The Secret World of Christoval Alvarez

by Ann Swinfen

  I nodded, without turning round, but my heart gave a skip.

  The next few days were busy but frustrating. Although I was allowed to go home at night, I spent my entire time with Francis Mylles, either at Seething Lane or at his house on Tower Hill. The unbearable heat broke at last in a series of thunderstorms, just when the farmers would have been preparing to harvest the grain crops. Word came in from the country that, despite the good weather earlier in the summer, the harvest was largely ruined. It would mean another year of shortages and rising prices, perhaps even famine amongst the poor.

  Berden and Cassie combed London for Babington, but found no sign of him. Gifford too seemed to have disappeared. Mylles had arranged to meet him late in the evening of the twenty-second of July and waited until one o’clock the following morning, but Gifford never appeared. Reporting in later that day, Cassie said he had not seen Gifford for several days, but had heard that he had ridden out into the country with Ballard. As Gifford was our main means of keeping a watch on Ballard, his disappearance also meant we lost track of Ballard, one of the key conspirators and one of the most dangerous.

  That was on the Saturday. By Sunday, Mylles was becoming seriously concerned. For all we knew, Ballard had discovered Gifford was Walsingham’s agent and left him lying dead in a ditch somewhere. Ballard was a man who would not hesitate to use his knife if he saw need of it. The burden of all this responsibility was beginning to tell on Mylles, who would normally have been able to turn either to Phelippes or to Sir Francis himself for guidance, but Phelippes had still not returned from Chartley and Sir Francis was attending the Queen, who – so we gathered – was in a state of anxiety over the whole business that left her sharp tongued and short tempered.

  Mylles knew he was not to arrest Babington yet, but he feared that if Ballard was not arrested he would slip away again to France, probably from the very fishing village where I had seen him land. Yet if he were arrested, it might scare the other conspirators into hiding.

  ‘It is impossible to know what to do, Kit,’ he said to me that Sunday evening. ‘If I send Berden or Gifford (could we find him) to arrest Ballard, they will be known immediately for Sir Francis’s men. I dare not use the city pursuivants, for you know what they are like. They will make so much hullaballoo that half London will be alerted. We must keep our activities secret even from the city authorities. I wish Thomas Phelippes were here.’

  Soon after this, however, Berden discovered Babington in London.

  ‘I have spoken to one of his servants,’ he said, when he arrived at Mylles’s house to report. ‘Sir Anthony is to give a great celebration dinner for his friends at the Castle tavern in Cornhill on Thursday. All is to be of the most lavish. It seems they are celebrating the success of their plans.’

  ‘Too soon,’ I said, ‘too soon.’

  ‘They are a gaggle of arrogant young coxcombs,’ Berden said crossly, but he had reason. He had hardly slept in the last week. ‘We will need several men to watch the inn. There are doors leading into various streets. One of them provides a way through an alley to Threadneedle Street and the Royal Exchange. It is so busy round there it would be easy for any of them to slip away and be lost in the crowd. And I think we should book a room next to theirs on Thursday and place a man there to keep watch.’

  He sat down and blew out his breath.

  ‘I cannot stay there for long myself, as I am supposed to dine the same night at my lodgings with a friend who has promised to bring Ballard with him. This may be our chance to arrest Ballard, so I must be there, even if I need to pose as another victim of justice. You may have to arrest me as well.’

  Mylles was relieved to have definite news of Babington and the fact that many of the conspirators would be gathered together at the Castle Inn on Thursday meant that it might be possible to arrest them there. But Ballard must also be secured. He sat down to write a swift report to Sir Francis.

  ‘Kit, will you call Cassie? I need him to take this to Sir Francis at once.’

  With this letter on its way, Mylles relaxed a little. At least Sir Francis would now be able to advise on what action to take.

