by Paul Walker
‘Kelley – I do not know. If he can be found then he should be questioned, but it seems that Millen may have more to answer.’
I take my leave of John to visit Mother. She has risen from her bed and sits in a chair, although she still wears her bedclothes of linen smock and bonnet. Rose is attending to her bed covers and has brought more logs for the fire.
‘You look well, Mother. I trust your recovery continues.’
‘Thank you, William, the plums do their work and I am greatly eased.’ She thanks Rose and bids her leave us. ‘Rose tells me we have another guest; a young lady.’
‘Yes, she is Doctor Dee’s wife, who was Jane Fromond. Her person and house were attacked last night. The house was burned and she was injured about the head.’
Her eyes narrow. ‘Why… why have you rescued this woman? You told me that your association with Doctor Dee is at an end and that the note from his wife was in response to your casual enquiry. You have not disclosed the whole truth of your affairs with Walsingham.’
It would be futile to hide the facts of our investigation of Kelley and Millen for their possible involvement in the making of the natal chart from her now. I take pains to describe the events that led to my call from Jane last night and offer our opinion that the search for Millen was the cause of the assault. She breathes deeply, clasps her hands together and there is a silence between us.
‘I dislike your close involvement in this matter, William. But I understand that it may not be politic at this moment to withdraw yourself. It would appear… unhelpful. You must introduce me to Mistress Dee. I will take her under my care.’
‘Thank you, Mother.’
‘I had intended to dine at midday. Perhaps you will arrange for Mistress Dee to join me.’
*
I present Jane Dee to my mother and John at the dining table, but say that I cannot join them as I must meet with Mylles at Whitehall. Jane has a look of alarm at my departure, but Mother consoles her with a few sweet words and a promise that she has some ointment that will soothe her bruising.
Mylles has heard of the outrage at Mortlake, but Askham has not yet returned and there is no further word from him. He listens carefully as I detail the circumstances around the attack and my reasons for presuming a connection with the search for Millen. He leans back in his seat and steeples his fingers.
‘Finally, there is an action that informs our investigations. You have done well in your deductions, William.’
I suppose I must excuse his lack of concern for the fate of Jane Dee and her house because of his unwavering focus on uncovering the conspiracy. Yet, it will do no harm to prick his conscience.
‘I am sure Her Majesty will be dismayed to hear of the injuries inflicted on the wife of a trusted and valued advisor.’
‘Yes… yes, you are right to emphasise this aspect. Her Majesty will hear of her hurt and Mister Secretary may wish to seek out some recompense for the Doctor’s house.’
‘Have you learned more about the reported gossip?’
‘Ah, Capton and Perse. They are empty-headed young men. Capton was indignant and denies speaking or hearing any words about a royal bastard. Perse was more submissive in answering to the same end. They may be witless, but they are not conspirators.’
‘Who do they follow at court?’
‘They are recent arrivals in Oxford’s entourage. The Earl likes to surround himself with pretty boys.’
I am surprised at his easy acceptance of denials from Capton and Perse. Mylles strikes me as a man who would be eager to scour the last drop of intelligence from questioning. He has said little of Millen and any connections or patronage that he may have at court. Perhaps, despite his praise for my efforts, Mylles does not put his full trust in me and worries that I might disclose too much through loose talk.
Sixteen
I am with Hicks and Harry Larkin in their chambers across the courtyard when Mistress Hilliard calls, announces that my mother has visitors and that a gentleman in the party has asked to see me. Mother’s visitors are rare these days and I wonder who this gentleman can be. Hicks accompanies me to the front of the house in case it concerns a matter of business.
It is Helen, with a young maid and Darby Wensum.
‘Mistress Morton, this is an unexpected delight, and a good morning to you, Master Wensum.’
‘Good morning, Doctor Constable, it is your mother we call on. Master Wensum here, escorted us and is eager to meet with you. Rosamund did not wish to stir from the still and drying room today and I have brought my chambermaid, Lucy.’ There is a light in her eyes as she registers the surprise in my welcome. Did my mother send a note of invitation without my knowing?
