‘Judith Cawston, I will not have such unholy language in this house,’ her mother said.
Ivory had woken on the ride from the ditch to the barn, strapped over the back of the Cawston family nag. His head and upper body were mottled by dark bruises. He could not recall much about the attack, but he complained constantly about his aches and the loss of his New World tobacco pipe. Now, in this hayloft, fussed over by women and watched over by Boltfoot, who kept his caliver loaded, he was inconsolable.
‘I’ll do for them, Mr Cooper.’
‘You’ll keep your head down and stay alive.’
‘I’m going back there,’ Ivory growled. ‘They’ve got property of mine and I want it.’
‘You’ve got the perspective glass, Mr Ivory, that’s all I care about.’
‘The devil can take the glass, I want my pipe. I bought that from a savage at St Augustine on the Florida coast. It’s been halfway round the world with me, and I won’t be robbed of it. One of them sheep’s bollocks took it from me.’
‘Well, perhaps you shouldn’t have tried cheating them at cards.’
Ivory grumbled but said no more. Boltfoot watched him closely, certain he would try to give him the slip again.
Things could not continue like this.
‘We cannot stay here now. It is too dangerous,’ Boltfoot told Jane. ‘That mob at the Black Moth will be wanting to give us both a beating. And who knows who they might tell about us. Word gets about.’
‘So where will you go, husband?’
Boltfoot looked at her and said nothing. That was the problem.
Five miles away, a little south of the village where the Cawstons lived, a man in black doublet and hose reined in his bay palfrey at a crossroads. In his belt he had a wheel-lock pistol, damascened in silver and mother-of-pearl. His hand cupped the hilt of his sword. His journey had been long. He knew he must be close to his destination.
A milkmaid was walking his way, heavy pails slung from a yoke about her shoulders. He hailed her and asked her the way to the Cawston house. Smiling at the stranger, she pointed the way. He put his hand in his purse, took out a farthing and tossed the coin to her. She caught it, surprised by the man’s generosity, for she had expected nothing. He shook the reins of the bay and kicked on.
Chapter 21
THE CONSTABLE, WHO had three teeth visible – one loose brown peg on top, two below – studiously ignored Eliska and demanded to hear Shakespeare’s story in full. In particular, he wished to know exactly who they were and insisted on repeating the questions four times. Each time he spoke, his teeth whistled.
‘For the last time, I am an officer of Sir Robert Cecil,’ Shakespeare said sharply.
‘No, never heard of him. Is he from the Duchy?’
Shakespeare shook his head slowly, like a teacher exasperated by a child of slow wit.
‘He is on the Privy Council. Apart from Lord Burghley, his father, he is the Queen’s senior minister. He carries out the duties of Principal Secretary. Does news of such great matters not reach this far north?’
‘Why should it? If he’s not from the Duchy, he is of no importance and has no power in Lancashire. I’m not satisfied with your answers, Mr Shakespeare. Mr Hesketh will wish to know of this night’s doings, I am sure.’
‘Thomas Hesketh?’
‘Indeed, sir, attorney and escheator for the Duchy of Lancaster. I know nothing of Cecils and Burghleys. Mr Hesketh is the law in these parts, in the absence of Chancellor Heneage, that is.’
‘Well, we are guests of the Earl of Derby, your Lord Lieutenant. I think you will find he holds sway over Thomas Hesketh.’
‘That’s not how Mr Hesketh sees things. You ask him. Anyway, from what I heard, the earl won’t be holding sway over anything very soon. Now tell me, Mr Shakespeare, this lady here –’ he nodded in the direction of Eliska in an offensively casual manner – ‘if she is your wife, why does she have a strange, foreign-sounding name? Why is she not plain Mistress Shakespeare?’
Shakespeare had to be careful. This was neither London with its bawdy houses, nor the court with its ladies of pleasure. Here, if a couple slept together and were not married, then the woman was a whore, and the man an adulterer, and they might be flogged in punishment.
‘She is Mistress Shakespeare, constable. We are newly wed and are enjoying our honeymoon. She is not yet accustomed to her married name, that is all.’
