by Paul Walker
I enter John’s room to find him sifting through his personal bags. Papers and other effects are scattered over the floor and bed.
‘Good morning to you, John. Did you sleep and breakfast well?’
‘Ah, William, excuse my disorder, I am attempting to gather my writings into a form of regularity so that I may continue the work.’
‘I have brought another bowl of your soother.’ I put the bowl on a small table, place a stool there and wait for him to take his first sips. I enquire about his chest and he answers that it is much the same, but is grateful for the warming potion as it brings some relief. ‘I will set a place for your work, John. There is a room with two tables and a chair for your ease next to my library. It is not big, but should help with your writing and organisation of papers. When a fire is made and all is ready I will have word sent to you. Also, you are welcome to study my books, although the collection is small and the subjects of the texts will be of little interest to you in most cases.’
‘You are kind, William, very kind.’ He would say more, but his ailment has the better of him. When the fit subsides, he continues, ‘I was about to say that I have some books with me which I intend to study. Nevertheless, I thank you for your offer and I should welcome the opportunity to examine your books in due course, no matter the author’s field of learning.’ He takes up his spoon and is about to sup again when he stops and adds, ‘I have thought about the Aramaic script on the chest and I can bring no person to mind who would have the knowledge or leaning to be party to such terrible trickery.’
I understand immediately, that he is seeking information and is not the provider. Although he will not ask directly, he wishes to know if I have pursued my hunch about the creator of the chart. I reply that I have started to make enquiries on his whereabouts and will advise if he is found. This is the first sign of an eagerness in him to uncover the plot. I must not mistake his slow and easy manner for indifference in our future conversations.
Back in the library, I clear my mind and re-read my work of last year on the mathematics of navigation. I had concentrated on more precise forecasts of the positions of navigational stars, but had put this aside with an understanding that such precision would be more than offset by inaccuracies in the measuring instrument. Perhaps my efforts should be directed towards an improved instrument for calculating the angles of heavenly bodies relative to the horizon on a ship’s deck. A knock at the door.
‘What is it Rose? Has Mother’s health worsened?’
‘Please sir, Mistress Amy has less discomfort and has decided to leave her bed. She is seated in the parlour with a book and warming fire. She has asked if you would attend her.’
‘Of course, thank you, Rose. Do you have her piss for me to examine?’
She confirms that the specimen has been left in her bedroom. This is good news; the first time she has left her bed in the last fortnight. I hope that this is not a false or transient reprieve.
Mother welcomes me with a smile. I convey the joy in my spirits to see her risen and clothed. She puts down her book and beckons me to sit by her.
‘What book are you reading, Mother?’
‘It is Calvin’s Institutes of the Christian Religion in the French language. I had thought to refresh my knowledge of the foundations of anti-papist doctrine in case I become engaged in conversation with our guest.’
‘There is no need. I am sure that John will not burden you with his philosophy if the occasion of your meeting arises. He is an intelligent man, well able to converse on many topics with good humor and light touch.’
‘I will be happy to see the truth in that, William.’ She picks up the book. ‘This tract does have some fine points, but it is flawed in its unwavering belief in one dogma and unwillingness to allow any freedom from its confines.’
‘I read it a few years ago and recall that I disliked it, so left it unfinished.’ I pause. ‘Did you… did you ask me here to discuss this book?’
‘No, William.’ She raises her eyebrows. ‘That would make both of us a little uncomfortable.’ She hesitates as if seeking a form of words, then is about to speak when she closes her mouth and shakes her head slowly. There is a silence between us. Something troubles her. I must tread slowly or she will retreat further.
‘I sent a note to Doctor Dee’s house and received a reply from his new wife, Jane. Do you know her?’
‘Why would you write to Doctor Dee?’
‘I was seeking an opinion from one of his confederates on a matter of astrology.’
She will understand that this concerns the chart at Barn Elms, but allows mention of this to pass and answers my enquiry. ‘I know the Doctor’s new wife is Jane Fromond, although I have not spoken with her. She was one of the Countess of Lincoln’s ladies. Dee is thirty years her senior. There was talk of an unwelcome interest by the Earl of Lincoln, and a swift departure from court. It is a strange match, but I had no interest to discover the full facts of the affair.’
I tell her that I only enquired because Dee’s last wife was recently deceased and assure her that I have no intention of renewing my association with the Doctor. She looks relieved. I stand and wander the room stopping at the window with an outlook on to our courtyard. It is cold and cheerless outside with a light rain mingling with wisps of snow.
‘I know a name that may interest you,’ she says faintly.
I turn and face her, waiting for more,
‘Despite myself, I could not help considering the families known to us, the letters “m”, “p” and daughters of a certain age.’
I sit next to her and put my hand on hers as reassurance, or encouragement.
‘Your father was on good terms with George Morton, now Sir George as the member for Maldon. He and your father had a number of shared ventures that went well. He deals in silks and spices and I hear that he now has a permit for sweet wine. He has considerable wealth and I understand has ownership of more than ten vessels.’
