'So you were the intermediary between Elizabeth and James? Placed in her Court with her consent to take that role? And when you had to go back to report to James because guards had seen you and your cover had gone, she was left with no messenger… which is presumably why the role descended on me.
'You'll be pleased to stay as my guest in The House,' said Gresham. Cameron started to demur, but Gresham held up his hand to silence him. 'The price of your passage is having you where I can keep an eye on you. And knowing an instant messenger is there should I need to write to King James myself. And,' Gresham continued, 'think how convenient it will be for you to keep an eye on me. And be so near to Essex.'
Cameron stayed silent. He realised this was an order, not a request.
Part 2
Chapter 7
January to March, 1599 London and Ireland
Jane had bought books in her brief foray into Edinburgh. She seemed to have an instinct better than any homing pigeon for them. The journey back to England had been as idyllic as any such journey could be. The sun had shone, the wind had blown just enough to give them good speed but no scares and Gresham had found Cameron to be knowledgeable in both Italian and French poetry, as well as the works of Machiavelli. Gresham and he were careful to keep off issues relating to their mutual existence as spies, talking poetry and politics instead. Jane was buried in a book, and Mannion listened to the exchanges between Gresham and Cameron pretending not to understand. Every now and again, he would stagger the remaining crew of the Anna with his nautical knowledge.
The journey proved to be the calm in the middle of the storm.
They came back to an England in uproar. The Earl of Essex had been banished to the country after the Queen had boxed his ears and he, in high dudgeon, had drawn his sword on her! The fiendish rebel Tyrone was sweeping through Ireland and English bodies littered every river and every ford in Ireland! Essex was ill! Essex was dead! Essex was not dead, but seriously ill — really ill this time, not the pretend illnesses he usually contracted when the Queen was piqued with him. Essex was better! Essex had been murdered on the orders of Cecil! Essex had been called to raise and command a new army in Ireland, the army that would sweep the rebels into the sea!
'You are in total neglect of your duty!' said Jane to Gresham, standing defiantly in front of him. Things had rapidly got back to normal. 'You will not replace your steward, who is in his dotage, and you will not order repairs to The House! The result is that the roof of the west wing will collapse unless something is done soon.'
'It is my house, and I will do with it — or not do with it — as I wish!' said Gresham stingingly.
'It is something you hold in trust, as does any man who owns a great house, and you are betraying that trust!' said Jane equally vehemently.
He had been too nice to her when she was young. It never did. Treat them rough and they grew up respecting you, Gresham thought, denying the fact that every shred of his actual experience proved the contrary.
'And how about the people who will die when the roof collapses? Do you own them and their souls, as you own this House?'
'You are impertinent!' said Gresham. 'Leave my presence immediately.'
Jane gave the most skimpy of little bows, turned on her heels and left.
Gresham realised he had quite enjoyed the row. Jane's cheeks coloured and her eyes flashed when she was angry, and he liked the way her chest rose up and down.
'Me, I never went to college,' said Mannion.
'That's because they only let intelligent people in!' retorted Gresham.
'Good thing, probably,' said Mannion, undisturbed, 'cos uneducated men like me are dead stupid with words.'
'Stupid with words?' said Gresham caught off guard for the moment. 'What words?'
'Words like "impertinent", for starters,' said Mannion. 'I alius thought it meant cheeky, impudent. Never realised it meant bein' right.'
'It doesn't,' said Gresham.
'Must do,' said Mannion. 'You told 'er she were impertinent.' 'So?'
'Well, she told you as 'ow the west wing's about to fall down, and it surely is. So if she tells you, and you tells her she's being impertinent, it must mean she's right.'
Gresham felt himself deflating.
'Oh, Christ. Is the sodding building about to fall down?'
'Building ain't,' said Mannion. 'Roof is. Much the same thing when you comes to it.'
'Why do you always side with her?' asked Gresham. 'Have the pair of you got a thing going?'
'No, we haven't, as it happens,' said Mannion calmly, 'as you knows full well. She's family, ain't she, in a sort of way. I don't bed family.'
'It's about all you don't bed,' muttered Gresham. 'Jealousy'll get you nowhere,' said Mannion. 'And me, I just goes with those who're impertinent.' 'What?' said Gresham.
'Those who're impertinent.' He looked at Gresham pityingly. 'Those who're impertinent. Like what you've told me the word means. Those who're right. I mean ter say, you're a Fellow of a grand college and all that. Me, I'm just a working man. If you tells me as 'ow the meaning of impertinent is being right, who am I to argue?'
'Can we end this conversation?' asked Gresham.
'Course,' said Mannion easily. 'You're the master. You can end any conversation when you likes. In fact, you can do that a lot easier than rebuild the west wing. Which is what you'll have to do before long if you don't recognise that 'er who annoys you so much is actually very impertinent when it comes to the state of that roof.'
'For God's sake! All right! Go and get someone to mend the bloody roof! And hire a new steward while you're at it! The old one's been loyal, hasn't he, even if he is ga-ga. Give him a room in the bloody attic — the west wing of course — and a pension and free food. Let's have all London feeding off me.'
'Better if she does all that,' said Mannion. 'You know, 'er that's impertinent.'
'Can't I even keep my dignity?' said Gresham.
'No,' said Mannion, 'you can't. Leastways, you can't order a new roof when you're buggering off to Ireland. And taking me with you. She can. And she'll look out to make sure they does a good job.'
Life went into hibernation over winter, the celebrations for the twelve days of Christmas a brief glittering interlude. Despite that, the Court had been a frenzy of activity following Gresham's return in September. The incredible row between Elizabeth and Essex had been patched up; Essex was widely seen as the man who would lead an early spring offensive in Ireland. Recruitment had started by October, and showed no signs of lessening off. The army for Ireland was shaping up to be the biggest land force Elizabeth had ever sent out in her name. She was not prepared to be the monarch who lost Ireland for England. For once, she even seemed willing to put her money where her thin mouth was.
Gresham had gone immediately on his return to deliver his packages to the Queen and to Robert Cecil. The Queen had been cursory, verging on dismissive, her thanks perfunctory and her whole manner that of someone whose mind was elsewhere. Cecil had been cold.
'Thank you,' he had said, fingering King James's letter but managing to hide what must have been an. intense urge to open and read it. 'The Earl of Essex will in all probability lead the expedition to Ireland. You will accompany him.'
'And tell you if the man commanding the largest army Elizabeth has ever mustered is likely to turn it round and bring it back over the sea to conquer England and not Ireland?' asked Gresham. The incident with Elizabeth had not lessened Essex's popularity with the masses, if anything had increased it. Many at Court felt there was a very real risk in letting Essex take command of one of the largest land armies England had ever seen. In Gresham's opinion they were right.