The Queen's Spy

by Clare Marchant

  ‘I asked the priest at St Mary Aldermary to read the banns for us. We can get married tomorrow. Can you meet at the church at ten in the morning?’

  Delighted, Tom nodded, of course he’d be back. He just needed to avoid Hugh for twenty-four hours so he wouldn’t have to make up another lie about where he was. Isabel took his hand and led him into the small parlour beside the front door where a meal and sweet hippocras wine had been laid out. Sitting down either side of the fire, they started to plan their future.

  In the end, it was easier to slip away from the palace the following morning than Tom had feared. He rose early and stoked up the fire before finishing a couple of jobs Hugh had started the previous night, straining medication and leaving other cures to continue their solidifying. As there was no sign of his boss, Tom took his chance and left an ambiguous note on the wax tablet saying he’d been called away before pulling on his coat and this time remembering his cap as he hurried down to the jetty.

  He was waiting outside the church on the doorstep with the minister when Isabel arrived at exactly ten o’clock. He watched her as she swept along, always walking as if she meant business. In the dark shining locks tumbling down her back he could see pearls threaded through the braids that were tucked away from the side of her face. She was wearing a dress he hadn’t seen before, made of fine damask in the palest green, and in her girdle she’d tucked a posy of dried lavender. As she walked up the path to the church door where the ceremony would take place, her lady’s maid walked in front holding aloft a branch of rosemary wound with ribbons.

  As she stood next to him Tom could feel the warmth emanating from her body. He looked into her eyes and smiled, trying to convey all the love he felt for her. Adoration that took him to heights he’d never imagined had existed. With all the danger Walsingham’s spying may bring he would forever be thankful his journey had brought him to London. They both turned to the minister.

  Whatever the man was saying was lost on Tom as he lifted his face to feel the cold breeze lifting his hair and disturbing Isabel’s skirts. He could smell the lavender she carried and just faintly, the rosewater she’d washed in. Unfortunately, he could also smell the minister; a wholly unsavoury scent that he’d have preferred not to have noticed. He noticed every nuance except the one thing he wanted, to hear the man joining them in the eyes of God, was missing.

  When the minister looked at him and gave him a little nod he knew his moment had come. With no words to confirm his vows he’d have to deliver his own in signs.

  Stepping forward he wrapped her in his arms before moving back and taking her hand with his. Fishing in his pocket he produced a ring she’d given to him the previous day and placed it on her finger before laying his hand on his heart and holding it up towards heaven. Then to demonstrate that he would live with her until they died he put his forefingers on each of his eyelids and shut them. Finally, he pretended to dig a hole with his heel and to ring a bell as if tolling for a dead person, pulling on a rope that wasn’t there.

  He opened his eyes and looked down into hers which were now brimming with unshed tears. She reached up and clasped his face with her hands, the cold of the wedding band against his cheek as she stood on tip toe and kissed him. Then the minister turned to the church door and led them both in for prayers.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  July 2021

  Mathilde tried to explain to Rachel how she’d dreamed about the locket but she soon realised her sister wasn’t fully paying attention to what she was saying.

  ‘I’ve been awake most of the night with toothache,’ she moaned, holding her hand to her face, ‘it’s like a pounding in my cheek. Honestly, it’s agony. I’ve taken some paracetamol and it’s done nothing.’

  ‘I can make you a remedy,’ Mathilde offered, ‘a paste to put on your gum where it hurts. It works really well.’

  ‘I’ll try anything,’ Rachel replied, pulling a morose face, ‘I’m going to have to ring my dentist as soon as they open. If they’re able to give me an appointment today could you look after Fleur please? It will mean driving over to Peterborough and back and she’ll just whinge in the car; I don’t think I can stand that today.’

  ‘Of course, no problem. We will have fun together, yes?’ She looked at Fleur who nodded slowly, her expression solemn.

