Opening the letter, Tom quickly scanned it.
I have a house on Cordwainer Street. I can explain more when we are there. I shall go to visit it tonight; the Queen has given permission that I may be away from court for three days. Please come tomorrow night if you are able and we can talk more easily.
Tom tucked the letter into the pocket of his jerkin. He had no idea where the street was but Hugh had grown up in the city and Tom was sure he’d know. Although he didn’t want his friend to know why he was asking; this assignation was just as dangerous as any asked of him by Walsingham.
Tom slapped his hand against his thigh in delight. Of course, that was how he could find out where he needed to go; he’d pretend to Hugh it was another spying job and then ask him quite openly to draw a map. Hugh would assume the letter was from Walsingham and would ask no questions. Tom approached Hugh with his wax tablet and explained his dilemma.
Hugh had known exactly where Tom needed to go and the following evening with a carefully drawn map in his pocket Tom left the palace and hurried down to the wharf where a number of small craft bobbed on the water waiting to take court officials to business in the city. The night air was warm and still, holding its breath in anticipation, a pause in time. It wasn’t yet dark with the sun glowing orange low in the sky, lighting up the city buildings in the distance and picking out the church steeples that soared towards the night as if they were alight, lances of fire.
Tom held out a piece of paper with the address spelled out; he’d copied it from Isabel’s letter so nobody could read what else she’d written. One of the waiting men nodded and climbed down the greasy steps to the dark water slapping against the side of the wharf. Tom followed turning at the last moment and hopping into the small wherry, making it rock from side to side. He sat down quickly and they began to move upstream following the tide, the oars slicing smoothly through the water as still and smooth as glass. The movement caused a slight breeze as they moved and Tom pulled his velvet cap further onto his head. The boatman was old and concentrating on his work so thankfully didn’t try to engage Tom in conversation and he managed to avoid the inevitable arm waving and pointing to his ears and mouth to indicate he couldn’t communicate.
Hugh had drawn a detailed map and it didn’t take long for Tom to find the house he wanted. As he arrived, he considered finding the back entrance given the state of his clothes but he’d been invited by the lady of the house so instead he strode up to the front door, knocking on it sharply.
The steward who opened it looked less than impressed to see him standing there and waved him back down the drive. Tom waited where he was, wondering how to explain he was expected by Isabel but thankfully just then she appeared in the hallway and immediately the steward stood to one side to allow Tom admittance. Although the disdainful expression didn’t leave his face.
The hall was large and dark, a long room almost the width of the ground floor. Linenfold panels reflected the many candles burning together with a fire that despite the warm evening was burning brightly in the wide, smooth stone fireplace. The ceiling was decorated with plaster ribs between the beams, red Tudor rose bosses at the cross sections were echoed in the swirling plaster frieze around the top of the wall. Several benches and a chest lined the walls with two chairs pulled up beside the fire where Isabel indicated for Tom to sit while she poured out cups of wine for them both. It tasted sweet and Tom sipped at it nervously. In the far corner of the room another maid was sewing, her head close to the work she was bent over.
‘This is my house,’ Isabel spoke slowly her face lit up down one side by the firelight. It was so much easier to see her face in this light, her lips glossy and dark from the wine. ‘I was married to a courtier but he died just six months after our wedding. He was older than I and became ill. This house is now mine although the Queen decrees I am to remain at court. I was one of her ladies before my late husband Sir Geoffrey Downes noticed me and asked her for my hand in marriage. My parents are both dead so there was nobody to object. Except me of course but I had no say in the matter. And then within months he had died but I now have some independence as a widow and thankfully he was quite rich. His son from his first marriage inherited the country estate and the title but he left me this house in his will. And now I have a place to run away to when the commotion and noise at court becomes too much which suits me well.’
Tom could hardly take it all in. He knew she must be high born to be one of the Queen’s ladies but she was independently wealthy with a large house in the city of London. And what was he? A poor apothecary who couldn’t even hear what she was saying to him; who had no idea what the sound of her voice was like and never would. He couldn’t imagine why she was attracted to him but he was in too deep now to stop it. His heart was caught.
‘This house is magnificent,’ he wrote on his tablet, ‘I didn’t realise you owned all this or that you had once been married.’
‘It isn’t relevant now,’ she shrugged. ‘But it’s much easier for us to meet here instead of creeping around the palace worrying about being seen. I can’t be here often or the Queen will suspect something but if I say I have business that needs attending to then she is usually content to allow me absence from court for a few days or a week or so. This time she agreed to just three days as we’re leaving for Westminster for a few weeks on Friday.’
Tom felt his heart sink. He and Hugh wouldn’t be expected to travel with the entourage as the Queen would take her physician and use local apothecaries if required. It may be weeks before he saw Isabel again and the thought filled him with sadness. His emotions darted across his face and were instantly picked up by Isabel.
