P. Chisholm - A Plague of Angels

Sitting by the window again, he ate fine white manchet bread with fresh-made butter and cheese and drank ale as nutty and sweet as Bessie’s. It was fine to look down on all the folk milling around, working hard, and the shops opening up with a rattle of shutters. And it was staggering the wealth here; even the prentices had velvet sleeves and the kitchen maids wore silk ribbons and fine hats. How would you pillage London, Dodd wondered, where would you begin? Fetching the spoils away might be a problem-there didn’t seem to be many horses around. Most people were on foot.

There was a knock on the door and Carey entered, resplendent in black velvet and brocade, a suit Dodd didn’t think he had seen before. He had obviously been up since well before sunrise and was full of plans. He instantly destroyed the restful peace of the morning.

‘Morning, Sergeant,’ he said cheerfully, strode to the window and peered out. His brows knitted. ‘Christ, we’re under siege.’

Dodd looked out again at once, but couldn’t see any armed concourse of men, so assumed the Courtier was exaggerating about debt-collectors again. ‘Oh ay?’

Carey paced up and down tiringly. ‘I was going to slip out by river this morning, have a look round, but there was a whole boatload of ’em waiting by the steps. And there are four that I recognise on the Strand now.’

Dodd nodded mournfully, though in fact he had rarely been more tickled by a situation in his life. God, whatever else you could say about the Courtier, he was very entertaining.

‘Ay, they were keepin’ watch here last night.’

‘Were they?’ Carey was only confirmed in his disgust. Off he went pacing again.

‘Er…sir,’ said Dodd tactfully. ‘Yer father’s a man o’ substance and wealth.’

‘Yes?’

‘Could he not…er…pay ’em off, sir?’

The Courtier smiled sadly, wandered over to check the wine jug, lifted his eyebrows at Dodd and then poured himself a gobletful and knocked it back.

‘Well, he could and he won’t,’ said Carey. ‘He’s rich, certainly, but most of it’s in land and buildings. Very hard to get liquid cash off property like that; if you sell them you lose badly on the deal and mortgaging’s even worse. Plus my esteemed eldest brother George would have a fit if Father sold any of his patrimony to pay more of my debts.’

‘More?’

‘He’s already settled about four thousand pounds for me and lent me another thousand.’

Dodd’s jaw dropped. He could not get used to the way Carey casually bandied about sums that he had never even thought about before, much less owned or spent.

‘And then there’s brother Edmund who’s not cheap to maintain either, and John’s expenses in Berwick are crippling. Father says if he kept paying off his sons’ debts he’d be begging at Temple Gate in a year and stark raving mad into the bargain.’

‘But sir! What on earth d’ye spend all this money on? Not just clothes, surely?’

‘Oh clothes, armour, horses, masquing, occasional little bets, women, plays, cockfighting…God, I don’t know. It just flows away from me somehow.’

‘Ay. So how much d’ye owe?’

Carey shook his head. ‘I’m not sure. Somewhere about another two or three thousand, I should think. Thereabouts.’

Very carefully Dodd shut his mouth and swallowed hard.

‘Two or three thousand pounds?’ he asked, just to get it straight. Carey looked mildly irritated.

‘Well, it’s not pennies, unfortunately.’

‘And the creditors are feeling a mite impatient?’

‘They’re terrified because I got away from them last time and they think I’ll do it again-go north and stay there until the lot of them are dead or in debtors’ gaol themselves.’ Dodd blinked at this admission. Even Carey had the grace to look a little shamefaced. ‘Well, what else could I do?’

‘Ay, sir. What?’ echoed Dodd, thinking of a whole variety of sensible and economical things.

‘Anyway, you have to spend money to get money. Which reminds me-did Heneage give you a bribe?’

‘Nay, sir, he didnae,’ said Dodd, feeling aggrieved. ‘Nae such thing. He said he might invite me tae his residence in Chelsea, but nae more than that…’

Carey frowned. ‘That was bloody cheeky of him.’

Dodd felt confused. ‘It was?’

‘Who does he think he is, threatening you in front of me and my father?’

‘Ah…Was that what he wis doing, sir?’

Carey’s frown lightened. ‘Well, you’ll have confused him at least. What did you say?’

‘I said he wis kind, sir. Nae more.’

Carey shouted with laughter. ‘I wish I’d been closer to see his reaction. You must be the first person he’s said that to who didn’t instantly quiver with fright.’

‘Ay, he seemed puzzled. He said I should ask you, sir.’

‘How would you react if Richie Graham invited you to Brackenhill to discuss your blackrent payments?’

‘Och.’ Dodd sucked his teeth. ‘I see. What is Mr Heneage, exactly, sir?’

‘One of the most powerful men in the kingdom and getting stronger every day. I’d say he’s even keeping the Cecils up at nights.’

‘Why? He disnae seem much of a fighting man.’

‘Did you ever hear of Sir Francis Walsingham?’

‘Ay, sir, ye’ve told me about him. The Queen’s Secretary.’

‘And chief intelligencer, until his death. Well, Heneage has taken over Walsingham’s activities in collecting information here and abroad, and in hunting down Papist priests. Unlike Walsingham, he isn’t an honest man. Interrogations of suspected traitors used to take place in the Tower of London, under warrant from the Queen. Now they happen at Chelsea.’

‘But he couldnae arrest me, could he, Sir Robert? I’m no’ a traitor.’

Carey said nothing to that, just looked at him until Dodd felt embarrassed by his naivety.

‘It is certainly true,’ said Carey eventually, in a distant tone of voice, ‘that all suspected traitors who are taken to Heneage’s house in Chelsea eventually confess to treason.’

‘Ay,’ said Dodd, his mouth gone dry. ‘I see now what he was trying. What should I do, sir? He seems to think I know what went on in Scotland. And I dinna, sir, I was wi’ the Johnstones when ye…er…when ye were talking to the King.’

‘A piece of advice for you, Dodd,’ Carey said, fiddling with the embroidered cuffs of his fancy gloves. ‘If Heneage offers you a bribe, take it. Answer his questions, tell him whatever you can; by all means play stupid, but convince him that you are frightened enough of him to want to co-operate. He likes that.’

‘Ay.’

Carey squinted through the window glass again and then sat down and ran his hand through his hair.

‘My blasted father’s disappeared off with Heneage to have a look at some property Mr Vice wants to buy. God knows why they’re both here when the Queen’s on progress in Oxford and they’re thick as thieves as well. I thought Father loathed the man.’

‘Perhaps Heneage wants blackrent fra yer father?’ offered Dodd. Carey gave him one of those very blue considering looks of his.

‘You catch on fast, don’t you Dodd?’ he said. ‘Yes, I’m beginning to think something like that is going on, but I’m damned if I can work out what. Father ought to be untouchable by the likes of Heneage.’

Dodd knew this was because Lord Hunsdon was in fact the Queen’s bastard half-brother. Carey was staring out of the window and the expression on his face was one that Dodd had never seen there before; a cold, wary, calculating look.

‘Anyway, he says he wants me to write a report for him about Scotland. Presumably, one he can show to Heneage.’

‘Ay, sir. Which tale will ye tell?’

Carey looked amused at Dodd’s tone. ‘The one for public consumption, of course. It seems nobody the Cecils or Heneage is paying for news from Scotland actually recognised me at the crucial time, which is a blessed relief. Thanks for backing me with Heneage, by the way, you did it perfectly. I nearly bust a gut trying not to laugh at his expression when you were stonewalling him.’