  ‘Can we go out with your camera?’ she asked, and Mathilde confirmed that they could. Leaving the two of them at the table she went to her van to find the ingredients to make the tooth powder as her mother had taught her. It was an instant anaesthetic with thyme and cloves to numb the pain. She added some vanilla seeds to the paste to take away the bitter taste it left in the mouth.

  ‘This works really well,’ Rachel expressed her surprise as she walked through the house looking for Mathilde, her hand still holding on to the side of her face. ‘I’ve got an appointment for mid-afternoon, so I won’t be back until after tea time, is that okay? I can make something and leave it in the fridge if you like? I was going to pop home and see Andrew afterwards as well. I know it’s cheeky of me while you’re looking after Fleur but the dentist is only five minutes from home.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Mathilde reassured her, ‘I can make us something for dinner.’ She couldn’t understand why Rachel repeatedly referred to the last meal of the day as the same word she used for the hot drink the English seemed to be addicted to, and so she continued to refer to it as ‘dinner’.

  They stood and waved Rachel off at one o’clock, Fleur holding tightly to Mathilde’s hand. She hoped the little girl couldn’t feel the thumping of her heart radiating through her body at the enormity of being responsible for her for several hours. She’d never been accountable for another human, ever. Even Shadow was more responsibility than she’d ever had before and already the kitten was very independent, wandering around the house and turning up in the kitchen for food or a fuss.

  ‘Can we go out with your camera then?’ Fleur asked.

  ‘Later,’ Mathilde agreed, ‘I think as it is sunny today it should be clear tonight and there’s a full moon. Let’s go out then and take photos, hmm?’ She’d had an idea when she’d been walking close to the marshes and she kept her fingers crossed it came to fruition.

  ‘Okay,’ the little girl agreed, before skipping back to the sitting room to continue her game with a space rocket and plastic pig. This babysitting might be easier than she envisaged, Mathilde thought as she followed her.

  Fleur’s patience, however, soon wore off and Mathilde found herself having to provide entertainment for several hours before it was dinner time. She wanted to tell Oliver about her dream and that she now realised the triptych and the locket were connected; both with each other and with the man she dreamed about. However, he’d told her he was going to meet up with a Tudor era historian to discuss the painting and the note she’d found and sure enough his phone was switched off. She left him a voicemail during which she stuttered and stumbled over her words and eventually gave up, ending the call with a muttered string of French expletives. He’d ring her back, she was sure.

  After a dinner of omelette and potato waffles followed by yoghurt, Fleur was yawning and Mathilde wondered if she’d made the right decision deciding to keep the child up past her bedtime. But if she’d judged it correctly they could see a wonderful phenomenon not far from the house and she wanted to share it with this new niece with whom a connection continued to grow; a link between her and the past … and the future.

  Outside, night was starting to fall. They rang Rachel and Fleur spoke to her and Andrew. Rachel promised she was about to leave to drive home whilst Mathilde reassured her that Fleur was about to go to bed, giving the girl a mock frown and holding her finger to her lips. The little girl pushed her hands against her mouth to stop herself giggling until Mathilde had ended the call.

  ‘Do I really have to go to bed?’ she asked, ‘you said we could go out with your camera but now it’s dark outside.’ Her mouth began to wobble as her eyes welled up.


  ‘Now is the best time to go out,’ Mathilde explained, ‘go and find your trainers and a jumper in case it’s cold.’ With a whoop of excitement Fleur ran away upstairs and Mathilde pulled on her own boots before setting her lens to accommodate the darkness outside.

  ‘You stay here,’ she told Shadow as he weaved his way around her legs, standing straight and arching his back, ‘we’ll be back soon.’

  Outside the ground was damp with night dew but as she’d suspected the sky was clear and the moon bright: perfect conditions. They stopped at her van to retrieve a large torch and then set off across the overgrown front lawns, Fleur holding on to Mathilde’s hand tightly as she pointed out moths that flew into the beam of the torch and watched the bats that darted about overhead. At one point, Mathilde drew her to a halt and showed her a pale, silent owl swooping low over the field to their left, its slow steady movement belying the constant watch with dark eyes on the ground below.

