us, escaping from the care of her nursemaid. At the same moment, one of the stable lads led Hector and another horse toward us. He had not seen little Elizabeth. I made a sudden dive and snatched the child up, away from the horses’ hooves.

  ‘Careful, my lady,’ I said. ‘You must always be careful and quiet when there are horses about.’

  Lady Frances had gone quite white, but the child was not at all perturbed.

  ‘I know you,’ she said. ‘You’re called Kit. That’s a funny name.’

  ‘It is a name my friends call me, instead of my right name, my lady, which is Christoval. I know someone who is also called Elizabeth like you, but her friends call her Liza.’

  ‘Can I be your friend, and call you Kit?’

  ‘Of course you may, my lady, I should be honoured.’

  ‘And will you call me Liza, if you are my friend?’

  ‘I think you look more like an Elizabeth, my lady. It is a very fine name.’

  ‘It’s the Queen’s name. She is my godmother.’

  ‘She is indeed, so you should be very proud to share her name.’

  Lady Frances lifted the child out of my arms.

  ‘Thank God you were so quick, Kit,’ she said. ‘I could not have reached her in time.’

  ‘The stable boy should be more careful.’ I was shocked myself at how close it had come to disaster.

  ‘He shall be whipped for it,’ she said fiercely.

  ‘Perhaps it would be better to make him understand that he should keep a lookout for children. Better than hurting him and making him resentful. He’s not much more than a child himself.’

  She gave me a curious look. ‘You sound like Philip. He was ever kind-hearted.’

  ‘He was a very fine man,’ I said, ‘and much mourned.’

  She nodded and I saw that her eyes were full of tears. I knew that it had been a marriage of love, for she had known Sir Philip Sidney from earliest childhood. They had even been together through the terrors of the Massacre at Paris when they were young. The Queen had disapproved of the match, since Sidney was the nephew of her beloved Earl of Leicester. She had not considered the daughter of Sir Francis Walsingham good enough for him. I suspected the child had been named to appease her. Well, it was all in the past now.

  ‘I must go, my lady,’ I said. ‘I hope you have a safe journey to London. It is a fine day for it.’

  ‘Aye.’ She sighed. ‘I shall be sorry to exchange summer in the country for the stinks and sickness of London in the hot weather.’

  The disgraced stable lad gave me a leg up on to Hector, and I slung my satchel into the saddlebag and buckled it. Sir Francis mounted with some difficulty from the mounting block, and I saw him wince with pain, but he did not cry out. I wonder what it cost him to strive so hard to conceal how much he suffered. He was giving orders to the men who were to ride with us, a couple of grooms and half a dozen armed men. Even in broad daylight on the open roads of Surrey, the person of Her Majesty’s Principal Secretary was vulnerable to attack.

  He reached down for a moment and laid his hand on Lady Ursula’s shoulder, but I did not hear what he said to her. Then he gave the signal and we all rode forward, down the lane through the manor, past the fields, and on to the road for London.

  There would be no wild gallop on the return journey. We rode at walking pace to spare Sir Francis as much jarring as possible. If I had had the authority of Dr Nuñez, I would have ordered him to travel in the coach with the ladies. That way he could have been supported by cushions against the painful jolts of the journey, but I did not have the authority. Indeed, he would probably not have heeded even Dr Nuñez, for he would have felt shamed to arrive in London like a sad old man. He was one of the mightiest men in the kingdom and the least sign of weakness visible to the world would have cost him, and the kingdom of England, dear.

  So slow was our journey that I began to feel chilled before we came in sight of the fringes of Southwark, and I was glad of my cloak. What had seemed nothing but a slightly cool breeze in the morning had whipped up into a cold wind by the time we were crossing the Bridge, sending icy fingers through the narrow gaps between the h
ouses. It is nearly autumn, I thought, shivering. Then I remembered something which brought a smile to my face as we turned from the Bridge towards Seething Lane.

  Simon would be returning from the Low Countries in the autumn!

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was nearly nightfall by the time we reached Sir Francis’s house. He dismounted painfully outside the front door, staggering a little before he was able to stand steadily on his feet. One of the grooms had taken his horse by the reins and reached out to support him, but Sir Francis’s brushed him aside, but politely and with a smile. Then he turned and made his way slowly up the steps to the door, followed by one of his retainers carrying two weighty satchels of papers. Before he reached the top, his secretary Francis Mylles opened the door and bowed him inside.

  I rode round to the stable yard and slid down from Hector’s back. I was tired myself, more tired by the slow ride back to London than the wild gallop of the morning. I seemed to have been in the saddle for hours, as I suppose I had been, and my legs and back were stiff. Harry came to take Hector, followed by Rikki, who greeted me in his usual exuberant manner. Fortunately, Hector was well used to him by now and merely sidled away to one side, to avoid being jumped on. I thought, I really must train Rikki not to jump up, particularly around horses.

  ‘Can I leave Rikki with you a little longer, Harry?’ I said. ‘I need to see Master Phelippes before I go home, in case he has work for me.’

  ‘Certainly, Dr Alvarez. Me and Rikki, we’re just going to share a helping of pottage.’

  I grinned. ‘You spoil him!’

  I made my way slowly up the backstairs, more conscious than before of the ache in my calf muscles. I hoped Phelippes would not keep me too long, for I would be glad to be early abed today.

  Mylles met me at the top of the stairs. ‘You are to go along to Sir Francis’s office, Kit. They are all in there.’

  There was a fire burning cheerfully on the hearth in Sir Francis’s office. Realising how chilled I was, I went to stand near it. Phelippes and Sir Francis were seated on cushioned chairs. Nicholas Berden was standing, like me, near the fire. He looked exhausted.