Free Traitor by Rory Clements Page A

a copy of the letter he had found in Father Lamb’s doublet, added a discreet note explaining its provenance, and sealed it into his own letter.
    Hearnshaw arrived, already booted and hurriedly pulling on his leather riding jerkin and a waxed cape. Shakespeare handed him the sealed letter for Peace and gave him instructions on how to find him, then handed him two small gold coins.
    ‘Now go with the speed of a falcon, Mr Hearnshaw, and return as swift. Your lord’s life may well depend on it. There will be more gold if I see you soon enough.’
    The rider bowed and left, at a run, just as the other messenger appeared and took the second letter, addressed to Cecil.
    Shakespeare breathed deeply. He realised he still had not slept. Outside the window, darkness had fallen. There were still matters to be settled.
    ‘The countess promised me guards for Dr Dee.’
    ‘They are already with him, awaiting your further instructions.’
    ‘Would you trust them with your life?’
    ‘I would, sir.’
    ‘Good. Now tell me, Mr Cole, what has been happening here at Lathom House? Who is that woman in the earl’s bedchamber?’
    ‘She is Mistress Knott, a wise woman from the village. His lordship has consulted her before. He demanded her presenceas soon as the sickness came on. I believe there is no harm in her.’
    ‘Consulted her before, you say?’
    ‘He has asked her for propitious days – for travelling, for his daughters’ christenings, for the beginning of building works on his houses—’
    ‘This is monstrous, Mr Cole. He dabbles in the occult!’
    Cole looked stiff and uneasy. ‘She insists she is no witch, Mr Shakespeare, but a Christian lady, battling the dark arts.’
    ‘Well, she talks like a witch – tales of giants and wax dolls and crones in the forest. I want her out of that room.’
    Cole sighed deeply. ‘We all do, master, particularly the physicians, for they feel hampered and crossed in their efforts while she is there. Her ladyship, the countess, is most distressed by the woman’s presence. But the earl will not listen. He is convinced he has been beguiled and considers her his only hope.’
    ‘But you believe him poisoned.’
    ‘I fear it is a grave possibility.’
    Shakespeare saw the tension within the steward. Tension and something else – despair, perhaps. He was close to the edge. Shakespeare turned away. He had many questions to ask, but first he needed sleep.
    Walter Weld had hoped it would not come to this. Trayne should have secured the perspective glass in Portsmouth; he had failed, but there was still the matter of Dr Dee. The earl had been conveniently biddable when Weld had suggested inviting the old alchemist to Lathom House. And so here he was, and he was vulnerable.
    Weld paced his room close to the stables, alone. Trayne was in a house in a village three miles away. The widow who tended his wound had no idea who he was, only that he was a Catholic gentleman in need of assistance. She would ask no questions,and she would tell no one that he was there. And soon, pray God, he would be well.
    In truth, Trayne’s recovery could not come quickly enough. He could not abduct Dee alone. The holy fool Lamb was dead, so there was no help to be had there. Not that Lamb had ever been of much use: too interested in saving souls to care much for the hard business of insurrection. Lamb would never have countenanced an act such as the abduction of Dr Dee.
    There was urgency now, for the earl was fading fast and the great house was in disarray. The moment might very soon be lost. There was more: he had heard from the grooms that a new guest had arrived, one John Shakespeare. It was a name he knew. Shakespeare was an intelligencer close to Cecil, right at the centre of power.
    Weld smiled to himself as he pulled on his boots. It was time to take a look at this new arrival.

Chapter 9
    O XX AND G ODWIT presented the most comforting tableau Shakespeare had seen all day. Heavily armed, strong and