The Locksmith's Daughter

by Karen Brooks

  Placed on the rack, stretched so his joints dislocated and pain ruled his body, Campion would not repudiate his faith. ‘I’m being punished for my religious beliefs,’ he would cry, his every utterance faithfully repeated to the crowds.

  Finally, after being racked twice, he revealed the names of the Catholic families who’d sheltered him as well as the various houses and places in which he’d left his books.

  ‘It’s not enough,’ Thomas would say. ‘Does he think us priests, that a confession suffices? He must admit his error of faith and then repent. Until then, his punishment still stands.’

  But Campion did not repent.

  In early August, Campion also revealed the whereabouts of the secret printing press in Oxford that had produced the Ten Reasons pamphlets. It was owned by a Master Stephen Brinkley, and a few days later, Brinkley and his four assistants were arrested and taken to the Tower.

  During this tumultuous period, my days were spent deciphering and coding at Seething Lane, learning of various sins and nefarious intentions, and the depth of some of the plots against Her Majesty and the government. My nights were spent at home.

  It was at this time that I learned the fate of Captain Alyward Landsey. He had arrived in Spain and been welcomed at the Escorial, where he handed over the documents purporting to reveal the Queen’s unholy alliance with the Turks. What he actually delivered was a list of the Queen’s dresses — in laborious detail. Furious that he’d wasted their time and money, the Spanish threw the captain and his crew into the dungeons.

  ‘And let’s pray the seditious scum rots there,’ said Thomas.

  I prayed he would too and was gladdened to think that not only had I contributed to the imprisonment of a traitor to the Crown, but that my mishap in Deptford had not ruined the venture.

  After weeks of slumping clouds and relentless heavy rain, the skies cleared and the sun shone. Puddles dried, thatch steamed, cats lazed and, like the flowers that once scattered the fields above the Tower, folk emerged and turned their faces skywards.

  Sir Francis arrived home from Paris, unwell and disgruntled with the way his mission had resolved itself. I didn’t see him for two days and, when I did, it was only briefly. He congratulated me on the fine work I was doing and told me to continue until he required me elsewhere.

  ‘While I’ve been away,’ he said, ‘those who helped Campion in his secret work have been rounded up. Prosecutions will begin shortly, so while I’m at Westminster Palace trying these men in the Star Chamber, you must carry on with what you’re doing for, just as one plot is foiled, another rises to take its place.’ He gave me a dry smile. ‘I need you to continue to be my avenging angel.’

  ‘What do you think of this appellation?’ I asked.

  He chuckled. ‘Whether pertaining to you or not, you’ve earned it. It’s apt. No-one suspects the angel in their midst is a woman. You prove your worth over and over, Mallory. I could not be more pleased.’ He winced as he spoke, his hand flying to his stomach.

  ‘Sir?’ I half-rose from my chair.

  ‘Sit, sit,’ he said. ‘’Tis naught to worry about. My usual malady. On second thought, ask Thomas to send for Timothy. I need my wits and my health if I’m to deal with these traitors.’

  I wasted no time and bade Thomas fetch my uncle, who came immediately. The next I heard, Sir Francis was by the Queen’s side and fulfilling his duties. Nonetheless, I did not like this sudden onset of illness or what it boded.

  At home, Kit Jolebody finished his journeyman year and became a locksmith in his own right, admitted to the Blacksmith’s Guild. This meant his time under our roof was over and he would now find his own way in the world. Papa helped him secure a position in Canterbury and we farewelled him with a combination of joy and sorrow. When it came time to say goodbye, Kit held me close and whispered, ‘Look to your father, Mallory. His eyesight fails and he is too proud to admit it.’

  I held him tighter. ‘I know. But what can be done?’

  Kit pulled away reluctantly. ‘Naught but have him concede his malady and trust Matty and your good self with more responsibility.’

  I nodded and squeezed his hand in gratitude. Matt, Samuel and Dickon accompanied him down to the river, no doubt stopping at every ale-house along the way.

  Kit’s words played on my mind. It was time to confront Papa and force him to acknowledge it might be time to cease making locks himself. But how could I say such a thing? Locks were how he expressed himself in ways he could not with words. The making of locks and keys defined Papa. Asking him to stop was akin to asking him to stop living. I had to think of a way to approach the subject, to persuade him to find a replacement apprentice and swiftly.

