To Kill A Queen Page 9

  4th July 1586

  I swear my legs turned to jelly today when Sir Anthony was shown in. It was pouring outside, great sheets of rain, and the last thing we expected was a visitor.

  I wanted to stay with Joseph while they talked, but Mother said, “Let them alone,” and went into the little parlour to work on the wall hanging. I fidgeted until she told me to make myself useful and tidy her work basket.

  When Sir Anthony left, I cornered Joseph as he closed the front door. “What was it? What did he want?”

  Joseph shrugged. “He was miserable, and wanted to see a friendly face. He’s been again to ask Sir Francis about a travel licence.”

  “Did he get it?”

  Joseph shook his head. “No, and he is distraught. When I asked what the trouble was, he said, ‘I wish I could tell you, Joseph, but I cannot.’”

  I was just thinking, Thank goodness, when there was a quiet but urgent knocking on the front door. Joseph opened it, and there stood Sir Anthony, dripping wet.

  He stumbled inside and clutched Joseph’s arms. I slipped back into the shadows.

  “Joseph, you know Sir Francis,” Sir Anthony gabbled desperately. “Cannot you put in a plea for me? I swear, if he gives me a licence and allows me to go free, I will inform him of a plot to kill the Queen!”

  Joseph was confused. “I – I have no influence. . .”

  “Your brother, then,” Sir Anthony insisted. “Or your father?”

  “They are not here.”

  Sir Anthony’s head drooped. Slowly, he straightened and held his head high. “One way or another, this must be resolved. Joseph, I am sorry that you see fit to let me down.”

  He turned and walked out into the grey, driving rain.

  Later

  Father has just returned. He told Mother that he arrived home to see old Tom stabling Babington’s horse. Father had expected that he would start begging people to intercede for him with Walsingham, so he went to the Middletons’ until Babington left. Oh, and Ballard will be arrested tomorrow. I heard all this because I was putting away the wall hanging. Slowly.

  When I went upstairs, Joseph called me into his chamber. “I feel bad, Kitty,” he said. “I have let Anthony down.”

  “That is what he says,” I told my poor brother. “It is not the truth.”

  Joseph was unconvinced, I could see.

  5th July 1586

  Father received a letter from Sir Francis this morning. When he’d read it, he spoke briefly with Mother, then called Joseph and me into the library.

  “What I say must remain within these walls,” he said. “Joseph, you will leave your studies for a while. I will tell you when you may return to them. Kitty, speak to no one of this – not to Edmund, or your Aunt Frances, no one. Do you both understand?”

  “Yes, Father,” we said.

  It was about Anthony Babington. We are to have nothing more to do with him. Joseph must stay out of his company.

  “Please tell me why,” Joseph said.

  Father hesitated, but Mother said, “It is best, Nicholas. Joseph and Kitty must understand how serious this is.”

  Father informed us that Babington is plotting to rescue Mary Stuart and make her Queen of England.

  Joseph went white. “I know nothing of this, I swear. . .”

  “Of course you do not,” Mother said gently. “I’m sorry that we have continued to allow Babington to come here, but it has been necessary for certain people to find out all they can.”

  “And Babington is not careful when or where he speaks,” said Father. “Bad for him, but helpful for those who seek to protect our queen.”

  “May I ask something, Father?” I said.

  He nodded.

  “Why does no one arrest Babington, so that he cannot carry out his plan?”

  Father took a deep breath. “Because, Kitty, Sir Francis has a bigger plan, and Babington is part of it. Rest assured, steps are being taken to prevent anything bad happening. Your family is safe, and your queen is safe. Just have nothing to do with Babington.” He turned to Joseph. “I promise I will tell you of any news.”

  Good. Then Joseph can tell me.

  6th July 1586

  Joseph is almost light-hearted at the thought of no more studies for a while. It’s too hard for him. There are so many books, and he is a slow reader.

