The Countess recoiled from the smell. “Father, I am so sorry you have been brought to this.”
“ Fiat voluntas dei, my dear Anne.”
She had a cloth with some food-bread, cheese, pieces of cold meat, some wine-very little because Topcliffe’s men were keeping a close watch on the food in the larder. She and Amy had gathered it together hastily in the remains of the kitchen while Rose Downie was up in her room with the baby. They would not have believed that Rose could betray them, yet she would not meet their eyes.
“Thank you for this food. It is most welcome. And please, do not fret for me. If it is God’s will, then I will be safe. If you feel that any here in this house are in danger because of my presence, then you must tell the pursuivants. You must save them ahead of me.”
“I cannot do that, Reverend Father. Nothing we could do would save us from the wrath of Topcliffe now.”
“Topcliffe? I have heard of him.”
“He is a cruel man, Father Cotton. He will not desist in his search for you until this house is rubble, for he knows that you are here. We are fortunate that this hole is so secure, but it was difficult for me to get here to fasten and conceal the hinges before it was found. I think you would have been discovered if I had not done so.”
Her voice was choked and feeble. He feared she was in a worse state than him. “I beseech you, Anne, endure. For this will end.” He tried to open an eye, yet it merely watered and he closed it once more. Eyes closed, he made the Sign of the Cross and blessed her before she closed the trapdoor once again and secured the hinges.
In the blackness of the hole, the fresh air and food brought Cotton new hope. With the wine and bread, he spoke Mass, then said Grace over the food and began, slowly, to eat and drink.
Topliffe summoned Rose Downie again.
“Tell me more about this gathering. Did this Jesuit priest come alone?”
Rose’s mouth was bruised and swollen. Her face was streaked with dirt and tears.
“He arrived with another man, Mr. Topcliffe, called Thomas Woode. I had never met him before but we were introduced to him.”
Thomas Woode? The name was familiar. “What more can you tell me? What did he look like? What did he say?” Topcliffe pressed her.
Rose described him as best she could but insisted that he had spoken very little. Then, tentatively, she said, “What of my baby, Mr. Topcliffe, sir?”
“Your baby is safe and well, Rose. That is all I am prepared to tell you for now. When Southwell is delivered into my hands, alive or dead, then I will reunite you with William Edmund. Do you understand me, Rose?”
“But I have done all you asked! I know he is here. I know they were having their Mass when you and your men arrived. He must be here in this house unless…” She stopped, seeing the blood rise in Topcliffe’s face.
“Unless?”
She had been about to say “unless you let him slip away” but thought better of it. “Unless he has somehow managed to get away, Mr. Topcliffe. Perhaps there are tunnels from the cellars. I have completed my side of the bargain, sir. Please, let me have my baby back.”
“All in good time, Rose. All in good time.”
Chapter 26
Lord Howard of Effingham, the Lord Admiral of the Navy and adoptive father to Lady Blanche Howard, was not at home.
His steward, Robin Johnson, welcomed John Shakespeare into the grand entrance hall of the imposing house that Howard often used in these days. Standing tall on the edge of Deptford Green, close to the scene of the attempt on Drake’s life little more than thirty hours earlier, it was a house perfectly located for Howard’s work preparing the Navy in case the Spanish ever launched their infernal war fleet, and also for his frequent visits to court at Greenwich Palace, less than a mile to the east. Howard’s steward was a man of charm and ease. He offered to take Shakespeare to meet his lordship at the Royal Dock, where he was overseeing provisioning. Together the two men set out across the green.
“These are difficult days for your master, Johnson.”
“Indeed, sir. The whole household is in mourning for the Lady Blanche.”
A fresh breeze blew up the Thames from the east. Gulls played in the wind, holding themselves against its force by slight movements of their wings so that it seemed they were stationary in the air.
“Do you have any theories about who might have done this terrible thing to her?”
“I fear not, sir. I only wish that whoever did it might be brought to justice as soon as possible.” Johnson stopped. “Ah, here we are. I think I see his lordship now.” He pointed to a bark where a group of men were clustered on the quarterdeck. In their center was the tall figure of Howard of Effingham, his shock of snow white hair unmistakable.
Shakespeare strode to the ship. Howard was standing with Diego, Captain Stanley, and three other men, while Drake was kneeling on the deck scratching plans of attack on parchment. Shakespeare wished the Vice Admiral would think to do such work belowdecks, where he was out of musket range. A little way off stood Boltfoot Cooper, watching them and surveying the crowded quayside. He spotted Shakespeare immediately and raised his head in recognition. At least he was suitably alert. But it was obvious that Drake was as exposed, nonchalant, and vulnerable as ever. The attempt on his life had bothered him not a whit.
Drake looked up from his sketchings. “Well, Mr. Shakespeare, how do you do?” he boomed. “Come to check that I’m still alive, have you? Well, damn it, I am. And so, unfortunately, is the accursed Boltfoot Cooper.”
“Sir Francis, it is indeed good to see you alive and well. How is your coxswain?”
“Not well, I’m afraid, but the surgeon says he might survive. As with all things, God will decide. Anyway, what do you want here?”
“To ask you a question, Sir Francis. How did your would-be murderer know when and where you were to disembark and land?”
Drake tossed the question aside. “I imagine the cur just watched and waited. I am always coming here. I am a sea captain; this is where my ships are.”
Shakespeare was not impressed by this explanation but let it pass. He knew from experience that there was no point in gainsaying Sir Francis Drake. He thanked him and turned his attention to Lord Howard of Effingham. Their previous meeting had been unsatisfactory; this time he would not be brushed off. Howard must have more information to give about his adopted daughter. “Might I have a word with you alone, my Lord?”
Howard led Shakespeare down belowdecks to the great cabin of the bark and closed the door. A flask of brandy stood on the captain’s table, and Howard poured two goblets. “How do your investigations proceed?”
“We have made progress, my lord.”
“But you have not yet apprehended the murderer?”
“No, my lord.” Shakespeare hesitated. How much could Howard bear to hear?
As if reading his thoughts, Howard smiled faintly. “Please, Mr. Shakespeare, do not try to spare my feelings. It is enough that she is dead.”
Shakespeare bowed. “I fear I must tell you there is possibly more to the killing of the Lady Blanche than we had first thought. I have discovered that she had recently taken up with a group of Roman Catholics. She was following the old faith, my lord.”
Howard laughed humorlessly, a short yap of a laugh like a small dog. “Mr. Shakespeare, that is no surprise to me. It is a family failing of the Howards, I am afraid. I told you before that she had been associating with people of whom I disapproved.”
“But there is more. She had certain injuries…”
“Yes?”
“A crucifix cut into her back… after death. I had not noticed it at first. And she had been tied up, too, for there were rope marks around her wrists.”