The constable scratched his hairy belly, which protruded obscenely through his coarse, stained jerkin. ‘I have to ask, you see, because we would not be wanting any lewd behaviour.’ He glanced at the monkey and smirked. ‘Perhaps you should have married the pretty, hairy one. She don’t speak so strange.’
‘Mind your mouth, constable, or I might stop it for you. A young man has attempted a most heinous burglary, armed with a deadly knife, and you talk of marriages!’
The constable stared at him, then at Eliska, with a disdainful, gimlet eye. ‘Well, then. As you will. And you say you’d never seen the youth before?’
‘No.’
‘What do you suppose he was looking for?’
‘Money, gems? What do burglars usually seek?’
‘But why you – and why here?’
Shakespeare shrugged helplessly. Eliska tried to speak, but the constable hushed her with a wave of his hand. ‘It is your husband’s business to speak for you. Know your place, mistress. Mr Shakespeare, speak up. What was he looking for? Why you?’
‘Pure bad fortune. It could have been any traveller. We just happened to be the ones here last night.’
‘There will have to be an inquiry.’
‘I had thought that was what we were engaged on now. And if you ever manage to discover the boy and need witnesses, then you will find us at Lathom House near Ormskirk. We will both be happy to tesify to what has happened here. Now, if you have asked your questions, we have paid the reckoning for our chamber and wish to be on our way. Good day to you, constable.’ He took Eliska by the arm. ‘Come, Mistress Shakespeare.’
Together they strode out to their horses. Shakespeare leant towards Eliska’s ear. ‘He was right about one thing – the monkey is prettier.’
She elbowed him in the ribcage, hard. ‘I think you owe my little friend an apology. You have been most uncommon rude towards her, and yet she saved our purses with her screeching, perhaps our lives.’
They mounted up and rode out. A few hundred yards down the track, Shakespeare stopped in the shade of some trees.
‘I am going back there. I have a few more questions for our host the innkeeper. I am certain he knew the youth.’
‘Yes. I agree.’
After a few minutes, they saw the constable striding off towards the village. They rode back to the inn. The landlord was in the cellar, rolling in a new delivery of ale casks. He seemed shocked to see Shakespeare looking down at him through the open trap-hatch.
‘A few more words, innkeeper,’ Shakespeare began as he descended the ladder.
‘I told the constable all I know.’
Suddenly the innkeeper’s obsequious manner had turned defensive, almost belligerent. He was an unremarkable-looking man, yet there was something familiar about him. His face was square-set with thick features and a heavy brow.
‘He was satisfied with my answers.’
‘What is your name?’
‘Why? What business is it of yours?’
‘You will find out soon enough when I have pursuivants sent to arrest you – if you do not cooperate with me.’
The cellar was dusty and stank of rat droppings. Shakespeare put his hand to his poniard irritably.
‘Barrow, the name’s Barrow.’
Barrow. That was why the face was familiar. The constable at Ormskirk was called Barrow. This man must be closely related. Shakespeare took a stab.
‘I know your brother.’
The innkeeper shifted uneasily, but said nothing.
‘The constable at Ormskirk. He is your brother, is he not?’<
br />
‘What’s my brother got to do with this?’
‘It is interesting that you have such a close connection with Ormskirk. How far is it from here, twelve miles, fifteen?’
Again, the innkeeper was silent.
Shakespeare took the poniard from his belt. He moved a step closer. Their eyes met briefly, then Barrow looked away. Shakespeare reached out and gripped the man’s shoulder, twisting him so that he had to look at him.
‘You knew that youth.’ His thumb rubbed the honed edge of the blade, with menace.
‘Get your hand off me. I never saw him before.’
‘That lad was no vagabond. His clothes were almost new.’
‘Maybe he stole them. You said yourself, he was a burglar.’
‘And did you note his hands?’
‘Hands?’ Barrow’s voice was full of disparagement now. ‘Why should I note his hands?’
‘His fingertips were ink-stained. He worked with inks. That does not sound like a common thief or rogue to me.’
