The Heresy of Dr Dee

‘My God, we were trying to find you…’

I held out my hand; he didn’t take it, and it was knocked aside by a fellow pushing past. Nicholas Meredith braced himself against the sheriff’s wall. I smiled.

‘Good to meet you at last, cousin.’

‘I received a letter from you this morning, Dr Dee.’ The border accent was in his voice, but so also was an education. ‘Replying to it at once, with proper civility.’

‘Well, yes—’

‘Evidently a waste of my time. Why would you write to me, knowing you were coming here? And saying nothing of that.’

‘Cousin Nicholas, I wrote before I knew I’d be coming.’

Telling him about the providence of the judicial company. Thinking he’d understood when the dazzle of the pitch torch made it seem as if he was smiling.

In fact he was not.

‘You’ve made me look a fool, Dr Dee. Fetching up without a word, taking a chamber at my inn.’

‘Your inn? I didn’t even know that. We were simply told it was the best inn in Presteigne. My…’ I made a gesture towards Dudley. ‘This is my colleague, Master Roberts, an antiquary. We were both—’

‘Your letter’ – my cousin didn’t even look at Dudley – ‘suggests you’re here in search of treasure.’

‘Of a kind.’

‘Well, well…’ Nicholas Meredith jutted his chin. His short beard was combed to an elegant point. ‘How like your father.’

No mistaking his expression this time; I’d seen too many sneers. A low growl from Dudley.

‘That knave,’ my cousin Meredith said.

I had no response, was held in shock. Not two hours ago, the innkeeper had talked of my cousin’s pride in my father’s position at King Henry’s court. All the talk was about him. And me too. All this man’s letters to me had been invariably cordial.

‘I don’t understand,’ I said at last. ‘The innkeeper said you spoke well of my father. How close he was to the old king.’

‘I’m sure he was,’ Nicholas Meredith said. ‘Close enough to pocket the spoons.’

A long hissing breath came out of Dudley, but he was yet ignored. A few men had made a half circle around us, in the way that men do, scenting the approach of violence. Meredith raised his tone.

‘You think we’re so removed from London, Dr Dee, that we hear nothing of what goes on there? You think we know nothing of your father’s crimes? You think we weren’t dishonoured by him?’

‘I know not what you’re—’

‘In your ill-writ letter,’ my cousin said, ‘you ask if I know of the whereabouts of a gemstone, formerly the property of the Abbey of Wigmore. Possibly misappropriated. Hah, methinks, how can this man talk so loftily about the misappropriation of church treasures when his own father—’

‘My father was a kind man,’ I said softly. ‘A generous man.’

‘Particularly with the property of others.’

I’m not good at conflict, have no ready store of oiled ripostes. I stood in silence, aware of a greater gathering of onlookers and Dudley at my shoulder.

‘Forgive me for intruding, John, but why don’t we just beat the piss out of this muffin?’

I could feel how badly Dudley wanted this to become a fight, if only to relieve himself of weeks of stored-up rage. And still, Nicholas Meredith behaved as if he wasn’t there.

‘Were you about to deny that Rowland Dee, when churchwarden at St Dunstan’s in London, stole church plates left in his charge?’

Dudley’s right hand was at his belt, where he’d keep a dagger.

‘No,’ I said quietly.

Dudley stiffened. Nicholas Meredith smiled.

‘You asked about Abbot Smart? My letter, when you receive it on your return, will tell you he’s long gone. Probably into France. You’ll learn that nobody here has seen him for years. So if you’ve somewhere else on your treasure-hunting itinerary, I suggest you depart for it at first light.’

As he turned away, my hose was soaked at the groin by a splash of fire-bright water thrown up by his boot.

* * *

In my haste to avoid a further exchange, I’d walked the wrong way, and we found ourselves down by the church and the river. A mean river compared with the Wye, and the bridge was wooden and creaked when I stood upon it, but at least we seemed to be alone.

‘… doesn’t matter if it’s true,’ Dudley was hissing. ‘You don’t let any man who spoke thus walk away undamaged.’

‘It does matter,’ I said. ‘Matters to me. My father sullied his status as churchwarden at St Dunstan’s. He sold plate that certainly wasn’t his to sell. He’d lost his place at court and his business was ruined – through no fault of his own, I’d guess. I’m sure he… would have made good, when his fortunes improved.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, John, every family has some knavery to hide.’

I looked down at the moonlit river, swollen by the downpour and not far below the bridge timbers.

‘He was not a thief. He was a proud man. And he paid for the best education I could’ve had. I wish I’d been able to earn enough money to ease his old age. But he died. And now I don’t earn enough to support my mother in the way she once was used to.’

‘You’ve not done badly under the circumstances. Given that he doesn’t seem to have left you any money… or even a house.’

‘He left me an education.’

‘Which you spend all your life expanding. Is that life? Come on, let’s get back. See how this looks in daylight.’

Dudley began to walk back up the street, quieter now, fewer lights.

‘I no longer feel happy to pass the night in my cousin’s inn,’ I said.

‘We’ll we’re not spending it in a fucking field. Besides, another word with the smarmy innkeeper might not go amiss, methinks.’

‘Why would he lie?’

‘It’s what innkeepers do when you’re paying for meals and a bedchamber. But it would be worth finding out if Meredith’s been blackening your name all over town.’

Only two of the judge’s guards stood, with their pikes, outside the sheriff’s house. No one troubling them. The pitch-torches were burned low, the ropes of pennants gathering into loops and thrown over the wall.

Near the top of the street a man walked past us and sniggered. Dudley lurched towards him, and I seized his arm.

‘No—’

‘You want a reputation as a fucking Betsy by morning, John?’

‘Must needs think.’

‘Or will we even still be here by morning? Think? Well, of course. Why don’t you consult one of your books on how best to respond to an insult to your family?’

Never going to let this go, was he? But I was thinking of something else.

‘He said Abbot Smart had not been seen here in years. That he was probably in France.’

‘Would indeed have been useful to know that before we came.’

‘It’s not the impression I had from the Bishop of Hereford.’

I recalled John Scory’s words exactly: I don’t know where Smart is, though I do hear word of him from time to time.

‘You think Meredith was lying?’

‘Scory was spare with actual facts, but more generous with hints. He implied that my cousin might have things to hide. He said Presteigne, despite its appearance, was… a place of dark alleys.’