Lamentation

We rode on, talking of the ceremonies and the autumn Progress that was to begin afterwards, apparently going only to Guildford for a couple of weeks because of the King’s health. We parted at the foot of Chancery Lane. ‘This mystery is not yet unravelled,’ I said. ‘If you do hear anything, please inform me.’

‘I will, I swear.’

As I rode down Chancery Lane I thought, yes, you will, but only so long as it serves the Seymours as well as the Parrs.

Chapter Forty-seven

I returned into my house, aware of the sweat stiffening on my forehead under my coif, and rode round to the stable. Now I would speak to Timothy. But the boy was not there; Martin or Agnes must have set him some task around the house. I dismounted wearily, removed my cap and coif, and went indoors.

Immediately I heard the sound of a woman crying in the kitchen; desperate, racked sobbing. I realized it was Agnes Brocket. Josephine murmured something and I heard Martin say in loud, angry tones, ‘God’s bones, girl, will you leave us alone! Don’t stare at me with those cow eyes, you stupid creature! Get out!’

Josephine stepped into the hall, her cheeks burning. I said quietly, ‘What is happening?’

‘Oh, sir, Master and Mistress Brocket — ’ She broke off as Martin stepped out, having heard my voice. His square face was angry. But he pulled himself together and asked quietly, ‘May I speak with you, sir?’

I nodded. ‘Come to the parlour.’

When the door was closed I said, ‘What is it, Martin? You have not told Agnes about your spying?’

‘No! No!’ He shook his head impatiently, then said more quietly, ‘It is our son.’

‘John?’

‘We have had a letter from the gaoler at Leicester. John has another sickness of the lungs, a congestion. They called a doctor and he said he is like to die. Sir, we must go to him. Agnes insists we leave today.’

I looked at him. I realized from the desperation in his eyes that, whatever the consequences, Agnes would go to her son. And Martin, who for all his faults loved his wife, would go, too. ‘When was the letter sent?’ I asked.

‘Three days ago.’ Brocket shook his head despairingly. ‘It may be too late already. That would kill Agnes.’ When I did not reply he said, suddenly defiant, ‘You cannot stop us. You may do what you like. Give me bad references, spread the word round London about what I did. Tell the Queen’s people. It makes no difference, we are going today.’

I said, ‘I am sorry this has happened to you.’

He did not reply, just continued staring at me with that desperate look. I considered, then said quietly, ‘I will make a bargain with you, Martin Brocket. Take one more message to that tavern, now, saying you have important news and will be at the house in Smithfield at nine tomorrow night.’

He took a deep breath. ‘We go today,’ he repeated, an edge to his voice now.

‘I do not expect you to keep the appointment. Others will do that. But to set the wheels in motion you must deliver the message, in your writing, in person.’

‘And in return?’ he asked, suddenly bold.

‘In return, I will give you a reference praising your household skills and diligence. But I will not say you are a trustworthy man, for you are not.’

‘I was honest all my life,’ Martin replied, a tremble in his voice, ‘until John’s actions brought me to this.’ Then he added spitefully, ‘I might not even have agreed to play the spy but for the fact I never respected you, Master Hunch — ’ He broke off, realizing he was about to go too far.

I answered quietly, ‘Nor did I respect you, Martin, proud, narrow man that you are. With a wife too good for him.’

He clenched his fists. ‘At least I have one.’

In the silence that followed I heard Agnes sobbing uncontrollably again. Martin winced. I spoke quietly. ‘Come to my study. Write me that note and deliver it. While you are gone I will compose a reference. I will give it to you when you return. Then you can get out.’

In the study I thought, what is sure to bring Stice, and perhaps Rich, to that house? I told Martin to write ‘I have urgent news concerning the visit of an Italian gentleman’. There, that would do: Lord Parr had told me that rumours of Bertano’s presence were starting to leak out. Rich would be keenly interested. I had Martin add: ‘Please make sure we are alone. It is all most confidential.’

When the note was written and I had gone over it, Martin left for the tavern; I wrote out a reference for him in ill conscience. I wondered whether he might throw the note away and not deliver it, but before he left I warned him again that very senior people were involved in this, and oddly I also felt that his pride would ensure that he honoured this last promise. Josephine took Agnes upstairs to pack. I stood at my parlour window, looking out on the sunny lawn, full of sad thoughts. A wife. I would have wished the Queen for a wife. I wondered whether perhaps I was a little mad, like poor Isabel.