  Eventually they reached their destination and Mathilde crouched down in the tall grasses. Fleur immediately followed suit, almost disappearing.

  ‘We’ve come to see fairies,’ Mathilde whispered, ‘so we must be very quiet.’ Fleur’s eyes grew round as she stared at her aunt and nodded silently. ‘Watch the reeds in front of us,’ Mathilde instructed, keeping her fingers crossed that something happened. Even with the conditions just right it was hit or miss.

  They sat in silence for almost five minutes by which time Fleur’s patience was wearing thin and she was shuffling about. Then, Mathilde saw it followed by another and then more.

  ‘Look,’ she pointed to the blue lights that bobbed about in the marshes in front of them. ‘They’re fairies. Fées. Can you see them?’ She didn’t need to ask, she knew the little girl could because she’d breathed out a long ‘ooooh’ as they began to appear. Adjusting her camera lens Mathilde fired off several shots of the marsh gases that danced before them, just like fairies. She preferred that name to the ‘ghost candles’ that she’d heard them called. Folklore was often morbid.

  Slowly she swung the camera around to photograph the image she really wanted to capture. The little girl’s look of wonder as she gazed at the spectacle, her features picked out in the pale blue moonlight that lit her profile. Shocked at her own emotions Mathilde felt her heart give an extra beat of love for this little girl. She’d lost so many years of being a part of this family and now she needed to grasp it with both hands. Her father had given her more than just a house, he’d given her a chance to live.

  Eventually as they began to feel chilly from sitting on the damp ground, Mathilde suggested they went back to the house for hot chocolate.

  ‘With cream and marshmallows?’ Fleur’s attention immediately skipped to the drink, the fairies forgotten as she walked with Mathilde back to the house, following the torch beam again. She looked down at the eager, trusting face upturned to hers. Could she ever walk away from this little girl? Another filament snaked out to wind its way around her heart and tie her to the hall, to her family.

  ‘I don’t know, if we can find some I suppose,’ she agreed.

  They were both wearing their pyjamas and drinking their hot chocolate with cream but unfortunately no marshmallows when they heard the sound of tyres on gravel followed by Rachel walking in through the back door.

  ‘You’re up a bit late young lady!’ she exclaimed as soon as she walked in, giving Fleur a kiss on the head and glaring at Mathilde across the table. ‘I thought you were about to go to bed when we spoke on the phone and that was about four hours ago.’

  ‘We went to look for fairies in the dark! We found lots.’ Fleur told her in an excited voice.

  ‘Well, you need to go to bed now,’ Rachel was firm as she ushered Fleur out of the room and upstairs, leaving Mathilde feeling as if she was about to get a telling off when her sister returned. She wondered if she ought to sneak up to her room as well before Rachel arrived back in the kitchen. There was no point she admitted to herself. If she wasn’t told off tonight it would just be the following morning. She picked Shadow up from the floor and buried her nose in his soft black fur.

  ‘Honestly, I thought you would be more sensible,’ Rachel rolled her eyes as she walked back in the kitchen, ‘what were you doing wandering around in the dark with my daughter? She’ll be wanting to do it all the time now and I don’t fancy going near the marshes, sucked into the mud and never found again.’

  ‘It was an adventure with her auntie.’ Even saying the word made her smile, acknowledging the relationship she thought she’d never have. ‘And I always know exactly where the edge of the marsh is, we were never in danger. We went to watch the marsh gasses; they are called the fée in France. I told her they were fairies. I wanted to take some photos of her in the moonlight and I knew she’d enjoy seeing them and hoped for once she might stay still long enough for me to take some pictures.’ She reached across the table to grab her camera and scrolled back through the photos she’d taken that evening, viewing them on the small screen on the back of the camera. She had to admit they were lovely shots; she was really pleased with them. Going over to Rachel she bent down to show her the photos.

