by Karen Brooks
It was only once Queen Elizabeth had been in power for a couple of years, after swearing she wouldn’t open windows into men’s souls but would allow people to worship as they pleased, as long as they were loyal to the throne, that Papa returned to England. Uncle Timothy followed not long after to practise medicine. By this time Papa was a much-lauded locksmith.
The Queen had a reputation for being mercurial, and from what Sir Francis said, it appeared she had changed her mind and had now not only opened windows into men’s souls but was demanding the view from each be identical.
‘I was unaware you shared so much in common with Papa, Sir Francis. I didn’t know you were in Padua at the same time.’ Once again, I wondered why Papa had concealed their relationship from me.
Sir Francis paused. ‘Your father and I share many things, Mallory. Our faith, friends, follies, even family — your uncle is my doctor as well.’ He drank. ‘Perchance you think me harsh? Unbending when it comes to Catholics?’
If I did, I dare not confess.
‘Do you know the story of the St Bartholomew’s Day massacre?’ he asked.
‘When thousands of French Protestants, the Huguenots, were brutally murdered and the streets of Paris ran with blood? Aye, but only in part. Uncle Timothy was there. He does not like to speak of it. He was spared because he sought shelter at the English embassy in Paris.’
‘I was the ambassador who sheltered Timothy,’ he said simply.
My mouth fell open. Uncle Timothy had always said the ambassador risked his life offering sanctuary from the rampaging Catholics, not just to English nationals, but to many others. But why had he never mentioned Sir Francis by name? I regarded the man opposite with newfound respect.
‘My family owe you much, it seems,’ I said softly.
‘We owe each other. Yet your family has paid the debt to me many times over,’ said Sir Francis, dismissing everything again. ‘And now,’ he added before I could digest all he had told me, ‘I not only seek to extinguish one debt, but ask to be in yours.’
Angela always said a wise person knew when silence served better than words. I hoped she was correct. In the silence that followed, my measure was taken.
‘Watching you unlock that casket impressed me mightily. I’ve never seen something so complex done with such ease, let alone by a woman. It was not an easy task — it wasn’t intended to be. But you managed to bypass the wards, to disable the pernicious traps. In case it was fortune that guided your hands that night, I sent two more locked objects to test your skills.’
Another suspicion confirmed.
‘Not only did you open them, you disabled the locks in such a way the owner never knew the goods had been disturbed. After we’d taken inventories and made copies of the contents, we were able to reseal them once more. Thus I’ve obtained the evidence I needed to uncover the latest nest of Catholics. You saw what lay inside the forziere that night. You understand what it signified.’ They were not questions. I nodded. ‘The sea chest you opened contained not only more priestly robes, but many seditious books intended to lure good Protestant souls back to the old religion and multiply the Catholic hive. Within the cylinder you opened, I found correspondence of the most treacherous nature between men I’d long thought trustworthy.’ For just a moment his guard dropped, and I caught a glimpse of a man tired beyond his years, on the verge of breaking. Almost.
‘For years I’ve worked diligently towards the acquisition of information, Mallory,’ said Sir Francis. ‘Even before I was made the Queen’s Secretary, I understood how important knowledge is, how the scraps my sources collect, the objects, orts and imitations, can together make a coherent meal. Few know how I glean my information, how I come into possession of others’ secrets.’ He smiled, or at least his mouth did. ‘It’s simple, really. I have men from all walks of life in my employ — from the basest criminals, double-dealers and servants, to the most educated soul and the most noble. Some do it for coin, others for faith and family, some for loyalty. Others seek adventure. Their sole purpose is to watch, listen, act when necessary and report it all back to me.’ He gestured towards the rolls of parchment, the overflowing boxes, the cabinet.
He began to pace the room as he talked. ‘From this I’ve discovered that men’s words and actions, no matter their station, are not necessarily in accord. Following the tenet video et taco … you understand what I am saying?’
‘See and keep silent,’ I said.