  As it was, I didn’t need to. The day after Kit left, Papa began searching for a new boy to take his place. Within a week, nine-year-old Simon Thatch joined us. A quiet boy with a mop of dark hair his surname described, he and Dickon soon became firm friends. I had a quiet word with Matt who, though worried about Papa, was keeping a close eye on him.

  ‘I’ll see no harm comes to him, Mallory. You need not concern yourself on that score. Master Gideon is like a father to me, I owe him everything.’

  It both filled my heart and eased it to know Papa had such loyalty, such love. It didn’t stop me leaving Seething Lane earlier whenever I could and heading straight to the workshop when I arrived home. With the evenings growing shorter, I was determined to wrench Papa away from his locks before he strained his eyes further with candles. We would work together for a while, but as soon as the shadows grew too long, I would suggest we retire. Although he protested meekly, I think Papa knew what I was about and, trusting Matt to supervise what remained to be done, he would join me in the house. Matt would catch my eye and nod approval.

  Audiences took advantage of the unusual autumn sunshine and flocked to the Lewes Inn to see The Scold’s Husband and another performance of Gorboduc. Caleb shone in the lead roles. As a treat for the household, he would often re-enact scenes in the evening for Papa, Angela and me. The servants and apprentices would creep up from the kitchen when they heard his booming voice and find a space to sit on the floor, enthralled by the unfolding story. Sometimes Caleb would invite me to take a part, and it was during one such evening that we were joined by an unexpected visitor.

  I didn’t see him at first, as I was taken up in the role I was playing, the apparently shrewish wife of a foolish man who refused to accept she loved him, and as a consequence kept testing her over and over until his unshakeable belief she was the scold he believed her to be became a reality. Bemoaning her manner to all who would listen, the husband painted a picture of a discontented and cruel woman with a roving eye who made his life one long trial. Continually asking for reassurances of her affection, he would invite friends to his home and point out his wife’s flaws, persuading them to interpret her actions as wanting. Reluctant at first, these men who first protested her innocence, even highlighting her fine qualities, soon joined the husband in criticising her, further poisoning him against her. Despondent and helpless, the woman eventually turned upon her husband, unable to bear that no matter what she did, it was never right.

  ‘Pray, husband, when my eye doth light upon another man, be it to wish him “God’s good day”, or “Blessed eve”, you do but see a trull’s beguiling. I know not what you wish me do — shut mine eyes and thus not see these men, even those whom you invite to our table?’ I’d adopted a coarser timbre to play the wife.

  ‘Were I blind to your ways,’ said Caleb, immersed in the role, ‘you sly temptress, you who do make a cuckold of me over and over, I would be the happier man.’

  ‘Then let me grant you this wish, husband, since all else I do brings misery.’

  Picking up a quill from the table, I pretended to stab Caleb in the eyes.

  His hands flew to his face and shouting, he fell to the floor and rolled around. ‘My eyes, my eyes. You fever-sent whore, you plague-ridden scold, you’ve rendered me sightless!’


  Straddling his inert body, I looked down upon him. ‘Nay, husband. I’m no scold.’ By now, I was panting, the quill tight in my fist. It was no longer Caleb lying beneath me, but Raffe. I was no longer in the parlour, but back in the cottage in Durham. My voice was hoarse, the drumming in my ears loud. ‘Like a good wife, I’ve but granted your wish. Now you no longer need to look upon my sins … or those which your actions and false words forced me to commit.’

  Breaking out of his role, Caleb stared through parted fingers. ‘That’s not in the script,’ he hissed. Speaking louder, he tried to sit up. ‘Mallory,’ he said. ‘Get off me.’

  Flushed, my hand trembling. I stepped away. Turning around, I faced our impromptu audience, unable to focus on anything. They were a blur of smiles and hands until, as the applause dimmed, I saw Lord Nathaniel.

  Caleb jumped up and with an extravagant bow and flourish, swiftly took the part of the wise woman who delivered the epilogue. There was loud applause as he led me to the credenza and poured a drink.

