I looked up. The horse was a strong grey roan, its rider a young country gentleman in tweed doublet, leather riding boots and plaid travelling cloak. His face was pleasant and he was hatless, his hair shining and dark.
‘You are not, Sir,’ I said, glad that he had not caught me in the midst of my fantasies. ‘You are going in the wrong direction.’
I think he swore under his breath. ‘Then I must turn around and go back some distance,’ he said, ‘for I’m bound for the house of the magician in Mortlake.’
I gave an exclamation of surprise.
‘Do you know the house?’ he asked. ‘I believe it stands by the Thames.’
I looked up at him once more, squinting, for the sun was in my eyes and he was cast into silhouette.
‘I do know it,’ I said, lifting my hand to block out the sun. ‘But if you wish to speak to Dr Dee, then I fear you’ll find him away from home.’
‘Do you say so? But wait, ‘tis thoughtless of me to address you with the sun placed so in the sky.’ And so saying, he swung his leg over the horse to dismount, then slid down and flexed his legs and arms a little, as if he’d been riding for some time. ‘You say the good doctor is out . . . but it’s not him I’m seeking.’
‘Mr Kelly will not be there either.’
‘Nor Mr Kelly! I am set to call on one of Dr Dee’s household, a pretty maid called Lucy.’
My mouth dropped open in complete and utter surprise. ‘But, Sir . . .’ I began, and then I looked into this young man’s face, now on a level with mine, at his mouth curved into a wide smile and his eyes, which were grey. ‘Tomas!’ I cried.
He burst into laughter and, after a startled and embarrassed moment, I laughed too. Then I looked at him, feeling extreme shy, for though we’d known each other for some months, this was the first time we’d come face-to-face, so to speak, with no masks, disguise or counterfeiting between us. I looked and saw that he had good features, a strong nose, broad forehead and long eyelashes – indeed, I thought, I’d be able to report to Isabelle that he was a most handsome young man.
‘I could not resist it,’ he said when he’d stopped laughing. ‘But now I’m sorry, for you’re discomforted, are you not?’
‘A little,’ I admitted. ‘And yet ‘tis not the first time you have played me so. You seem to enjoy it.’
He shrugged. ‘I am a jester; the queen’s fool,’ he said. ‘’Tis my trade.’
I looked at him pensively, embarrassed at how, once again, I’d been completely taken in by him.
‘I merely thought I’d bring some levity to this day!’ He squeezed my hand. ‘We have hard and perhaps unpleasant work ahead of us. Why shouldn’t we begin it with some Tom-foolery?’
I laughed then, for what he said made sense.
He mounted the horse once more and said we’d get there quicker if I rode with him. I was offered a stirrup to climb on and a hand to pull me up and in a moment was seated before him sideways on the saddle, his hands passing around my waist and holding fast the reins.
Once there, it was impossible to be the smallest bit cross with him, for it was very pleasant clip-clopping along the river path in the winter sunshine, bidding a genial good-day to strangers and speaking together of very many things. He was open with me and did not conceal anything of his life, even telling me something of his childhood, for his father had been the late king’s fool, but had died before Tomas was six years old.
On reaching Putney wharf, he tied up the horse and gave a street urchin a coin to mind it for him, and we walked together to the few small shops where I’d begun following Mistress Pryor the day before.
‘Madeleine didn’t come back to the palace last night,’ Tomas said as we set off along that same passageway. ‘I daresay she hoped that in all the fuss over the discovery of yesterday’s plot, no one would notice she was away overnight.’
‘So she’s still here in Putney?’
He shrugged, looking perplexed. I enjoyed watching the different expressions cross his face, for it was the first time they’d not been obscured by a mask. ‘Probably,’ he said. ‘Unless . . .’
‘Unless?’
‘Unless yesterday’s plot incriminated her in some way and as we speak she’s travelling towards the Queen of Scotland.’
‘Then our job would be over,’ I said, rather disappointed. And I wouldn’t have achieved very much at all, I thought.
I passed the place where the washing water had been thrown out, and then the gate I’d hidden behind. ‘This is the courtyard,’ I said, gingerly pushing open the door. ‘And there’s the plague notice . . .’
Tomas looked at it briefly. ‘’Tis nothing to worry about, for I made enquiries about it last night.’
‘Was it true plague?’
