Rory Clements - The Queen's man

Not for the first time, he felt uneasy at being without his caliver and cutlass. A knife was a poor weapon against a sword or pistol, especially when your potential opponent was built like an ox.

Anne was more scared than she had ever been. In the summer, when she had come to this house, she had experienced an electric thrill like dry lightning. The saying of the mass in the warmth of a June night, the candlelight, the serene procession of the communicants, like some holy dance, moving as one as though they all floated on air. The crystal singing in the cathedral of the trees. As she sipped the wine and imbibed the host, she had felt the blood and flesh of Christ enter her. There had been a mystical quality and she had felt at one with her God. Later, in the light of day, she had been less certain. Now she knew she had been deluded. This place was cold and all her memories seemed like dust.

‘Enter,’ Somerville said, waving his pistol in their faces. ‘Mr Arden is in the library with the Scotchman. I’ll see if he will receive you.’

Anne looked at Will. His face was drawn. She knew he liked this even less than she did. He had come here this chilly autumn night because he was loyal to her, and because he was concerned for her.

Earlier, when she confessed to him the existence of the Spiritual Testament, he had been consoling, but could not conceal his horror. Though he did not say the words, she knew what he was thinking: Anne, how could you do something so foolish?

‘I was beguiled by them. No one refused to sign. They said it was a Spiritual Testament — the Last Will of the Soul, to keep me safe from the temptations of the devil in the hour of my death. They said it would save me from any unconfessed sins, should I die suddenly, and that I would for ever be communed with the Church of Rome and that Holy Mary would be my guardian. It was designed for those forced to conform to the new Church, but loyal to the old faith in their heart.’

‘And you signed this with your own name or mark?’

‘Yes, my own name. They said they would look after it for safekeeping until the evening’s end, but when it was time to go home, I could find no one who knew where it was. That was when I felt the first shiver of fear. I did not know what to say.’

‘They? Who were they? Father Benedict and who else?’

‘Your cousin, Edward Arden.’

‘Not Florence?’

‘She was there.’

Will had put his arms around her then. ‘My brother will know what to do.’

‘No! We cannot tell him. He thinks me a fool already.’

‘Well then, we shall find it and destroy it. I know of these things. It is a formulary. The Jesuit Campion was given these or similar ones in Italy by Cardinal Borromeo. Campion brought them to England. Many were distributed here in Warwickshire when he travelled through the county in the weeks before his arrest and execution. I would think that the ones Benedict Angel brought were the same or similar.’

‘How do you know this, Will? I had never heard of such a thing before midsummer.’

He waved away her question. ‘We must destroy it. In the wrong hands, well. .’ He let the possibility dangle.

She knew well enough who he meant by the wrong hands. ‘Whatever you do, Will, I beg you not to tell John of this. He was torn enough by the Mary of Scots letter. I know he would do nothing to endanger us, but. .’ It was a statement, but there was doubt, too. John Shakespeare had a new master. Where, now, did his loyalties lie?

‘Tell me, Anne, is this the reason you agreed to look after the coded letter for Florence?’

She had turned away from him, unable to meet his eyes. Yes, that had indeed been the reason. Florence had not threatened her, but there was something implied in the way she asked, demanded .

And now they were here in Edward Arden’s hall to throw themselves on his mercy and plead kinship.

‘Follow me,’ Somerville said. He looked down and pointed his pistol at their mud-encrusted boots. ‘After you’ve taken those off.’

As Anne tugged at her boots, she could not take her eyes away from the weapon. Was it her imagination or did it smell of recently spent gunpowder? Why did he wave it around so threateningly? And what was that dark patch nearby on the stone-flagged floor, a few feet in from the door? She looked at Will to see if he saw it too, and he clearly had, for he tilted his chin and moved his eyes slightly to the right. The patch looked as though something had been spilt and hastily cleared up with a rag. Something dark and sticky. This place was malign.

Somerville took them through to the library where they found Edward Arden standing beside the hearth, a smouldering log throwing out welcome warmth. In his hand, he had a goblet of yellow metal, probably latten. Anne noticed another, similar, goblet on the table and wondered where the Scotchman Somerville had mentioned had disappeared to.

‘Good evening, cousin,’ Arden said with an unconvincing smile, then acknowledged Anne’s presence. ‘This is a most pleasant surprise.’

Will shook hands. ‘Cousin Edward, we wish to speak to you in private.’

Arden flicked his fingers irritably. Somerville did not take the cue and so he spelled it out. ‘John, would you leave us alone for a short while?’

Somerville looked a little bewildered, but edged towards the door.

‘Shut the door after you, if you please.’

When he had gone, Arden gave Will another forced smile. ‘Well, cousin?’

‘We have come here to recover something.’

‘Indeed? I had no notion that anything was lost.’

‘Anne here is now my betrothed. This summer she came to your house with her friend Florence Angel. There were many others here and she — like the others — was asked to sign a certain document. .’

‘That is so. I recall the night well. You are referring to the Spiritual Testaments brought here by Father Benedict.’

Anne was astonished by the openness with which Edward Arden spoke of such secret matters. Had he no idea of the peril such talk could bring if overheard by agents of the state? But he had never been one to hold his peace, much to the fury of Lord Leicester and others. Perhaps he still imagined himself high sheriff of the county, and beyond the law as it applied to ordinary mortals.

‘Yes. Anne signed one of the documents and believed it was to be kept by her, but at the end of the evening’s celebrations she did not receive it. She would like it now.’

Arden knitted his brow into lines of puzzlement. ‘Forgive me. I have not offered you refreshment. It is a difficult ride by night.’

‘We came by foot.’

‘Well, you must needs have wine or brandy. Or perhaps a cup of mead to warm you. .’

‘We cannot stay. It is getting late and we must make our way home. If you could just give us the document — the testament — we will leave you in peace.’

‘My dear Will, of course Anne should be in possession of her own Spiritual Testament. But I am afraid I cannot help you, for I do not have it. Have you asked Florence?’

On the table she noticed a rosary — the same rosary that Florence and her brother always carried. Was she here, now? Anne nodded her head. ‘Yes, I have asked her repeatedly. She says you must have it. My recollection is that I did give it to you.’

Arden seemed genuinely mystified. ‘I am sorry, but I fear you must be mistaken. If I did have it, I would happily hand it to you this very minute, just as I am sure you would do little favours for me.’ He smiled at Anne. ‘Think carefully. What exactly happened when you had filled in the formulary and signed it?’

Little favours. He meant the Mary, Queen of Scots letter. How did he know about that? Had Benedict or Florence told him? Had he suggested her in the first place? Had he used her because he knew she felt trapped by the Spiritual Testament? She wondered what he would do if he learnt she had given it to John Shakespeare, government agent, and shuddered.