‘Come again on Wednesday evening,’ she suggested, ‘before I return to court on Thursday to help prepare for the journey. We can get to know each other better then, and when I return from Westminster I will ask leave to return here again. I would like to learn more about you, Tom Lutton, I am sure you have a story yet to be told.’ She smiled at him so sweetly he felt his insides knot with desire. He’d never seen anyone as beautiful, her fine boned face with its pale pink skin like the rose petals he collected in the gardens. He couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to be here in this house with her and cared not about the potential consequences if their clandestine meetings were discovered. He was in heaven and he found himself praying for God to consider him worthy of her. It was all too good to be true and when that happened something always came along to spoil it. He shuddered as the hairs along the back of his neck prickled in foreboding. Something wicked was stirring, he was sure of it.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
July 2021
A knock at the front door woke Mathilde up and getting groggily to her feet she was about to walk through and see who it was when she heard a second knock at the more usual entrance, the back door.
‘Yes, one minute,’ she called out hastily pulling on her jogging trousers. Hopping across the cold kitchen tiles in her bare feet she looked around for the kitten but it was nowhere to be seen. However, the two saucers on the floor were empty.
Through the dirty window of the back door she instantly recognised Oliver’s now familiar silhouette.
‘What are you doing here?’ Opening the door a little bit she grabbed his shirt and pulled him through the tiny space before slamming it behind him. Not before she’d noticed how soft his faded, much washed denim shirt was beneath her fingers.
‘Well, that’s a very pleasant welcome. Not.’ His eyes twinkled as he teased. Mathilde didn’t understand the idiom and frowned at him in response as she ushered him into the kitchen and shut the inner door behind them. Oliver looked around the room with all the doors which were usually left open firmly closed.
‘Is there something going on?’ he asked, ‘why are we shut in here? Have you got a man hiding upstairs?’ the teasing tone now absent from his voice.
‘Eh stupide.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I have a kitten in here. I found it yesterday and I don’t want it t
o escape.’
‘What do you mean, you found it?’
‘It’s …’ she paused as she searched for the word, ‘sauvage. Wild.’
‘Oh, feral? Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ she pushed up the sleeves of her long-sleeved T-shirt to reveal the myriad of scratches along her forearms.
‘Ouch. You may be right. So where is it now?’
‘I don’t know but I kept the doors shut all night so it must be in here somewhere. And the food I left out is gone.’ She indicated towards the empty saucers. ‘It was under the fridge so maybe back underneath?’
Getting down onto her knees she peered into the darkness. Joining her Oliver got out his mobile phone and switched on the torch, shining it across the dust covered floor. At the back, crouching down, covered in clumps of fluff and its eyes shining in the torchlight was the kitten, watching them.
‘Hey, Shadow, kitten cat, come here,’ Mathilde cooed, waggling her fingers.
‘Shadow?’
‘Yes. He’s black, so … Shadow.’
‘Look he isn’t going to come out of there while we’re staring at him and waving a torch in his face. You need some proper kitten equipment; go and get dressed and we’ll find a pet shop.’ Oliver stood up and opening the door to the hall he ushered her upstairs. ‘I’m just going to have a quick look at your triptych,’ he added, shutting the door behind him and disappearing along the hall into the dining room.
Mathilde found him in there when she arrived back downstairs twenty minutes later, her damp hair twisted into a topknot bun, her sharp cheekbones exposed for once instead of hidden behind her curtain of hair. She didn’t notice Oliver’s look of appreciation, his eyes sliding sideways to look at her as she joined him in front of the painting.
‘Have you got any more information about it?’ she asked.
‘Not yet,’ he replied, ‘but I came over because I was hoping to do some more cleaning. I’m sorry, I should have called first; I had an unexpected day off and I wanted to be here so jumped into my car without thinking. By the way, have you had any other strange dreams or visions?’ he added. Mathilde nodded slowly.
‘This,’ she pointed to a dark room which appeared to be full of people, ‘I was here. It was hot and crowded and smelt of beer. And humans,’ she wrinkled her nose at the memory before explaining the rest of the scene and the exchange she’d witnessed.
‘How odd. It does appear you’re dreaming about each scene but I’m sure that a psychologist could offer a rational explanation. Some sort of suggestive thing that happens after you’ve looked at the painting.’
Mathilde agreed, trying in vain to stop her eyes from wandering to the fiery pit on the last panel. She didn’t need to dream about that; her memories were all too real and if she let them escape from the closet in her brain where they were locked away she’d never get them back in. It’s where they needed to stay or her world would splinter into a million pieces around her.
Oliver’s Mini was immaculately clean inside and Mathilde breathed out silently, relieved they hadn’t decided to go in her van, the front of which resembled a household bin. She gave it an occasional sweep out but only when the dirt that flaked off her boots together with crumbs from the sandwiches and crisps she ate on the move became too much for even her derisory standards. She wasn’t sure why but she didn’t want him to see her at her worst.
Pulling into the car park of a large out of town pet superstore Oliver rested his strong tanned forearm, his sleeves now rolled up, along the back of her seat as he twisted round to reverse into a space. Mathilde caught a faint drift of musky aftershave as he turned his head and she felt her stomach twist, heat flooding her body. The moment he applied the handbrake she unclipped her seatbelt and jumped out of the car, the confining space suddenly feeling much too small. If Oliver thought there was something amiss he didn’t mention it.
