Chapter 5
Topcliffe might not have been certain whether John Shakespeare would blow his head apart, but he had no doubt that Boltfoot Cooper would. He was not going to put his life on the line for a matter as insignificant as this.
Reluctantly he ordered his pursuivants out and as he himself turned at the door, he tarried a few seconds, cursing Shakespeare and Cooper to hell and threatening to spill the last drop of Sluyterman’s blood, and that of his family. Boltfoot pushed the hoary old rackmaster in the chest with the muzzle of his primed caliver, until he had forced him out and away from the house. Topcliffe shook himself angrily and strode off towards his fellow pursuivants and their tethered mounts, spitting a vow of vengeance into the night.
Shakespeare made sure he had gone, then watched as the Sluyterman family fell into one another’s arms, sobbing and shaking. He wondered briefly what this family had endured in the Low Countries at the hands of the Spanish. Many souls had lost their lives there, and many more had been thrown out of their homes into exile by the Duke of Parma and his steel-clad horde. All that, and then to come to this.
He walked across to the line of servants. They still stood in line and some were trembling. He avoided the gaze of the one who had shown no fear, though his instinct was to grasp him by the nape of the neck, pull him to the door and kick him out after Topcliffe, with whom he was doubtless in league. No, better to observe him; he might be made use of yet.
Sluyterman thanked the servants and dismissed them to their quarters. He kissed his children and asked his wife to take them to their beds.
‘I must thank you, sir,’ he said to Shakespeare when they were alone.
‘I told you, Mr Sluyterman, this is about me. It can be no coincidence that he chose your home. I would say, however, that you have a treacherous servant in this house. The Englishman with black hair and a downturned mouth…’
‘His name is Oliver Kettle. I have not felt happy about him. We had some argument. He spoke to my daughter Marthe without respect. I think he had unhealthy interests in her. Also, my wife caught him most importunely with one of the serving girls, his hands on her… I do not like to say more.’ Sluyterman shook his head, his eyes drifting around the destruction wrought by the intruders on his comfortable home.
‘Well, do not dismiss him, but watch him. I may have a purpose for him. Be careful. If you have more problems, I will have him consigned to Newgate. As for the serving girl that Mr Topcliffe sought…’ Shakespeare paused to see the effect of his words and saw something akin to shame in the Dutchman’s eyes. ‘I believe she is safe. I saw a figure in the shadows outside.’
‘Thank you, sir. Thank you.’
Shakespeare shook his hand. ‘It is good to meet you properly, Mijnheer Sluyterman — even though these are not the happiest of circumstances. If I were you, I would adhere strictly to the law from now on and keep your head down. Mr Topcliffe is dangerous and relentless.’
Catherine found the servant girl shivering in a corner of their courtyard, half concealed behind an old wagon wheel awaiting repair by Boltfoot. The girl was on her haunches, her arms tight around her tall, slender body, still in her thin nightdress. She hid her face from the light of Catherine’s lantern. Gently, Catherine put a comforting arm around her and whispered soft words. The girl, who looked no more than twelve and wore her hair in two shoulder- length plaits, had the height of an adult woman. She spoke no English, but quickly understood that this was a friend and said her name was Susanna.
‘She can stay with us tonight, Mr Sluyterman,’ Shakespeare said a short while later. ‘And on the morrow you must move her to a safer place. You surely have friends who could take her in.’
Sluyterman bowed his head in thanks and relief. ‘I will do that, Mr Shakespeare, sir. Thank you. You are a good neighbour.’
The Dutchman explained to Susanna what was happening and assured her she would be safe now. The girl nodded nervously but said nothing. Then the Shakespeares bade Sluyterman goodnight and brought her up to the room where their own five-year-old daughter, Mary, lay asleep. Catherine put down some blankets and cushions for the girl and left, quietly closing the door behind her.