‘I know him. I recall meetings with father when I was less than twenty years. A large man with a thoughtful manner.’
‘He has estates in Essex and Norfolk with a house of business and residence in Leadenhall.’
‘There is a daughter in the family?’
‘George is a widower and he has a daughter named Helen.’ She pauses. ‘She is of an age that matches your concern.’
‘Thank you…’
‘William, do not thank me. You must promise me that this knowledge will not be passed directly to Walsingham. I have no doubt that the Morton family are innocents in this affair, but even so, Walsingham’s methods would be an unhappy experience. Any enquiries to absolve the Morton’s you must undertake yourself, and with delicacy.’
‘You have my word, Mother.’
I leave with a tangle of thoughts. How should I handle this unexpected intelligence? Could George Morton be a willing party to the conspiracy? Of course, the likelihood is that Mother’s information is a coincidental fit to the coded note and there is nothing to discover.
Hicks is waiting as I reach my library. A tenant farmer on our lands in Kent has died without heir and a new lessee has been found. There is a question of lodging for the widow. I know the couple and am sorry for her loss. I instruct Hicks that the new tenant must provide free-for-life accommodation in a house on the land, or the lease cannot be completed. He is content with my answer and before he takes his leave I have a question for him.
‘Do you know the location of Sir George Morton’s house in Leadenhall?’
‘Yes sir, I will write you a note and bring it to you in short time.’
‘Thank you, Hicks, very good.’
‘There is much talk of his new venture in the quays of the North Bank.’
‘New venture?’ I query.
‘Yes, there are grand plans in the hands of Sir George and other notables for an expedition to the New Lands with Captain Hawkins and Sir Humphrey Gilbert. It is rumoured that Burghley himself has an interest.’
&nbs
p; ‘Yes… thank you again, Hicks.’ I have not heard of this venture. I shall make an effort to be more aware of matters of high business in the future in case they impact on our position. I trust Hicks, but I must not let him shoulder the full burden of our financials. A thought has breached my awareness – could I use this intelligence in an approach to the Morton family?
I am settled in my library for a short time when Mistress Hilliard announces the arrival of Captain Askham. I summon Gregory to take his horse and guide him through to our receiving room. He accepts the offer of refreshment and I invite him to warm himself at the fireside. I will be circumspect in my conversation as I do not know if he has been taken into Walsingham’s confidence about the capture of the box. I thank him for his promptness in answer to my note and wait for him to take a mouthful of brandywine. He licks his lips in appreciation.
‘I seek a man who may be able to assist in solving a mystery about an astrological chart.’ He will surely question me on the nature and relevance of this request unless he has been appraised of the plot by his master. In reply he simply asks for the name of the man.
‘His name is Edward Kelley and I understand that he may be lodging by Aldgate.’
‘I know of this man. He has a reputation for scrying and divination.’
‘You are well informed, Captain.’
‘I will arrange for a search to be started later this day. When he is found, shall I escort him to Whitehall?’
‘No, please bring him here and be gentle. I have no reason to suspect that he may be harmful to Her Majesty, only that he may be able to assist in the work that Doctor Foxe and I undertake for Mister Secretary.’
He confirms his understanding in a way that suggests any elaboration on the findings at Barn Elms was unnecessary. He is not one for idle talk and after an enquiry on John’s state of health, he takes his leave. The Captain is an admirable and dependable man and it is clear to see why Walsingham places him in a position of trust.
I turn my thoughts to Morton and how I should seek an introduction. Indeed, should I follow this scant supposition or let it lie? No, my mind will not settle until I have made a brief study to eliminate the Morton family from this intrigue. I cannot simply send a boy with a note to his house and I will not ask Mother to smooth the path to his door. I will write a letter for Hicks to deliver. In it, I will express an interest in investing in the expedition and make reference to my task of improving the navigation of ships.
Seven
Two days have passed since the Captain’s call and there is no news of Kelley, or an answer to my letter to Sir George Morton. My labour on navigation mathematics progresses, but slowly. Mother’s health continues to improve a little and, although John is still racked with inflamed lungs and much phlegm, he has episodes of relief and calm. I have cautioned that he should seek refuge in his bed, but he passes most of the day on his studies and writing. Yesterday, he was introduced to Mother and they had an afternoon of conversation and light refreshment in the parlour together. I am thankful that all seems to have gone well with this encounter. Mother reported that she found him a man of deep learning and tolerable demeanour. John was more effusive in his assessment, pronouncing her a ‘delightful companion’ with a ‘keen ear and sharp wit’.