  By Thursday the twenty-eighth, we knew that Phelippes was on his way back to London and would be with Walsingham the following day to discuss what should be done next. We were all now in a state of sleepless anxiety. Babington’s dinner would go ahead that evening, and Mylles had instructed me to accompany Berden and Cassie and several others to keep watch on the inn. No one was sure whether Ballard would come to the Castle Inn, or would be brought to Berden’s lodgings by his friend, or whether he had already fled the country. For the moment, Sir Francis had told us to make no arrests but to keep the conspirators under surveillance, so that they should not slip through our fingers and succeed in carrying out their plans at the last minute.

  Six of the men at that dinner would be those pledged to assassinate the Queen. If we failed, the Queen herself might die.

  In the early evening, Berden, Cassie and I found ourselves a table in the window of a small ale-house in Cornhill opposite the main door to the Castle. Berden had already stationed one of his men in a room next to the one Babington had hired for his dinner. There he would sit in the dark with the door ajar and take note who arrived for the meal, since we could not be sure that everyone would enter the inn from the door we were watching. As we sat sipping our watered ale and picking at some dry and mouldy cheese not fit for a mousetrap, we watched provisions for a lavish banquet being carried in across the road.

  ‘That’s making my mouth water,’ Cassie said with a rueful laugh, as two men staggered into the Castle bearing a game pie almost as large as a washtub.

  Berden merely grunted. He was clearly in a state of indecision as to whether he should stay with us or return to his lodgings. Then one of his servants arrived with a message. Berden’s friend (whose name he had not revealed) had sent over a capon and two rabbits to the landlady to prepare for their dinner.

  ‘Clearly he plans to bring someone else with him,’ Berden said, ‘else he would not have sent so much.’

  That was enough to decide him.

  ‘Landlord!’ he called to the greasy fellow who had served us. ‘I need paper and ink.’

  A scrap of paper as greasy as the landlord and a crusted inkwell were eventually produced after much searching. Berden cursed as he tried to salvage enough ink to write a note to Mylles, which he told me to carry across London to Mylles’s house near the Tower as quickly as I could run.

  ‘I have asked him to come to the Exchange by eight o’clock, and to disguise himself somewhat. We do not want these fellows recognising him. He will need to take charge here while I go to my lodgings in the hope that Ballard comes.’

  As I tucked the note into my doublet, he ran his hand worriedly through his hair. ‘Even if Ballard does come, there is little I can do. I have no arrest warrant.’

  ‘Have you asked Mylles for one?’ Cassie said.

  ‘Aye. But he will need to go to Sir Francis. He’ll not get it tonight.’

  ‘Will you follow Ballard?’ I said. ‘To see where he lodges?’

  ‘Aye. Now be off with you. It’s past six. We are running out of time.’

  We set off together, Berden hurrying to his lodgings and I running across London, dodging in and out of the crowds, nearly tripped up and sent flying when a cur ran between my feet.

  I was nearly there and had been forced to slow to a walk and catch my breath, when I was grabbed by the arm. I jerked myself away, ready to run again.

  ‘Kit! What ails you?’ It was Simon.

  ‘B’yer Lady, Simon, you frightened me!’

  ‘What is the matter? What are you afraid of?’

  ‘I’m not afraid. I’m carrying an urgent message. I must go, Simon.’

  ‘I’ll come with you. Where are you going?’

  ‘Tower Hill.’ I began to walk rapidly on and he matched my pace.

  ‘I had hoped to see you when you returned from the north.’
I thought he sounded somewhat annoyed.

  ‘My time had not been my own since then, nor will be for some while yet.’

  ‘More of these secret affairs?’

  ‘Aye. Truly, I cannot speak of them.’

  ‘Walsingham, no doubt.’ He was certainly frowning now.

  I touched his arm lightly. ‘I would tell you if I could. But before long it will be the talk of the London streets and I will be free to return to my normal life.’

  ‘You are not in danger, are you?’ His voice had softened.

  It warmed my heart to hear him say this and I stopped for a moment.

  ‘No. I . . . I don’t think so.’ I realised suddenly that I might be.

  ‘Well, be careful. I have not so many good companions that I can afford to lose one.’ With that he clasped me in a sudden, unexpected hug. ‘Come to the Theatre once you are free.’

  ‘I will.’

