Shadow of spain, p.6
Shadow of Spain, page 6
I too welcomed the chance to see the new baby. She was brought to us by Mildred’s maid Hannah who had apparently been sharing the work of caring for the child, and Mary Bright, who turned out to be young and clean, if plump. The baby, swaddled in knitted blankets, was so tiny that I could hardly believe she was real, until she opened her eyes and looked at me, and pulled a minute hand out of her covers, to wave it in the air.
‘Give her to me,’ said Christopher, and took the bundle into his arms. He looked into his daughter’s little face. His own was taut and bloodless under the tan, but his voice was kind. ‘Hallo, Elizabeth. I am your father. I will try to make up for your lack of a mother. Welcome to West Leys, my pet.’ He put a forefinger into the little pink wavering fist and the baby’s fingers closed round it.
He looked at me. ‘I have heard of fathers who rejected babies because they lived when their mothers did not. I don’t propose to be among them. Oh, how I wish I had come home sooner! If I had been here, Kate might have …’
‘No one can know that,’ I said. My eyes were prickling. Christopher was a good man and in the course of my life I had learned to value such men. There are plenty of the other kind.
‘That’s true,’ Christopher said with a sigh. He gave the baby back to Mary and she and Hannah bore her away, back to the nursery upstairs. Christopher turned to me. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘that now I had better explain Berend Gomez. I would never have brought him if I had known what had happened. Perhaps I should send him on to Brentvale, to the inn there.’
‘It’s up to you to decide,’ I said. ‘But if he is an old friend of yours, perhaps his company would help you. Who is he? You have only told us his name so far.’
Christopher paused, drumming his fingers on the arm of his seat. Then he said: ‘He’s not really an old friend, just an acquaintance, as I said at first, someone I’ve once or twice stayed in the same inn with, enjoyed a pint of ale with.’ He blinked his nice brown eyes free of tears and looked at me very straitly. ‘He’s one of our own. You know what I mean, Ursula. We met on the road an hour before we arrived here. We are both bound for London, to see Sir Francis Walsingham. We both have to lodge reports with him. Berend was using a roundabout route to get there …’
‘Many agents do that,’ I said, thinking of Juan Smith.
‘Yes. I’ve done it myself in my time. So I suggested that he stayed the night with me, and tomorrow, we would ride on to London together. I wanted to call here first to see how Kate was …’ His voice faltered for a moment. Then he said: ‘I shall only be gone for a few days. Then I’ll be back for good and able to see to things here.’
‘What more can you tell me about Gomez?’ I asked.
‘He’s a double agent. The Duke of Parma, in the Netherlands, sends him here now and then. He pretends to be seeking customers for a Dutch maker of earthenware goods. Rather attractive ones, blue and white tableware and vases and floor tiles. I’ve even bought some dishes through him; Kate loved them.’
His voice wavered again. Once more, he steadied it. ‘The maker of the earthenware, Johannes Jansen, is real and Berend really does find English customers for him. At the same time, as far as Parma is concerned, he is finding out all he can about how much support there is among English Catholics for a Spanish invasion. I’ve been in the north, doing the same thing for the queen. Parma regards Berend Gomez as a useful spy and also a competent messenger who has the gravitas to do some negotiating as well.’
I nodded. Christopher was similarly regarded by Walsingham. Walsingham had once told me that it was his policy that messengers who were entrusted with documents that could bring them into danger should know what they were carrying and therefore might as well be negotiators too. ‘Trustworthy messengers and good negotiators both cost money,’ he added. ‘Why hire two men when one can quite well undertake both tasks? The queen prefers economy, anyway.’
Christopher said: ‘Berend is half-English and speaks our language, which makes him extra-valuable. He reports to Parma and anything of importance is passed to Parma’s uncle Philip in Spain. Only, as it happens, we turned Gomez years ago. He was caught in the act of snooping in Walsingham’s office! He wasn’t too hard to turn and not just because he feared execution, either. As I said, he is half-English. He lived here for many years in his youth and he has genuine feelings for England. He had already been feeling torn. We pay him, of course, so he is paid twice, once by Parma and once by us, and I believe he is saving up to leave the spying business, buy some land in England and look for a wife. He gives us news of Parma, and takes inaccurate information back – or accurate information, sometimes!’
