Bartholomew Fair (19 page)

‘Ah,’ I said, ‘the Herbar. The house Sir Francis Drake bought with the loot he seized in the midst of the naval battle against the Armada. When he was supposed to be leading our navy forward, but slipped away for a little freebooting of his own.’

‘Careful what you say, Kit.’

Phelippes spoke automatically, but I felt he agreed with my view of the matter. I had not been present at that part of the naval battle, only later, off Gravelines, but I had heard what Drake had done after I came ashore. It had not made him popular with either commanders or sailors, deserting them like that. And now I thought about it, his actions then were all of a piece with the way he had behaved toward the rest of us on the recent expedition. The man was a greedy, self-serving pirate, though it did not do to say so publicly.

‘You think something might be intended against Drake?’ I moved a little away from the fire, for my legs were beginning to roast.

He laid down his quill and clasped his hands behind his head, tilting his chair on to its back legs.

‘Let us think what we have. A crowd of angry soldiers and sailors, who feel they have been cheated out of their due reward for their services.’

‘As they have,’ I said.

‘Don’t interrupt. I know what you think, Kit.’

I closed my mouth. He was right. I had said it often enough.

‘The moderate men among them will await the outcome of their leaders’ meeting with the Common Council. In the meanwhile, the wilder spirits among them may not be willing to wait, but may wish to take matters into their own hands.’

He let his chair fall forward again.

‘Add to this some travelling Italian performers, almost certainly papists, who have gone to a great deal of trouble to prepare a treasonous play, probably to incite covert Catholics
and
disaffected soldiers into action.’

‘Would they have known about the disaffected soldiers?’ I risked interrupting, for this seemed like an important point. ‘The making of those puppets, the painting of the backcloth – that must have taken a long time.’

‘You are right. But perhaps they did not learn about the march on London at the last moment. How long have you been back in England? Six weeks? Time enough for them to hear of this through their own spies and prepare accordingly.’ He smiled grimly. ‘We are not the only nation which employs spies.’

‘True enough.’

‘So if there has been a conspiracy from the start, if some amongst the soldiers are in league with these Italians, it begins to make sense. You said there were gentlemen present this evening. Did you recognise any of them?’

I shook my head. I had wondered for a fleeting moment whether Sir Damian Fitzgerald might have been there. It was his household I had joined briefly at Walsingham’s orders three years before, but I had never believed him to be a papist conspirator of the more dangerous sort. He would hold secret Masses, hide priests, and pass letters, but I did not believe him capable of violent action. Moreover, he made great parade of his loyalty to the house of Tudor, even in the design of his new chimneys, with their Tudor roses. He had too much to lose.

‘Nay, there was no one I recognised, but I would probably not know papist sympathisers. Arthur did not recognise anyone either.’

‘Hmm. So what could be planned against Drake?’

‘I can imagine the Spanish plotting to harm Drake, or
El Draque
, as they call him,’ I said. ‘Nothing would please them better than to put him out of action. His great fortune is built on what he has seized from their ships and towns. But, the Italians?’

‘The Italians come from the very hornets’ nest of popery,’ he said sharply. ‘As you have said, part of their performance was intended to encourage the papists. Perhaps there is a double purpose here. Harming Drake would also harm a well known enemy of all Catholics.’

‘But does it make sense for the soldiers to harm Drake? They want him to hand over their share of the booty, not to kill or injure him.’

‘That is the purpose of the more moderate soldiers, but these others – who knows? Men may be driven by anger and despair to act even against their own best interests.’

‘Very well,’ I said, ‘if something is intended against Drake, or at any rate against his house, the Herbar, what are we to do?’

I was growing so tired I could barely speak. All I wanted to do was to go to sleep. ‘And what of Poley?’

‘Damn Poley!’ he said. ‘I don’t know where he fits in. I’ll need to put a watch on these puppeteers first thing tomorrow. And I’ll send to the Common Council to discover what is happening about the soldiers.’ He suddenly looked as tired as I. ‘You had better go home, Kit.’

