The Secret Diary of Thomas Snoop, Tudor Boy Spy
Page 5
“Good,” said the false Lady Anna. “That… That is a good idea.”
Suddenly, she burst into tears. Throwing herself back onto the bench, she buried her head in her hands, her body wracked with sobbing.
I do not know if I would have dared touch the real Lady Anna, but I found myself putting my hand upon this lady’s back as she leaned forward. “Don’t cry, mistress,” I said. My mind was working double time.
“I don’t know if I can keep this up, Thomas,” she said.
“Keep what up?” I asked, innocently.
“The lies. The games. The pretences,” she sobbed. “It was never really a game to me but now I feel I am the boar in their lordships’ hunt!”111
“I don’t understand, Lady Anna,” I said.
The false Lady Anna turned to look at me with her beautiful green eyes. “I am not The Lady Anna,” she said.
I tried to look suitably shocked. “You’re not?” I said. “Then who are you?”
“Mary,” she said, “Mary Wood. I live in forest yonder.” She nodded in its direction. That was a surprise. She, a local peasant girl?
She took my hand in hers and squeezed it tight. We sat like that, side by side for a while, in silence but for her sobbing. I have been trained to know that silence is an excellent way of getting those who wish to talk to talk. To fill the gap.
It worked.
“I have to tell someone, or I shall burst!” she blurted out, letting go of my hand. Her accent was no longer that of The Lady Anna’s but of a country girl. And she told me her extraordinary tale.
A few months ago, The Lady Anna was out riding in this forest with her brother, the viscount Simon, when her horse was startled and bolted, and she was thrown to the ground. There were no bones broken, but she was shaken and sore. Mary’s father found Anna and took her into their cottage to allow her to rest, whilst her brother seemed far more concerned about the missing horse and had ridden off in search of it.
Mary’s family, the Woods, who laboured in the forest as woodcutters, charcoal-burners112, and the like, could not have been kinder. As they tended to the noble young lady, they could not fail to notice how alike she was in appearance to their very own Mary! When Jane Wood, Mary’s mother, who had not been at home when the accident occurred,113 entered their home, even she mistook The Lady Anna for her own daughter, at first!
The long and the short of it was that The Lady Anna returned to the Woods’ hovel numerous times in the weeks that followed, striking up a friendship with Mary in particular, during which time Mary taught her many of the country ways, and The Lady Anna told Mary of her world: of the ways of a young lady in a fine house and how she had to behave.
It was The Lady Anna who had the idea of their switching places. Mary never would have dared suggest such a thing. Over the weeks that followed, The Lady Anna would visit Mary and train her in the ways of speech, deportment and etiquette until she thought Mary was ready to put it to the test.
One morning, she arranged for her brother Simon to meet her in the forest after riding, but it was Mary who met him in Anna’s guise. They spoke awhile and Simon commented that Anna – really being Mary – was behaving a little oddly, but he did not for one moment imagine that he was not with his own sister… until Anna came out of hiding from behind a tree and revealed all! “You’re alike as two clover!” he gasped.114
Two days ago, after going out riding with his sister, Simon de Grieff returned to Goldenhilt Hall with Mary disguised as Anna at his side. He would be there to guide and advise her in a strange house with people she did not know. The game was to see if Mary could last the rest of the day as The Lady Anna without being found out.
Here, Mary Wood stopped her tale. She had composed herself during the relating of it, and no longer had so much as a tear in the eye.
“So what happened, Mary?” I asked. “Are you not aware of the dangers of what you’ve done?”
“Aware?” said Mary, her eyes darting about nervously. “I know that I am in danger, but of what dangers do you speak?”
I wasn’t about to say, ‘of being mistaken for a spy and thrown into the Tower’115, though that was a possibility. Instead, I said, “The laws of apparel. If any of these fine ladies or gentlemen were to discover that you are not one of them—”
She gave a most unladylike snort. “I have faced greater dangers than that! This was
my idea and then… then…”
“And then, what, Mary?” I asked. “What happened next?”
“I witnessed something I was not supposed to see or hear. And two men came after me…”
“And what did you see?”
She looked at me, I suspect wondering whether she could trust me. Whether she had already said too much. And what did she see? An ordinary boy, sympathetic and ready to listen.
“I saw a very wide man. At least, he looked like a man but I’m sure I heard him being called by a woman’s name.”
“Can you recall the name?” I asked.
“I could under normal circumstances… I could if I hadn’t knocked myself out! All I distinctly remember is being surprised that it was a lady’s name and not a lord’s,” she said.
It was complicated enough having two Annas loose about the house, but a woman disguised as a man? Or a man with a woman’s name?
This time, I took her hand. “Tell me, Mary,” I said. “What exactly did you see?”
BEING AN EYE-WITNESS ACCOUNT OF EVENTS AT GOLDENHILT HALL BY MARY WOOD (IN THE GUISE OF THE LADY ANNA DE GRIEFF)
AS TOLD TO THOMAS SNOOP.