Light in the afternoon sky begins to grey when three mounted men arrive. Gregory and Mistress Hilliard are already in attendance when I reach the entrance hall. One of the men steps forward and introduces himself as Darby Wensum, Sir George’s man of business. He is a slight man of middle height who walks with a limp. I note that his right foot is turned inward and this leg is shorter than the other. His dress is striking in its quality and cut in comparison with his attendants. He removes a thick cloak and velvet cap to reveal a dark green doublet with silver markings over a ruffed neck, black, breech hose and finely-crafted shoes; an unusually affluent display for a man of business. The attendants are led away by Mistress Hilliard and Master Wensum follows me. Save for his name, he has not spoken a word. He gazes about the house as though taking an inventory, then stands in front of the fire and warms his hands. As I search for the words to comment on his lack of civility, he turns and says, ‘Sir George has received your note.’
Nothing follows. Should I prompt him to continue? I wait.
Eventually, he says, ‘I know your man, Hicks.’
‘A good man. He has been with my family for more than ten years.’ I am about to continue on the subject of Hicks, but his attention has wavered. He scans the extent of our receiving room, taking note of the hangings and portrait of my father. When he is done, he folds his arms in a gesture of finality and faces me.
‘The venture to the New Lands is on a grand scale. More than twenty ships will be fitted and crewed. Although rewards are expected to be great, the expense is daunting. Only those nobles and gentlemen with substantial situations have been chosen to join with this great adventure.’ It appears that he has dismissed my interest with a cursory inspection of man and property. I was not prepared for this and before I can respond, he continues. ‘Your family is known to Sir George and he holds the memory of your father with some fondness. He asked me to pass on his good wishes to your mother. Perhaps you would…’
‘Of course. Did Sir George wish to give a message to me, other than he has received my note?’
‘In short, Sir George invites you to dine with him at Leadenhall tomorrow eve. He had a liking for your mention of improved navigation for ships. This subject will be of particular appeal to Captain General Hawkins, who will also be dining.’
‘Please thank Sir George for his invitation, which I will be pleased to accept. Thanks to you also for taking a great deal of trouble to deliver this message to me in person, and with such grace.’
He tilts his head and stares at me, unsure how to react. He grabs his cloak, doffs his cap, bows stiffly and limps towards the door. Was I unwise to mock him so? I have a feeling that I may have nurtured an enmity in one who could help with my enquiries. I curse inwardly at my intemperance. It is a fault that my mother, father and others have identified in me, and it seems one that the passing of the years have not softened.
*
Mother and John have long retired to their beds when I close my studies for the day and head for the kitchen. I am hungry and Elspeth, our cook, has set aside a plate of cold meats and pickles for me. I am sat holding an unmolested chicken leg and wondering how I should prepare for my visit to Leadenhall tomorrow, when the quiet is disturbed by voices at the front of the house. Captain Askham has arrived and is conversing with Hicks. He begs me to excuse the lateness of the hour and asks if we may talk in private. I thank Hicks and take Askham to my library. He explains that he has found Kelley, who is following at a short distance with an escort, and questions whether at this late hour, our conversations with him should be here, or at a place he has reserved at the Bear and Ragged Staff. We decide on the latter. I quickly gather warm clothing and advise Hicks that I expect to return shortly.
We do not enter the inn, but are taken around to a single-storey, circular building at the rear that is used for the entertainment of fighting dogs and fowl. Tonight it is empty and cheerless. The place of action in the centre has been swept clear and set with a small table and three stools. The location is well-chosen. It has an eerie and forbidding aspect that is more likely to entice free talk in the unwilling than the cosiness of my fireside.
Askham and I are standing in the centre when Kelley arrives with two armed men. His beard has lengthened and his appearance has aged more than our years apart. His bearing is tall, erect and his mouth is set in a show of belligerence. His eyes widen as he recognises me.
‘You… William Constable. Why have I been brought to this place?’
‘You will discover soon enough,’ says Askham offering a stool to Kelley.
He treads warily towards us.
I say, ‘A fair night and God’s greeting to you Edward. It is a long time since we last met.’
I sit
and watch as he pulls his cloak roughly around himself and takes a seat at the other side of the table. Askham takes the remaining stool by my side and waves an arm to dismiss his men.
‘Please forgive the forceful arrangements for this meeting, Edward,’ I say. ‘It has no malign intent, but the words that pass between us must be confidential.’
‘What could you possibly want with me that warrants such a coarse intrusion on my person?’ His reply is sharp and he folds his arms in a gesture that offers challenge.
‘You should know that we are here under instruction from Mister Secretary Walsingham,’ says Askham.
Kelley appears unmoved by this news, but I see from the way he blinks his eyes and the small droop in shoulders that this knowledge has shrunk his spirit. He hesitates before speaking.
‘I have great admiration for Sir Francis, but what could the master of our state’s security want from a simple philosopher such as me. Why, it is akin to requesting advice from a goldsmith on the quality of fine wines or the roasting of a swan.’
I see his wit has not deserted him. ‘We understand your area of expertise well, Edward. We are here to seek your views on the science of astrology.’
‘You surprise me, William Constable, I had thought that you were capable in that area. For myself, I have little use for star charts these days and find more profit in communication with angels through scrying.’