P. Chisholm - An Air of Treason

“I’m sure plenty of men at Court have been caught by Jackson’s Papist lay, but not me,” Essex added.

He had to do it. He had to warn Essex of the real source of the trouble, if only because his own fortunes were still bound up with Essex’s.

“Perhaps Sir Robert Cecil will be disappointed,” Carey said very quietly, in case any of the other clerks working away at the desks by candlelight as the light faded had been paid to listen.

Essex’s blue gaze felt like a blow on the head, but then he looked at the boarded higher windows of the church.

“Yes, he always is, poor crookback.”

Carey said nothing. Essex had been Burghley’s ward as a boy and had grown up with Burghley’s second son, Robert, who had suffered from rickets as a child. It had never been very likely that they would be friends.

“So,” boomed Essex, “what are you here for, Sir Robert?”

Carey paused before he answered because he wanted Essex to help with the Queen’s impossible order. “I’m hoping for my fee for the deputy wardenship,” he explained, “but Her Majesty wants me to do something else first.”

Essex grunted sympathetically enough and allowed himself to be drawn outside the church walls and into the watery dregs of afternoon. Clouds were marching up from the west in great armies which didn’t bode well for the dancing later.

He explained the whole circumstance and Essex shook his head.

“Jesu, rather you than me,” he said. “That’s a nasty matter.”

“Did your stepfather ever tell you anything about it?”

Essex shook his head vigorously. “No, nothing. Wouldn’t even let his first wife be named in his presence.”

“Your lady mother?” Carey asked cautiously. “Did she…er…?”

“You’d think she’d have been jealous of Amy Robsart, as my stepfather’s first love, but she wasn’t. She was jealous, exceedingly. But not of Amy Robsart.”

Carey said nothing. They both knew the woman Lettice Knollys had real cause to hate.

“I’ll be seeing my lady mother later,” Essex said. “I’ll mention it to her if you like.”

“That would be very kind, my lord. I need all the help you can give. But surely the Dowager Lady won’t be coming to Court?”

“No, no, of course not, the Queen won’t have her. But she’s staying in Oxford at the moment so I’ll see what I can do…”

That was hopeful-if the Earl remembered his promise and if he actually kept it. Carey thought of mentioning Emilia’s suit, but then decided not to. After all, she hadn’t yet even offered him a proper fee for the introduction to Essex. There was a nervous cough behind him. Carey turned back to see John Tovey standing there in his worn grey doublet, holding a close-written piece of paper and looking scared.

“Mr. Tovey,” said Carey affably, “Have you finished?”

“Y…y…yes,” stuttered the boy.”D…did you want me to sign the copy?”

Carey shook his head, took the translation and read it carefully; a little to his surprise, some of the Latin had meant what he had guessed it did. As the Earl was still standing there, avid with curiosity, Carey passed it to him and he read it, too.

“It all seems in order, Sir Robert. The jury found it was an accidental death.”

Carey was so surprised to hear Essex say this that he looked carefully to see if the Earl was joking. No, there was no twinkle in the blue eyes, no smile, but no puzzled frown either. Essex saw nothing wrong with the accounts at all.

“Yes, my lord,” he said after a moment’s thought and didn’t say any of the things that had struck him forcibly even while he had been struggling with the Latin. He caught John Tovey’s eye and saw from the terror there that the boy knew who Amy Robsart was and had spotted what he had in the dry legal phrases. So he had better deal with that.

“I must go and meet the Queen,” said Essex. “I’ll do what I can for you, Sir Robert. I’ll arrange for you to talk to my lady mother-I’m sure she’ll be very happy to do it. But best not to mention the…er…the property business to her. She won’t be interested and might take it into her fluffy head to buy some, eh?”

There was an unfilial wink and a laugh and then the Earl turned and strode out of the churchyard, letting the gate bang behind him. Carey bowed to him as he went, honestly impressed at how well the Earl could fake genuine amusement. So that was who had bought up the Cornish recusant lands, was it? Of course Lettice Knollys’ son would have done the business for his lady mother. It made a lot of sense. Carey wondered if Sir Robert Cecil yet knew that detail-he would undoubtedly find out. Perhaps it would be a good idea for Carey to be the first to tell him? Or perhaps not. He would likely be annoyed, and Carey didn’t want Cecil to know how much he knew about the Jackson affair. Though he probably did.

Carey sighed at the weary complexity of Court life and turned to John Tovey, who was still standing there like a post, mouth open, Adam’s apple working every so often. His spots were more visible in the dull daylight, but he had done a creditable and more importantly fast job on the Latin. Carey sat down on the stone bench looking over the churchyard, the only part of the village not being camped on or grazed by the Court or its animals.

“Mr. Tovey, how old are you?”

“T…twenty, I think, sir.”

“Are you looking for a place as a clerk?”

The boy flushed-he was almost certainly not twenty but a couple of years younger at least.

“Er…yes. Yes, I am, sir.”

That was why rootless, penniless, but educated young men would come and clerk for the Queen on progress-in hopes of a cushy office job with perks. Some of them weren’t disappointed.

“What can you do?”

“I…I…can read and translate Greek, Latin, Italian, French, and write good secretary hand and italic as well. I can cast up accounts in Arabic figures and I…I know something of medicine and herbs.”

“Your father?”

“Is…the priest here. He taught me first and then, after I was prenticed to an Oxford ’pothecary, I went as a servitor at Magdalen, though at first they wouldn’t have me.”

“Why not?” There was a pause while the boy blushed ruby red and stuttered.

“I’m a b…b…bastard, sir.”

“Is that all? So’s my father. Did yours acknowledge you?”

“Yes, sir, but he never married my mother for fear of the Queen. She…er…she d…d…doesn’t like priests to marry.”

“Your mother?”

“Is dead, sir. A few years ago.”

“And you want to leave Rycote, seek your fortune?” He must, look at the place!

The boy flushed dark, gulped, and nodded convulsively once.

“Excellent. Would you like to work for me, Mr. Tovey, as my clerk? It would involve coming with me to Carlisle, I’m afraid.”

“Where’s that, sir?”

“A long way north. Next door to Scotland.”

“Oh.” A pause. Then another convulsive nod. Carey stepped closer, put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and gripped. “Well then, if your father gives permission, I will be your good lord if you agree to be my man.”

The boy nodded and said “Yes, sir,” firmly enough. They shook hands on it. As it wasn’t a hiring fair there was no need to go and pay fees or sign indentures, though for form’s sake Carey intended to talk to the lad’s father. He hadn’t at all meant to recruit a clerk as well as a henchman, despite his hatred of paperwork. However he had to do something about what Tovey had read and unexpectedly understood. Bribing him sufficiently would cost a lot more than simply paying him wages every so often. And, anyway, if the boy was telling the truth about his accomplishments, he’d be getting a very good University clerk out of it.