  ‘Wow,’ Rachel gasped, ‘they’re stunning. The most beautiful pictures I’ve ever seen of her. You’ve captured the emotions on her face perfectly. She looks so innocent, such wonder in her eyes. They’re incredible.’

  ‘I’m pleased with them,’ Mathilde agreed, going to the sink to rinse out her cup.

  ‘You’re still not forgiven for keeping her up so late,’ Rachel told her. ‘She’ll be a nightmare tomorrow.’ But she smiled and Mathilde shrugged and nodded.

  Mathilde was halfway out of the door on her way to bed when she suddenly remembered the toothache and asked how it was. Rachel pulled a face.

  ‘I had to have a filling and now the numbness has worn off it’s sore again. Is there any more of that paste left?’ she asked. Pleased to be able to offer her apothecary skills Mathilde passed her the plastic pot containing the rest of the tincture before wishing her goodnight and going to her room.

  Before she lay down to sleep, she checked her phone and found a text from Oliver apologising for missing her call and promising to speak with her the following morning. With a smile on her face Mathilde was asleep within seconds, her head empty of any dreams weaving their way into her subconscious.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  January 1585

  The week after their wedding was blissful. They hid away in Isabel’s house and saw no one other than her maid Anne and the handful of servants she employed. None of the staff seemed impressed with their new master, barely hiding their disdain at his obviously humble beginnings. Tom had excused himself from work with Hugh, sending a messenger to say he was unwell and didn’t wish to bring any sickness back with him. His boss was happy for him to stay away as any form of sickness meant extra work for him if it spread around the occupants of the palace.

  They spent their days wandering in the garden where Tom planned his own physic garden to rival the one he used at Greenwich. After spending most of his life on the move he suddenly realised that finally he could put down roots, just like the plants he loved to nurture. He’d bring over his vanilla plants as well.

  At night they lay in bed, a heavily carved four poster and the most comfortable one Tom had ever slept in, and made love behind the drapes which concealed them. Tom might not have any words to whisper in her ears but he could show his love in the way he used his other senses, his touch and his taste as he enjoyed taking her to sensual places. Tom was determined that although he’d have to resume his work for the Queen he was going to return to their house as often as possible, if only to lie down in that bed. He felt a level of contentment he’d never enjoyed before. Even as a young child there was always a fear of losing people he loved, of not being safe: of not belonging.

  He’d never been able to come to terms with the fact that the people he’d thought were family, weren’t. That somewhere out there he had a re
al mother and father and possibly siblings as well; cousins, aunts and uncles. He didn’t belong anywhere and after his father – well his adoptive father – was killed and they’d fled to France, he’d never felt safe again. Even though they’d settled in a comfortable farmhouse and his mother had made enough money growing her saffron for them to be able to enjoy a peaceful, contented life, he’d always been waiting for life to let him down.

  At the age of fourteen he’d been apprenticed to the local apothecary but Tom had known everything there was to learn already from his mother who was extremely proficient in medicine making. She’d drawn him pictures to explain her own childhood and how she’d been taught by the monks near her home. He’d set off for Paris and from there Antwerp, always searching for somewhere to rest, somewhere that felt like home. Somewhere where he could be part of his own family. When he’d climbed aboard the boat from France he’d envisaged travelling to Norfolk to look for the family who’d lost him, or abandoned him all those years ago, and yet he’d found himself in London and now he had a wife and a happy life. He might not have found his roots but he was more than content with where he’d landed.

  Neither Tom nor Isabel were expecting the response they received to their nuptials when they returned to the palace. She explained he wasn’t to mention a word of their marriage to anyone until she’d told the Queen. She wasn’t looking forward to the conversation, doubting that Her Majesty would have agreed with her choice of husband if she’d asked permission first. Although in theory as a widow she should be able to make her own choice – after all she’d married the man chosen for her the first time around – this didn’t apply to anyone who was close to Her Majesty. For someone who didn’t want to get married herself Queen Elizabeth certainly enjoyed interfering in everyone else’s betrothals. It explained why Isabel was always careful to keep her locket hidden.