‘Good. I’ve acquired a great deal of information, a lot of knowledge. That night I watched you unlock that casket, and through the tasks you’ve subsequently performed for me, I discovered something else.’ He paused before the window and gazed outside.
The day had darkened. The wind rustled the bare-limbed trees. Chickens, their feathers ruffled, ran towards their shelter, avoiding the muddy boots of a maid hefting a sloshing pail towards the house.
‘Believing I saw all, the truth is, I’ve been half-blind.’ Sir Francis turned around. ‘My information network is incomplete and until I remedy that, it doesn’t matter how many men I’ve working on my behalf, or the country’s, or how many plots I foil. I’ll never see the entire picture. Until I can make that complete, England and the Queen will never be safe.’
‘What are you missing?’ I asked, my voice tight.
He stopped before me. The fire made one half of his face glow, his eyes stygian pools.
‘You, Mallory Bright,’ he whispered. ‘You are the missing piece in my network.’
NINE
SEETHING LANE, LONDON
Friday the 13th of January, Anno Domini 1581
In the 23rd year of the reign of Elizabeth I
I was a coney struck by a stone, unable to move. Yet a huge wave of excitement rose within me to wash aside the agitation and the guilt I’d carried for months. I was the missing component of this man’s elaborate network of information?
Unaware of the hope he’d ignited, Sir Francis went on. ‘Mallory, I want you to unlock the secrets of those who would hide their true selves; not only those who whisper in the dark, but those who, like the men we apprehended, believe their heresy and treason, their seditious plots, are safe under lock and key. I want you to ferret out whatever it is they hide and give it to me so justice may be served and the realm and Her Majesty kept safe.’
My mouth opened at the passion of his words; this, from a man who appeared so contained. Why, this was wonderful, preposterous — and Papa would never allow it. The wind left the sails of my imagination and my dreams deflated at the thought. Mamma would disown me completely. A young woman didn’t do such things. Why, this was men’s business. I could not. Must not.
Aware that Sir Francis’s eyes hadn’t left mine, I recalled the oath I had made to myself, that from hereon I would assume indifference, even when none was felt. I wanted, I needed, to refashion myself, to make something of my life, and that required discipline. Was Sir Francis offering me the means to bring about the change I so desired? Weakness was a garment I would not wear again, regardless of my sex. Raffe had forced it upon me once; I would not don it afresh. I would stride forth boldly. Nonetheless, doubts assailed me.
Sir Francis’s voice intruded. ‘Mallory, I want you to give my men access — to unlock doors, chests, secret closets.’ He rapped his knuckles against his own cabinet. ‘More importantly, I want you to help us discover what’s being written in letters, hidden in jewels, in caskets such as the one you opened. I need you to open doors to those places currently closed to me. I want you to inhabit the spaces where men cannot tread. I want you to keep under watch those I suspect of possessing Popish sympathies, those who harbour Catholics, who foster traitorous thoughts. And, of course, you will pass whatever you learn on to me without their knowledge. I don’t want them to be aware that the woman in their midst is a watcher, that their locks have been picked, their doors opened, their secrets discovered, read and copied; I want them to feel secure until I am ready to expose them.’
Perhaps sens
ing my equivocation, Sir Francis leaned forward, his hand flat on the desk. ‘What I ask of you is risky, Mallory. Better than most, I know this. I want you to understand, not only would you be trusted with one of the most important jobs in the kingdom, helping to protect our sovereign and thus our country, but you would also be well compensated.’
‘I would?’
Sir Francis gave a curt nod. ‘Contingent on what you deliver, a tidy sum as well. And on top of what’s agreed in the contract your father is signing.’
Me, a woman, paid a goodly sum? Suddenly, what I was being asked to do was imbued with even more gravitas; it also solved another problem.
He began to tell me about the sums earned by his other agents. I confess, I barely listened. Casting aside the ethics of what I was being asked to do, I forced myself to focus on the recompense I’d receive — not just in shoring up the safety of my liege and her realm, which, in the scheme of creation, was priceless, but in coin. The notion that I, who’d been so dependent first on my father, later on Raffe, and then again on my parents, might one day be able to repay Papa what I owed, accumulate a dowry that would overcome my shortcomings, and even help my dearest friend Caleb escape the shackles of debt, was almost too much to grasp.
