The Marlowe Conspiracy (17 page)

Scadbury Manor.

T
he grounds of Scadbury mellowed in the late afternoon sunlight. Bees murmured between rose petals. Birdsong echoed beneath the limbs of cool oaks and shaded maples. On a rented horse, Kit trotted up the long gravel drive, rounded the last corner, and came into view of the manor. He sat back in the saddle and relaxed. He slued his horse left towards the stables. At the stable entrance he dismounted, called for the stable groom, but no voice replied. With a shrug of his shoulders, he led the horse into the stables himself and found a vacant stall.

Much of the stalls were shadowed and sunlight raked through the cracks in the wall, stippling the straw. As he drew his horse into the stall, it jerked its head in refusal. He stroked its nose to calm it and spoke soothingly. Eventually, he reached to undo the saddle straps, but the horse stamped loudly, thudding the straw.

Kit suddenly halted all his movements. He felt strangely exposed. His back tingled with nerves. He detected the scent of someone else in the stall with him.

While keeping both hands on the saddle, he turned his head slowly and peered into the shadows of the corner. Audrey stared back at him.

“In faith! Audrey!” he said, smiling and recovering quickly from the shock. “You scared the life out of me!”

She didn't reply. He looked closer at her and his face soon became serious.

“What in god’s name are you doing here?”

With clasped hands, she trod slightly nearer, her face taut and grave. She looked queasy.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, growing more and more concerned with every moment.

“I heard him...” she replied, her voice faint.

“Who?”

“They were scheming together.”

“Who was?”

“In the study.”

“You’re not making any sense. Who did you hear in the study?”

“Thomas, I heard Thomas.”

Kit stood away from the horse and waited for her to finish. She gulped.

“With Whitgift.”

His eyes dropped to the ground. Nervously, he scuffed his foot against the straw.

“Nothing’s unseemly about that,” he said, unconvinced by his own words. “I’m sure there are many reasons that could press them to meet.”

“No, you must believe me, you must.”

“Perchance you’re mistaken?”

She shook her head.

“They were plotting against you.”

He grimaced. Nausea shivered through him. In truth, the news wasn’t really so unexpected. He muttered to himself pensively.

“This is worse than I thought…. if Thomas works for Lord Burghley, it must mean Whitgift… Whitgift and Burghley have formed a union against me…”

For a few moments, neither he nor Audrey spoke. The stables sounded only with the rattle of halter chains and the scrape of horses in stalls. Ever since that night in the guest chamber, Kit had worried that his patron would seek some form of devious retribution. Thomas had probably leapt at the chance to help Whitgift and even talked Lord Burghley into a permanent alliance. Now it seemed the two most powerful men the realm – the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Lord High Treasurer – were both set on achieving his public execution.

Outside, someone’s footsteps crunched along the gravel and moved closer to the stables. Kit and Audrey flinched. The steps were heavy and plodding.

“Who’s that?” Kit whispered.

“Probably the maid,” Audrey whispered back.

At the stable door, a short, plump shadow blocked out the light.

“My lady, supper is served,” the maid called through the stable doors.

Audrey paced out of the stall and up to the entrance.

“I'll be there anon,” she replied firmly.

The maid sauntered off to the house. Once she had gone, Audrey circled back around to the stall. Kit strode toward her. The muscles in his back drew taut.

“What did you hear?” he said urgently. “I must know every word they said.”

Audrey gave a nervous glance out of the stables and was slow to respond.

“Tell me,” he pleaded.

She put her hand lightly on his chest.

“Not now,” she replied.

“When?”

“Meet me at midnight in the hall. I'll show you how to get into the study undetected. You can search it yourself.”

Still in shock, the tension in Kit's posture subsided. He nodded his head. Audrey's eyes lingered on him sympathetically, then she stepped out of the stables and headed for the house.

Kit tucked a lock of hair behind his ear and his finger trembled. He watched Audrey disappear and tipped his head up and looked out of the stables, down the drive, over the tree tops, and beyond into the Cray Valley. On the farthest ridge, the chalky white tip of the moon arose and marked the sky.

SCENE SEVEN

Scadbury Manor. Guest Bedchamber.

T
he moon cast a shade over Kit's face as he sat on his bed.

After an awkward supper with Audrey and Thomas, Audrey had departed for the royal palace at Greenwich and Kit had retired for the night. Despite Thomas’s protests, Kit had managed to slink away while apologizing and explaining that he was tired from his journey.

As soon as he was alone in the bedchamber, his face drained of expression and he fell into a deep maelstrom of thought. After hours of contemplation, he flopped onto the bed exhausted. A drippy candle on his side table displayed roman numerals down its length to mark the hours: eleven o’clock.

He rolled onto his side and collected a wad of parchment from the side table. With a small moan, he lifted the quill, dipped it in the ink and paused. His mind returned to
‘Hero and Leander’
. Now that he had made a physical description of both Hero and Leander, he needed to write the first meeting of the two lovers. Pensively, he nibbled the feathers of his quill and tried to think of all that he wanted to show. His lips were dry. His mouth tasted sour. He looked over to the candle again. It still wasn't twelve o’clock. He dipped the quill with ink once more, then lowered his hand to the page. Almost through a sheer act of will he put the nib of his quill to the parchment and scratched several pages. He ended the scene with the following words:

‘
It lies not in our power to love or hate,

For will in us is overruled by fate.

