Robert Barnard - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 135, No. 2. Whole No. 822, February 2010

“Business of state brings me abroad at this hour, as you should know well, Sir Edward.” He made no reference or apology for the armed guards at the door.

“How can I serve you, Sir Robert?” Sir Christopher came forward nervously.

“I have lately come from Richmond Palace. Her Majesty is dying and will not, according to her physicians, last out the week. She has, as Sir Edward will know, consistently refused to name or approve a successor. These are perilous times, gentlemen. Claims and counterclaims to the throne will plunge this kingdom into the bloodiest civil war since the queen’s grandfather overthrew Richard of York at Bosworth. Pretenders and claimants gather like conspirators. It is my task to protect the kingdom and, on intelligence from the physicians, I have now sent a draft constitutional agreement to the queen’s cousin, the King of Scots, in that if His Majesty so desires he may proceed here to London, on Her Majesty’s demise, and be accorded the Crown of England as well as Scotland.”

The announcement did not seem to surprise Sir Edward. He merely inclined his head almost as if in surrender.

“It was good of you to seek me out and tell me so, Sir Robert. I will repair to Richmond forthwith as my duty lies with being at my sovereign’s bedside at the hour of her death.”

Sir Robert made a curious motion of his hand.

“Yet I hear, Sir Christopher, you have also had a death here at your house?” He glanced to Master Drew. “I also understand that you have sent for an official to make inquiries into the manner and perpetrators of this death.”

Master Drew swallowed slightly. He knew that Sir Robert ran a web of spies and informers and, indeed, assassins which protected the realm from any perceived threat by the queen’s enemies.

“Master Drew has not yet had time...” began Sir Christopher.

“On the contrary,” Master Drew said decisively, “I was just about to deliver my summation.”

Sir Christopher seemed to exchange a frightened glance with Sir Edward and both men were tight-lipped and anxious.

“It is a sad matter, but not an uncommon one,” went on Master Drew. “I understand that Sir Christopher’s young cousin, Master Henry Hatton, was but lately arrived from Ireland. New to London and London ways, he went abroad this afternoon and returning was attacked by two footpads who stabbed him through the heart. While they were proceeding to rob him, taking his ring and sword, they were disturbed by his servant, who rushed upon the scene. They fled, and the servant carried his master’s body here, whereupon he was found to be dead. I am afraid the matter was a simple one. We may never find the perpetrators.”

Sir Robert raised his eyebrows and, for the first time, there was amusement on his features.

“Simple? Very well. Perhaps we should seek confirmation from the mouth of this unfortunate young man’s servant? He being the only witness.”

Joseph, who had been standing silently at the door, coughed and spoke apologetically to Sir Christopher.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but at the time of the arrival of Sir Robert I was coming to inform you that Master Hatton’s servant has fled. He was left in Master Hatton’s bedroom. I suppose, seeing no means of further employment, the rogue did take the purse that was on his master’s body still and, indeed, searched a few drawers, for their contents were spilt. I do not know what other valuables he has made off with. But the window was open and it is an easy passage to the ground from there. I fear he has vanished into the streets of London.”

Sir Robert was smiling grimly.

“Then it seems we will have to leave his apprehension in the hands of the thief-takers. I suppose he will be as hard to find as the footpads that killed your young cousin. So, Master Drew, you have no hesitation with your findings? May I send a magistrate tomorrow to take down your statement for the record? We would not want any false rumours to spread abroad as to the circumstances.”

“I will expect the magistrate to call on me morrow, Sir Robert. I am content in my resolve,” agreed the constable.

“And you, Sir Christopher, art content? It is but poor hospitality your cousin received here in London. And you, Sir Edward? Are you both content?”

Sir Edward nodded, while Sir Christopher said shortly: “I wish nothing more than to accord Henry a speedy burial. He was almost a stranger to us and there will be none in our family who will long mourn him. Alas, he came to London at the wrong time.”

Sir Robert grimaced.

“A sad time, a sad time for all of us. A shadow hangs over the realm, gentlemen. Our good lady has served us well and deserves rest from her worldly chores. Soon she will fear no more the burden of government of this realm. She may go peacefully to her rest. Before the week is out, we who remain shall see if a brave new era of prosperity will begin or whether we shall sink back into the dark days of civil war and blood feuds. I hope, for the sake of all of us, gentleman, that we may come through this night of mourning.”

Later that night, Master Hardy Drew sat gazing thoughtfully into his own fire. He had been extravagant enough to build up the fire and heat some mulled wine, even cutting himself a slice of cold mutton pie. His extravagance was compensated by the thought of the ten gold crowns that Sir Christopher had given him, which now lay locked away in the small wooden box he kept under his bed. It had been an exhausting evening and one which still sent chills through his body. He hoped that Broder Power would make it safely to France or Spain. He would be glad when Sir Robert’s magistrate had officially taken down his version of the story.

He was not sure how Sir Christopher had planned to present the young man called “Henry Hatton” as heir and claimant to Elizabeth’s throne on her death. Well, that plot was ended and he was lucky to have extricated himself from involvement in it.

Who exactly was “Henry Hatton”? His features proclaimed him to be a Tudor. His resemblance to the portraits of Elizabeth was obvious. The locket bore the coat of arms and motto of Anne Boleyn, Elizabeth’s mother. Elizabeth was known to have still revered her executed mother and despised her father for the state murder. Who would Elizabeth love so much to present that locket to? And the signet ring, so described by Master Power. The pelican on a ruby background. The pelican was one of Elizabeth’s favourite symbols, used to portray her motherly love for England. The legend had it that in times of food shortages, pelicans plucked flesh from their own bodies to feed their dying young. And then there was the ermine-edged cloak — a status symbol which only high nobility and royalty were allowed to wear. The missing sword, with roses on the hilt — Tudor roses?

“Henry Hatton” had been no ordinary person. It was obvious to Master Drew that Hatton had been a Tudor, sent into exile by Elizabeth for safety. Was he Elizabeth’s own son? Sir Christopher Hatton, dead these eleven years, had been known to be her favourite. Was Henry a child by him? Or was Henry a child by someone else, given to Sir Christopher to take care of until such time as he could come forward and be recognised? Did Lady Elizabeth Cecil, during the time that she had been married into the Hatton family, come to learn this dark secret? Certainly, she was instrumental in Henry Hatton’s death. Hearing of his return to London as the queen lay dying, Lady Hatton had arranged a meeting with the young man to identify him. Having done so, she had reported to her uncle, Sir Robert Cecil, the spymaster and chief assassin, who favoured the King of Scots as heir to the English throne. Master Drew had no doubt that Sir Robert had given the orders for his men to kill the young man and remove any evidence that would link him to the Tudors.