Aware Sir Francis was still talking, I snapped out of my reverie and gave him my full attention once more.
I drew myself up. ‘Sir Francis,’ I began. As much as I thrilled to hear his plans and his need of me, I’d fallen for this before and my heart swelled painfully against my ribs. Also, in fairness, I could no longer allow him to pursue this fancy. Truth be told, neither could I. ‘My father is much better equipped, has much better skills than I to assist you in such a formidable task. Mine are but a poor echo of his abilities.’
‘This might be true,’ said Sir Francis and, resuming his seat, he reclined slightly, lifted the goblet to his lips and took a long, slow draught. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and down his beard.
‘Despite what you think,’ he pointed at me, ‘your father, even knowing the foolish choices you made and what befell you as a consequence, wants you to be happy. He wants you to succeed by doing something fulfilling, something that makes use of your education, as unconventional as that’s been. He wants you to put the past behind you rather than be victim to it.’
I opened my mouth to protest, but the earnest look on Sir Francis’s face stole my words.
‘You speak of Sir Raffe.’ He inclined his head. ‘My … my late husband.’
‘Husband?’ he asked softly.
My stomach churned and the bile of shame gathered in my throat. ‘You know the extent of my folly,’ I whispered.
‘I know, Mallory. Just as I know the foolish whims to which women are particularly prone, I also know that the man was a knave fate treated far too kindly.’
Fate, thy name is Mallory. I glanced up. ‘But —’ I began.
‘Why do you persist in arguing when you know what I’m offering is your chance, Mallory? Possibly the only one you’ll get. Grasp it and make your father proud. Prove that the skills he taught you have worth. What better way to do that than to work for me, who wants you to succeed?’
I glanced towards the door. Only later, long after I’d left his presence and had the chance to reflect upon our conversation, did his last words puzzle me.
‘What about your daughter? If I work for you, then what about her? Does she really require a companion? Or is that merely a fabrication to placate Papa? A role to obscure my real purpose? You made mention of improving the language skills of some of your staff …’ When he didn’t answer, I continued. ‘Papa would never permit such an arrangement. Not after …’
Sir Francis folded his arms and nodded approvingly. ‘It was no lie, Mallory. To all intents and purposes, you will be working for me as Frances’s companion, as I made clear. I said I would like you to teach my staff and you will. You’ll be introduced to Frances and you will spend time with her when she comes to London. She mostly lives in Surrey. You need not concern yourself on that account. You’ll be able to answer any questions about your role in this house, dissemble with ease. However, my intention is that a great deal of your day will be spent studying the additional skills I need you to acquire in order to be an effective agent within my network; I doubt you’ll have time to meet Frances until you’ve mastered those skills.’
‘Such as?’ I asked.
‘I already know you can gain entry to a lock, but I also need you to be able to mingle with people of all ranks and occupations, to move in diverse places without drawing attention to yourself. To watch, listen, learn and, when necessary, report, but in such a manner that should your words fall into the wrong hands, the recipient would be none the wiser. For that, you need to learn ciphers, and how to forge a signature, a seal or document. If you’re as quick a study as I suspect, you may even have a knack for deciphering code.’
I gulped. It was all too much. ‘What if you’re wrong?’
‘I’m unaccustomed to such a condition,’ snapped Sir Francis. Colour flew to my cheeks. I must never forget who I was with, and keep my doubts and fears to myself. Mamma’s face loomed in my mind. Here I was considering working for a man who asked me to hunt down Catholics and ferret out traitors, believing them to be one and the same. Did he know Mamma was a recusant, one of those who refused to give up their Catholicism for the Church of England? He must. Why didn’t he mention it? Should I raise it?