  I watched him turn and walk away with a strange churning of emotions. I had never felt his body close against mine until that hug and part of me wanted to cry after him that I was not what I seemed, that I loved him. But in the same moment I knew I could not tell him, for fear that I might lose him for ever. No, to keep Simon’s friendship I must remain a boy. I began to run on towards Mylles’s house, stupidly brushing away my tears.

  Mylles acted quickly once he had read Berden’s note. He donned a hooded cloak, which was a poor disguise, but might suffice in the crowds round the Exchange, once it was getting dark. That would depend on how long the dinner lasted. He shouted to one of his servants to see that two horses were saddled for us. It was already past seven o’clock when I reached his house. We could only be sure of arriving at the Castle by eight if we went on horseback.

  We went first to Cassie at the ale-house, who told us that all the company seemed to have arrived, including Babington, but there was no sign of Ballard. Then I accompanied Mylles around to the alley leading from other door, where we skulked amongst the crowds until the dinner guests had dispersed. The alley itself, like every other alley in London, was clogged with rubbish and stank of cat, and worse. Berden’s man who had been keeping watch inside the inn emerged when the dinner was over and confirmed that Ballard had not been present.

  I rode back with Mylles to his house to await word from Berden. It was past two of the morning when he arrived.

  ‘No Ballard,’ he said grimly, throwing himself down in a chair. His eyes were bleared with exhaustion. ‘Or “Black Fortescue” as he is now calling himself.’ He gave a snort of disgust.

  ‘Does he think himself a pirate?’ I asked.

  ‘He is like a player, acting out his fantasies,’ Berden said. ‘I could laugh at him, did I not know he is so dangerous. What has he done with Gifford? I fear the worst.’

  ‘So your evening, like ours, was wasted,’ Mylles said.

  ‘Not quite. My guest assured me that Black Fortescue is in Sussex at the moment, but will be back in London soon. We must have an arrest warrant ready. At the moment we are like children playing games, running about after them while they flaunt their conspiracy under our very noses in the centre of London.’

  ‘I will write to Sir Francis at once, explaining how urgent it is that we have a warrant to arrest Ballard,’ said Mylles, and sat down to do it.

  Berden and I watched him wearily. None of us would have any sleep that night.

  The next morning we received word that Sir Francis was back at Seething Lane and Phelippes was with him. My presence was required. I walked the short distance from Mylles’s house, nearly asleep on my feet, though a fresh wind off the river cleared my head a little. It seemed that, after the thunderstorms, the very hot weather was giving way to something more like the usual English summer. It would be August in three days’ time so of course that would mean constant rain. After all my long hot rides I would be glad of some cooler weather. It was no use mourning for the ruined crops, which were past saving.

  Both Phelippes and Sir Francis were in the office.

  ‘Ah, Kit.’ Phelippes, looking up from his desk, seemed quite glad to see me. ‘We hear you had a busy night.’

  ‘Busy but unprofitable. Even if Ballard had turned up, Berden could not have arrested him.’

  ‘I have sent a warrant to Mylles’s house this morning,’ Sir Francis said.

  ‘Ballard is in Sussex,’ I said. ‘Berden got word late last night.’

  They looked at each other.

  ‘Aye,’ I said. ‘Either planning to escape to France at once, or making sure everything is in place if he needs to leave in a hurry.’

  ‘Then we had better make sure he is arrested quickly,’ Sir Francis said. ‘However, we have another task for you, Kit. As you made the copy of the original letter from the Scottish queen, written in Curll’s hand, we need you to add something. Thomas could have done it, but the change in the writing might be too obvious.’

  He handed me a piece of paper.

  ‘You see the final form of the wording? We want you to encode it and add it to the end of the letter in Curll’s hand.’

  I looked down at the sheet, covered with many crossings-out.

  I wd be glad to know the names & qualities of the six gentlemen which are to accomplish the designment, for that it may be I shall be able upon knowledge of the parties to give you some further advice necessary to be followed therein; & as also from time to time particularly how you proceed & as soon as you may for the same purpose who be already & how far every one privy hereunto.

