The Spymaster's Daughter (13 page)

“By the light in your face, I see you are a true lover of books, my lady.”

“Aye, good doctor, of certain books. I am not a one for”—she took in a cautious breath and looked about to see whether they were alone—“sermons or long tracts on religion, new or old.”

“Sit yourself, my lady,” he said, holding out a chair at a long table for her. “You will not find too many such here, unless the kabbalah is your interest.”

She sat in the chair he held for her and wondered how she would broach the subject of his grille cipher she had heard so much about. She didn't have to.

“I understand from Her Majesty that you are your father's daughter and have his interests.”

She smiled, relieved. “Yes, Dr. Dee, most interested. I have read Trithemius's
Steganographia
, but I wish to understand it better.”

“Everyone needs a guide to Trithemius. His work is magical, though magic is simply gaining knowledge of the hidden forces that rule over nature.”

“Book three is full of secret codes that I cannot divine.”

“Do not despair, my lady. Many have tried to understand his ciphers, but no one has yet been able to break them, though I continue to try.”

“Next, I am most interested in your grille code, if you would be so kind as to explain it.”

Dr. Dee smiled. “Ah, and you could delight Sir Philip with a secret message.”

Frances did not deny this idea, since it so pleased the doctor.

“I taught the grille cipher to him. It is quite simple and yet secure.” He took a piece of vellum and scraped off the geometric figures of the previous drawing and turned it to the back. “This is the grille cipher I made for Philip; he will recognize it immediately.”

Dipping a quill into his ink pot, Dr. Dee quickly drew a frame and then ten lines across and ten lines down, marking a number of squares. With a knife, he began to cut out the marked squares, leaving holes in the grille. “This is a very good method for short communication that cannot be read unless the other person has the same grille with identical squares cut out. If you wanted to write, ‘Philip, come quickly by Twelfth Night. I must see you,' you would write your message in the random squares so that they appear as single or double letters on the sheet beneath.”

Frances leaned forward, looking intently at the letters as they appeared under the open grille squares. Her heart seemed to swell
inside her breast. It was simple, though secret as well, and she understood it readily.

“Then, good doctor, I would need to fill up the page beneath with a more innocent message so that my real meaning may not be read unless that person had the right grille.”

“Excellent, my lady. You have a quick mind. It would, indeed, all be unremarkable to someone without the grille.”

Frances smiled, thinking how surprised Philip would be to receive a grille message from her. Would he be angered? Yes, she decided, he probably would be, since she had entered a realm reserved for men.

She leaned back in her chair. “A grille message would be amusing, Doctor; I might do that, but…I am more interested in learning how to break ciphers of some length and seriousness.” She took a deep breath. “You should know now that my father does not approve of my curiosity about ciphers.” She had to be honest with him.

Dee sat back and stroked his pointed white beard. “And he is right to disapprove, my lady. Breaking ciphers is far more difficult than your interest in mathematics…and ofttimes more dangerous.”

Frances tried hard to keep anger from her voice, though she did not hesitate to allow her disappointment to show. “I hope, good doctor, that you do not believe a woman's brain is too delicate for ciphers.”

He smiled. “Once I did, but, my lady, I have been an agent for Her Majesty these too many years to think such now.”

“Please tell me everything I should know.” She heard the pleading in her tone, but did not care. She would sacrifice pride for knowledge.

“I cannot tell you everything, my lady.”

She closed her eyes and heard her heart pounding in her ears. “You refuse to help me.”

Dee smiled and raised a hand as if to wave away any misunderstanding. “No, no, not that. Ciphering is not something that can be completely told even by me…even by your father, Mr. Secretary.” He took a deep breath, stirring his beard. “What I am saying is that
you
must do it, my lady. There are a few things I can tell you, but in the end you must have the head for it. To know that…”

“I do have the head for it!” Her voice was more excited than she intended. “At least, I must try, or never know for certain.” She pleaded with him. “Please, Doctor, what is the knowledge I must have to begin?”

He leaned back, looking at her with an interest that had never lagged since she had first appeared at his door. He spoke in a low but clear voice. “First, you must determine in what language the message is most likely enciphered. Your father deals with English, French, Spanish, Italian, Latin, and German, and he has secretaries who know those languages. The Scots queen, even when writing in French, uses English words and Latin to confuse.”

“I have no doubt my father's secretaries are most skilled, Doctor; nor do I seek to replace them…only to see, for myself, what I can do…especially with what the Scots queen is writing. She is a woman, after all. That might give me some advantage.”

His face relaxed as she spoke. He understood as no one else had.

“There is nothing straightforward about ciphering, my lady. Have you heard of the bead cipher?”

“No,” she answered, leaning forward.

“Different-colored beads or stones can stand for letters or numbers.”

Frances was astonished. A bead cipher! How ingenious!