  I have wondered all night about the “bigger plan” Father mentioned.

  13th July 1586

  Father has a message from Sir Francis’s home, Barn Elms. Babington has been there, trying again to get a travel licence. I truly do not understand. He was there, face to face with the man who must keep Queen Elizabeth safe. Why was he not arrested? Sir Francis’s bigger plan, I suppose.

  16th July 1586

  Richard knows much of what goes on. He talks quite openly to Joseph, which is useful, because I ask Joseph to tell me. He says I don’t ask him, I bully him, but who cares? After all, it was me who realized Babington is a Catholic, me who felt there was something wrong about him, me who warned Joseph.

  The interesting thing is that Babington is closer to Mary Stuart then even I dreamed. Earlier this month he wrote to her. Imagine! That’s like Joseph writing a letter to Queen Elizabeth! But it’s the contents of his letter that are frightening. He told Mary all about the plot to free her and – this was the terrible thing – he talked of the preparations being made abroad to invade England. He wrote of the plans he was making to “ensure the dispatch of the usurping competitor” I asked Joseph who Babington meant by “competitor”. It is Queen Elizabeth, and by “dispatch”, he means murder.

  Babington and his friends intend to kill the Queen.

  Later

  I have been wondering how Mary Stuart will reply to Babington’s letter. If I were in her shoes, I would tell him not to be stupid – it’s too dangerous. Surely she remembers the Bond of Association.

  Joseph said, “Elizabeth is her cousin, for goodness’ sake. No one would execute their own cousin!”

  Dear Joseph. I am quite sure that if it was Mary’s life or Elizabeth’s life, Mary’s neck would feel the axe.

  31st July 1586

  Master Phelippes dined here today. The instant he arrived, he grasped Father’s hands and said, “We have her, Nick!”

  I was bursting to know what he was talking about, but dared not ask. I stayed silent, as usual, until I was spoken to, which wasn’t often.

  At dinner, Master Phelippes drank much wine and said to Mother, “I have been under pressure lately, Madam. I am unable to express how good it is to relax and spend time with you and your husband. Richard, too – we are usually working when we meet, are we not?”

  “Indeed, sir,” said Richard.

  I was still wondering, what did he mean when he said, “We have her”? Who is “her”?

  It seems to me there might be three plots now: one to free Mary Stuart and make her queen, a second to kill Elizabeth, and then another. I’m not sure what the third plot is, but there is something, and I will find out.

  After dinner, Mother went to play with the little ones while Lucy ate. Joseph and I moved into the small parlour. I sat near the closet with some mending. Joseph read aloud to me, which was annoying, for while he droned haltingly on, I couldn’t hear even a mumble from the next room.

  Eventually, I could stand it no more. “Joseph?” I beckoned, and opened the closet.

  He looked bemused for a moment, then his eyes widened.

  Just then, the door opened and Mother looked in.

  “I’m showing Joseph what wonderful colours we have,” I babbled, waving a handful of silks.

  “Master Phelippes is leaving,” she said. “Come and say your farewells.”

  We hurried out. As soon as Phelippes had left, Mother joined Father. Joseph and I rushed into the little parlour and flung open the closet door. />
  “. . .her cipher was easy to break,” Father was saying. “I almost feel sorry for the woman – she doesn’t stand a chance against Sir Francis. The reply to Babington shows quite clearly that she approves of the plot to free her.”

  Mother’s voice said, “Then it must also show that she approves of the plot to kill Queen Elizabeth.” She paused. “I feel no pity for her. It is treason indeed. Did the lady say more?”

  “She insisted that Babington’s conspirators must always have good horsemen standing by, to tell her when Elizabeth was dead – may God bless and protect our sovereign lady.”

  “Amen,” said Mother.

  For a moment, I heard only Joseph’s breath in my ear. Then Father said slowly, “Tilly, there is more. But it must never leave this room.”

  “You know it will not,” said Mother.

