The Marlowe Conspiracy (15 page)

At the top, he spied two giant oak doors at the end of the corridor – the doors to a master bedchamber. He veered left toward them. Heels and toes stampeded around the corridor just behind him. The sound lashed at his growing sense of panic. He sprinted harder. The doors loomed quickly before him. Without breaking stride, he dived for the handles, tore the doors open, and barged inside to find the Earl.

SCENE THREE

Leasowe Castle. Master Bedchamber.

T
he room was airless. Dark. It appeared to cramp around Kit like a cavern. Musty, half-drawn curtains oppressed the windows. An odor of sweat percolated throughout the room. As soon as Kit entered he halted in shock. Upon a bed, mired in swathes of quilted covers, lay the weak, sickly frame of the Earl of Derby.

Derby's ashen skin aged his looks beyond his thirty-four years. Diluted blue irises swam around the center of his eyes. Fair but faded hair drooped from his head. He had suffered a tremendous weight-loss since Kit had last seen him in London: his nose and cheeks protruded from his face, and his jaw looked as brittle as the rim of a glass goblet. His bed-shirt seemed baggy around his neck, and he gripped his sheets with skeletal fingers. There was little left of the princely socialite and patron of the arts that Kit had once known.

On Kit's entry, Derby sat up and leant back on supportive pillows. The two men regarded one another in silence till the thunder of feet arrived at the room's entrance. The Porter and the Doorman instantly lunged for Kit and grabbed him by the arms. Will stood anxiously to the side.

“Leave them be a minute,” croaked Derby.

“But, my lord, they’re not–”

“Enough! I said let them alone.”

Both the Porter and the Doorman gave Derby a surprised look. They released Kit and retreated from the room. Once they were gone, Kit padded closer to the bed.

“Pray pardon, your lordship.”

“For what?”

“I didn't know you were so unwell.”

“Would it have made a difference if you had known?”

“I’d never have–”

“Spare me the pleasantries. You haven’t come here to be polite.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you, my lord.”

“You’re not upsetting me. You’re disturbing me at my meal.” Derby glanced down at the tray of food on his lap: a kipper, orange segments, a bowl of walnuts, and slices of wheat bread. Gold leaf edgework rimmed the tray and glistered with small specks of light. He glared up at Kit bitterly. “I take it you're here about the libels in London.”

Kit raised his eyebrows.

“Word certainly travels fast to this corner of the country.”

“Faster than the crow flies.”

“I didn’t think you’d know about it so soon.”

“Oh, I think you'd be surprised at what I know.” Derby looked hesitantly at a slice of bread. His hand shook a little as he raised it to his mouth and nibbled at the crust.

Will observed him with interest but remained quiet at the side of the room. Kit straightened his posture and suddenly looked awkward.

“My lord, there’s something I’m compelled to ask you.”

“You think I had something to do with it?” Derby’s bloodless lips twisted into a smile. “The libels? That’s what you want to ask, isn’t it?”

“Did you?”

“Why do you question me, I wonder? Because I canceled your patronage?”

Kit wiped his brow and didn't answer.

“I canceled your patronage,” continued Derby, “because I support only art, not artfulness.”

“So, then... it’s in the open.” He sighed and locked eyes with Derby. “You found out?”

Each man watched the other with a wary expression. Neither knew what to say next.

Will frowned at them both. He crossed over the room and moved nearer the bed, touching the glossy bedpost with his fingertips.

“Am I missing something? Found out about what?” he asked innocently.

Derby craned his head toward him.

“Oh, didn't you know? He hasn’t told you yet?”

Will shrugged. Kit froze on the spot and turned strangely expressionless and held the breath in his lungs. After a moment, Derby grew impatient and answered for him.

“Your friend's a spy in the service of Lord Burghley.”

Will's face dropped in surprise. He glanced at Kit from the corner of his eye.

“It’s not true, is it?”

Kit nodded slowly.

“They recruited me at Cambridge,” he explained with difficulty. “It was just a way to escape the monotony of classes... see the world... put a little money in my purse...”

“I can't believe this.”

“Well, it's true,” said Derby. “And I have the sources to prove it.” He shifted his position in bed, as if suddenly tiring, and turned back to face Kit. “So, I believe your questions is answered. Now if you don't mind, gentlemen, I'd like to eat in privacy.”

Silence. Kit watched the dust fall in little semi-circles through the air. The front of his shirt clung to his chest, slightly damp from sweat. His back ached all over. Both he and Will bowed solemnly and moved towards the door. Derby picked up another slice of bread with his bony hands, tore it in two, and put the smallest piece to his lips. As Kit and Will reached the door, Will shook his head slightly, as if recovering from Kit's revelation, and pivoted back towards Derby.

“May I ask one thing, my lord?” said Will.