‘How do you mean?’ I was puzzled.
‘He’ll be reporting that the Catholics in the northern counties aren’t at all eager and willing to rise in support of a Spanish invasion. No more they are! There is no such eagerness; alarm would be more like it. Berend is now on a journey back to Walsingham, and once there, he will learn what Walsingham wants him to pass on to Parma next. The lack of enthusiasm for an invasion will certainly be included and there’s nothing inaccurate about that! Thank God. We don’t want King Philip believing that anyone in England will welcome his army with open arms. Foolish churchmen in Spain, the kind who think that what they want to be so, actually is so, have been telling him all sorts of nonsense.’
He stopped, looking embarrassed. ‘I talk about my work and just for a moment, I’m not thinking about Kate. Ursula, I shall grieve for her for the rest of my life, believe me.’
‘I do believe you. I also think that the company of a friend may be a blessed distraction for you,’ I said. ‘Anyway, it’s your house and if you wish Señor Gomez to spend the night here, then of course we’ll all make him welcome.’
I smiled at him. Many years ago, Christopher had wanted to marry me and I had refused but between him and me there was still a warmth. I had regretted that refusal later, but by then, he had seen Kate. He had loved her very much. I knew Christopher well enough to know that he wasn’t shallow. He wouldn’t easily forget her. I said: ‘When you get back from London, you’ll find distraction in being busy. Mildred and Bessie have been bewildered by the account books and don’t know how to give orders about the farm.’
‘Before I leave for the court, I had better look at the books and talk to my bailiff,’ Christopher said. ‘And Berend’s company won’t be unwelcome; you’re right about that. He’s a cheery soul. Yes, I will ask Berend to stay. Have you dined yet?’
‘No. But when I arrived, Mildred was preparing a good-sized meat pie. Chicken and rabbit, I should say. There’ll be enough for us all.’ A thought drifted into my mind. ‘Christopher, you may not have heard the latest news. Does the name Juan Smith mean anything to you?’
‘Yes. We weren’t acquaintances as Berend and I are, but I have met him. I know him slightly. He’s another turned agent. Half-Spanish – Spanish mother, English father. Opposite way round to Berend. Berend had a Spanish father and an English mother. He was born in Spain and they lived there until Berend was eight; then the father died and his mother brought him home to live with her parents. He’s Catholic but like Juan, he has a love for England. Why did you ask?’
‘Juan is dead. He was murdered, stopped on the road and killed by a crossbow bolt.’
‘What?’
‘You’ll hear all about it when you get to the court. He was codenamed Magpie. Walsingham is insisting on codenames a great deal these days. Magpie was carrying secret correspondence between Elizabeth and Parma. Christopher, are you by any chance codenamed Pigeon?’
He looked startled. ‘No. My codename is Sparrow. Berend is Pigeon. And I wouldn’t have told you that except that you are the queen’s sister – and, of course, one of us.’
I said: ‘I think Walsingham may have an interesting – I mean confidential – errand for him, on his next visit to the Netherlands.’
‘Indeed? Well, it could be a good thing for Berend to be used for something confidential. He is worried. He has a feeling that Parma has realized that he has at times been fed inaccurate information. There was a tale about a shipyard on our west coast that was supposed to be building warships. It doesn’t exist. Berend says that Parma seems to have ways of checking up on his spies and his last interview with the duke was uncomfortable. There was a hint that he should be careful not to make mistakes. Oh well,’ said Christopher cheerfully, ‘if he tells Parma that the English Catholics mostly don’t want Philip to invade, that’s true enough!’
In the kitchen, the atmosphere had become rather more lively than it should have done in a house of mourning. Bessie was beating eggs and had a row of assorted ingredients in front of her, including preserved plums, some separated eggs and whites, and a little dish of sugar. Mildred, more floury than ever, was rolling pastry again and had a pile of filling ready for another pie. Mutton, ham, chicken and parsnips this time, by the look of it.