  “Sir Francis made Phelippes add a postscript to the lady’s letter. It was delivered to Babington at his lodgings in Heron’s Rents two days ago.”

  Forgery!

  Father continued. “The postscript asks for names of the conspirators. Once Sir Francis has those, all can be tried for treason.”

  I closed the closet door and turned to Joseph. His face was milk-white.

  “Kitty,” he whispered. “I think I must know all those conspirators. I have probably talked with them, drunk with them, dined with them. Kitty, I swear. . .”

  My poor brother was beside himself with terror. I tried desperately to reassure him. “You are Sir Nicholas Lumsden’s son,” I said. “Our father is friends with important people. He and Richard are both, I am sure, trusted servants of Sir Francis – one of the highest in the land. Don’t be afraid. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “I know that.” His voice trembled. “But if anyone says I have, how can I prove otherwise? I am – was – Anthony’s friend. I must have been seen with him countless times.”

  I soothed him but, in truth, I fear for him, too.

  Later

  Joseph made me promise to say nothing of his terrors to anyone. “If people know I am afraid, I will appear guilty,” he said.

  I vowed to say nothing. I would not harm Joseph for the world.

  1st August 1586

  The weather is hot and sticky, but Father prefers that I stay home. All appears calm, but I know that elsewhere two queens are in danger.

  Joseph, Richard and Edmund have gone over to the south bank of the river, where the water is clearer, to swim. I so envy them. What would it be like to strip down to my chemise, and to slip into the cool water?

  I should drown, of course, for I do not know how to swim.

  3rd August 1586

  Richard burst in while Father was eating. “Gilbert Gifford has disappeared!” he announced.

  Gifford is the man who switched sides when he was arrested – a man no one should trust.

  Father immediately left for court. Richard is to sleep at home while he is gone, and old Tom will guard our door at night.

  Later

  Everyone speaks openly these days – within this house, of course. Richard said that Gifford visited the French embassy with John Savage before he vanished. (Does Sir Francis have spies everywhere?) They arranged for Gifford to pose as a servant to the embassy messenger and escape with him to France.

  “He must know that Mary Stuart will soon realize he was a traitor to her, after pretending to be her ally, Richard said. “He was the one who arranged delivery of her letters—”

  “—in the beer barrel,” I finished for him.

  Richard frowned. “You know too much, Kitty. How did you know about that?”

  I shrugged and changed the subject. “What happened to John Savage?”

  “He’s still here.”

  That worries me. I hope Sir Francis’s men watch Savage closely. He sounds as if he is the real danger. After all, he vowed to kill the Queen with his own hands.

  Joseph asked, his voice shaky, if Richard thought Babington would flee, too.

  Richard laughed. “He might try, but warrants for his and Ballard the priest’s arrests are already prepared. Thanks to the exchange of letters between Mary Stuart and Babington, Sir Francis has all the evidence he needs to try the lady for treason. He only waits for Babington to reply to her request for the names of those involved. Then he will know all the conspirators, and can make his move.”

  Joseph said not a word.

  And I? I now know that I’m right. There are three plots. The third is Sir Francis Walsingham’s plot to bring Mary Stuart to her doom.

  4th August 1586

  I was awakened by sharp tugs on my earlobe. I shot up and opened my mouth to scream, but a hot hand was clapped over it.

  “Hush!” hissed a voice. “It’s me.”

  “Joseph? What o’clock is it?”

  “Late. Early. I don’t know,” he muttered. “Kitty, I must do something tomorrow, and you must make sure I’m not discovered.”

  I had a bad feeling. “What?”

  “I have to see Anthony, just once more.”

  “Joseph! It’s more than your life is worth to warn him. . .”

  “Kitty, I swear I will give no hint of what I know. But I have thought long about what he said, and I must convince him that I have not let him down. I have to do this.”

  “You don’t!” I said. “Joseph, he is bad!”