Helen and her maid follow Mistress Hilliard to Mother’s chamber. I must be civil with Wensum so that this meeting does not descend into another bout of verbal sniping.
‘Master Wensum, is this a social call mixed with protection of Mistress Morton, or do you wish to discuss business? The great adventure to the New Lands, perhaps?’
‘If you will forgive me, I have more than one purpose. First, to ensure the safety of the lady, Helen. Second, I would put right the unfortunate exchange we had on our last meeting here. I have come to realise that my words then were too abrupt and I am sorry if they caused offence.’
‘Thank you, Master Wensum. If I remember, I may have been overripe in my response, so let us both forgive and forget.’ I pause. ‘Is there a third reason?’
‘Indeed, I have been sent by Sir George to inform you about our newest arrangements on the venture and to enquire if you have made progress with your instrument.’
‘Good, then let us adjourn to our receiving chamber. You know Hicks, I think.’ They exchange stiff bows. ‘I trust that you will not object if Hicks joins us.’
We sit for a half hour, drinking claret and talking of inconsequential things. Wensum reminds Hicks of their meeting when he was in the employ of a wool merchant named Phillips, who is long dead. Hicks takes up the subject of wool and there is a discussion on the prices to be had in London and the Low Countries. Wensum recounts the story of his work for Sir George and the expansion of his trade. Finally, Wensum broaches the topic of the great adventure.
I say, ‘I have only outlined the bare bones of the scheme to Hicks. Perhaps you would explain the essence of the adventure in more detail before providing the latest news.’
Wensum bows his head and begins an overlong and finely-detailed account of design and preparations. He finishes with itemising the necessities that I would need to bring on board, should I decide to sail with the fleet. For my part, I simply explain that a craftsman has my drawings and will attempt to manufacture an exemplar. We have sat over an hour and I am impatient to seek out Helen and learn the reason for her visit. I say that it is time for me to administer a curative for my mother and excuse myself. I promise that I will return shortly and beg them to continue the discussion.
Helen and my mother are seated together by the fire in her chamber, while Lucy is absorbed with needle and thread by the light of the window.
‘Ah, William, at last. Please help me to my bed and I will rest for a while. I sent an invitation to Mistress Morton so that I may offer my deeply felt thanks for her treatment. We have enjoyed a conversation on herbal and other natural medications, but I am unused to such excitement of the mind and I tire easily.’
I take my mother’s hand, lead her to the bed and smooth the covers when she is settled. Her colour is good, her eyes are alert and the disposition of her body does not speak of lethargy.
She says, ‘It is restful to watch Lucy at her needlework. William, please take Helen to our room of medicines so that she may suggest improvements.’
This is a badly-disguised deception to allow me some time with Helen, alone. Nevertheless, I am grateful for her plan.
We stand awkwardly in the drying room, each waiting for the other’s first word.
I say, ‘I received your note in the bag of plums.’
&
nbsp; ‘I hope that you did not find my sentiments ungrateful.’
‘Not at all. I understand your caution and readings from the stars are not to everyone’s taste.’
‘It was not a concern about astrology that led me to write the note.’ I tilt my head, waiting for more. ‘My father would have interpreted the request as a closeness between us.’ Disappointment must show in my eyes as she is quick to continue. ‘I would not be dismayed at such a situation, given more time. I know my father; he loves me jealously and is likely to act with intemperance at the prospect of a liaison with someone known only for a few days. I considered it best to…’
Her voice trails away and she does not finish. She bows her head as if shamed that she has shown her feelings too openly. I take a step towards her and hold her hand in mine.
‘My lady – Helen. You should know that I too, would wish for an intimacy between us in due course. I applaud your prudence in correcting my lack of thought, which may have spoiled this prospect.’