When two are stripped, long ere the course begin

We wish that one should lose, the other win.

And one especially do we affect

Of two gold ingots like in each respect.

The reason no man knows; let it suffice

What we behold is censured by our eyes.

Where both deliberate, the love is slight:

Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?’

Contentedly, he scanned over the passage and wafted the page through the air to dry the ink.

Sprightly footsteps tapped down the corridor outside. He sat up and listened as they breezed past his room. He stayed motionless but heard no other sounds.

Immediately, his hands turned greasy. He collected the sheets of writing on his bed into a pile, got up, slipped shoes on his feet, and went for the door. He opened it smoothly, but not wide, and poked his head out into the corridor. No one around. No lights shone from any bedchamber.

Silently, he left his room and tiptoed along the corridor to the stairs, barely drawing a breath. Once down the staircase, he stepped out warily across the hall tiles, his long shadow following him in the moonlight. His eyes searched but found no one. Stoked by fear, an odd warmth trickled through his chest and stomach.

“Audrey,” he whispered out into the hall.

Silence. His nerves felt raw. He crept forward, his desperation growing with every step. He rubbed his eyes, prowled near the wall, and whispered out again.

“Audrey!”

No answer.

“Audrey, are you there!”

Still waiting for a reply he passed by a shadowed corner.

A hand snatched out at his shoulder.

He spun around, drew his dagger instantly, almost struck...

He looked closer. The hand was pale and delicate, without marks or calluses. Long, elegant fingers extended with almond-shaped nails. Kit pressed into the shadows, his eyes adjusted, and he found Audrey now stood before him. She waved for him to follow and together they whisked away over the tiles to leave the hall.

Suddenly, Audrey lurched to a stop. Kit nearly toppled into her. Crouched together, they both listened carefully: from ahead came a steady footfall – the clomping steps of a nightwatchman. She pulled Kit back. They flatted their shoulder blades against the side of the staircase. In front, the nightwatchman's dim figure emerged as he passed by the hall. A ring of keys dangled from his belt. Once he was gone, Kit and Audrey scurried off.

Audrey led Kit deep into the manor, down corridors and passages he had never seen before, to the back staircase. From there, they descended to the servant quarters, passed the servant bedchambers, the meal room, and left the house through the kitchen’s rear door.

Outside, they ventured warily onto the path behind the house. The half moon glinted in the night sky like a shard of broken glass. Audrey held a candlestick and lighted it on a wall torch. Her breath misted through the cold.

“Over here,” she whispered, leading him to the laurel bush.

Gently, he helped her push back the waxy leaves and crackling twigs. She stooped forward and threw candlelight upon the secret door. Kit bent his head nearer and looked back at her in disbelief. Within moments, they ducked underneath the door and entered the passageway.

Audrey lit the way along the passage with her candle. The light reflected off the narrow walls, almost blinding them as they mounted the staircase. Kit noticed that whenever Audrey glanced downwards her eyelashes made tiny shadows on the tops of her cheeks. Without makeup her skin looked fresh and clear. He checked himself: this wasn’t the time to stop and admire her. He kept his head down and concentrated on climbing the steps in front. One step. Two step. He couldn’t help it – he looked up again. Her hips swayed in front of him. Raven tresses of hair bounced against her shoulders. Her bodice defined the crisp arch of her back. To climb easier, she hitched her shirt up just above her shoes and he glimpsed the shapely outline of her anklebone beneath her white silk stocking. It couldn’t have been more erotic if he’d seen her own flesh.

At the top of the staircase, she reached out, found the latch, tugged the bolt over, and teased open the secret door. With silent, tiny steps, she showed Kit into Thomas’s study.

Near the window they stood together and surveyed the gloom. To prevent the candlelight from being noticed by anyone outside the study, Audrey shielded it with a cupped hand, making the light glow red through her fingers. In front, the glister of varnished wood, the shadowy lines of furniture, and the eyes of Francis Walsingham's portrait peered back at them through the dark. Audrey tilted her head close to Kit and whispered.

“I don't understand the secret service,” she said innocently.

“Neither do I,” Kit whispered back. “No one does.”

“But why would they turn on you? You’ve never betrayed them, have you?”

“No.”

“I thought not. You’d never do that. So, why are they against you now?”

“Because there isn't just one secret service – there's many.”

“Many?”

“Yes. Lord Burghley heads the official intelligence network, but there are rival spy circles controlled by individual lords. For instance, the Earl of Essex is collecting his own forces to challenge Burghley.”

“How strange!”

“It wasn’t always so. Sir Francis Walsingham used to dominate all forms of espionage in this country. Ever since he died there’s been a power vacuum that Burghley’s struggled to fill. Maybe that’s why he’s made a union with Whitgift?” He shook his head. “It’s all becoming a dangerous muddle.”