He nodded solemnly. ‘I fear it was. Three died in here, but ‘twas then contained and went no further.’
Going out again, we continued between the houses until we came to the cobbled square which, that day, had stalls on it selling herbs and greenstuffs in season.
‘By the time I arrived here, she was nowhere to be seen,’ I said, nevertheless turning left and continuing alongside a tannery with a great amount of animal skins hanging outside.
‘Then tell me, how did you know to turn left instead of right just now?’ Tomas asked.
I stopped, surprised. ‘I don’t know. Something just told me which way to go.’ As I spoke, I shook my head to clear it, remembering how, the day before, I’d somehow sensed Mistress Pryor’s feelings. ‘It’s the strangest thing, but I almost know how she felt yesterday,’ I said wonderingly. ‘She was easy in her mind, because she was going towards something she loves!’
‘Something she loves,’ Tomas repeated, bemused. ‘That doesn’t sound as if she was attending a meeting of conspirators. But how is it that you know such things?’
‘I just . . . feel them.’ I closed my eyes for an instant. ‘Mistress Pryor came along here yesterday as she’s been many times before, and was hurrying, happy, for she was greatly anticipating something.’
‘Something to do with Her Grace? A plot to unseat her?’
I shook my head, frowning. ‘I cannot think it was that.’
We came to a crossing of lanes. ‘Where now?’ Tomas asked.
I closed my eyes again. Today, my instincts were stronger. Today, something within me was even more tuned to Mistress Pryor’s feelings.
‘This way!’ I pointed assuredly. ‘Past this old thatched cottage and the tumbledown stable and . . . there!’ I said with some surprise. ‘She’s in there, I’m sure of it.’
We stood looking at the building I was pointing at, which was long and ancient, with ornate, arched Gothic windows.
‘That was once a convent,’ Tomas said. ‘’Twas closed some years back.’
‘And where did the nuns go?’
He shrugged. ‘I believe some are still allowed to live there.’
‘Then perhaps Mistress Pryor merely goes to practise the old religion in secret.’
‘And stays overnight?’ Tomas said somewhat incredulously. ‘I have known church services go on two hours or more, but not for twelve!’
‘Well, she
is
there.’
‘You’re quite sure?’
I nodded. I did not know how I could be so certain, and yet I was convinced of it.
‘Then we must catch her – and those she’s with – unawares, and take them all in for questioning.’ His brow furrowed. ‘We don’t know how many of them there are. Perhaps I should come back here later with some of the Queen’s Guard.’
‘But they may all have gone by then,’ I said, very much wanting to do more. ‘What if I got in there and tried to discover what’s going on? I might at least find out who she’s in league with.’
‘Hmmm . . . ‘ Tomas pondered.
‘It could be our false Jack Frost!’
‘But going a-spying may put you in danger.’
‘Isn’t that what spies are for: to listen behind doors, conceal themselves in hidey-holes and try to discover secrets?’ I touched the coin at my throat. ‘You know I’d dare all those things and more for Her Grace.’
Tomas frowned, his grey eyes serious. ‘Suppose harm comes to you . . .’
‘I shall take great care! If anyone calls me out, I’ll play the simple maid – say I’ve come a-selling trinkets or ballads or suchlike.’
‘And if they ask where these things are?’
I paused and thought for a moment. ‘Very well, then. I’ll say I come from the local tavern to invite those within to hot pigeon pies and gravy!’
Tomas smiled at this. ‘As you wish,’ he said, ‘but allow me at least to assist you in gaining entry by providing some distraction,’ and with no more ado he removed his tweed doublet and turned it inside out so that it showed dull of colour and with fraying seams. He then tousled his hair so that it stuck up, wind-strewn, around his head and, bending down to dabble his fingers in mud, applied some of this to one of his cheeks. In less than a moment there was an unkempt street lad standing before me, so correct in demeanour and expression that I couldn’t help but burst out laughing.
Putting his finger to his lips, he bade me stand around the end of the building, so that I couldn’t be seen, and knocked vigorously at the door several times. After a moment it was opened, although I could not yet see by whom.
I watched as Tomas began acting out a dumb-show to this unseen person, indicating that he had not eaten for some days and was about to expire of hunger, and going on to promise a display of acrobatics in return for something to eat. So amusing was this little show that whoever was viewing it burst into fits of girlish laughter and clapped her hands.
