By Royal Command (5 page)

Isabelle was at her usual place but instead of trading her normal goods – penny mackerel, garlic, cabbage or candles – she’d set up a brazier of coals and was roasting chestnuts on the fire. These were selling well, for many a housewife was stopping to buy a twist of paper containing half a dozen hot chestnuts, and Isabelle could scarce get them on the fire quickly enough.

‘Here,’ she said, throwing two chestnuts towards me. ‘Slip these inside your gloves to warm your hands.’

I did so, and though they burned at first, this soon faded to a pleasant warmth.

‘Are you here to buy foodstuffs?’ she asked.

I shook my head. ‘I have an errand to run. Dr Dee has asked me to deliver a letter to William Mucklow the sugar refiner.’ I then added in a lower tone, ‘And I believe it must be something dishonest, for I have twice been asked if I can read.’

‘And you didn’t tell them?’

‘Of course not!’

This caused Isabelle to laugh. ‘Many an employer has been caught out by underestimating his servant,’ she said. ‘Is the letter sealed with wax?’

I nodded.

‘Then a small cinder from my fire dropped on to the wax would melt it . . .’

I gasped. ‘I dare not!’

She grinned. ‘If you believe them to be doing something dishonest, why not?’

‘But what if they found out?’

‘How would they do that?’ She shrugged. She shovelled another pan of chestnuts on to the brazier, setting up a spitting and a crackling. ‘Have you heard the ghost again?’

‘’Tis not a ghost,’ I said. I knew that if I allowed myself to believe that, then I’d never have another peaceful night in the house. ‘For certain ‘tis not, for I’ve heard that same noise in the daytime.’

‘’Tis, then, a special ghost with remarkable powers,’ Isabelle said, teasing me. ‘But stay – have you heard the latest rumours about the queen?’

I nodded eagerly. ‘She is set to marry a Frenchman and a Catholic and her English suitors are heartbroken!’

‘You know! But did you know that he won her heart with a sack of pearls?’

‘I heard ‘twas a bag,’ I said, laughing. ‘But I must get on. I’ll see you here later in the week.’

I bade her goodbye and walked through the market and down along Mortlake High Street. The chestnuts cooling and no longer warming my hands, I peeled and ate them.

William Mucklow was a Puritan and though I don’t know much about such people – only that they forbade such things as gaming, singing, and dancing round a maypole – the house which adjoined his refinery was tall, plain and forbidding and seemed as if it might belong to such as he. As I approached the front door, wondering if I should deliver my letter there or take it round to the back, two important-looking men came out: physicians, I thought, or legal men. I waited until they went off then climbed the steps up to the door and knocked. There was no reply so I knocked again, several times, and eventually went around to the back of the house.

There were two doors here and one of them stood wide open, which was surprising in such cruel weather. When I tapped on it a maid ran out and hurried off without looking at me, muttering to herself. Bemused, I went in, whereupon another maid appeared, looking distracted. Her dark hair was untidy and her nose red, as if she had a cold or had been crying.

‘I have a letter for your master. For Mr Mucklow,’ I said.

‘Give it to me here, then,’ she said. ‘Though I don’t know when he’ll bother to read it.’

‘I have to give it into his hands,’ I said. ‘I’ve been told so by my master.’

She sighed. ‘Who’s your master?’

‘Dr John Dee,’ I replied.

Her eyes widened. ‘Then I suppose I shall have to let you see Mr Mucklow,’ she said, ‘though I doubt if letters from such as your master are welcomed here.’

‘I think it’s of some importance.’

She tossed her head. ‘Then follow me.’

I hurried to catch up with her as she walked through the kitchen and up a flight of stairs. ‘Is anything wrong here?’ I asked. ‘Is it a bad time?’

‘Aye. It’s very bad and no mistake.’

‘Has there been a bereavement in the family?’

‘No bereavement,’ she said, turning to me, ‘but the master’s daughter has run away – and her maid just dismissed from her post for not watching her well enough.’

I looked at her in surprise. ‘Why did she run away?’

‘She has eloped, they think.’ She showed me into an icy room, where our breath showed in clouds. ‘Miss Charity is a very naughty girl, for it has broken her mother’s heart.’

‘The family have taken it very badly?’

‘I should say. My mistress is prostrate with weeping. She hasn’t eaten for two days nor slept for two nights, and there are fears for her sanity.’

Saying this, she left me, and I stood and stared at the gloomy tapestries on the walls, trying to make out the scenes – which seemed to be from the Bible – and thinking on what could be contained in the letter.

A few moments later a tall man with long straggly hair, mixed grey and auburn, came into the room and held out his hand for the letter. He wore a black suit in some coarse material and a shirt with a plain white collar which marked him out as a Puritan, but I thought it best to ascertain I was giving the parchment into the right hands.

‘Mr Mucklow?’

He nodded. ‘And you, I understand, are from the house of the magician.’ Without waiting for me to speak he went on, ‘I’d be obliged if you’d tell your master that normally I’d hold no truck with any person of that description, but my household is in a sorry state and my wife has pleaded that I should leave no stone unturned.’ He sighed. ‘You know, of course, that our child is missing?’

‘I heard that news, Sir,’ I said, giving him the letter.

He tore off the seal, then crossed to the window in order to gain more light to read by. I went to the door but, as I made my curtsey to leave, he suddenly said, ‘No. Wait. There may be a reply.’ He scanned the letter. ‘Damn hocus pocus. Scrying-stone! The impudence of the man,’ he said, and dropped it on to the polished table beside him. Then he immediately picked it up and looked at it again, his mouth working as if he was in some inner turmoil.

‘Will there be a reply, Sir?’ I asked.

He clenched his hands into fists. ‘Any that I might make now would be unsuitable for a maid to hear. And yet . . .’ He cursed and strode to the door, where I heard him running up the stairs.