  He sighed. “He’s only bad because he is on the other side. If he was plotting to kill someone to save Queen Elizabeth, we’d say he is good, and we would praise him, and he would be given great rewards. Don’t you see, Kitty? He believes he is right, just as Father and Richard and Sir Francis believe they are right. He believes God is on his side, as we believe He is on ours.”

  What could I say? “You are my brother. I cannot refuse you.”

  As I struggled to go back to sleep, I murmured, “But I will go with you, Joseph, and watch over you.”

  Afternoon

  Mother took the children to spend the day with the Middletons. She said Edmund would be working, so I could choose whether to visit Kathryn, or stay with Richard and Joseph.

  “Let me see,” I said, pretending to decide.

  Mother laughed. “Be good,” she said, and they were gone. A few minutes later, Richard said he needed to go out, and asked if we were happy to stay by ourselves.

  Of course I was, but Joseph was annoyed. “What shall I do?” he said. “I must go, but I hate to leave you alone.”

  “You shall not leave me,” I said. “I’m coming with you.”

  I soon wished I hadn’t spent the next half-hour arguing with him, for my legs ached long before we reached Heron’s Rents soon after midday. As we climbed the gloomy stairs, a young student Joseph knows bounced down.

  “Is Sir Anthony Babington above?” asked Joseph.

  The young man laughed. “I should think not. One of his friends was arrested right by that door not an hour since.” He pointed to where we’d just come in. “Babington was upstairs, and seems to have taken fright. He shouted to another friend, ‘To Paul’s Walk!’ and something about feeling savage.”

  We went out into the bright sunlight. “Let’s go home,” I said.

  But Joseph was more determined than I’ve ever seen him. “No, Kitty. It’s not far. We can find him.”

  My poor feet.

  Soon St Paul’s Church loomed before us. We went through the great doors and into Paul’s Walk. I wondered how we would find Babington in that press. Everyone in London seemed to be there. People shouting that they needed servants. People shouting, “Servant for hire”. Cutpurses looking for victims.

  “There he is!” said Joseph suddenly.

  Babington was huddled with a group of men beside a great pillar halfway down an aisle.

  “Wait here, Kitty,” said Joseph. “I will say what I have to say and then we can go hom
e and forget we ever knew the man.”

  Babington was speaking so urgently that I became afraid. One of the men clenched his fist, and made downward stabbing movements.

  Stabbing! I sensed instantly that this man was a killer. And then I remembered the student’s words, “feeling savage”.

  Not “feeling savage”. Meeting Savage.

  “Joseph!” I ran after him and grabbed his arm. “Don’t! They’re the plotters!”

  Joseph pulled away. “I just need one minute with Anthony.”

  “But Richard said they’re being watched. Constantly! Don’t you see? If you approach that group now, it will be taken for sure that you are a conspirator!”

  He turned pale, but didn’t move.

  “Joseph! They may even have seen you making towards Babington. Come away. Now!”

  Thank heaven, he did. Now we are home, and I forgot to hide my worn shoes, and Mother keeps on about the money they cost, and how thoughtless I am, and what was I doing with them – polishing bricks?

  Evening

  Father came home exhausted. He still has his riding boots on, which he never wears indoors, because they make too much noise.

  “Ballard was arrested this morning,” he told Mother, making no attempt to keep it from the rest of us. “He will no longer prance around London in his thin disguise.”

  “Where did they arrest him?” Mother asked.

  “Heron’s Rents.” Father chuckled. “Babington was upstairs when it happened. Sir Francis feared he might take fright and flee before we’re ready to take him, so he sent a charming note to Babington saying the arrest was nothing to do with him, but in case of trouble he, Babington, would be advised to keep company with the man who delivered the letter. That man is one of Sir Francis’s agents.” Father stretched and Mother knelt to remove the boots. “Sir Francis promised to let me know first thing tomorrow how Babington reacts. Lord, what’s that smell?”