‘I don’t think I care to cross London alone as late as this,’ I said. ‘If you do not mind, I’ll stay here until dawn.’

‘Aye, that’s probably wise,’ he said.

He went to the door and shouted for a servant. A boy came, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

‘Fetch a mattress for Master Alvarez,’ Phelippes said, ‘and put it in Master Gregory’s room.’

When the boy had run off, he poured us each a cup of wine.

‘Something to help you sleep,’ he said.

I laughed. ‘I do not think I will need any help.’

‘You’ll be quiet in Arthur’s room. I still have work to do.’

I drank the wine gratefully, for it had been many hours since our meal at Chawtry’s inn, but I forbore to say that he looked as though he needed sleep as well. With Sir Francis ill, there was a heavy burden on his shoulders.

The boy soon returned dragging a thin flock mattress, which he just managed to fit into the small amount of floor space in Arthur’s tiny room, then he returned with a couple of blankets and a lumpy pillow. I lit the candle from my table at one of Phelippes’s and bade him good night. Once shut into the cubbyhole I just managed to shed my shoes and sword and blow out my candle before falling on to the mattress and rolling myself in the blankets. I think I must have fallen asleep before my head touched that lumpy pillow.

When I woke next morning it was already light. I was stiff and uncomfortable, still in my doublet and hose, but I slipped on my shoes and picked up my sword before opening the door to Phelippes’s office. He was not there, but Francis Mylles, Walsingham’s senior secretary, was just coming in with a bundle of papers.

‘Ah, Kit,’ he said, ‘I hope you slept well? I hear you were at the Fair till all hours last night.’

‘Not for enjoyment,’ I said. ‘My head feels like an old bird’s nest this morning.’

‘I’ll send for some food,’ he said. ‘Master Phelippes has gone to see the Common Council, but he has left word that you are to return to Smithfield when you have eaten, and continue your search.’

He looked at me enquiringly. Phelippes had clearly not mentioned that I was searching for Poley.

‘I’ll be glad of the food,’ I said. ‘Has Arthur Gregory come in yet?’

‘Nay, he sent word that his wife is not well and asked that he be excused, unless there is urgent need of him.’

The food soon arrived. I pushed aside the papers on my table and tucked into the bread and cheese and cold meat hungrily. Afterwards I looked at myself in the small steel mirror Phelippes kept on the wall. I looked haggard and my hair was a tangled mess, so I ran my fingers through it, lacking a comb. I seemed to have lost my cap, but when I looked in Arthur’s room I saw it, crushed in a ball beside the pillow. I pulled it into shape and straightened my hose, but there was little else I could do to improve my shop-soiled appearance. I would have liked to return to Wood Street to wash and change my hose, but I had better not. Phelippes had added more coin to the purse he had given me, so I walked down to Old Swan Stairs and took a wherry upriver to Smithfield.

As I followed the road back up to the Fair, I was glad that the rain had stopped, for I did not have even the protection of a light cloak, though my damp doublet had partially dried on me while I slept. The road was full of puddles, but they were beginning to shrink in the sun, and all around maids were shaking bedding out of windows and sweeping the steps of houses. The day was already turning warm again.

The way through to the centre of the Fair was familiar now. The gingerbread stall was open, the younger woman laying out the goods on the counter, while behind her the mother was lighting the fire in the portable oven. They both turned and smiled at me. I must already be recognised as a good customer. It would be better, I thought, if I were not too familiar a sight. I had no doubt Nicholas Borecroft would recognise me, but I did not want the puppet troupe to do so.

As I rounded the corner past the gingerbread stall, I saw that the platform was deserted. No group of performers was setting up as early as this, for they would not be able to attract enough of an audience to make it worthwhile. I wondered whether the toy man had opened yet. Children are often the first to arrive.