Simon de Grieff could not be with me at all times, so I had to walk about the house of Goldenhilt as if it were my own home, with all the confidence of a daughter and a real lady. Many noblemen would bow or nod and introduce themselves in passing, and I would smile and nod and curtsey, and say a few oft-rehearsed words and phrases.
Sometimes, I would lose my nerve and try to avoid company, though I knew that simply staying in my chamber would have displeased Anna, and might have aroused suspicion with her father.
That evening, I turned down a corridor where two gentlemen were deep in conversation at the far end, walking toward me. Their voices were little more than a whisper and they looked uneasy. I felt both uncomfortable with their manner and nervous that I may not be able to maintain my pretence, so ducked into a doorway.
As they walked past, the thinner one slipped a folded piece of paper into the hand of the other, much wider, man, calling him by a woman’s name. The wider man then spoke the words that chilled me to the bone: “Then we must kill him, in the name of Rome!” he said. I let out an involuntary gasp, giving away my hiding place. Two pairs of eyes turned towards me and looked deep into my soul. I ran out into the corridor and fled. The thinner man, who had passed the note, went to follow, but I heard the other say, “Let her go. We’ll deal with her presently.”
I fled to The Lady Anna’s room but then it occurred to me that this might be the first place the men would look, so I hid in a variety of diff erent places, but didn’t feel safe in any of them. This place is not my home. ’Tis a diff erent WORLD. I did not know what to do. I kept to unlit rooms and corridors, always turning back to see if I was being followed… which is how I ran into a low beam of a doorway. The next thing I knew, I awoke on the floor, my mind befuddled and confused. Getting to my feet, much of what had happened came back to me. Later I realised that there were gaps in in my memory – like dropped stitches in knitting116 – such as forgetting the actual woman’s name the one man called the other. Even now it is there just out of reach, like a moth on the other side of glass… I knew to keep moving. Had I been the real Lady Anna it might have been easy. As it was, I thought I best find Simon de Grieff, and tell him what had happened.
Whilst looking for Simon, I sought the safety of others. Surely no one would dare try to do me harm with so many witnesses about? Then, when simply walking from one room to another, my arm was grabbed by the thinner of the two men. His finger
s dug deep into my flesh.
“I don’t know what you think you heard, child,” he hissed, “but we need to have a conversation. Alone.”
This had been a mistake on his part for the corridor where I first encountered him was unlit, and he and the taller man were both in deep shadow. Now I could see him clearly and will certainly recognise him if I ever see him again, something which I would not be able to do with the other!
The second mistake was that he DIDN’T expect a refined lady, such as Anna, to have my strength from working in the woods! I pulled myself free AND stamped on his foot at the same time. He was so surprised, that he didn’t have time to react. I hurried out into the garden and to the maze, where it had been agreed – long before disaster struck and our changing places had been a ‘game’ – that the real Lady Anna and I should swap back to our original [bowls].117
When The Lady Anna heard what had happened to me, she was outraged on my behalf. She wanted to go and tell her father and have him confront them there and then. The problem was, though, neither she nor I know who ‘they’ are… and for me to return with her to try to identify them would have caused problems of its own. So, rather than return home to my family as planned, she bid me go wait in the gatehouse whilst she found her brother Simon and they decided what to do.
I spent the night there, but neither returned. So, today, I hid in the maze, feeling safer amongst the myriad of passages, dead-ends and false turns.
I had, of course, witnessed Mary disappearing into the maze and the true Lady Anna leaving it. But, since then, I have discovered the priest hole and the true likelihood that The Lady Anna’s father, the Earl of Drayshire, himself is very much involved in some Catholic plot. What a state of affairs!
103 Thomas Snoop was the nephew of a lord, remember. Stephen must have been a servant from a more ordinary background.
104 Another coding error! A small meal, more likely.
105 Pewter is a grey metal alloy which can be polished to a silver shine. A pewter platter (plate) is not as posh as a silver one.
106 Tudor slang for ‘trifles’, things of little value or importance.
107 As with most fine Tudor households, much of the day-to-day running of the property would be at the bidding of the lady of the house, in this case the countess. The steward would probably have taken more orders, suggestions and requests from her rather than her husband, though he was ultimately ‘in charge’.
108 Yes, he must have meant candle, surely?
109 Rectangular.
110 Tudor barbers didn’t just cut hair. They also carried out basic surgery and were dentists too. To ‘drum up trade’ their assistant or apprentice would beat a drum at markets and fairs, but the drum-beats had another purpose: to try to block out the screams of the patients having their teeth pulled. There were no anaesthetics!
111 Wild boar were often hunted in woods and forests by nobles on horseback.
112 A charcoal burner made charcoal from burning wood in special kilns or charcoal piles.
113 A wife was not only responsible for the house and garden, she would also have helped her husband with tough labouring in the fields and maybe even selling (as well as buying) at the market.
114 Today, we might say “as alike as two peas in a pod” but this phrase, though Tudor, didn’t appear in print until 1580, in a play by John Lyly.
115 The Tower of London. Originally built as a castle by William the Conqueror, it became a prison to many people accused of treason over the centuries.
