Bartholomew Fair (5 page)

‘There was a terrible loss of life.’ I should have kept my tongue behind my teeth, but the words burst out.

He looked at me sadly and nodded.

‘Aye. There was.’

Then he put on his spectacles, and read both reports at once, while I sat there, growing more and more nervous, as he turned over the pages, frowning as he read. At last he laid his spectacles on the small table at his elbow, rubbed his eyes, and sighed. His face looked even more gaunt than when I had last seen him, before we sailed from London. The dark patches under his eyes were black as ink, and he wore a little velvet cap, like a night-cap, from which a few thin strands of grey hair straggled like unravelled wool. His hands, clasped on top of my reports, were bony as a skeleton, and they trembled uncontrollably.

‘Yes, Kit,’ he said at last, glancing down at the reports lying on his lap. ‘You have done well to set all this down. I have heard parts of the story from some of the leaders, but each man blames the others. As an outsider, you have dealt fairly with them all. Nothing can be done now to recover the disaster, but perhaps we can gain some wisdom from it.’

‘I fear . . .’ I said.

‘Aye, Kit? You may speak freely.’

‘I fear the matter may not yet be finished. As you say, Sir Francis, the various leaders blame each other. Their quarrels will not be over today or tomorrow. A great many people have lost their investments, from Her Majesty herself down to smaller investors than my father. The vast numbers of men dead – there will be thousands of women widowed, even more thousands of children orphaned. Of the men who survived, many were wounded or left much weakened by sickness, especially those on the ships left without food.’ I drew a long breath, recalling that nightmare journey of starvation and death.

‘When we reached Plymouth, those who were able to walk were given nothing but five shillings and a licence to beg until they reached home.’ I reached out my hands to plead with him, ‘Sir Francis, these men were promised great riches if they joined the expedition! They were not all worthy men. Some were cowards. Some were scoundrels. Some were no more than idle. But their sufferings were terrible. They deserve justice. And I think they will not all go quietly home until they get it.’

He studied me closely, with a curious expression on his face.

‘I think you are turned lawyer, Kit.’

Then he must have seen something in my face.

‘Nay, I do not mock you. You care for these men and their fate, and I respect you. I too fear the aftermath of this ill-managed affair. You are quite likely right, that we may see some claims for better recompense from the survivors, even for the widows of those who died, but I do not know where it is to be found. As you say, many have lost great sums. The public purse is empty. I would gladly see the men better rewarded, but we have no means to do it.’

He poured himself a glass of wine with one of those shaking hands, and a drop fell on my report. He made an impatient noise, angry at his weakness, and with a fine silk handkerchief dabbed up the spilt wine.

‘Come, let us turn to other matters. Will you take a glass, Kit?’

‘Thank you, sir.’ I was relieved. I did not think he would offer me wine if he was displeased with me.

We sipped our wine in silence for a minute. Then he said, ‘And you, Kit, what will you do now? I hear that your father died while you were away.’

Was there nothing this man did not know?

‘He did, sir. I have lost my father, my home and my employment at St Bartholomew’s. My father had invested all his savings in the venture, so when he died all our possessions were seized by his creditors.’ I could not keep the bitterness out of my voice. ‘Even these clothes you see me wearing I owe to the kindness of a friend.’

I drew a deep breath.

‘The woman who is now living in our house has told me that there are no positions free at St Bartholomew’s. I thought I might write to the governors of St Thomas’s hospital, to see if they would take me, but there may be nothing there either.’

‘Hmm. I might be able to do something for you there. You have not attended university, I remember.’

‘No, my father could not afford it. And I have no money now. I was trained simply at my father’s side.’

‘Do I not recall that the governors of St Bartholomew’s once offered you the chance of a place at Oxford, in gratitude for your treatment of Sir Jonathan Langley? But you turned down the chance.’

‘There were family problems, Sir Francis, at the time. I do not feel I could go a-begging now.’

I felt a chill. Much as I would have welcomed the chance to study at Oxford and qualify as an officially recognised physician, there was no possibility I could hide my sex, sharing rooms with fellow students for several years.

‘Without a degree,’ he said, ‘you will never be elected a Fellow of the Royal College of Physicians. You will have to stay an assistant all your life.’

‘I know that. But I have no choice.’

‘Although sometimes there are special circumstances . . .’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Well, we shall see what can be done. And whenever Thomas Phelippes has need of your code-breaking skills, we will send for you. Will that help you to earn a living?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’ I had never thought I would be grateful to be working for the spymaster, but who can predict how our lives will shape themselves?

‘Go and see Thomas now. He may have work for you, or be able to tell you when there might be need of your skills. We know your aptitude for deciphering codes, and your fluency in languages is also useful to us.’

He got to his feet, easing himself out of the chair by gripping the arms. I rose as well.

‘I will make enquiries at both Bartholomew’s and Thomas’s and write to you when I have any news.’

I bowed. ‘I thank you for your kindness, Sir Francis.’ I hesitated. It was not quite my place, but we had come gradually to be on closer terms than in the past.

‘Your family, sir, are they well?’

‘My wife, God be thanked, is in excellent health. My daughter Frances is out of the official mourning for her husband, of course, but his loss grieved her deeply. She had known Sir Philip since she was a tiny child. Little Elizabeth grows well and never stops chattering!’ He gave a faint smile, then shook his head. ‘The younger child died.’

‘I am sorry for it,’ I said. Frances Walsingham was little older than I and had been carrying her second child when her husband died in the Flemish wars.

‘Aye, well.’ He sighed. ‘What kind of a world is this to bring a child into? War and plague and treachery at every turn.’

I had never heard him so downcast.