The innkeeper shrugged his shoulders dismissively and averted his eyes again.
‘God damn you, Barrow, you will answer my questions or pay a heavy price. A boy has attempted burglary, perhaps murder, and I want to know why – and who sent him. It was remarkable how quick you were to the door of our chamber, like a ferret down a rabbit-hole. You knew all along that he was there because you sent word to his master in Ormskirk – and when the boy arrived at the inn, you let him in. Now tell me his name.’
Ignoring Shakespeare’s poniard, Barrow leant his forearm across the keg he had just deposited. ‘You, Mr Shakespeare, can stick your questions up your southern arse. You are not the law here and you are not welcome. Come for me with pursuivants, will you? You couldn’t raise a band of pursuivants anywhere west of Manchester. Now get out of my inn. I’ve got men upstairs will be glad to scrape out your eyeballs and replace them with your bollocks if you try anything. Understood?’
Shakespeare laughed. ‘You have already told me everything I need to know, Mr Barrow. Good day.’
He turned his back and climbed the ladder from the cellar.
‘Come,’ he said to Eliska. ‘Let us ride hard. I have business to attend to.’
Near Ormskirk, they stopped at a crossroads beneath a sycamore.
‘I must take the left fork, into town,’ Shakespeare said.
Eliska leant across and embraced him, then kissed his cheeks. ‘It is time for us to part. I am leaving this place. I have a wedding to attend, which I greatly prefer to funerals. I cannot abide them.’
‘I understand.’
‘You would be wise to leave, too, Mr Shakespeare.’
‘Indeed, my lady.’ He smiled at the formality of her address. He tried to kiss her again, but she pulled back from him.
‘Let us not delude ourselves. It was a fine diversion, nothing more. A little cheer in a barren landscape. Farewell.’
She squeezed his hand, then withdrew her fingers, shook the reins and kicked on, alone, towards Lathom House. He waited a few moments, watching her retreat. He imagined her galloping across England in her carriage with her monkey, accompanied by her loyal coachman. He had never met anyone like her, nor ever would again, he fancied. Briefly he wondered about her tears in the night, then wheeled his horse and trotted the last two miles into town.
The market square, so busy on his last visit, was almost deserted. He went to the magnificent chambers of Thomas Hesketh and hammered at the door. A servant opened it almost instantly.
‘Take me to Hesketh.’
‘He is not here, master.’
Shakespeare pushed past the man into the dark-wood interior and went to the room where he had last seen Thomas Hesketh. It was empty.
‘Where is he?’
‘At Lancaster, master. He will be there some few days.’
‘When did he go?’
‘This morning, early.’
‘But his boy did not go with him?’
The servant said nothing.
‘His scribe, man. He did not go, did he?’
‘I believe not,’ the servant said cautiously, a dark note of suspicion in his voice. ‘Might I inquire why you ask, sir?’
‘Because he tried to kill me last night, in an inn a few miles from here.’
The servant blanched. ‘Parfitt did this?’
‘Yes, indeed. Tell your master, Mr Hesketh, when you see him next. Or, better yet, send him a messenger. Tell him John Shakespeare told you this. Tell him his hireling Parfitt – if that is his name – found nothing.’
Shakespeare turned and strode from the building into the market square.
He had a tight, uncomfortable knot deep in his belly at the thought of what he would find at Lathom House. The portents did not seem good, not good at all. His fear was well grounded.
Tumult awaited him.
Chapter 22
DEATH HUNG OVER the great house. The pennants fluttering across the battlements were lowered. It was midday but the sky was black. The threat of thunder menaced the air. As Shakespeare approached, he knew that Ferdinando, the fifth Earl of Derby, a man who might have been king, lay dead.
By the time he had entered the great palace, the gloom was utterly pervasive. He dismounted and went into the great hall. Cole was there, issuing orders and responding to questions. A clergyman was talking to him.
‘Yes, my lord bishop, he will be buried in the family chapel at Ormskirk, with his forebears. We will organise everything from here. You need only be there for the service.’