116 In Tudor times, knitting really took off. When Henry VIII’s daughter, Queen Elisabeth 1, became queen she made changes to the Laws of Apparel/the Sumptuary Laws, requiring every male over six to wear a knitted hat on Sundays and Holy Days. Failure to do so could result in a LARGE FINE. (This all tied in with England’s wool industry, and protected the jobs of the cap-makers!)
117 Roles. He must have meant roles.
Such a calamity hath befallen Goldenhilt Hall that I barely know where to begin. It is taking every ounce of my training to try to report matters in the order in which they occurred.
I decided that, until I could somehow find a way to get Mary Wood to identify the men who threatened her, without putting her in danger, there was some useful research I could do of my own.
Firstly, I could eliminate the names of all those who do not fit the physical description she gave of the two men, incomplete though these were. Of those remaining, I could then see if I could find any with woman-sounding names. If only there were a Lord Gertrude or a Marquis of Lucy!
To do this, I would need the list of all the guests and their allocated bedrooms, kept in Master Tundy’s office. We often referred118 to it, but I needed time to take it away and study it in detail. My opportunity arose when I found the office unattended.
Closing the door quietly behind me, I went over to Master Tundy’s desk, and sat in his chair. Next to it, by the wall, was a fine locked chest, in which there were a number of drawers. The fine art of lock-picking is not a skill I have mastered, so it is fortunate that I know where he keepeth the key: in a small puzzle box119 in the drawer of his desk. Fortunately, Master Tundy had shown me the solution, so I was able to open the box… and found it empty! It was then I noticed that the key was already in the lock of the chest.
This was most unlike Master Tundy. I had never known him leave it in there before. I was puzzling over this fact when I distinctly heard a groan.
There it was again. Another groan. And equally unnatural.
At this point, I should include a sketch showing the layout of the office. Once again, please forgive my poor penmanship.
As I hope my illustration at the very least portrays, it is an L-shaped room. I was by the desk which faces the door. The groan came from the other part of the L. It came from beneath the table. It came from Master Tundy.
He was lying in a pool of his own blood.
He had a dagger protruding from his stomach.
I knelt down beside him, lifting his head in my arms and holding it in my lap.
“Master,” I said. “Master. Who did this to you?” I found that I was shaking.
He looked pleadingly into my eyes and tried to speak, but his lips could not form words. He groaned again and then managed to lift his right arm and point. But at what? The bottom of the table? I lowered my head to the level of his eyes and followed his gaze. “Who did this?” I said, realising that I was sobbing now. No training had prepared me for this.
Then I saw where Master Tundy’s trembling finger was pointing. At the window. The window where, in the middle, picked out in stained glass, was the de Grieff coat of arms, with the eagle, the hare and the turnip.
Exhausted, his arm fell to the bloodied stone-flagged floor, his eyes closed and his head lolled to one side in my lap. My legs were sticky with his blood.
I had to call for help and I had to inform the Earl of Drayshire, his being the master of Goldenhilt Hall… but everything also seemed to point to his being at the very heart of this dreadful plot.
Having run into the corridor and called for the nearest servant to find the earl, his master, with a matter of urgency, I quickly ran to the chest, opened it, pulled out the list, hid it beneath my garments, shut the lid, and then ran back to poor Master Tundy’s side.
A few moments later, Anthony Barnaby, the master’s secretary, strode into the room. “What matter is so urgent that –?” He stopped mid-sentence when he saw Master Tundy, dagger sticking from his stomach. And all that blood.
He hurried over and put his fingers to Tundy’s neck. “I feel his heartbeat,” said Barnaby. “Master Tundy yet lives. Stay with him. Do not pull out the dagger, and I will summon assistance. Let no one else enter.” He dashed from the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
After that was a whip-wind of activity. Master Tundy was carried from the room on a board, the floor was cleaned and the office locked. I was taken to see William de Grieff, Earl of Drayshire, in his own bed chamber.
We were alone. No servants. No one but he and I.
“Ah, Thomas Snoop,” said the master of Goldenhilt Hall. He was dressed in finery, his clothes woven with gold thread, his fingers studded with rings, including the signet with which he stamped his seal120, a fine hat upon his head.
At his secretary’s instruction, I had changed my blooded clothes and washed the blood from my skin, so as not to alarm any passing guests. But I had also been told to be prompt about it.
“Lord Drayshire,” I said, with head bowed121.
“This is a terrible, terrible affair,” said his lordship, “and at a most unfortunate time.”
I wondered if there was ever a fortunate time to be stabbed?
“Will Master Tundy live?” I asked.
The earl stroked his neatly-trimmed grey beard. “That I cannot answer, Thomas,” he said, “but I can tell you that, if he hath a chance of survival, he is in the best pair of hands to ensure that he does.”
And if he does, I thought, then he can name you as his attempted murderer.
“I pray that he does, my lord,” I said.
“We all do122,” said the Earl of Drayshire. “Before I say any more, I have something to show you.” He unfastened the top of his doublet123 and pulled out a pendant strung on an ornate chain of alternating gold and silver links. “Look,” he said. “Look closely.”