‘Exactly. There are many English merchants in that city. No one will pay much attention to the arrival of another.’
‘But, My Lord, I have a business to run. I have just lost my journeyman. He was very capable. Whenever I had to be away…’
‘Ah, yes.’ He returned to the table and selected a slip of paper from one of his neat piles. ‘John Fink,’ he read. ‘Foolish fellow.’
I gasped. ‘Your Lordship is remarkably well informed.’
‘I have to be. Everything depends on reliable information. So I gather intelligence in many ways and about many things… including Robert’s death.’
I stared at Cromwell, trying to grasp what was going on behind that expressionless face. ‘As you say, My Lord, I have no choice.’
His reply was calm and emotionless, almost nonchalant. ‘There is no one else who can keep Stokesley’s hellhounds on the leash indefinitely.’ He resumed his seat and picked up a small hand bell. ‘Well?’
I nodded.
He rang the bell. Instantly a secretary entered. Cromwell handed him a pile of letters. ‘These are ready for sealing and despatch. Take Master Treviot and give him the package that has his name on it.’ Looking up at me he said, ‘God speed you, Thomas. Make all the haste you can. Events have a habit of changing suddenly in these days.’ With a sigh, he reached into the coffer for more papers. Did I hear or imagine him adding, under his breath, ‘and with this king’?
Chapter 26
The rest of that day was a blur of impressions, decision-making and emotions: walking home and being stopped every few yards by people wanting to know what had happened to me; finding my household, shocked and uncomprehending, barricaded behind locked doors against the malice or mere curiosity of neighbours; trying to comfort John Fink’s widowed mother, who was distraught, not only by her son’s death but also by her parish priest’s refusal to allow Christian burial to the suicide; arranging for another senior apprentice to step into John’s shoes; and, on top of all this, trying to evaluate and understand the toings and froings of my own fortunes. It was well past midnight before I was able to retire to my chamber with the package I had brought from Broad Street. I lay on my bed fully dressed, broke the large seal and severed the strings around the linen-wrapped parcel. By the light of a candle I spilled out its contents on to the counterpane. But, before I could begin to examine them, I fell into an exhausted sleep.
By the time I awoke it was broad daylight. I had food brought to my chamber and examined Cromwell’s package as I ate. The instructions for me were to the point: a ship called the Sweepstake was waiting at the Custom House Wharf to convey me to Antwerp where I was to report to Stephen Vaughan, the Chief Factor at the English House: I was to pass him the sealed packet that accompanied my instructions. I was to make full enquiries about Robert Packington’s recent visits and make careful notes on everything I discovered — no matter how seemingly trivial. I was to return as soon as I was satisfied that there was nothing else to learn and report immediately to Cromwell, whom I would find either at his London house or at the royal court. Cromwell expected to see me back in England by the second week of December.
It was obvious that His Lordship expected me to set out on my mission within hours and I was in no doubt that he would soon know if I prevaricated. Yet there were still personal matters I had to attend to before I could leave England. My main concern was for my family at Hemmings. I was anxious lest news of my recent misadventures might have reached them. Since I could not spend time travelling down into Kent, it was imperative that I send them a reassuring message. I pushed my breakfast to one side and took up my pen to write a hurried note.
I was too late.
Before I had scrawled three or four lines I heard a commotion on the stair outside my chamber — angry, shouting voices. I jumped to my feet but had not taken a couple of paces before the door burst open. To my astonishment a dishevelled Jed strode into the room, pursued by two of my men, who were trying unsuccessfully to restrain him. His head was thrown back, his hair was wildly ruffled, his boots were caked in mud.
Fear gripped my throat so tight that I could hardly croak, ‘In God’s name, Jed, what’s the matter? Has something happened at Hemmings? Why are you here and not there? I waved the servants away as my visitor dropped unbidden into a chair and unclasped his cloak.
‘Master Treviot,’ he gasped breathlessly, ‘is it really you? Thank God I find you safe!’
‘Why should I not be? What have you heard? Here, man, take some ale and get your breath back.’ I passed my tankard to him and sat down again.
Jed shook his head. ‘Read this first,’ he said, fumbling a creased letter from his purse. ‘’Tis from Lizzie.’
‘I didn’t know Lizzie could write,’ I muttered, as I unfolded the paper.
‘There’s much you don’t know about our Lizzie.’
Apprehensively I peered at the unsteadily formed letters. The writing was almost illegible but the message was very clear and typically Lizzie. She might almost have been in the room, shouting it at me:
Thomas Treviot, if they let you see this in your prison I hope it makes you…’
The next few words were heavily scrawled out.
You have gone and left me in a hellbred hole. That swell-headed pock-brained pious prating hypocritical priest Incent was here all agloat. He said you was taken for a heretic and would be burned within days. He said we must confess all our heresies to him or he would be sure we burned too. Well I aint going to burn and nor I aint going to let anyone burn Raffy. I’m taking him somewhere safe. Not going to say where in case your jailers get their hands on this. God send you better than you deserve.
Lizzie
I read the message over, again and again, speechless with anger, fear and guilt. Then I implored Jed, ‘In God’s name, where are they? Are they safe? What’s happening at Hemmings?’
Jed drained the tankard and wiped a sleeve across his mouth. ‘Everyone’s safe for now,’ he said. ‘Our old abbey of Farnfield has a sister house in Sussex. Ned’s taken Lizzie there with your son and your mother. The nuns will look after them as long as need be. But how is it that you are free? That whoreson Hugh Incent came to the house with the most terrible tales. Were they a pile of lies?’
Briefly I explained my extraordinary change of fortune. ‘So I am now under Lord Cromwell’s personal protection,’ I concluded. ‘There is nothing Hugh Incent or Bishop Stokesley or anyone else can do.’
‘So what happens now?’ Jed asked.
I stood up and paced the room. ‘I don’t know,’ I moaned. ‘What I long to do is saddle up this instant and ride with you into Sussex. I want to go to my family and Lizzie and take them back to Hemmings and assure them that they’re safe. But I cannot. I must set out on a mission for Lord Cromwell.’
‘Can that not wait?’
‘No, my orders are very clear. I must set out this very day. If I fail My Lord, I will lose his favour. Then we shall all be at the mercy of Stokesley and the Incents and their like.’ I stood by the window and watched the new day’s light bring West Cheap to life. ‘Joseph, Mary and all the saints, what do I do? It seems my choice lies between abandoning my family and abandoning my patron.’
‘Well, Master Thomas, Lizzie and your lad and Mistress Treviot are secure for the moment. They will rejoice to know that you have escaped the bishop’s clutches.’
‘Will they forgive me if I don’t come to them straightway now that I’m at liberty?’
Jed made no answer, nor could I expect him to resolve my dilemma.
I returned to the table. ‘Go to the kitchen while I think,’ I said. ‘Get some food.’
When he had gone I crumpled my unfinished letter, tossed it into the fire and took up another sheet of paper. By the time Jed returned I had completed two letters, and handed them to him.