She lifts her head, looks into my eyes, takes her hand from mine, turns and steps two paces away. Now is not the time to continue with this subject. There is quiet, but the air between us is tranquil and our spoken words have seeded a glow of contentment on my spirits.
I say, ‘I regret that I must return to Master Wensum to continue our discussions on your father’s venture.’
‘Ah, yes, Master Wensum.’
‘By his own telling, he has been a successful man of business for your father.’
‘Yes… yes, he has.’
‘There is a trace of doubt in your voice.’
‘I know he is diligent and skilful in his trades. My father has come to rely on his judgement and I believe he is well-rewarded.’
‘Let me be frank. I am not at ease in his company and I sense that he dislikes my connection with your father.’
Her nose twitches, she murmurs her agreement at my sentiments and adds that she can find no plain reason to mistrust him.
Helen returns to Mother’s chamber while I re-join Hicks and Wensum. I apologise for my absence, but it appears that they have both continued their discussion at a lively pace. The topic has moved on to the reliability and honesty of bankers and this is an area where I have little to contribute. After a few moments I advise that our conversation should close as Helen is ready to depart. Wensum rises stiffly and adjusts his damaged leg with his hands. He clasps Hicks by the hand, bows to me and declares his satisfaction at our meeting. He takes his leave in good humor. I wonder if I have judged him too harshly.
Seventeen
It is a few minutes past noon and I am dining with Mother and John. They continue their conversations from the parlour where I found them jousting with words about the history of faith and the relative merits of Jewry and the followers of Muhammad. It is a dry topic and not one I would choose, but they find opportunities for merriment and teasing. It is clear that they are comfortable with each other and I am pleased that they are both much improved in their wellbeing. Mother, in particular, has transformed from a fading old woman to lively middle years. Perhaps I overstate the change, but I am filled with gratitude and wonder at the beneficial effect of a bagful of dried plums.
At the end of a pleasant dinner Mother retires to her chamber and John bids me to stay at our table. I infer from his changed demeanour that he wishes to consolidate our intelligence on the conspiracy.
‘What news from Mylles, William? Did his interrogation yield anything of value?’
‘He reported that the two young fellows were mindless innocents, and no more.’
He grunts his dissatisfaction. ‘I think it is time for me to take a firmer hand in our enquiries. Thanks to you and your household, my body is much recovered and my mind is more active.’
‘I am heartened to hear you say that, John. You are certainly sprightlier than when you arrived at this place.’
‘Ha, do not overstate my condition, William. I am not ready to hunt wild boar or sail in an open ship. I remain an old man, but I would travel with you to Whitehall on your next visit. I am known at court and my ancient shufflings and bumblings may pick up on loose talk or other intelligence.’
*
I have scratched a few marks on a good quality paper. I have stared at them for too long. It is my intention to write to Helen and put right the clumsy words I spoke in response to her declaration of interest. I struggle. I must convey my serious intentions and I would have them expressed in pretty language. Poetry? I think not; my natural way of thinking turns to mathematics, not flowers and embroidered lace. Helen would see through my feeble attempts to clutch at handsome phrases that sit oddly with my character. I screw up the paper and place my quill in its holder. This was not a good idea. I will endeavour to voice my feelings well when we next meet.
I remember my shock at the telling of her birth date and it is a discomfiting thought that I must delve deeper into her history. If she has royal blood then what will become of her? Our sovereign is unlikely to own up to such a long and devious deception. Worse, if she is recognised as a false pretender, then a grisly and dreadful end beckon her and her father. If I am to have any chance of a future with Helen, then I must gather evidence that she is an innocent in this conspiracy. How? My torment is interrupted by voices I do not recognise.
Two armed men stand in my hall with Mistress Hilliard and the Larkin boy. I know one of their faces from Askham’s escort.
‘Do you bring word from your Captain?’
‘Yes, Doctor Constable. We are ordered to take you to him.’
‘Where is he?’
