When Babington had gone, Walsingham clapped his hands twice. ‘You may come out of your hidey-hole, John.’
An inner door leading off from the Principal Secretary’s office creaked open and John Shakespeare emerged carrying a heavy black book and writing implements.
‘Did you hear it all?’
‘Yes, Mr Secretary.’
‘And you noted it all down?’
‘Indeed, I did.’
‘What did you think?’
‘He must be scared and bewildered. I find it hard to believe he will do what you hope of him.’
‘Then this will be a remarkable lesson for you, for I am certain he will do precisely as I hope; and more. Wait and see, John, wait and see. He thinks he has me. Even now he will be congratulating himself that he has triumphed over the Principal Secretary.’
‘I am not so certain, Sir Francis. Nor do I see how he can be persuaded to write a letter to the Queen of Scots in the manner you hope. Were I in his place, I would gather together what gold I could muster and pay for passage out of England without a passport – even at the cost of losing my estates and all my treasure.’
‘But you are not Anthony Babington. You are a man of wit and cunning. He is a vain young traitor who aspires to murder Elizabeth and raise up the Scots devil in her place. He thinks he will sit at her right hand. Perhaps he would like to be her Principal Secretary. His vanity and his treachery will most certainly be his downfall. Everything depends on Mr Gifford now. When he goes to him at Hern’s Rents tonight, it is important that Robin Poley is not there. Nor will it work if Babington’s companions Salisbury or Tichbourne are in attendance. Mr Gifford must have space and time to work on Babington alone. Then you will see the measure of the man. Then you will see what treason he is capable of.’
‘If Gifford is to do this, I must offer him sweeteners.’
‘Spend whatever you need.’
‘Are you not concerned that Sir Robert Huckerbee considers them beyond his budget?’
‘I care not a jot what Huckerbee thinks. Take no notice of him. He is a functionary whose life is spent fretting like a fool, but he will pay up as ordered, for I have Lord Burghley’s full support.’
‘Gifford wants written assurances from you that he will not face charges of any kind.’
‘Then assure him that my word is my bond. He needs nothing in writing. Now, John, be seated. Talk with me a while and then take dinner with me. My wife and daughter would be most pleased of your company.’
Talk with me a while. Dine with me. Shakespeare almost laughed aloud. They were words he had never expected to hear from the lips of Sir Francis Walsingham. But he took a seat at the table. The straight-backed chair was probably the least comfortable he had ever sat in.
Walsingham did indeed seem in the mood for conversation. ‘How fares your inquiry into the death of Nick Giltspur? Do you still believe his widow to be innocent?’
‘I do. Yet my inquiries are not promising. My man Mr Cooper has gone missing while investigating the killer Will Cane, one of Cutting Ball’s henchmen. This Mr Ball truly seems beyond the reach of the law.’
Walsingham shrugged. ‘Cutting Ball is a gross carbuncle on the face of the realm. But he is not a threat to it, and so my priorities must lie elsewhere.’
Shakespeare raised an eyebrow. Nothing was so small or so large that the Principal Secretary did not take an interest.
‘Do not raise your eyebrows at me, John Shakespeare! Of course, I would happily see Mr Ball hanged, but first I would have to find him. Mr Phelippes believes he has never been caught because he gives money to corrupt constables and justices and breaks the bones of those who will not be bribed.’
‘Well if he has harmed my man Cooper I shall make it my life’s work to do for him myself.’
‘Enough of Cutting Ball. If you find him be sure I will have him prosecuted to death. What possible motives have you discovered for the murder of Nick Giltspur? You must have some, I am certain.’
‘I have twice been to Giltspur House. So far all I have discovered is that Katherine’s lady’s maid is pregnant and will not say who the father is.’ He shook his head, hesitated, and then ventured a question. ‘Sir Francis, what do you know of the Giltspurs? The old matriarch, Mistress Joan, says the family has done more for England than the whole Privy Council combined. What did she mean by that?’
Walsingham did not speak for a few moments, seeming to weigh up how much he should reveal. Eventually he said, ‘It is true Nick sometimes lent assistance . . .’
‘May I ask how?’
‘His ships would call in at the ports of northern Europe, from the Baltic all along the coasts of the Low Countries and France to Aquitaine and the Iberian Peninsula. He would carry messages – and sometimes men. In both directions.’
‘Is that what the old lady meant?’
‘Possibly. I can think of nothing else, save the getting of fish.’
‘Was there anything in these helpful trips by the Giltspur ships that might have led to him being a target?’
Walsingham shrugged. ‘I know not. But we both know this, John: the getting of intelligence is a deadly business.’
Chapter 31
Anthony Babington had never felt so low. He sat alone in his rooms at Hern’s Rents, as the day began to fade, obsessively going over the events of that afternoon.
He had left the audience with Walsingham in a sweat, yet certain that he had convinced the Principal Secretary of his loyalty and willingness to help. But at the mooring where a pair of Walsingham’s boatmen waited to convey him back to London, Robin Poley had been less sure.
‘I must warn you, Anthony, that I have learnt much since I came here to live in this household. Walsingham will say one thing and mean the opposite. If he says he trusts you, it may well mean he distrusts you.’
The change in Babington’s spirits had been as sudden as a thunderstorm out of a blue sky.
‘Then do you think I should go now? Flee England with all that entails? Give up my estates and live as a pauper in a monastery?’
‘Is that what you want?’
‘Perhaps. I would never see my wife or daughter again, nor my aunt. But if you would come with me, Robin, it would be bearable. Tell me true what you believe.’
They were standing beneath the tall elms, a little distance from the river, too far from the house to be seen. Poley had clutched Babington’s damp hand in his. ‘A monastery? I cannot believe that that is God’s calling for you. I think the opposite. I think you should stand and fight for your true mission; the raising up of Mary to her rightful place as Queen of England. I will follow you, Anthony, wherever you lead. I will follow you though we hazard our very lives. But I tell you this: I would rather a thousand times follow you into the glory of battle than to the oblivion of the monk’s cloister.’
‘Come to London with me now,’ Babington had pleaded. ‘Stay with me tonight. We will talk until dawn if need be, for I cannot do this alone. I am scared.’
But Poley had been adamant. ‘This is the one night I cannot. I must stay here for my mistress, Lady Frances, demands my presence. If I am not here, Walsingham’s suspicions will be roused. That is the last thing we need.’
Babington thought of the long kiss that had followed and his heart ached. He would not see Poley until the next day. He considered venturing out to meet Salisbury and Tichbourne, but they both seemed angry with him, jealous of the time he was spending with Robin. Well, he had no time for such things. If they envied Robin, it spoke to their detriment, not his.
He downed another cup of wine and immediately refilled it. Never, he thought, was a man so torn as he was now. Go abroad and live; stay and die? The coward’s way, or the lionheart’s? The bells chimed nine hours. It was dusk and his shutters were thrown open, letting in the warm night air along with the din of laughter and argument. He paced his parlour, irritated by the sounds of revellers in the street below. Men and women should be abed, for come dawn it would be a day of work.