‘I believe we are strong,’ I said hesitantly. ‘With yourself and My Lord Burghley to guide and protect Her Majesty, England is in safe hands.’

‘Only by keeping a constant vigil, Kit, and we grow old.’

Unconsciously he was echoing my very thoughts earlier in the day. He laid his hand on my shoulder.

‘We shall not always be here, and then it will be for the next generation to assume the care of the nation.’ He paused, and his glance shifted to the open windows, through which faint sounds drifted from the busy Customs House and quays.

‘As for Frances and little Elizabeth . . . it is time to be looking for a new husband for my daughter and a father for her child.’

As I walked along the corridor to Phelippes’s room, I wondered about those last words. Would Frances Walsingham have any choice in the matter? The alliances of great families must take more into account than the personal feelings of their individual members. Sir Francis had nearly beggared himself, paying off the debts of his son-in-law, Sir Philip Sydney, and giving him a funeral fit for a monarch. There would be little enough left of his estate to leave to Frances, his only child. How ill was he? If he thought death was approaching, he would want her safely married to a man who could give her position and financial security. It was said that the Queen had been angered at the original marriage, between Frances Walsingham and Philip Sydney, but then she often took against marriages she had not arranged herself. Sir Francis would want a man of similar rank for his daughter’s second husband. I wondered who he had in mind.

‘Kit!’ Phelippes rose from his chair, seeming glad to see me. He was not a demonstrative man, but he smiled warmly and welcomed me in to the familiar office where I had spent so many hours pouring over obscure coded letters in the last three years. I looked around. There were my own table and chair. On the wall behind, the shelf where I kept my keys to the various codes, my spare quills and ink, and the seal Arthur Gregory had made for me last year.

‘Have you come back to work for us?’ Phelippes said. ‘You cannot have enjoyed your little adventure away from us.’

I felt that ‘little adventure’ would not be my own description of the horrors we had endured, but perhaps the whole disaster had little reality for Phelippes, cooped up here with his documents.

‘Sir Francis said I should speak to you about whether you had work for me. I am no longer employed at St Bartholomew’s.’

Once again I explained what had happened to my father. And as with Sir Francis, I did not mention where I was living at present. I had no tangible reason for this. Merely I felt that the less mention there was of Ruy Lopez at the moment, the better for all concerned, particularly me.

‘Well,’ Phelippes said, ‘as you see, matters are under control at the moment.’

He tapped a neat stack of papers with the end of his quill. Indeed, the room was not sinking under its usual load of documents waiting for decipherment.

‘However, I am expecting another consignment  shortly,’ he went on. ‘There are one or two new stirrings amongst the Spaniards, some new despatches . . . ah . . . diverted . . . as they came through France. I expect I could use some assistance in the next week or two. How can I reach you?’

Still reluctant to mention my address, I said, ‘Suppose I call here in a week’s time? Then perhaps you will know better what you may need.’

‘That will do very well. Take a holiday.’

I grimaced. ‘I have had too much holiday since I’ve been back in London. However, I’ve a wedding to attend this month, and perhaps I’ll look in at Bartholomew Fair.’

‘Bartholomew Fair?’ He gave a reminiscent smile. ‘I haven’t been there since I was a young lad. My mother used to take me with my little sister. There was a woman who sold the most wonderful gilded gingerbread. I was a greedy rascal and ate mine up at once, but my sister used to treasure hers – a castle, a knight in armour, a mermaid. She could not bear to eat them, but kept them until they turned soft or the mice found them.’

I was astonished. Thomas Phelippes had never mentioned his family to me before. It was hard to imagine him as a small boy, gobbling up his gingerbread while walking through the Fair.

‘Does your sister still hoard her gingerbread?’ I was emboldened to ask.

He shook his head sadly. ‘Nay, she died of a raging fever when she was just twelve years old. We never went to Bartholomew Fair again.’

‘I’m so sorry, Thomas,’ I said. I seemed to hear of nothing but the death of children today.

‘It was many years ago.’ He sighed. ‘I never valued her as I should until it was too late. But the Fair – only a few weeks away. A happy time for cutpurses and confidence tricksters.’

‘Perhaps,’ I said, ‘but a good time, as well, for the common people to enjoy themselves before the end of summer. And important for all the cloth merchants. Their booths are so numerous they block the way into the hospital. And now that the Spanish have been chased out of the Channel, at least for a time, there will be merchants there from the Continent. It should prove profitable for the guilds of London.’

‘You are right. The legitimate business of the Fair was always the trade in cloth, and after the losses in the Portuguese expedition, there will be many hoping to make a good profit. And the other trades too, metalwork, jewellery.’

‘Leatherwork,’ I said. ‘I know a family of leatherworkers who have taken a stall for the first time. Last year, with the invasion, no one could think of trade, but this year it is another matter.’

I glanced towards the door to Arthur Gregory’s small cubicle.

‘Is Arthur not about?’ I said.

‘Gone to fetch some special fine-grained wood he needs for his seals,’ Phelippes said. ‘He will be sorry to have missed you.’

He asked me about the expedition, but he was mainly interested in the escape of Titus Allanby, one of Walsingham’s own agents.

‘It was unfortunate that you were not able to secure the release of Hunter from the prison in Lisbon,’ he said.

‘There were many things which were much more unfortunate than that,’ I said grimly. ‘Besides, Hunter seems to be accommodated in a fair degree of comfort, and to have valuable sources of information about the Spanish. Is he not of more use to Sir Francis where he is?’

‘Perhaps, perhaps.’

I left soon afterwards and collected Rikki from the stableyard.

‘Will you be coming back to us then, Master Alvarez?’ Harry asked.

‘It seems Master Phelippes will have some work for me shortly, so you will be seeing me again. Thank you for looking after Rikki.’