‘In Southwark, at a dead-house.’
Southwark; at night; and at a dead-house. That is not a pleasant prospect. It will mean a crossing of the bridge and that is a place I shun, whenever possible.
‘It is dark and wet. Would it not be better to wait until morning?’
‘We will go now.’
His tone is gruff and will bear no argument. I see that John is standing in the shadow of the door and I reveal the nature of my summons to him. He strokes his beard before offering his assessment that a corpse of some significance has been found and that would be a pity as the dead cannot answer questions. It is a callous remark and one that is not entirely true. The nature of a death may imply motive and provide other intelligence.
It is a short ride to the bridge through narrow streets, but the rain has managed to seep through my cloak and lower my spirits further. The bridge warden bows his head and lets us pass without payment after short word from one of Askham’s men. We dismount and lead our horses through the narrow passage. It is another world on the bridge; more hell than heaven, but at least we are covered from the elements. Doxies wave their hand linen in our faces and sellers push their codlings and other pies under our noses. It is a teeming mass of the laughing, shrieking, drunk, happy and miserable. Above all, the confined space highlights the stench of foul and rotting waste. Finally, we are the other side and the gates are opened to the Borough of Southwark, It is a relief to breathe the air and feel the rain, even in this place; the haunt of cutpurses, bawds and other low life.
We head west along a series of mean passages to the brooding, dark shape of Clink Manor. We stop at a small, turreted building at the edge of the manor. We dismount and one of the soldiers points to a doorway set down a flight of stone stairs. A guard opens the door and I follow him into an anteroom where a man sits at a table lit by a single candle that splutters and sparks. He opens the next door and gestures that I should enter. This chamber is larger and lit by several candles. Askham is seated at a chair with a beaker in his hand. Another man sits by a table with his feet raised on a stool.
‘Ah, Doctor Constable, please forgive the hour and the place of our meeting. The gentleman here is Warden Oakes, who is the keeper of this mortuary.’
Oakes eyes me with curiosity, but does not move from his seat. A short man with heavy legs and large belly, he waves his hand at a stool and asks if I would take a cup o
f wine. I take the stool, but refuse the wine.
Askham says, ‘Come, William Constable, take wine with us. You will need some fortification for the task ahead.’
That has an ominous chime. ‘In that case, I will accept your offer, Warden Oakes.’
He pours into a wooden cup and passes it to me without disturbing his relaxed posture. I wait for an explanation of my visit. Will this be from Askham or Oakes? Both men drink from their cups and I follow. It is sour and unpleasant.
Askham says, ‘Word reached me some hours ago of a find on the mud flats by the bridge. A body was discovered and brought here.’ He points his cup at Oakes who continues the story.
‘The corpse was corrupted by the river. The corruption was partial and indicated a death some two or three days before its discovery. It was a man in scholar’s clothing and his throat had been slit hard so that the head was hanging loose.’
‘Has the body been named?’
‘It was found near to the chained felons on this side of the river, close to the bridge.’ He pauses to take another sup of the rank draught. ‘One of the felons, a petty thief of foodstuffs, swore that he knew the man. He named him as Millen, a frequent caller at the stews on the bridge.’
‘Is this name confirmed?’
Oakes moves his feet from his stool and shifts in his chair. ‘The man, the felon, pleaded to be free for his naming, but he is known to be unreliable and was not believed.’
Askham says, ‘I arrived here to question this felon, but was informed that he had died in his chains.’
‘The tide was higher than expected and his neck could not stretch for air,’ explains Oakes with a shrug.
‘Cannot the whores on the bridge verify the name?’
‘Ha, the word of those poxy whores is worth less than a wet fart,’ says Oakes.
Askham leans forward. ‘This is not a matter to warrant triviality or uncertainty, Warden.’ He pauses to let Oakes’ discomfort take hold, then turns to me. ‘I would have your word on the identification, William Constable. You told me you had met with him.’