“But let us not complicate. We will study the most common letter-substitution ciphers. You see, in each language certain letters in the alphabet are more common.”

“Yes?” she said, urging him on.

He smiled. “In English the letter e is most frequent, followed by t-a-o-n. In French, e is followed by s-a-i-t.”

Frances looked about for a blank sheet. “May I write those down?”

“I will prepare charts for you to study, my lady, but it must be our secret. In the wrong hands, they could do harm. It is not meant for everyone to know these things.”

Her reply was eager. “If I could not bury a secret knowledge, then I would make no good intelligencer.”

“Women are not known to keep secrets, Lady Frances,” he said, his mustache lifting in a tease.

Frances laughed a little, relaxing. “Good doctor, we do not tell all we know. You men would not like it.” She became serious again. “But surely there must be more to ciphering than letters substituted for letters.”

“Oh, there is, my lady. There are frequencies of double letters, but the way you thwart the decipherer is to not use them. Instead of double l, t, or s, use only one substituted letter to make your message less easy to decipher. That is not all. Always look for patterns, repetitions. And there are place-names and greetings that will give you clues if you know the sender, as your father usually does or has his suspicions.”

“And if I were ciphering, I could disguise common names….”

“Exactly, by using a number…or another symbol, previously agreed upon…which you will not know, but must guess. When you break a cipher, it is knowledge and intuition you need…with a blind man's luck mixed in.”

Frances nodded, drinking it all in as if it slaked a great thirst. “London could be the number one…or wait, good doctor, that would be too obvious. Another number representing its rank in world cities.”

“Agreed on by both parties, the sender and the receiver. That will make it more difficult for the decipherer…you, my lady.”

She nodded, knowing that it would take trial and error, which made her all the more eager to begin. Now that she knew this much, she wanted most of all to try her hand—and head—to see whether she had the natural ability necessary. She thought so, felt it in her heart, but must see it on paper.

Dr. Dee talked on, so she had to restrain her impatience, wanting to begin immediately. “And, my lady, there are letters added that have no meaning at all, called ‘nulls,' inserted just to confuse and make deciphering more difficult. And most difficult of all, Lady Frances, is to keep a cipher short. The longer the message, the more repetition, the more likely it can be broken.”

“I will remember. I will remember everything, Doctor. But now I must leave you to your work.” She had seen Dee eyeing an unfinished chart.

Following her glance, Dee nodded. “I am busy preparing the queen's chart of the planets' alignment, but I will make your ciphering chart next.”

Frances nodded and pressed her lips together, excitement almost closing her throat, her mind on deciphering, on seeing random letters become a message of importance.

She wanted to start immediately, but suspected that she might have to wait longer than she wanted.

A real intelligencer would wait as long as necessary.

W
HITEHALL
P
ALACE
, L
ONDON

I
n spite of the howling storm outside, Frances heard the door to her rooms open and close. How was it possible that Robert had completed her father's task and returned so fast? Yet she heard him move about near his pallet, soon followed by the soft sounds of his guitar and his low voice singing a wishful song:

She knew the popular madrigal and sang along in her softest voice so that she finished the last line alone, hoping Robert had not heard. Still, the words, the very thought of May, warmed her, as did
Robert's quick return. How had he become so indispensible to her in so short a time?

R
obert heard her low, sweet voice, though he knew she had not meant him to hear. He understood that much, although nothing more of this madness that had come so hard upon him. Being this near to her again was worth the hard ride from the Essex coast, though it had nearly foundered two horses. He regretted never being able to tell her where he went or for how long. And it was just as well to spare her. Taking seizure orders from Walsingham to sheriffs about local Catholics was not work of which he was proud. Mr. Secretary demanded his quick return, although that was not the reason he had spurred through a night and day.

He tried not to dwell on the truth behind his haste. He did not dare, lest he betray himself and show a lover's face to his mistress. He refused to allow such thoughts to grow and be seen by many in this court who could read them only too well. If his emotions were discovered, with luck he would be dismissed from his intelligencer post. It was the least punishment he could expect. Without luck, he would be publicly flogged and openly laughed at, then sent away into his own hell, never to see her again.

He gripped the edge of his pallet. He must control his imaginings. She needed him, needed his care. He would put aside all these other feelings that he must forswear. Lady Frances Sidney was his master's daughter, married to a famous, if unworthy poet. Even now, she was probably in the next chamber writing to her faithless husband. Robert flung himself on his pallet and turned his face to the wall, hoping to sleep…demanding sleep of himself.

W
hen Frances was certain that Robert had fallen into an exhausted sleep, she moved her writing table and chair nearer to the fireplace, its sparks rising into the night. She wore half gloves to keep the cold from her hands. Jennet, bless her, had
placed a brazier behind her chair. Happily enveloped in warmth, Frances listened to the howling snowstorm outside the palace. No wonder Robert had returned so quickly.