What did the letter contain? Beside myself with curiosity, I took a few timid steps across the room to stand beside the table. Then, my head tilted as if I was looking out of the window and admiring the frost-rimed trees, tried to pick out some of the words. It was in Dr Dee’s flowing script, which was not nearly as easy to read as the plain, rounded characters of the girls, but I could see very clearly the number 20.

Twenty. The number of gold coins I’d heard mentioned by Mr Kelly.

Before I could think more on this, I heard Mr Mucklow coming down the stairs and quickly moved away from the table.

‘Will there be a reply, Sir?’ I asked, somewhat timidly.

He shook his head and took up the letter again. ‘I must speak to my wife, but the apothecary has given her a sleeping draught and her maid said she mustn’t be disturbed. Tell your master that I’ll communicate with him tomorrow morning.’

The maid was called to show me to the door and this she did, on the way asking in a low voice if it was true that Dr Dee spoke with spirits and could raise the dead. My answer to this – as always – was that if he did raise the dead, then they’d be most welcome to undertake a few jobs around the house.

I walked home briskly, thinking of what I’d overheard of Dr Dee and Mr Kelly’s conversation the previous day and of what I’d now discovered, and it didn’t need someone with the mind of a scholar to come upon the truth: that Mr Kelly had kidnapped Charity Mucklow with the intention of asking her father to pay for ‘finding’ her in the show-stone.

It had been no ghost that I’d heard sighing about the place, but Miss Charity.

Chapter Four

I
had instructions to go straight into the library when I arrived back from Mr Mucklow’s house and this I did, not even stopping to take off my outer clothes.

‘Have you brought a reply to the letter?’ Dr Dee asked as soon as I entered the room.

I shook my head.

‘No reply!’ Mr Kelly swore an oath and rounded on Dr Dee. ‘You should have been more exact in your assertions, Sirrah! You should have told him that if he didn’t agree to pay for the ceremony then she would
never
be found.’

‘Enough.’ Dr Dee lifted his hand for silence, nodding in my direction. ‘Was there no message at all?’ he asked me.

I said that yes, there was. ‘Mr Mucklow said to tell you that he’ll communicate with you tomorrow morning.’

‘Is that all?’ asked Dr Dee, frowning.

‘Did you see Mistress Mucklow?’ Mr Kelly asked.

I shook my head. ‘I did not, Sir,’ I said, ‘and I found the household very out of sorts, for it appears that the Mucklow’s youngest daughter has eloped.’

‘That is what they think, is it?’ Mr Kelly said, smiling behind his hand, and Dr Dee gave him another warning glance.

I was dismissed. Going into the kitchen I found that I’d missed dinner, so had to make do with a fish soup and some leftover bread.

I would have begun searching for Miss Charity straightaway, or at least started thinking about where she might be hidden, but the house was thrown into disarray early that afternoon by a knock at the front door and, sent by Mistress Midge to open it, I found a grandly dressed lady there. She’d just dismounted from a fine chestnut horse, and this was standing by, with a small boy holding its reins.

‘Is your master in?’ she asked me.

‘He is, Madam,’ I said, and I gave a low and regal curtsey, as befitted her apparent status, wondering which of Dr Dee’s rich and titled patrons she was.

‘I wish to speak to him.’

‘Of course, Madam.’

I began to walk her towards the library, then changed my mind, for if Dr Dee and Mr Kelly were engaged on something magickal then they might not answer my knock. I back-tracked a little, apologising, and then led her towards the dining room, the finest-decorated room in the house. I ascertained her name, then went to the library to inform Dr Dee that Lady Emmeline Collins awaited him.

Dr Dee looked agitated at hearing this news, for both gentlemen seemed to be busy with the apparatus on the table: something was boiling in a jar, while a pale liquid coursed down a long, narrow tube and a funnel spouted steam.

‘Who is she?’ Mr Kelly asked.

‘One of the queen’s maids of honour,’ said Dr Dee in some alarm.

‘Shall I bring her here, Sir?’ I asked, knowing the dining room was fearsome cold.

‘No!’ He gestured towards the things on the table. ‘We are in the middle of an experiment and ‘tis not fitting.’ So saying, he pushed past me and, lifting up his robes, practically ran down to the dining room, with Mr Kelly close behind him.

I followed on, hearing Dr Dee say in an ingratiating voice. ‘Madam! Your servant. How extreme kind of you to call,’ and as I neared the dining-room door, Mr Kelly was bowing very low over her hand.

‘How can I best serve you?’ asked Dr Dee.

‘Her Grace follows straight,’ replied Lady Emmeline, and my heart leapt. ‘There is something troubling her which she wishes to consult you about.’

‘Her Grace is attending
now
?’ Dr Dee asked.

‘Immediately,’ said Lady Emmeline. ‘She wishes her visit to be a private one and has no equerries or gentlemen-of-arms with her.’

‘Of course . . . we are honoured . . .’

By taking very small and slow steps I’d only just reached the kitchen door when Dr Dee called me back.

‘Girl! Bring paper and tinder. Light the fire! Hot coals, if you please.’

‘At once, Sir,’ I called over my shoulder, and I ran to the kitchen to find Mistress Midge. ‘The queen is coming!’ I said to her with some excitement.

‘Oh Lord,’ she replied wearily. ‘More work.’

‘Lady Emmeline Collins has come to announce her,’ I went on, ‘and I’m to make up the fire for them in the dining room.’

Beth sighed. ‘We don’t have to change our gowns and be presented, do we?’ she asked, and Merryl pulled a face of such dismay it made me laugh. ‘I can’t change my gown,’ she wailed. ‘You have used so many pins on me today that it would take two hours for me to get out.’