Gomez was relaxing in the basket chair which Bessie had vacated. He was stretching long legs towards the warmth of the hearth and it was clear that everyone had now been introduced to everyone else and they were getting on well. In faultless English, Gomez was telling a tale about an incident on the road. He had been riding a hired horse that had once belonged to a party of travelling actors and they had taught it to hold up a front hoof to beg for an apple.
‘Believe it or not, that animal, that should have been accustomed to just about everything you could meet on any road, shied like a silly colt because the wind blew what looked like an old floor cloth across the track and I came off. I just came off, as if I’d been a learner who’d never straddled a horse before. So there I was, sitting on the wayside like a fool and that confounded animal looked down at me and held up a hoof, begging for a titbit, as if it had done something clever! Oh well, at least I’d had the sense to hang on to the reins with one hand while I felt myself for bruises with the other. I got up and got back on, and thenceforth kept a sharp eye out for flying floor cloths, believe me.’
When he arrived, I hadn’t taken in his appearance or his voice, but now I realized that he had a good speaking voice and a great deal of charm. He was a handsome man, tall, I thought from the length of his legs, dark of hair and eye, dressed plainly but not cheaply, in a quilted brown doublet with a small ruff, stout dun-coloured breeches and good leather riding boots. The cloak he had tossed over the back of the basket chair was of thick black felt. His saddlebags had been brought in along with a pack that he had had on his back and were lying by the wall. A leather sleeve dangling out of one of the saddlebags suggested that he had a waterproof cloak as well, for wet weather. Cloaks like that cost money.
Bessie had moved round the table so that she could face him while she worked and Mildred, who had also moved to give herself a better view of him, was flushed and smiling. Gomez gave me and Christopher a grin as he ended his story and then Gomez, speaking directly to Mildred, said: ‘You never know what you’re going to get when you hire a horse. They lead hard lives with all manner of riders and they show it. If they’re not slugs that don’t want to go anywhere, they’re brutes that pull your arms out of their sockets and have mouths of steel, never mind iron, or else they bite, or they have shoulders as straight as ships’ masts. Do you like horseback travel, Mistress Atbrigge?’
‘Yes, yes, I do,’ said Mildred. ‘I have my own horse, Grey Cob.’
‘Just Grey Cob? I take that he or she is a grey cob?’
‘My parents didn’t approve of giving horses what they called fancy names. My father had a chestnut horse and just called him Chestnut.’
‘Was it a Puritan home?’
‘Yes, well, yes it was, though I think a little differently these days, since I’ve been a companion to Mistress Stannard, and then married. I’m a widow now.’
‘I am sorry. You’re young for that, Mistress Atbrigge.’
Pink and a little flustered, Mildred said: ‘Oh, do please call me Mildred.’
I knew Mildred’s propensity for falling in love at five minutes’ notice, all too well. Thank goodness Gomez was on his way to the court. We’d be rid of him the next day.
SIX
The Deepening Shadow
When Christopher first appeared, I had at once thought, Well, now I can go home, but when I realized that he intended to leave again almost at once, to make a report to Walsingham, I felt doubtful. He said that he would soon be back but there was never any telling how long these court attendances might be. If Christopher actually wanted to see Walsingham, rather than just depositing a report with a clerk, he might be kept waiting for days. Walsingham was a busy man. Perhaps I ought to wait until Christopher came home to stay. However, while we were eating dinner, I changed my mind again. If I stayed, so would Mildred and that now struck me as a bad thing. I didn’t at all like the way that she and Gomez were talking and laughing together so easily.
No. Bessie could surely manage until Christopher’s final return. He had said that before he left, he would see his bailiff and glance at the accounts. Gomez would leave with him, of course, but if Mildred were to remain here, I could well believe that Gomez might come back along with Christopher to visit her! Mildred, confound her, really did seem to be taken with him. I knew the signs. I would get her out of the way, and at once. Once dinner was finished and cleared, I told her and Hannah to put their things together. We could set off for Hawkswood and get there before dark. Thank goodness the evenings were lighter now, I thought.
