The Locksmith's Daughter

by Karen Brooks

  My days were spent with the ancient women, Agnes and Katherine, who cooked, cleaned and tended the house and garden, as well as laundering and sewing for the nearby village. They insisted I did my share, which I was content to do. Former nuns, they’d been taken in by the Sheltons, who I began to suspect were recusants. Another sin to add to my growing register. How Mamma would laugh. Her Protestant daughter in the care of papists. On occasion Raffe’s squire, Ellis, would ride over with a haunch of meat, some fish, or a brief note from Raffe crumpled in his fist, filled with reasons for his long absences. Bruised and covered in scratches, Ellis wouldn’t meet my eyes when I asked after his master and Lady Shelton. He would simply shake his head, shrug and leave.

  Days passed into weeks and became months. Winter wrapped her frigid arms about the house and snow lay in deep drifts upon the fields, and still Raffe’s lady wife didn’t die. I began to grow angry — angry and bored. This was not the life I’d been promised, shut up alone in a dreary and draughty cottage with two Catholics who laboured all day and prayed all night and did little else but criticise me. To escape their company, once the weather permitted and spring melted the snow, I enjoyed a daily walk. As it grew warmer, my ambles became longer until one day I trespassed where I had been told never to go. I mounted a green crest and saw, sitting in the sun amidst a lovely flowering garden, a pretty woman with a babe upon her lap. From my hiding place behind a fallen bough, I saw a bonny child, whose chubby little hands escaped their swaddling and reached for a handsome young man who knelt at the woman’s feet. It was Raffe. The woman was his extremely healthy and very attractive lady wife. The child was his.

  I’d been gulled.

  Returning to the cottage, tears falling, sobs wrenched from my chest, I packed my meagre things and demanded that Agnes and Katherine tell me the truth. Katherine told me that months ago it was indeed believed Lady Shelton was not long for this world. Unable to keep down food or drink, she’d taken to her bed and few thought she’d rise again. They were prepared for the worst. Much to everyone’s surprise, her illness passed and the doctors announced another miracle: Lady Shelton was with child. Katherine believed it was the babe who’d caused the mother’s illness in the first place.

  Shocked by the extent of my recklessness, not knowing how to make it right, the only thing I understood was that I had to leave. But I also wanted to let Raffe know what I thought of his deceit and how much I hated him for it. Katherine warned me. Agnes shook her head. Perchance it was my pride, my stubborn need to try to extract myself with some dignity, that prompted what happened next. I wrote to him and forced Agnes to take the letter to the main house.

  Raffe came as I knew he would. He sent Katherine and Agnes away and listened as I railed against him and threatened to reveal all he’d done, how he’d not only tricked me but dishonoured his lady wife and his family name. Revenge would be sweet, I said, and my father would not rest until it was done.

  When Raffe took me in his arms, I thought he meant to beg my forgiveness and still my tears. Yet my lunacy knew no bounds. I rested my head against his shoulder and allowed him to carry me to the bed.

  I never saw him raise his hand, never knew a blow would sound so harsh nor elicit so much pain. When Raffe began to strike me, his fist clenched, his arm rising and falling against my chest, my stomach, my legs and arms, I screamed and fought back. I raged against his brutality. But he was a man, with a man’s strength, and I was only a woman. I was unaccustomed to such treatment; he was practised at meting it out, as I would learn over the following months from Ellis and even Katherine and Agnes. It wasn’t until I was curled, silent, bloodied and shaking upon the floor, that he once again hoisted me into his arms and, with a bowl of water by his side, took off his ruff and used it to staunch the blood he’d caused to flow.

  ‘Hush, hush,’ he whispered. ‘You’re a naughty chit, Mallory. Look what you’ve made me do. Look at your beautiful cheeks, so swollen and red, your oh-so-kissable mouth all cut and bruised. Ah, now, my sweet, do not look at me like that. You should not threaten me so. Words such as those you uttered enrage me so I don’t know what I’m doing. What did you expect? Am I not a man? No woman should speak to her man thusly. Aye, I’m your man and you’re my woman. We are husband and wife in God’s eyes, are we not? Hush now, hush now. It will be all right. You cannot leave me. I need you, and you need me too, Mallory. Who else would have you now? Who else would love you, care for you, but me?’