Derby held a piece of bread and waited for Will to continue.

“How long have they been poisoning you?”

Derby closed his eyes.

“Nearly half a year,” he replied under his breath.

Kit's eyes shot back and forth between Will and Derby, unsure what to make of it.

“I don't understand,” said Kit. “Who's poisoning you?” He strode back into the room. “Why would anyone–”

“Enough!” croaked Derby. He released a small, guttural moan which hinted at the corrosion inside of him. He continued speaking in a fainter voice. “I’m being poisoned because there are forces abroad that see me as a powerful Catholic figurehead. They want me on the throne – not our Protestant Queen. Such forces use men like yourself, master Marlowe, to coerce me. They think they can poison me into betrayal.”

Kit felt dizzy from the shock. He knelt at the bed.

“But... you don't have to live like this.”

“I’ve tried everything.”

“No. There must be something more you can do. You can’t live like this.”

“I doubt I’ll have that problem much longer.”

“Oh god... there must be something you haven’t tried?”

Derby shook his faded blond hair.

“I replace my cooks, my entire staff every week. Nothing works. And I have no wish to endanger friends with my situation.”

“But you're Derby. You have so much wealth.”

“Wealth doesn't break limits, it merely changes them. This castle is a cell. My servants are my wardens.”

Both Kit and Will watched in horror as Derby ate his slice of bread.

“Quod me nutrit me destruit, gentlemen: what nourishes me destroys me. In future, I suggest you probe the spy network for conspiracy, not sickly lords.”

Kit stood motionless. Pity descended upon him like a dark blanket, but it couldn’t smother the rising fear in his belly. A thick sheen of sweat coated the Earl’s forehead. Kit raised the back of his hand and wiped the sweat now beading on his own brow.

Outside, clouds drove across the sky in furrows, each seeded with pink and blue. The sun ploughed below the horizon and the promise of rain hung about the air. After the stuffiness of the castle, the coolness of the twilight sky felt refreshing to the skin.

With a strained silence between them, Kit and Will exited the castle, found where they had tethered their horses, and climbed back up into the saddle. Apart from the distant whisper of waves, the only sound on the drive was the champ of horses' teeth and the rattle of halter chains. Kit uttered a deep sigh and looked pleadingly at Will.

“Look, it's not something I can go around telling everyone.”

Will narrowed his eyes.

“I didn’t want you to tell everyone,” he replied sharply.

“Will–”

“Maybe you don't believe in yourself, but I do expect you to trust in me.”

Kit bowed his head.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you sooner. It's just that I'm not accustomed to working with others. That’s how I've survived as a spy.” After a moment, he leaned closer to Will and changed the subject. “Anyway, for what we have to do next, I should explain the ways of espionage in our country.”

“If you’re sure you can trust me…”

Kit lowered his voice and did his best to describe the confusing labyrinth of the intelligence world. He explained that all spies served the Queen officially, but in reality they worked for any lord who offered them advancement and money. Since most lords were rivals for the Queen’s favor, their private spies spent more time sabotaging each other than engaged in any useful work. Sir Francis Walsingham had briefly centralized the intelligence service under his sole command and eliminated the in-fighting and rivalries of noblemen. However, after Sir Francis died, Lord Burghley had assumed control of the network. Burghley was now old and his immense power was gradually slipping. Hence, the espionage system had begun to crumble once again.

Stunned and slightly repulsed, Will listened to it all quietly.

“Who do you work for, then?” he asked.

“Lord Burghley,” Kit replied. “He might be aged, but he still controls the most powerful spy circle in the land. Thomas works as one of his section chiefs in charge of an entire group of men. One of those men… is me.”

“So what now? How do we learn which other lords are set against you?”

“We need to get our hands on some intelligence reports. On the morrow we'll head back toward London, stop overnight, then go on to Portsmouth – there's a man there who intercepts messages from the continent. Maybe he has some answers?”

Will hunched his back a little and gave a slight nod. He had nothing more to say.

“Just be careful from now on,” Kit warned. “The spy world is thick with knives and shadows.” He spurred his horse into a canter and rode off down the drive.

SCENE FOUR

Scadbury Manor.

R
ays of morning sun fell slanted around the gardens and speared into the leaves of rose bushes. Flourishes of redness burst from the blooms – deep and rich like freshly struck blood. Thorns dripped with dew. Roots suckled at the warming soil.

Inside the manor, despite the early hour, Audrey had already awoken and dressed for the day. Since the Queen arose at six thirty, Audrey herself had to be washed and dressed by five thirty so as to make the journey into London in good time. As Gentlewoman of the Privy Chamber, Audrey was considered a companion to the Queen and had a clearly defined set of duties that Elizabeth expected her to perform every morning and every evening.