On Thursday evening Mal made his way to Seething Lane, near the Tower of London. The house near the end of the street belonged to his employer, the daughter of the late spymaster Sir Francis Walsingham, and was still used by Mal and his confederates for clandestine meetings. He wondered again what was so important that Lady Frances would return to her old home.
At his knock the door was opened by a servant in smart new livery, rather than one of the usual intelligencers. This did not bode well at all. He let the man take his cloak and usher him into the candlelit chamber.
“Sir Maliverny.” Lady Frances stepped forward to greet him. “How good to see you again.”
“My lady.” Mal bowed deeply. “You look well.”
It was no empty flattery; though past the first bloom of youth she was still handsome, and her flushed cheeks and the sparkle in her brown eyes appeared to owe more to health than fashionable cosmetics.
“And you also.” She stepped to one side. “I believe you know my lord the Duke of Suffolk?”
Mal froze as Blaise Grey unfolded his lanky frame from the high-backed chair where he had been sitting concealed from view. The duke got to his feet with the aid of a silver-topped cane and gave Mal a curt bow. His curly dark-blond hair was as untouched by grey as when they had been undergraduates together, but the chronic pain of an old sword wound had scored lines into his handsome features.
I suppose I should feel guilty about that, but I count it fair recompense for the torment he and his father inflicted on me.
“My lord.”
“Catlyn. It has been too long.” The duke held out his free hand towards Lady Frances, who smiled and laid her own upon it as if posing for a portrait. “It seems we are to be business partners after all.”
Mal glanced from one to the other. “The Queen approved your marriage.”
“Of course,” Grey said. “I was never one of her favourites, even at the height of my powers. I think she only procrastinated so that my dear Frances could stay with Princess Juliana a little longer.”
“Then you have my congratulations,” Mal said, forcing a smile.
“And you mine. A knighthood, an estate, a wife and a son, all within the space of a couple of years? How swiftly you have risen, since you came to me begging for work.”
Mal was saved from having to frame a polite response by the arrival of another of the liveried servants.
“Supper is served, my lord.”
They crossed the entrance hall to the dining room, which had also been woken from its long slumber and made fit for its new master. Silver plate and Venetian glass, laid out along the long polished table in quantities enough to furnish twice their company, reflected back the light of an extravagant number of candles. The servant lifted the lids from an array of dishes, filling the air with the savoury scent of meats, herbs and spices.
Lady Frances made small talk until the servant had withdrawn, whilst the two gentlemen glowered at one another over their plates of beef olives. Mal sipped his wine – predictably excellent – and wondered how he was going to walk away from this situation still breathing. Damn Grey! Of all the women at court to choose from, why did he have to pick Walsingham’s daughter? She was as old as him, with only one surviving daughter from her previous marriage, so she was hardly a good prospect for breeding an heir. On the other hand, scurrilous gossip at court implied that Grey’s injuries had made him impotent, so perhaps he had already resigned himself to the end of his line. And with Walsingham’s daughter came control of her late father’s spy network – an invaluable asset for an ambitious man like Grey.
“You may of course continue to use this house for meetings.” Grey said, setting down his knife. “I am anxious for business to continue as usual. Under my supervision, of course.”
Mal glanced at Lady Frances, but she had eyes only for her husband. Can she really be in love with him, and perhaps he with her? It was a comforting explanation for the turn of events, but not one he dared trust in.
“Of course, my lord,” he said. “I will send regular reports. Are you familiar with our customary ciphers?”
Grey hesitated just long enough for Mal to guess that the answer was no.
“Lady Frances has provided me with the necessary keys,” Grey said. “Compared to my work on the alleged skrayling texts you and your brother translated for me, Walsingham’s ciphers are child’s play.”
Mal ignored the insult. Unless Grey had been feigning all along, his ignorance of the book’s contents was proof he was merely human; the text had been written in a double cipher that only guisers could read. A cruel irony that his old enemy should be one of the few men he could truly trust.
“I hope you found the translation satisfactory, my lord.”
“Satisfactory? I dare say a tale of the Norsemen’s voyages would be of interest to an explorer or antiquarian, but it is of no use to me. Why my father thought it so important, I cannot fathom.”
“Your father was trying to root out an anti-skrayling conspiracy, my lord.” A lie, but one that came close enough to the truth to still make sense to Grey. Mal was not about to put his head in the noose by trying once more to convince Blaise of his father’s true nature. “To own any documents of potential use in that fight and be unable to read them… it would tax the patience of any man.”