  And so he placed me onto the bed and, as he whispered words alternately loving and degrading, tied me to its posts.

  Oh, he saw that I was fed and occasionally bathed. Katherine and Agnes stayed with me in the cottage, but they didn’t speak. I didn’t understand why at first until I saw their bruised faces, their bloodied noses and eyes swollen and half-shut. Sometimes Raffe would send them away and stay the night, feeding me with his fingers, washing me himself. After, he would have his way with me, even as I recoiled from his touch. His ministrations oft shifted from loving caresses to painful pinches, punches and, if I looked at him askance, blows that rendered me unconscious.

  When I awoke, he would press me to him, one hand upon my back, the other on my nape and would place his lips upon mine until I opened my mouth to his probing tongue. I could neither escape his hold nor, in the end, remember why I wanted to.

  For, just like his lady wife, I was carrying his child.

  Some memories were too heavy to carry. This night, after the confrontation with Lord Nathaniel, I chose to cease my dark recollections. Wrenching myself away from the window, I lit a candle and, knowing sleep would elude me, picked up Castiglione, flipping the pages till I found where I’d left off. I needed his words, not God’s, tonight. For, in my hour of need, despite begging for mercy and acknowledging my sins, had He not forsaken me?

  As I began to read, it seemed I was never to be forgiven. Castiglione’s words both tormented me and reinforced a salient lesson:

  … According to universal opinion, a loose life does not defame men as it does women, who, due to the frailty of their sex, give in to their appetites much more than men; and if they sometimes refrain from satisfying their desires, they do so out of shame and not because they lack a ready will in that regard. Therefore men have installed in women the fear of infamy as a bridle to bind them as by force to this virtue, without which they would be truly little esteemed; for the world finds no usefulness in women except the bearing of children …

  The absurdity and distress of those last words struck me. I didn’t know I was crying until my tears struck the page.

  NINETEEN

  SEETHING LANE AND BILLITER LANE, LONDON

  Last days of March, Anno Domini 1581

  In the 23rd year of the reign of Elizabeth I

  My introduction to Lady Walsingham and her daughter Frances occurred the following day. Exhausted from lack of sleep and the memories the night had visited upon me, I was ushered into Sir Francis’s company and found my intention to speak of Lord Nathaniel and the question he’d posed regarding my duties swept clean from my mind.

  No doubt part of the reason was due to the kiss the varlet stole … Though had he really stolen it? Stealing implied something taken against the will of the victim. Had I been unwilling? Memories of Lord Nathaniel’s lips, the strength and hardness of his body against mine and the appetites he’d aroused, disturbed my dreams as much as anything else. Just as Raffe’s face would appear, it was replaced by Lord Nathaniel’s dancing golden eyes; the sense of terror, despair and fury at my inability to escape my circumstances was replaced by one of both pleasure and safety. Yet Lord Nathaniel had proved he was anything but a secure harbour. On the contrary, his curiosity was dangerous. In order to protect myself, I would endeavour to do all I could to avoid his company.

  Hadn’t I made that resolution before? And if a pinch of regret accompanied it, there was naught for it; I would have to increase my efforts. My employment depended upon it.

  Sir Francis barely utter
ed a word as he brought me to the main parlour of the house, an austerely appointed room containing only four chairs with neatly embroidered cushions, a small table, and a credenza displaying giltware. In a similar fashion to the entrance hall, the walls of the room were lined with dark wooden panels and rich tapestries, their scenes made more bold by the barrenness of the room. The scent of lemon, candle smoke and perfume lingered in the air. A large window overlooked the street and two horsemen passed outside just as a contingent of soldiers led a group of men in chains in the opposite direction, towards the north gate of the Tower. The clang of their irons rang in time with the clop of hooves.

  It took a moment for my eyes to adjust; against the light pouring in the window the room’s two occupants were silhouettes. After a moment I saw an older woman with auburn hair and hazel eyes sitting straight-backed in one of the chairs, some needlework held loosely in her lap. Opposite her was a young girl with long, straight chestnut hair and the steely eyes of her father. She had a book in her hand. They both possessed the pale complexions I envied, but only one smiled as we entered — the girl I assumed was Frances.