‘Right, let’s sort Shadow out,’ He collected a trolley and headed towards the back of the shop where an enlarged photo of a kitten swung from the ceiling, Mathilde following in his wake.
They were soon filling the trolley with everything a kitten could need. Conscious of her budget Mathilde decided against a special bed but after grabbing food bowls and a box of pouches they stopped beside the toys and her face broke into a grin surveying the colourful range in front of her. There was a pause while Oliver tried to explain what cat nip was but with the help of his phone translator she finally understood and added a mouse containing the herb alongside a fluffy snake at the end of a stick which she thought might entice the kitten from under the fridge.
Once their purchases were stowed in the back of the car, Oliver suggested they bought a makeshift picnic from the supermarket next door and have lunch together.
‘Just quickly then,’ Mathilde agreed, ‘because we’ve left Shadow on his own.’
He drove them to a picnic area beside a shallow river where they sat at a table eating the food they’d bought. The previous day’s storm hadn’t eased the hot weather and the sun directly above them dappled through the beech trees dancing shadowed patterns on the ground. The air was filled with the drone of bees drifting between the nettle flowers behind them. On the other side of the river a heron stood, a silent statue set in stone watching the water.
‘So, tell me more about your childhood,’ Oliver said, ‘what was it like?’
Mathilde was watching the heron and it was a long time before she answered. ‘It was frightening a lot of the time. And tiring having to be the grown up when I was just a kid. Now it feels strange being in one place when I’ve been so used to moving around.’
‘What about when you were a child? You must’ve stayed in a house for a while then, when you were school age?’
‘Houses, caravans, sheds, any place we could find shelter really. We didn’t stay anywhere for long so my education was very patchy.’ She gave him a quick smile, her usual ploy to divert sympathy. She hated compassion and could sense it coming. Deep inside she could still feel the rising terror of spotting the signs when her mother’s mental state began to wobble again and the locals started to notice how she’d run and hide, often in outbuildings that weren’t theirs, any tiny space she could crawl into to escape the bombs that were no longer falling around her but that she could still hear. That was the point when people would start to point their fingers and when Mathilde knew it was time to move on.
‘Was it just you and your mum? Any siblings?’
‘Just us. I always wished I had a brother or sister, someone to share the load with. And now I discover I do have a sibling and I had a dad who was alive and looking for me. Who could have taken all the weight from my shoulders and my childhood would have been completely different. A world apart from how it was and my mother could have accessed the help she so desperately needed.’ Mathilde began to scuff at the grass beside her feet with the side of her shoe, making a groove in the dirt as she explained. ‘Anyway,’ adeptly she steered the conversation away from herself, ‘you mentioned before that you have brothers?’
‘Yes, two brothers. Twins: Simon and Miles. They’re both younger than me. My parents thought they couldn’t have children and adopted me when I was a baby; they were already in their late thirties. Then no sooner had the ink dried on the adoption certificate my mum discovered she was pregnant. Who’d have thought it eh? So, then she had three boys running riot.’ He chuckled to himself.
‘Do you ever wonder about your birth parents?’ Mathilde asked.
‘Not these days. I went looking for them in my early twenties – I was curious – but they weren’t very interested even after all those years. They were both troubled people and really, I had a lucky escape being adopted by Mum and Dad. Both of our lives seem to have started with an escape of sorts, don’t they?’ Mathilde hadn’t really thought of it like that but she nodded slowly as she considered what he’d said.
Then, suddenly jumping to her feet she brushed off the back of her jeans. ‘Shall we go now? I want to g
et back to Shadow.’ She flashed him a quick smile to try and soften the abrupt end to their conversation.
Oliver got to his feet and began to collect up the remains of the picnic, his concerned eyes never leaving her face. She could feel him trying to probe the shutters she’d pulled down but her emotions were buried so deeply even she couldn’t find them. If she’d wanted to.
Pulling onto the gravel in front of the house they saw Rachel and Fleur were already home and Mathilde hoped they hadn’t disturbed the kitten. She left Oliver to bring the shopping in as she hurried through the house, the slapping of her feet on the wooden floor echoing across the emptiness of the hall.
The kitchen door was still closed and walking in she found Fleur on all fours crawling around the floor making mewing noises while Rachel was putting away food from several carrier bags on the kitchen table.
‘Was that a joke about the cat?’ Rachel smiled at her, ‘because Fleur has spent the past fifteen minutes trying to find it but it hasn’t shown its face or made a sound.’ Mathilde shook her head, her heart beginning to thump. Had it died while she’d been out wasting time at a picnic? She looked at the saucer on the floor and saw the water she’d left had gone. Kneeling down beside the kitten’s hiding place she shone her phone torch underneath. Her breath escaped in a long hiss of relief as she saw the now familiar blue eyes peering back. Feeling a movement beside her Fleur’s little face squashed up next to hers to look. She could smell the strawberry shampoo and feel little wisps of soft curls brush against her face and she resisted the urge to wrap her arm around the little girl and pull her close. Never before had she felt as she did about these two people who shared her DNA. It stirred up a feeling of protectiveness and love that she couldn’t recognise, alien as it was.
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