  I stared at them. This was what they had hoped the Scots queen would write, but she had not done so. It seemed clumsy to me, surely Mary was far too clever to have written anything so blatant. Even someone as politically naïve as Babington would be able to see that.

  They were looking pleased with themselves, clearly thinking it a clever plan to entrap Mary more surely than they had already done. I opened my mouth to speak, then closed it again. It was not for me to question the strategy of these great men. I sat down at my desk and first encoded the passage on a scrap of paper, then carefully copied it in Curll’s hand at the bottom of the forged copy of the Scottish queen’s letter.

  As soon as the ink was dry, Arthur Gregory was called in to seal it.

  ‘You had better not deliver the letter this time, Kit,’ Sir Francis said. ‘Not in that respectable doublet. Babington would smell a rat.’

  ‘Cassie can take it,’ Phelippes said. ‘We want to deliver it as soon as possible, without any more delay.’

  He sent for Cassie, who had also had a sleepless night, and despatched him to Babington’s new lodgings in Bishopsgate Without. Very close to the Theatre, I realised.

  For the next few days I worked in Phelippes’s office. Despatches from spies and informants continued to arrive, letters to and from France were intercepted, but Phelippes and I went about the work mechanically, with our minds occupied elsewhere. Both Poley and Ballard reappeared in London, although there was still no sign of Gifford. On several occasions Sir Francis’s men followed Poley and Babington as they strolled together about London, sometimes even managing to catch snatches of their conversation. They could be heard speaking openly of subverting the state and imposing Catholicism on London, but for all the watchers could tell, nothing was said of killing the Queen.

  However, the sworn assassin Savage now made his appearance in the city, not apparently taking much trouble to hide the fact. With every day that passed, the tension at Seething Lane became more palpable.

  Sir Francis, calling in at Phelippes’s office on Monday the first of August, told us that Poley had reported to him that he had encountered both Savage and Ballard at Babington’s lodgings the previous day and that evening had dined with them all at the Rose Inn by Temple Bar.

  ‘Babington has been struggling to decipher the Scottish queen’s letter,’ he said, ‘and had to call on his fellow conspirator Chidioke Tycheborne for assistance. Poley was not sure whether the task was completed yet. I think we may have to wait a few m
ore days before he has prepared a reply.’

  He walked over to the window and looked out.

  ‘I am going to Barn Elms for a few days. Poley will report to me there. Babington still believes he can choose between carrying through this infamous plot or turning informer and coming to me. Poley will keep him waiting. I want them all arrested by this Friday.’

  ‘As soon as one is arrested,’ said Phelippes, ‘the others will take fright.’

  ‘I know that. In the meantime, I want you to arrange for Babington and Ballard to be held here in my house initially, once they are arrested, so that we can question them privily. Also, have Berden draw up a list of all the principal conspirators. We know most of them, but he may have observed others while he has had them under surveillance.’

  Phelippes was busy noting this down, so I took a chance. ‘Sir Francis, you do not look well.’

  Indeed his skin was pallid and there were lines of pain deep in his face.

  He gave me a bleak smile. ‘Ever the physician, Kit. No, I am not in the best of health. That is why I am going to Barn Elms. I find I can recover my strength more quickly there than in London. However, I must go to Richmond Palace first, to inform the Queen of the state of affairs. Her Majesty is naturally anxious at this difficult juncture.’

  More than anxious, I thought. Fearful. As she had every reason to be, with the assassins drawing near to her and still walking free upon the streets of London.

  The next day, Babington’s reply to Mary’s letter was due to be ready. Or at least so he had told Cassie when he had delivered the letter with the forged postscript. Cassie returned to Phelippes’s office that afternoon with a grim look on his face.

  ‘No sign of Babington, sir,’ he said. ‘He seems to have vanished again.’

  Phelippes thumped his desk in frustration. ‘This is what he did once before, when Kit went to collect a letter he had promised. Has he gone back to Lichfield? We will have to go after him.’

  ‘No one at his lodgings knew anything of his whereabouts. Or if they did, they weren’t telling.’