“I don’t know why he didn’t ask his skrayling friends to translate them.”
“Perhaps he feared traitors amongst the skraylings themselves.”
Grey frowned and took a sip of wine. “Why would they side with humans against their own kind?”
“Who knows? They are still largely a mystery to me.” That at least was not a lie.
“No matter. If my father’s notebooks cannot avail me, I am certain I will find what I need in Sir Francis’s records. I swore to Prince Robert I would uncover my father’s lieutenants within the Huntsmen, and I shall.”
So that’s what all this is about: a crusade founded on misplaced filial loyalty and desperate self-preservation. Mal feigned an air of sympathy.
“Alas, my lord, if only it were that straightforward. The Huntsmen are troublemakers, to be sure, but they are mere footsoldiers, and their aim is simple: to rid England of the skraylings. The men I seek – that your father sought – have a much greater prize in mind.”
Grey’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Breaking our alliance with the skraylings is only a means to an end. The end of the Tudor line.”
“Most abominable treason! Do you have proof of this?”
“Not yet, my lord. But ever since I returned to England last summer, I have been doing everything in my power to infiltrate their ranks, starting with my late brother Charles’s associates in Derbyshire. It took a great deal of tact and guile, considering I am now famed for helping strengthen England’s alliance with the skraylings, but I have persuaded a few key men that it is all part of a longer term plan to destroy them. I’m afraid they really are very gullible at times.”
“Why have you reported none of this to me?” Lady Frances asked.
“Forgive me, my lady. I was not certain of my success until very recently, nor even of which men were truly traitors and which only idle malcontents. I would not black the reputation of any man without at least some evidence.”
“I want a list,” Grey said. “The names of everyone you have spoken to, with details of any gatherings or other potentially seditious activities they were involved in.”
“Of course, my lord.” An edited list, naturally. He was hardly going to reveal his most useful intelligence, at least not just yet. “Although their activities of late have been limited to boasting about their glorious past and drinking inordinate quantities of bad sack. With the skraylings mewed up in their camp two hundred miles away, they have little else to do nowadays.”
When they had finished supper, Grey suggested they retire to the parlour. Lady Frances excused herself, saying she was expected back at Richmond Palace early the next day, and bade both of them good night. In the entrance hall Mal tried to make his own farewells, but Grey forestalled him and steered him into the parlour, closing the door behind them.
“Let’s not beat about the bush, Catlyn,” the duke said. “I don’t like you, you don’t like me, but we have little choice but to cooperate in this matter.”
“I would be happy to withdraw from your service, my lord, if you would prefer. You can of course count on my complete discretion.”
Grey eased himself into the fireside chair. “Can I indeed? But who says I want to be rid of you?”
“My lord?”
“I need–” Grey made the word sound like it choked him to say it “–a man with your experience of Walsingham’s men. My wife… that is, my wife-to-be, has done a remarkable job of it for a woman, but it is not proper that she continue to consort with such ruffians.”
“That is why she asked me to act as her lieutenant,” Mal said.
“Indeed. And no doubt you know far more about them than she: not just their skills, but their weaknesses that our enemies could use to their advantage. Every man has his price, Catlyn.”
“I will provide you with a full report, my lord. Every particular known to me.”
“Good.” Grey rocked his cane back and forth thoughtfully. “Including your friends?”
“My lord?”
“I am well aware of your… companions. I saw them at my father’s house, and met one of them subsequently. A lad of about sixteen, and two more a little older. I believe one of them is an actor?”
“Aye, my lord. Gabriel Parrish, formerly with your father’s company of players. Though he is as much a playwright as an actor these days.”
“No matter. You will provide full and accurate details of these three, as well as the other men in Lady Frances’s service.” This time it was not a question.
“If it please my lord. Although the youngest one, Jacob Hendricks, has gone back to his family in the Low Countries, I believe. I have not seen him this past year or more.”
Grey leaned forward. “If he knows your business, he is a weak spot in our defences. All the more so since we have no control over him. In fact, I think you should recall him to your service.”
Mal was tempted to say that “Jacob” was dead, but his wife might need the disguise again some day.
“Aye, my lord.”
“You anticipate some difficulty?”
“No, my lord, but it may take some time.”
“Give it your highest priority, after making your reports on the others.”
“Aye, my lord.”
Grey waved a hand irritably in his direction.
“Enough for one night. I have much still to do.”
Mal bowed and withdrew, his thoughts already racing ahead of him to Southwark. Grey was not the only man with much to do tonight.