Her slender arm snaked out from beneath the sheets. Her eyes were steady and sure. ‘Come, John. This one night, no more. I am so afraid. Alone in bed I feel the rope about my neck and cannot breathe. I need you.’
This one night. The affirmation of life to scorn death. She had been his long before Nicholas Giltspur ever saw her. Their union might not have been blessed in the eyes of God, but he had never felt any guilt for enjoying her body and her love, nor would he now.
He undressed and joined her in the coolness of the bed. Her skin was as warm as summer sunshine. Her fingers on his body drew a long moan from his throat. ‘Kat . . .’
‘I will go before dawn, John.’
‘No, stay here. You will be safe. I will send Jane away for a few days. It will be better for her not to know. She should have no part in this.’
‘That will never work. Anyway, your house is watched. You notice things when you are a fugitive. I see watchers in shadows. I can pick danger in a doorway or among a crowd.’
He could not help laughing. ‘You should become an intelligencer. Sir Francis Walsingham would love you.’
‘I had thought he rather liked me anyway.’
‘Yes, indeed he did. And he knows I am trying to find the truth about your husband’s murder. He has afforded me some leeway, but he can do nothing to prevent the law taking its course.’
‘And so you cannot afford to have me here. Fear not, I will slip past Justice Young’s man unseen. But you, too, should be careful, John.’
‘How did you get in here unseen?’
She kissed his cheek. ‘Men have needs, John. Drinking or pissing. He went for a pint of ale at the Blue Boy. How could
he know that he was watched by me?’
‘Perhaps there were two of them.’
‘No there was only one. Trust me. Anyway, they would have battered down your door by now if they had seen me.’
‘They wouldn’t have needed to.’ He returned the kiss. ‘As you pointed out, my love, it is unbolted . . .’
Chapter 27
Kat left an hour before dawn, her hair tucked up beneath her plain woollen cap, still refusing to say where she was going.
‘How will I contact you if I discover anything?’
‘Post a note on the Si Quis Door. Mark it a notice of vacancy for a footman, inquiries to be referred to Lady Cutler.’
Shakespeare nodded. The Si Quis Door – from the Latin Si Quis, meaning ‘if anyone’ – was a door at St Paul’s where notices of jobs for would-be servants were posted every day. ‘So you will be staying close by? Do you not think it would be wiser to leave London? Your man’s guise does not bear close inspection.’
‘I must be on hand. This must be solved or I will have no life worth living.’
Shakespeare kissed her farewell. For the first time, he truly believed that she was both desperately afraid – and innocent. He had discovered something else, too: he no longer loved her.
Shakespeare went back to bed for two hours’ sleep, then took his time over a leisurely breakfast. If Jane had any suspicion that there had been anyone else in the house overnight, it was not evident in her demeanour or anything she said. She bustled about brightly, bringing her master fried links of sausage and
eggs. Her one concern seemed to be Boltfoot.
‘Will Mr Cooper be away long, master?’
‘Not long, I hope.’ There was no point in letting her know that he feared the worst. The poor girl could have had no idea what she was letting herself in for when she agreed to enter this house.
Babington arrived at nine o’clock, ready for his meeting with Sir Francis. He was attended by a richly attired valet and was himself dressed in court finery: a doublet of silver and red with a surprisingly modest ruff, probably worn so as not to risk irritating the Puritan sensibilities of Sir Francis Walsingham.
‘We are to meet Mr Robin Poley at Greenwich. Do you know him?’
‘I have heard his name. He is a Catholic gentleman, is he not?’
‘Indeed, he is, Mr Babington, but he has the ear and friendship of Sir Francis Walsingham and has already spoken to him on your behalf, entreating him to grant you a passport.’
Babington was shocked. ‘I had thought you would be making the arrangements, Mr Shakespeare.’
‘I feared my own intercession would be treated with suspicion. Walsingham is my master, not my friend.’
‘But this Mr Poley. Can we trust him?’
‘He is devout and honourable. He also has great beauty of face and character and he is as wedded to the true faith as we are, Mr Babington. Though he is not wealthy, he gives whatever he may in the way of grants to seminary priests. Being of modest means, he must always live in the households of great men.’
‘His patron is Sir Philip Sidney, I believe.’
‘Indeed, but with Sir Philip away at the wars, Poley has been taken into the house of Sir Philip’s father-in-law, who you will know to be Sir Francis Walsingham himself. Robin Poley has full use of Mr Secretary’s home and has even invited me to mass with him at Barn Elms, under the very nose of his host. I fear I took the coward’s way and did not attend.’
Babington was aghast. ‘Does Sir Francis know him to be a Catholic?’
‘He does, and likes him none the less for it. I would go further and say that he has Walsingham’s love.’
‘How can he bear to live with Walsingham? He is Satan made flesh.’
‘You could ask the same of myself or Abingdon or Tilney – or a hundred other men at court. Mr Byrd of the Chapel Royal has the Queen’s favour, and yet she knows he cleaves to his Catholic faith. We work among them because how else are we to live? And more to the point, how are we to defeat them? Our time will come soon enough.’
‘But Poley-’
‘Enough, Mr Babington. If you do not want his help, then do not come with me.’ Shakespeare took Babington’s hand in both of his. ‘Mr Poley is charming, pious and full of wit. But the greatest of his virtues is honesty. Which is why it is my firm belief that it were better for you if he rather than I were to broach the subject of your passport with Mr Secretary.’ He frowned anxiously. ‘I hope I have not gone beyond my brief.’
Babington hesitated, then nodded. ‘No. You have spoken well, Mr Shakespeare. I will take Robin Poley as I find him.’
‘If you still harbour doubts after meeting him, inquire at the French embassy where he has their full trust. Mr Poley is considered a very prince among the Catholics of this realm. And yet I must repeat that he is not wealthy. So he will ask money of you in return for his services.’
‘How much?’
‘Whatsoever you can afford. But bear in mind that he will be putting himself at great risk on your behalf.’
‘Fifty pounds?’
It seemed Babington had plucked the figure from the air, but Shakespeare imagined he had already given the matter of money thought; something as valuable as a licence to travel was not easily come by in these troubled days and would always cost a great deal.
‘I should not speak for him but I think he would consider that fair.’
Babington shook his handsome head. ‘Fifty pounds to put my head in the lion’s mouth . . .’
‘Fifty pounds to seek safer shores and protect your inheritance. Will you send for your wife and child when you are abroad?’
Babington did not answer. ‘Let us get to it, Mr Shakespeare. Midsummer is past. Time catches us unawares. Let us go now to Greenwich and meet your Robin Poley.’
The trip downriver to Greenwich Palace was swift and uneventful. On arriving, Shakespeare escorted Babington to the presence chamber.
If Babington was anxious, he disguised it well, for he held his head high and smiled at the numerous courtiers with whom he was acquainted: a wave of the gloved hand here; a nod of the head there.
Walsingham had been as good as his word. Shakespeare spotted Poley instantly.