Mildred protested but I was insistent. I think she had expected to go on chattering and laughing with Gomez all the rest of the day. Naturally, I was glad to see that she was no longer brooding on her loss, but I still felt responsible for her. When I first met her, she had been a serious-minded Puritan daughter, and after that she had in rapid succession been the wife of a vicar, then his widow, and in addition had lost the child she was carrying. But she was still only twenty and now it looked to me as though, through it all, the giddy young girl she should have been when she was at home with her parents, the girl they had never allowed to appear, had survived in secret and today had suddenly emerged into the light, like a hatching chick.
Cutting her protests short, I said: ‘There are things I must attend to at home, and you should be there; the plans I am making will concern you. Hannah, go and pack for yourself and your mistress. I’ll tell Jimmy to saddle our horses.’
Mildred and Hannah (who had also been looking at Gomez with admiration) went reluctantly upstairs and they were hardly out of sight, before Gomez remarked: ‘Your friend Mistress Atbrigge is very beautiful, Mistress Stannard. What a misfortune to be widowed so young.’
‘Her marriage was a misfortune as well,’ I said. ‘She has returned to me to be my companion, as she was before. I am glad to shelter and safeguard her again. She is indeed very young.’
‘I think she is delightful,’ said Berend irritatingly. ‘Such pretty hair.’
The pretty hair was my doing. When she lived with her Puritan parents, they were anxious for her to marry but did nothing to help her to become attractive. She wasn’t plain but her features were unremarkable. They needed enhancement. Her hair, which then was no more than mousy, was in any case hidden most of the time under a concealing white cap. I had taught her how to wash it in brightening herbs and urged her to brush it well, and I had provided her with some attractive hoods, covered in light brown velvet and studded with various semi-precious beads – amber, topaz, fresh-water pearls and the like. I had taught her how to make sure that a few waves of her hair were visible in front of them. The result had been highly satisfactory.
I had also taught her to choose flattering gowns. Her parents had insisted on either grey or black. But because her eyes were somewhere between blue and green, I had encouraged her to wear gowns of light blue or fresh green or amethyst. And so, intending simply to improve Mildred’s appearance, I had accidentally turned her into something of a beauty, and the experience of marriage had matured her in some ways, defining the shape of her face, giving dignity to the way she sat or moved. She was very different from the Mildred Gresham who had left her home to be my companion. The sooner she was well away from Berend Gomez, the better.
Besides, I really did have plans to discuss with everyone who lived at Hawkswood. The times were growing perilous.
Bessie, Christopher and Berend all parted from us with great regret and pleas for us to remain overnight but I remained resolute. On the ride home, to my irritation, Hannah twice remarked to Mildred that that Master Gomez was a fine-looking gentleman, wasn’t he? She’d never seen a Spanish gentleman before and he was handsomer to her eyes than most Englishmen, and Mildred, instead of quelling her, agreed in wistful tones.
In stern tones, I reminded them of how dangerous was the work that such men as Berend did, and I told them about the murder of Juan Smith, otherwise known as Magpie. While they were absorbing that, I changed the subject and remarked to Mildred that it had been very kind of her to go to the rescue of the beleaguered household at West Leys; had she grown accustomed to such things when she was a vicar’s wife? I supposed she had had to visit the sick and the elderly.
‘Yes, I did,’ Mildred said, accepting the new topic without apparent reluctance. ‘I miss it,’ she said. ‘I became quite fond of some of them. The village was very small but it wasn’t as small as it seemed. Some of the cottages were full to bursting with big families and three or four of those crowded households had built shacks or little cottages out on their land, for elderly aunts and grandparents. Poor things; I was sorry for them. If they were strong enough, they would keep chickens and grow beans and peas and help to feed themselves but if they relied on their families to bring them food, well, several of them were only just kept alive. Some of those villagers weren’t nice people.’