‘I should stay with the body, Mr Cole. It is only right … I must pray for his eternal soul.’
‘The countess wishes to make her own arrangements in that regard.’
Bishop Chaderton scowled. ‘She is bringing in a greased priest, is she? Thomas Hesketh will hear of this, as will the Privy Council.’
Cole scratched in a ledger and did not look up at the cleric. ‘No, there will be no Catholic priest. The earl will be buried according to the rites of the Church in England, just as his father before him. And I am sure that your services will be required yet again.’ Cole looked up, unsmiling.
The bishop glared at him for a few moments, then sidled away, muttering.
Shakespeare approached. Cole met his eye, his countenance grim.
‘My lord died a few hours since, Mr Shakespeare. It was peaceful at the end. He said last night that he was resolved to die and would take no more remedies nor suffer any liquids to pass his lips, for he wished to fly swiftly into the arms of Christ, lightly, on eagle’s wings. Those were his very words.’
Shakespeare nodded. ‘Where is the countess?’
‘She is with the children.’
‘And the bishop? How did he arrive at such speed?
‘Mr Chaderton arrived last night, meaning to bring comfort to the earl, but the earl would not see him. I believe he also intends conversing with Dr Dee about the wardenship of Manchester collegiate church. There is talk that Bishop Chaderton will be translated to another see in the near future.’
‘Thank you. Keep me informed. I am going to my chamber.’ He began to walk towards the stairway.
‘Mr Shakespeare—’
He stopped. ‘Yes, Mr Cole?’
‘There have been other developments. The searcher, Mr Peace, has had his room rifled. I believe some of his property is missing.’
‘Is he hurt?’
‘He was not in the room at the time, but with Dr Dee. There is yet more news. A messenger has arrived from court. A commission of inquiry is to be sent here, for the Privy Council already fears the worst. It is said the Queen’s rage is tempestuous that a man so great as the late earl, her well-beloved cousin, should be beguiled and brought to his deathbed in such a manner. She insists the witch who cursed him be caught and made to face the full and terrible wrath of the law.’
‘Who are the commissioners?’
‘Sir Thomas Egerton and Sir George Carey. Sir Thomas has local connections. He is Cham
berlain of Chester. He is also well known to the family, having served as an adviser to the earl and his father in earlier times. I think they will be here within the week. I have already sent messages that his lordship has died.’
Egerton. An interesting choice. As a lawyer, his star was rising, newly appointed Master of the Rolls in the Court of Chancery. Perhaps he was helped by the severity of his Protestant faith. He was a scourge of Catholics, having prosecuted the Jesuit priest Edmund Campion, Mary Queen of Scots and the Babington plotters. He spoke of Catholicism as ‘the devilish doctrine of Rome’. How closely would he inquire into the death of an earl suspected of being a crypto-Papist? He had been pleased enough to see Mary of Scots lose her head. And yet, if he had been close to this family in his earlier days, perhaps he would wish to see justice done.
Carey was a lesser known quantity, an administrator and diplomat – a man who went wherever he was ordered in the service of the Queen, and dealt with matters to her satisfaction.
‘What of the earl’s brother, William – the sixth earl as he must now be known – does he know what has happened?’
‘Word has been sent to him on the Island of Man. The weather does not look good for the sea crossing, I fear.’
‘No. Indeed not. Well, I am sure he will take up his inheritance in due course. Now, where is Joshua Peace?’
‘You will find him in his chamber. And I have here a letter for you, brought by messenger this very hour.’
Shakespeare took it, surprised to see it bore his brother’s seal. He stuffed it inside his doublet to read later and went in search of Joshua Peace.
Peace’s door was open. He went straight in and clasped the searcher’s hand.
‘Joshua, I have heard—’
‘I am well, John. But I am mighty glad you have returned. This place has been in turmoil. Wailing, shouting, heavy footfalls as servants and retainers run hither and thither. Not only that, but I have been robbed, my belongings turned upside down, my clothes torn to shreds.’
‘The Lamb letter?’
Peace sighed. ‘Safe. I am sure that is what they were after. But I had it about my person.’
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