Before I could say anything, he continued. ‘In return, as I said to your father, I do require you to teach certain skills to a select few of my men. It will be an exchange — you will learn their tricks, and you will teach them your lock-picking as well as improving their other languages.’
‘Lock-picking is not easy, sir. At least, not when the locks are of the calibre of those you’ve already sent my way.’
‘I never thought for a moment it was. I simply want you to impart the basics. There’s an advantage to being able to access a locked room, a sealed chest.’ He motioned towards the papers spread over his desk. ‘There’s much to be done, and most of it behind the scenes.’
I thought of Caleb, the troupe, the activity that went on in the tiring room as the actors prepared for stage. The way Sir Francis spoke, this job was similar to an actor’s in many ways — pretending to be one thing while really being another, dressing up, giving the appearance of stability, strength and coherence while all the time understanding their temporary nature.
‘What do you say, Mallory? Do you agree to my proposition? Or do you wish to bide your time until I find you a less taxing post?’
My brows rose. ‘I have a choice?’
‘I would not force what I prefer to be given willingly.’
I lifted my chin and gazed at my prospective employer cautiously. Understanding relaxed his features; compassion rendered them paternal.
‘Besides,’ he added, a small smile hovering at the corner of his mouth, ‘talented though your father might be, and as much as I might want his services, he’s not a woman.’
Ah, so that was it. No matter the praise for my lock-picking skills, or ability to read and write in different tongues, my primary talent lay in the fact I was born cloven, not crested.
‘As a woman, you see things men do not,’ said Sir Francis, his words sounding as rehearsed as Caleb’s lines. He had considered this appointment carefully. ‘What other ears may deem nonsensical or dismiss as mere prattle, may have meaning for you. Females dissemble with impunity, as I’ve had good cause to observe in the last three years.’ He gave a wry grin; surely he wasn’t referring to the Queen? ‘Though women carry no water, you’re the conduits through which, I believe, I can influence events. In God’s truth a woman is a dark continent to me, alien. Only another woman can be the guide I require, shedding light upon such a strange world.’ He laughed at his analogy. I began to imagine myself as a Francis Drake, replete with sword, ship and crew, shouting orders. ‘You will be Virgil to my Dante.’
&nbs
p; My fingers were knotted tightly in my lap. But then … was my sex my only advantage? Nay, Mister Secretary needed a woman and a lock-pick. I, Mallory Bright, fitted the bill. What would Mamma say? What could I say?
‘Will you enter my employ and do this for me, for your Queen?’ he asked. ‘Will you join my network and help me uncover the traitors in our midst?’ He spread his arms wide; his eyes glittered. Above the faint sounds from the next room rose the voice of a young woman practising her scales. A horse’s hooves crunched the gravel in the courtyard and an ostler cried for assistance. Papa’s murmurs also reached me.
Sir Francis smiled for the first time, and it lit up his face. He jerked his head in the direction of Papa’s voice. ‘If you choose to accept my offer, you will not tell him. You will not tell anyone. It will be our secret.’
I’d kept so many secrets from my father, betrayed my parents’ trust — possibly irreparably. Could I do it again? What was one more? But this was so big … There would be no return if I were discovered. Yet, for all my misgivings, I could see how it could work, how under the guise of one duty, I could perform another, with no further damage to my reputation. What Raffe took from me, Sir Francis would return. No. I would return. Sir Francis was merely offering me the means to do so.
‘Mallory, you made a choice that almost destroyed your life. Why not make one that will salvage the ruin it has become?’
I met those leaden eyes that reflected my own grey orbs. The clock tower began to chime the hour.
It was time to pick up the quill and make the first mark against the blank page that was my new life. ‘I say, aye, my lord. I am yours to command.’
Sir Francis stood and gave a most solemn bow. I rose and curtsied in return.
‘Welcome to the Walsingham family,’ he said.
I gave a light laugh at his humour, but his eyes flickered and his mouth thinned. He did not seem amused. I’d made a blunder, and coughed into my fist to cover my embarrassment.
‘My lord,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’