Tomas now stepped away from the door and into the lane, jumping over the stinking ditch that ran down its centre and indicating that he would perform under a tree there. The person who’d answered the door moved out in order to see him the better, and I saw that she was diminutive and clothed all in black, apart from a white wimple. So the building remained a Catholic stronghold, I thought to myself – and therefore an obvious meeting place for those who sought to unseat our queen and put one of the old religion on the throne . . .
Two housewives with laden baskets, seeing their was some fun to be had, halted by the tree, and Tomas began his performance by tumbling somersaults, easy and practised, seemingly as comfortable standing on his hands as on his feet. Although I would have liked to have seen all of his act, the little nun now had her back to me, so I immediately slipped through the open door of the convent and down the right-hand corridor.
As at Dr Dee’s house, there was an abundance of doors, curtained stairways and hanging tapestries ahead of me (though I was not sorry to see these, knowing they’d all make good hiding places should anyone come along). Reaching halfway down this corridor I stopped for a moment and closed my eyes in order to concentrate better and listen to the sounds around me. What could I hear? Could I discern any earnest discussions, arguments or plotting? What
was
Mistress Pryor doing within these walls?
I stood for a short while and then, obeying something within me, turned and went back in the direction I’d come from, passing the front door once again and going straight on. Reaching the end of this corridor, I paused in front of a set of elaborate, glassed double doors, for something told me that Mistress Pryor would be found within.
I suppose I should have thought about my next move, planned what I’d say and do, but I was so curious about her reasons for being in this place, so anxious to find out the truth, that I didn’t hesitate to push open the doors a little and peer through.
And then I gasped aloud, for within I found Mistress Pryor engaged in the most surprising act: not involved in some violent discourse on the best way to challenge Her Grace’s position on the throne of England, but sitting quietly beside a window, an infant asleep in her arms!
She started up when she heard my gasp, and twisted her body away so that the child was concealed from my view. ‘Who are you?’ she asked, her voice high and frightened. ‘What are you doing here?’
Too startled by what I’d seen, I didn’t reply.
‘You shouldn’t be here! You must leave at once.’
I still didn’t speak, or even move. On the way along the corridor I’d thought up several new reasons for being there, from bringing a message from a dressmaker to asking whether or not Mistress Pryor might wish to buy some fine quality lace. Face to face with her, however, I could not bring myself to utter any of my paltry excuses. This woman, I was now perfectly sure, held no treason in her heart. She was not an enemy of the queen, nor was she plotting to put someone else on the throne.
‘I demand you answer me at once!’
‘I’m sorry,’ I stammered. ‘I . . . I shouldn’t be here at all. I have nothing to say.’
She gave a sudden cry. ‘You have nothing to say! You frighten me half to death by suddenly appearing here, then tell me you have nothing to say? How did you find me? How do you come to be in this place, and what do you want?
I heaved a sigh, feeling like the worst kind of intruder; as if I’d come to do harm to the innocent babe in her arms. ‘I followed you here yesterday,’ I murmured, shame-faced.
‘Followed me? Why? Do you mean me harm?’
I hesitated, then felt I must tell the truth. ‘It is just this. Someone suspected you of plotting against the queen, and I was asked to watch you.’
‘
I
was suspected?’
I nodded.
She gave a little cry. ‘But I’ve served the queen faithfully for seven years! I’ve turned down every chance of happiness to devote my life to her. And now I am suspected of being her enemy?’
The child, perhaps hearing the fear in her voice, stirred and made a small sound of distress. Immediately Mistress Pryor seemed to forget that I was there and turned to look at it, smoothing its cheek and rocking it gently in her arms.
‘I am so sorry. I have no business here,’ I said, backing away.
‘Stop!’ she said. ‘You cannot leave without telling me what’s behind all this. Was it Walsingham who suspected me?’
‘I believe it was he – and others.’
‘If they are saying that I’d harm our queen then it’s
they
who are speaking treason, for I am every bit as loyal and true to Her Grace as they. More so!’ And saying this, she began weeping.
I gave a low curtsey. ‘Please accept my apologies. I assure you that you will hear no more of this,’ I said. I turned to go. ‘And I am truly sorry I’ve caused you such grief.’