  ‘Father!’ said Frances, rising slightly from her seat then, at gesture from her mother, sinking back into it.

  ‘May God give you good morning,’ said Sir Francis, lifting his wife’s hand and pressing it to his lips before turning and kissing his daughter’s forehead. ‘Allow me to introduce you to Mallory Bright, the young woman I spoke about. Mallory.’ He turned and beckoned me forward. I dropped a curtsey, bowing to both Lady Ursula and Frances. ‘She’ll be accompanying us to Deptford on Tuesday. I promised her father she could come with us so she might see the play their lodger, Caleb Hollis, has written.’

  ‘So, this is Timothy’s niece,’ said Lady Ursula coolly, indicating a seat. ‘Well met, Mallory.’ My back was to the street. The room looked different with the light behind me. Like Lady Ursula and her daughter, it was painted in brighter hues.

  ‘Thank you, my lady.’

  My discomfort escalated as no-one spoke further. Was it up to me to break the silence? I looked to Sir Francis, who watched his wife the way a hawk watches its prey. Ignoring her husband’s gaze, Lady Ursula studied me frankly. I wanted to squirm, to ask what was amiss. I’d dressed so carefully that morning, with more attention than usual. My dress, borrowed from my mother, was clean, my hair washed and tucked away beneath my coif and bonnet. Was it my features she found offensive? Did she know I worked for her husband? Was she unhappy he’d employed a woman, or was there more at stake here? I simply sat and stared at my hands.

  ‘Do you like the theatre, Mistress Mallory?’ asked Frances finally, her voice surprisingly deep for one so young.

  ‘Please, call me Mallory.’ I turned towards her gratefully. ‘My friend Caleb, Master Hollis, has recently become a shareholder with Lord Warham’s Men. He’s a fine playwright and actor. It’s his play that’s to be performed in Master Drake’s honour. I would not miss it for the world.’

  ‘The world? A grand sentiment, I’m sure,’ said Lady Ursula. ‘Only, you would be missing it had not my husband kindly said you could accompany us.’

  Abashed, I felt my face grow warm. ‘That’s true. I’m very grateful.’

  ‘Frances has not been to theatre before, have you, dearest?’ said Sir Francis suddenly, moving from his wife’s side to the fire and peering into the hearth, hefting the poker into his hand and prodding a few embers.

  ‘No, Father, and, frankly, I’ve no desire to either. Theatre is for …’ She pressed her lips together, seeming to remember the company. ‘A playwright shares your house? Does not having a wordsmith living there distract you from God and His word?’ Perched on the edge of her seat, her hands clasped in her lap, her face solemn, Frances resembled a preacher more than a young woman. She was slender and long-limbed like her father, but in her icy regard, her bare tolerance for my presence, she could only be likened to her mother.

  It was all I could do not to sigh. Lady Ursula was too like my mother for comfort. Two sets of disapproving eyes remained upon me. I knew not where to look, what to say. The room became smaller and smaller as my unease grew and I searched my mind for a reply.

  I knew little of Lady Ursula except that Sir Francis was her second husband. Her first, Sir Richard Worsley, had died some years before, leaving her with two sons. Caleb had been right when he suspected there’d been more children. Papa told me they’d died in a terrible accident involving gunpowder the year after she married Sir Francis. This was a woman who had known great tragedy in her life, who had witnessed death, including the massacre in Paris. The lines etching her brow and puckering her mouth had been earned. Her eyes had witnessed so much and, like her husband’s, could see through facades. Could she see through mine? And what about Frances? For certes, as lovely as she was, her stare was cold and hard.

  A trickle of sweat coursed between my shoulder blades.

  ‘Master Hollis’s work will be a fine introduction to the theatre for you, Frances,’ her father said. ‘It means you will see the best, the title notwithstanding. Will it not, Mallory?’

  Grateful to Sir Francis. I tried not to gush. ‘Indeed, it will sir. I’ve read the play and can attest to both its humour and drama. It’s a fine tribute to a great man.’

  ‘Your bias notwithstanding,’ said Lady Ursula. ‘After all, the writer is, of your own admission, not only a mere lodger, but a friend.’ She made it sound like a folly.