  ‘You take liberties with my work?’

  I stared at him blankly. Behind us, encouraged by Matt, the apprentices scrambled to their feet, slapping Caleb on the back as they left, bobbing their heads and heaping praise upon us. Comfort collected the empty cups and shooed Gracious, Master Gib and Mistress Pernel from the room. Soon it was only me, Papa, Caleb, Angela and Lord Nathaniel left.

  Caleb nudged me when I didn’t answer. ‘You added, “Or those which your actions and false words forced me to commit”. I like it, but I’m not sure it will find its way into one of our performances.’

  Dear God, I’d forgotten where I was. ‘I’m sorry, Caleb.’

  A look of pity crossed Caleb’s features as understanding dawned. ‘Ah, Mallory, it’s me who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to play —’

  ‘What won’t find its way into one of our performances?’ Lord Nathaniel appeared at my elbow.

  ‘Ah, Lord Nate,’ said Caleb, passing Lord Nathaniel a brimming goblet. ‘I was just saying it’s a pity women can’t tread the boards or Mallory might supplant any one of our troupe on stage.’

  ‘Any one of the boys, perchance, but as a man, she would never pass muster.’

  ‘My lord,’ I said, recovering quickly. ‘Am I not already halfway there? You pointed out yourself, I have a man’s name.’

  ‘Aye, but not his appearance. You’re far too lovely,’ said Lord Nathaniel.

  I started and met his eyes, expecting to see irony there. There was only an earnest regard. I found my drink very interesting.

  ‘You were most convincing in the role of wronged wife, mistress,’ said Lord Nathaniel quietly. ‘It would be easy to assume you draw from experience. I hope in that regard I’m wrong.’

  Before I could summon a suitable retort, Papa came to my rescue.

  ‘My lord, to what do we owe the pleasure?’

  ‘Ah, Gideon,’ said Lord Nathaniel with such warmth my discomfort began to dissipate. ‘I’m here to avail myself of your considerable skills.’

  ‘Really? What can I do?’

  Lord Nathaniel reached inside his doublet. ‘I was hoping you could open this for me.’

  Papa put his goblet down and took a long, thin, beautifully carved box from Lord Nathaniel.

  ‘Why, this is most elegant. A lady’s jewel case if I’m not mistaken.’

  ‘Booty from your trip to the country, my lord?’ asked Caleb.

  ‘Of a sort. My lady aunt, whom I took Beatrice to visit as she’s been most poorly, gave it to me. It belonged to my grandmother. I’m afraid I lost the key between York and home and need to access the contents.’

  ‘Well, let’s attend to it immediately, shall we? Mallory,’ said Papa, ‘can you help? The lock is delicate and your fine fingers are much better suited to this.’

  Trying not to appear too eager, I dropped a curtsey. ‘For certes, Papa,’ I said.

  ‘Upstaged by a piece of wood,’ said Caleb drolly, refilling his goblet and dropping into the seat across from Angela. ‘Not the first time that’s happened. After all, I’ve performed with Will Kempe.’

  Promising to return, we slipped out through the kitchen to the workshop. Papa sped ahead to open the doors and light some candles.

  Night was falling, the stars making a grand entrance, turning the firmament into their own sparkling case of jewels. Gazing skywards, I caught the scent of wood smoke and was surprised to note the chill in the air. My second winter since coming home was almost upon us. So much had happened in a year. When Papa delivered me from Raffe, little did I suspect what my life would become, who I’d become. Just as I’d returned home a different person, the last twelve months, the people I’d met and the work I’d done, had enacted another kind of transformation.

  Lord Nathaniel cleared his throat. ‘Though it’s been a while since our last encounter, I’ve wanted to tell you how much you impressed my sister Beatrice.’

  ‘Why, thank you, my lord. She aroused the same response in me. She’s a most impressive young lady.’

  ‘I think so as well,’ said Lord Nathaniel.

  Papa reached the workshop. Arthur and Galahad burst out and ran down the path towards us. ‘Oh dear, the apprentices shut them in again.’ I dropped to my knees as the spaniels jumped and spoke their displeasure, their little tails wagging furiously.

