Rory Clements - The Queen's man

Shakespeare sealed his letter with the cipher letter enclosed and handed it to the innkeeper, whom he trusted of old, to be sent to Oatlands by special courier.

‘My boy will take it, Mr Shakespeare. He is the best there is.’

‘He will have a mark on departure and another on his return. He is to give it to no one but Walsingham or his steward, Mr Whey.’

‘I understand, sir.’

‘Then have him ride at speed.’

In the early evening, Shakespeare woke Boltfoot. Like any sailor roused for his watch, he was instantly alert.

‘I know you are still fatigued, as am I, but I would have you follow after me. We must walk through the town, a little way north to a village. Walk a good distance behind me so that no one can tell that we are known to each other. Be inconspicuous. Do you understand?’

Boltfoot grunted.

Shakespeare clapped him on the shoulder. ‘This is important. You are to keep watch on a house. In that house is a young woman named Florence Angel and her mother, Audrey Angel. You will hide yourself in the spinney to the north of the house. After I have gone, you will stay there and observe everything that happens. If the younger of the two women goes out, you will follow her, unseen. I want to know exactly where she goes and I want a description of whoever she sees. You will then report back to me. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, master. How long shall I watch her?’

‘Until dawn. And you will leave your cutlass and caliver here, otherwise I think you will attract too much attention as you walk through town.’

Walking at an easy pace, Shakespeare once again traversed the streets of Stratford towards the village of Shottery, ensuring that Boltfoot could keep within distance.

When he arrived, Audrey Angel came to the door.

‘I would speak with Florence, Aunt. I must give her one more chance to help me. You must persuade her of the danger she faces if she will not cooperate.’

‘She is not here, John.’

‘Where is she?’

The widow wiped her eye. ‘If I knew, I swear I would tell you — for I am afraid for her also.’ She had clearly been weeping. ‘This is all my fault. After their father died, I brought them up in the old faith. It would have been so much easier to conform. But how could I betray him, having sworn to him that I would raise them in the Roman Church?’

‘You have no need to explain your religion to me, Aunt.’ Shakespeare reached out and touched her shoulder. ‘I seek out traitors, not Catholics. But I beg you, be wary, for there are many who would spill the blood of you all. Now tell me, how long has Florence been gone?’

‘An hour, no more.’

‘Did she walk out on her own, or did someone come for her?’

‘No, she went alone. She is going to die, John, I am certain of it. She is bent on her own destruction, and there is nothing I can do to save her.’

Shakespeare found Boltfoot in the woods. ‘All has changed,’ he said shortly. ‘There is another house I want you to watch. In it, there is a woman named Anne Hathaway. As before, you will observe her carefully. And likewise, if she goes out, you will follow her. If she meets another young woman — a woman of slightly broader girth with golden hair — you will tell me precisely where they are. Do not disturb them or reveal your presence to them in any way. Can you do that? Will you remember the route?’

‘Yes, master.’ Boltfoot nodded without enthusiasm.

‘I will go into this house and bring Anne Hathaway to the door so that you will know what she looks like, for there are others within.’

Shakespeare left his assistant once again in an area of woodland, near enough to see the door, and walked up to Hewlands Farm. There were more ways than one to accomplish his ends. If Florence was not there to be followed, there was someone else who might lead him to her.

As he approached the door, he felt deceitful and dishonest. This was what he had feared at Oatlands when Mr Secretary had given him this task: here he was, spying on his own. And yet what was he to do? Anne was already up to her delicate neck in the mire. So was his brother. They needed protection and he was the only one to give it. By whatever means available — even by spying on them.

Anne was serving food to the younger children in the hall. She invited him to sit down with them and eat.

‘A beaker of ale will serve me well enough, Anne. Where is Will? Is he not with you?’

‘He has been tutoring Alderman Whateley’s young children. We will need the money soon enough.’ Her hand went to her belly.

‘Well, it was you I wished to talk with. Florence has gone again. Her mother is distraught and fears she will come to harm.’

‘I wish I were surprised.’

‘Do you know where she is?’

‘No, John.’ She looked at him askance.

‘I ask, of course, because no one is closer to her. Because she entrusted that letter to you.’ He watched Anne’s face closely, noted the strain in her wide eyes and taut forehead. He still could not fathom why she had agreed to hold the Mary of Scots letter for Florence. ‘I want to enlist your aid. Come outside, away from the earshot of the little ones.’ He picked up his cup of ale and they went out into the damp air and stood by the bread oven. Chickens and geese scattered across the muddy yard. A cock crowed incessantly. Ahead of them were the barns and byres and sties. To their right the fields and the woods. Shakespeare stared hard into the fern and brambles but could not spot Boltfoot. He made sure Anne was in a position just beyond the door where she would be clearly visible to him.

‘What can I do to help, John?’

‘You must have heard what happened at the inquest. It was a grotesque injustice, but Florence refused to help me. I am certain she knows more than she will reveal, but she will not talk to me. She said Benedict had come to her in her sleep and that he had said I was not to be trusted.’

‘And is that not true? I had thought you boys felt nothing but scorn for him in your younger days.’

‘There is a world of difference between disliking someone and wishing them harm. He was fervent in his faith and stood apart from us. But that is all long gone. I am telling you no secrets when I say that the Privy Council considered him a traitor. That, too, need no longer concern us. Whatever he did in his life is now between him and God.’

‘Then, John, what do you want from Florence?’

‘A solution to a murder.’ But also, I desire to know the source of the Mary Stuart letter, and I want to discover those with whom Benedict was involved . But that was not what he said. ‘I desire justice for her brother in this world. Florence does not — or will not — understand that. I also want to protect her. Her innocence does not come untainted. I cannot help wondering whether she has any idea what is involved here. Does she know that I could have her arrested for hard questioning on the suspicion that she is withholding evidence?’

‘But you will not do that.’

‘No, I will not. But there are others who might. My lord of Leicester has it in mind to clear the county of papists, as does his creature Sir Thomas Lucy. I fear the work of the pursuivants has barely begun. And so I would ask you to make inquiries on my behalf. She trusts you, Anne. You are perhaps the only person she trusts apart from her mother. Find out where she went when she disappeared. And where is she now? With whom is she involved? This letter — this missive from the Queen of Scots — tells us that she is delving into dangerous and murky waters. Find out who she believes killed her brother — and the motive. I know she is your friend, but Anne, I must tell you. . I have suspicions. I am not sure I trust her. Help me on this.’