  I bowed my head, puzzled by her hostility as she continued. ‘It would not have been my choice for Frances’s first experience of the theatre, and while Nathaniel is trying to earn a reputation for having the finest troupe in London, it’s a pity we have to travel to Deptford to see his Men. But Her Majesty is not to be gainsaid in this — or anything else, is she Francis?’

  There was an undertone to this conversation, and I could see Frances sensed it too.

  ‘Oh Mamma,’ said Frances plaintively. ‘If you had your way, I’d never leave the house.’

  ‘If I had my way, you would not be going to Deptford.’

  She glared at me as if responsibility for that decision rested on my shoulders. Perchance it did. Frances going to Deptford meant she was cast into my company. I was the problem here, though I wasn’t certain why.

  Picking up her needlework, Lady Ursula decided I was not worth any more of her attention.

  ‘Truly, mother, if you had your way,’ Frances went on, pretending to ignore her mother’s manner, ‘I would not be going anywhere except to the church and then with a man of your choice. At least going to Deptford I get to see more of the world than Barn Elms. I also get to see Her Majesty.’ She sounded so like I did when I was her age.

  Without raising her head, Lady Ursula countered, ‘You have seen more than most, child. And while you may not remember what we bore witness to in Paris, I cannot forget and would protect you from all our enemies and anything that would disturb the harmony of family and faith.’ She locked eyes with her husband. ‘Both without and within.’ Her voice was steady and firm.

  He was the first to look away.

  ‘Well,’ he said, before another word could be exchanged. ‘I’d best see Mallory gets safely home.’

  ‘Surely Robert, Thomas or one of the servants can see her to Harp Lane, husband,’ said Lady Ursula, as if I were a horse to be delivered to an ostler or a fish returned to the ocean. Only later did it occur to me that she knew where I lived. ‘As for you, Frances, you have your lesson on the clavichord to attend.’

  ‘Do you study an instrument, Mallory?’ asked Frances.

  ‘She is a woman with many gifts,’ answered Sir Francis. I tried not to show my surprise.

  Frances’s cheeks grew pink.

  ‘Most of which our daughter need not know about,’ said Lady Ursula.

  It was my turn to redden.

  Rising from my chair, I curtseyed to both Lady Ursula and then Frances. ‘It has been a pleasure meeting you, my lady, Lady Frances.’ I would rem
ember my manners even if they saw fit to abandon theirs. ‘I will look forward to next Tuesday,’ I lied sweetly.

  Lady Ursula didn’t acknowledge my exit, but Frances rose and followed me to the door. She was tall. We were almost of a height. ‘If I’m to go, mayhap you can take me to the tiring room so I might meet an actor. I’ve never met one before and would like to understand what motivates them to choose such an ungodly profession.’

  Overhearing, Sir Francis laughed. ‘Oh, but you have met one, many a time, dearest. His name is Baron Burghley, Lord William Cecil, though I would hesitate to suggest his calling is ungodly.’ Sir Francis and his daughter seemed to find the joke very amusing.

  Sir Francis was still chuckling when he brought me back to his study. Closing the door, he didn’t invite me to sit, but went to his desk.

  ‘I’m afraid while my wife and daughter are in residence, arrangements have to change — you can no longer come here each day. I think you can see why.’

  I could. Lady Ursula was a canny one. ‘If I remain at home, then it will raise suspicion … Why, only last night …’ I paused.

  ‘Hmmm? Last night … ?’ said Sir Francis, not really listening, leafing through some papers.

  Did I really want to reveal what Lord Nathaniel had said? Or would Sir Francis think me a hapless female, unable to deal with the most basic tasks without compromising myself and potentially his entire network? Much better to keep things to myself. I could handle his lordship’s curiosity. Was I not an intelligencer, trusted with ferreting out secrets and keeping them?

  God’s wounds, I really had no choice.

  ‘I was just thinking,’ I continued, praying my voice didn’t betray me, ‘if I were to cease coming here, Papa would wonder why Mistress Frances no longer wanted me by her side.’

  ‘Indeed he would. That’s why, for the time being, you will spend your days with Thomas and Casey at one of my other houses. There you’ll learn what you need to carry out the task in Deptford.’ The candle flickered as he pulled his chair closer to the desk, almost going out before coming to life again. He gazed up at me for what seemed like an age, his eyes black pools.