According to the original statutes which set up Bartholomew Fair centuries ago, it was licensed to last three days, and this was the third. However, over the years, and long before ever my father and I had come to England, the Fair had begun to extend quietly, to last more and more days. The city officials did nothing to stop it, for it brought business to London from the surrounding countryside, it attracted foreign dealers and their wares, and it stimulated brisk trade for all the local merchants and shopmen. So, although this was officially the last day, the Fair would probably continue for at least another week, which meant there should be time to find Poley, if he was lurking about in its shadow, and to fathom the intentions of the Italians.

I walked along to Nicholas Borecroft’s stall, for I saw that the counter had been lowered. To my astonishment, I saw that the door was ajar and the stall empty of everything but a few wisps of straw blowing about, probably packing material for some of the more fragile items.

I simply stood and gaped, unable to believe my eyes. The third day of the Fair, with the weather sunny, would be excellent for business, and importunate children would be dragging their parents to all the toy stalls. Why was the stall here, but neither the toy man or his goods?

‘Looking for Borecroft, are you, young master?’

The button maker, opening the adjacent stall, paused in laying out his goods and turned to me.

‘Has he gone already?’ I said, hastily thinking of some excuse. ‘I was looking for a rattle for a new babe.’

‘Gone already before I was awake. Must have packed up in the dark.’

‘But he hasn’t dismantled his stall.’

The man shrugged. ‘Either he’s coming back for it, or he’s rented it and a’nt bothering to return it.’

‘It would make a lot of noise, taking it down,’ I suggested.

‘Aye, perhaps he was thinking kindly of us sleepers,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Nay, he’s done a flit. Probably hasn’t paid his full rent for his pitch.’

‘You don’t like him.’

‘Don’t really know him. He a’nt done me no harm. Live and let be, that’s the way at the Fair.’ He gave me a curious look. ‘Why are you asking? Does he owe you something?’

‘Nay, I was just surprised to see him gone so soon.’

‘He a’nt the only one to leave early.’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Those foreigners have gone as well.’

I spun round on my heel. There, where the large puppeteers’ tent had stood, was an empty space. My heart began to pound. Phelippes would need to know this. Perhaps whatever they were plotting was already in train.

‘They must have made a noise, taking all of that down,’ I said. ‘You cannot have slept through that.’

‘Well, to tell truth, I was a little stained last night, drinking with the lads at the pig roast.’ He grinned, showing blackened teeth, what was left of them. ‘We was sprinkled with a cup or two before bed, and I slept sound. When I woke this morning, the strangers was loading the last of their clutter on to a mule cart.’

There was a wide dry patch, like an island in the damp ground.

‘After the rain, then,’ I said, pointing to it.

He shrugged. ‘It was still raining when I got back, that I do recall. But I don’t know when it stopped. I was away with Queen Mab by then.’

Once again he gave me a sharp look. He might be a drinker, but he was no fool. ‘You’re mighty curious. What are you after? Not working for the Fair officers, are you?’

I knew it would be clear from my clothes that I was not some menial, so I laughed. ‘Just nosy,’ I said. ‘Wondering why everyone is closing down.’

‘Not everyone. Those are the only two I’ve seen. ’Tis a pity, though, for the crowds at the puppet show brought me some custom.’

I took the hint, and bought half a dozen buttons I did not need. They were attractive enough, polished bone inlaid with a dome of black enamel. If I were ever to gain a hospital position once more, they would do for a new physician’s gown.

Bidding the button maker goodbye, I began walking about the Fair at random, keeping my eyes open for Poley, but in a stew of thoughts, wondering what I should do. Phelippes had left clear instructions for me to continue the search, but the disappearance of both the toy man and the Italians changed the situation. The fact that both had departed at the same time made it all the more likely that Nicholas Borecroft was working with the puppeteers, though somehow I could not fit them together. He was not one of the soldiers and he did not seem like a covert papist, although I knew very well that it was often impossible to tell. Yet if his only connection with them had been as a casual musician, why had they both gone now? And where?