Shakespeare and his wife were further from sleep than ever. As they sat together, he sipped at a beaker of rich milk, cool from the larder. ‘This was about me, Catherine,’ he said. ‘I know it. Topcliffe was trying to intimidate me. He wasn’t interested in that girl. It was a warning shot to me.’
‘Something to do with the Marlowe killing and inquest?’
It was well after midnight and his blood was still pumping hard. ‘Yes. But what? At the inquest Topcliffe seemed to suggest he was in agreement with me — that Marlowe had been murdered and that the jury had reached the wrong verdict.’
‘Did he not also make it plain that he thought Marlowe was right to abuse and intimidate the refugees? If so, then that accords with what happened this night. It was said Marlowe did not like refugees. Now Topcliffe has shown himself of similar mind. And so he uses the Return of Strangers and information from a hateful servant to seek out one he thought he could harass. It is his way, John. It has always been his way. Catholics, foreigners, gypsies, all are vermin in Topcliffe’s twisted mind.’
‘True.’ Shakespeare’s deep, hooded eyes shone in the warm light of the single candle on the table between them. ‘But there is something else here. He knew this was my neighbour. This was for my benefit. He targeted Sluyterman because he spotted on the Return that he lived next door to us. But why, Catherine? What game is Topcliffe playing with me?’
In the morning, shortly after dawn, Shakespeare slapped the flank of Boltfoot’s horse and bade him farewell. He watched for a few moments as his assistant rode off at a trot towards the bridge on the first part of the journey to the powdermills. A little later, Shakespeare went back indoors and joined Catherine and the children for a breakfast of bread, eggs, cheese and ale, all served by Jane Cooper. The Dutch girl, Susanna, stayed in Mary’s room and Jane took her some food and drink. Shakespeare had ordered that she be kept out of sight. The servant Oliver Kettle would be waiting for her return to the Sluyterman household; if she came back, he would hasten to Westminster to inform Topcliffe again. Nor would it surprise Shakespeare if Topcliffe had another watcher in Dowgate keeping an eye on both their houses.
At eight of the clock, Shakespeare eased himself into the saddle of his grey mare in the mews stables and headed north and west through the narrow, hurried streets of the city.
He found Nicholas Henbird in a fine house on St Nicholas Shambles, not more than fifty yards from the enormous ancient priory of Christ’s Church.
Henbird’s house stood a little way beyond Stinking Lane. It was one of a number of fair wood-frames built around a pleasant central court with a well. A clerk opened the door and Shakespeare was soon shown through to Henbird’s splendid solar, now filled with the morning sun. The cool, bright aspect lightened Shakespeare’s spirits. He gazed upon Henbird’s girth with wonder and smiled. He had changed a lot since winning the coveted post of Royal Purveyor of Poultry, a good reward for his secret work on behalf of Walsingham over many years. Shakespeare shook his old colleague by the hand. He guessed Henbird must be about fifty. He certainly looked it. He had gained the portly belly and rosy round face that so often came with the fine living of ermine-clad merchants. Yet Shakespeare was not deceived. Those kindly pink cheeks and convivial manner lied; the well-fed body housed a cold heart and dagger-sharp mind.
‘Nick, I had not thought to see you so prosperous.’
Henbird’s face broke into a satisfied beam, like a churchman at the thought of a Sunday sirloin and a quart of beer. ‘The court cannot get enough poultry, John. Swan, geese, chickens, duck. My clerks do it all and the money comes in faster than I can spend it on buxom whores, fine foods and sweet wines. Look at this wondrous belly!’ He patted his middle with pleasure. ‘Has not Mr Secretary done me well? My clerks buy from the shires and arrange the sales and the neck-wringing. All I have to do is pluck the money. Why, the clerks even count my silver for me. Are you acquainted with turkey-cock? I shall arrange one to be killed and roasted for your supper tonight. A succulent white-fleshed bird — I hope you will agree it flavoursome.’
‘Thank you, Nick. But I have come for something else.’