  Lord Nathaniel bent and fondled both dogs. It wasn’t so dark I couldn’t see the expression on his face. Here was a man who liked animals. Warmth flowed from my centre and I recalled a desire to share my concern about Caleb with him; to discuss it without revealing too much.

  ‘My lord,’ I began, rising.

  ‘Mistress Mallory —’ he started at the same time.

  We both laughed. ‘After you,’ he said.

  ‘Please, my lord. I wish you to speak first.’

  ‘Ah, well I know better than to disobey a scold’s wishes,’ he said, smiling.

  I returned the smile. I’d never noticed before how long his lashes were. How much darker his beard was than the tawny hair upon his head. Without his cap, his hair was thick and glossy in the evening light. My hand travelled to my own head, finding a long tendril had escaped. I twined it around my finger, trying to replace it in my coif. I waited for him to speak.

  ‘Mallory,’ he began. ‘I may call you that?’ I nodded. ‘I’m serious when I say Beatrice was most taken with you. Ever since we’ve returned, she has pestered me about approaching you.’

  ‘Regarding what?’ I asked. My legs felt unsteady.

  ‘I wonder if you might consider becoming Beatrice’s companion?’

  My insides flipped. This was most unexpected.

  ‘Oh. But, my lord, I already have employ.’

  ‘Aye, but perchance this position might be preferable to what you have with Sir Francis … Forgive me, with the Walsingham family.’

  I wondered then how much he knew. Or was he guessing? He’d drawn conclusions about Frances. The man was no fool. He’d once thought me a woman who was duplicitous for her own ends. Did he still? A small flare of anger rose and died. Wasn’t he right? If that was so, how could he want such a one for his sister?

  ‘My lord,’ I began. ‘I’m beyond flattered and cannot think of any position I would rather take than to be by Beatrice’s side, except I’m not free to do so.’

  ‘You need only give the word and I could speak to Sir Francis.’

  I raised my hands as if to stop him. Speak to Sir Francis? Dear God, no. My throat tightened. This was too swift, too sudden. I was not ready to let go the freedoms, the importance my work bestowed; the sense of value and autonomy it gave me. Seeing justice served … Only that had not afforded me quite the gratification I’d anticipated. On the contrary … But it didn’t matter how conflicted I felt in that regard, I was not yet ready to forgo my position in Sir Francis’s network. I’d so much more I could offer, there was so much more I could do. So much more to understand. Yet I could not offend Lord Nathaniel.

  ‘May
I consider your generous offer, my lord?’ I shucked Galahad behind the ears. He rose on his hind legs and rested his paws against my leg, thrusting his head into my hands.

  ‘You may,’ said Lord Nathaniel. ‘But do not tarry. Who knows, I may find another accomplished young woman with a brilliant mind and quick wit whom my sister finds most endearing to take your place.’ I’d not heard him speak in that tone before. He was teasing, flattering and reassuring all at once. I gazed at him with fresh eyes.

  ‘Mallory?’ Papa called.

  ‘Coming.’ Galahad leapt down and I gathered my skirts. ‘Locks don’t unpick themselves,’ I said to Lord Nathaniel apologetically.

  Clicking my fingers so the dogs followed, I continued to the workshop, Lord Nathaniel beside me.

  ‘Is there anything you cannot do, mistress?’ he asked.

  ‘My lord?’ I replied.

  ‘I see you perform one of our most popular plays like a consummate professional who has spent a lifetime strutting the stage and tonight I learn you also pick locks.’

  ‘I am a locksmith’s daughter, it’s not really so surprising.’

  ‘Nothing you do should surprise me and yet, you’re a constant source of bemusement.’

  I laughed. ‘I’m sorry to be the cause of such consternation.’

  ‘Consternation? Nay, I find myself delighted by surprises of the kind you deliver.’

  Lord Nathaniel grinned and stepped ahead to open the door. I passed under his arm, trying hard not to dwell on our conversation, and began helping Papa light more candles, aware all the while of Lord Nathaniel’s golden eyes upon me.

  The forge kept the room warm, but even so, in case unlocking this small box proved difficult, I invited his lordship to sit close to the fire.

  ‘I would like to watch you work, if you don’t mind.’