There was a distinct ‘hrmhrm’ from one of the doorways. Lord Hunsdon was standing there, wrapped in a sable-fur dressing gown with his embroidered nightcap making him look older.
‘Father,’ said Carey and bowed. Hunsdon beckoned him over. Dodd was just close enough to hear the tail-end of their muttered conversation. ‘Find him if you can, Robin, but for God’s sake, be careful.’
Carey smiled at his father. ‘You don’t mean that, my lord?’
Hunsdon scowled back. ‘I do, you bloody idiot. Don’t get yourself killed.’
Carey kissed his father’s hand with affectionate ceremony, but Hunsdon pulled him close and embraced him like a bear.
When Carey had gone ahead, with Barnabus and Simon trailing unhappily in his wake, Hunsdon growled at Dodd.
‘Sergeant.’
‘Ay, my lord.’
‘You know that my son can sometimes be a little rash.’
Dodd remained stony-faced despite this outrageous understatement. ‘Ay, my lord.’
‘You seem like a man of good sense and intelligence. Try and restrain him.’
Dodd made an unhappy grimace. ‘Ay, my lord. I’ll try.’
‘Every day I thank God that I have such a fine son. Keep him alive for me, and I’ll not be ungrateful.’
Dodd’s heart sank at the impossibility of the task. ‘Ay, my lord,’ he said hollowly.
Hunsdon grinned piratically at his dismay. ‘Do your best, man. That’s all I ask.’
‘Ay, my lord.’
To Dodd’s private amusement, instead of going through the postern gate like Christian men, Carey led the three of them into the moonlit garden and over a wall into the garden of the next house, which was a grassy mound with some trees down by the river. Then they went over another wall and into a narrow dirty alley that smelled of the salt and dirt in the Thames at the open end of it. They went the other way and came out into the dark early morning Strand just past the conduit. Nobody was there, not even the nightsoil men, because it was so horribly early in the morning, it was still the middle of the night. Dodd yawned again at the thought. They had no torches but didn’t need them thanks to the moonlight, and Dodd thought of the uses of moonlight and the dangers. Cats flashed their eyes and ran for cover and more black ugly things scurried away with their naked tails slithering. Except once, Dodd had never seen so many rats in his life as he’d seen in London.
Carey led them briskly through back streets to Temple Bar where a couple of beggars were huddled up against the inner wall of the arch, with carved headless saints watching over them. They passed a church with a square tower, surrounded by a churchyard, and a vast towering midden that looked ready to topple at any minute; they passed the Cock tavern and at last Carey turned right down another tiny alley, ducked through archways that took the street under part of a house and then turned left into a jumble of small ancient houses and up four flights of stairs under a headless figure of a woman standing precariously on a coiled rope. At the top he used a key to unlock the door and they went into a little attic room with a crazily pitched ceiling that smelled musty and damp with emptiness. The floorboards were bare of rushes except for a few scraps in a corner and there was a bed with a truckle under it and a straw palliasse under that. The fireplace was empty, there was a table under the window with a candlestick on it, three stools and that was all.
Barnabus bustled straight in with bags over his shoulder, looked around and nodded. ‘Not bad,’ he said approvingly. ‘This one of your father’s investments?’
‘Yes, I think so. At least we don’t have to pay rent.’ Carey was busy with a tinderbox and a candle he had taken out of the pocket in his sleeve. It was a wax candle, Dodd noticed, outrageously extravagant. He looked longingly at the bed where Barnabus had put the bags, though he had no expectation at all that Carey would let him rest.
He was right, though at least Simon unpacked one of his bundles and produced clean pewter plates and a large loaf of bread, fresh butter wrapped in waxed paper and some cheese. Barnabus put a large leather jack full of encouraging sloshing sounds on the table and they sat down to breakfast. Dodd was still feeling too queasy with the morning to eat much, though Carey had an excellent appetite. That worried Dodd who had learned that the Courtier tended to go off his fodder when he was bored and to eat heartily when he was anticipating excitement.
‘Now then,’ said Carey washing down a third hunk of bread and cheese with beer. ‘Edmund.’
‘Ay, sir,’ said Dodd mournfully. ‘Who’s he?’
‘Edmund is my elder brother by two years, and between you and me he’s a complete pillock. He was serving in the Netherlands for a while and he did quite well after Roland Yorke sold Deventer to the Spanish; he led the loyal soldiers out of the place and got them home across enemy territory, but he took it hard since Yorke was a friend of his and he’s been pretty much drunk ever since.’
Dodd munched slowly on his cheese and forbore to comment. Carey poured himself some more beer.
‘Obviously he’s the real reason why Father was so anxious for us to come to London-after all, he could have heard our tale at Oxford where he’d be near the Queen and that would have been useful because I could have asked Her Majesty what’s happened to the five hundred pounds she’s supposed to pay me.’
‘And she wouldn’t ’ave told you, would she, sir?’
‘No, Barnabus, she wouldn’t, but she would at least have been reminded of it. Now, I didn’t see Edmund when I left for Carlisle in June, but as far as I knew he was planning to go back to the Netherlands again, try and loot some more cash and pay off the moneylenders. His wife had a bit of land when she married him, but of course that’s all mortgaged now and the dowry’s long spent. Then, according to my father, some time in early August he disappeared. Father didn’t worry at first, he thought perhaps Edmund might be doing a job for Mr Vice Chamberlain Heneage, though Mr Vice denied it of course. But Edmund still hasn’t turned up, Heneage is adamant that he doesn’t know where he is, and furthermore my father has heard that Heneage is looking for him as well, which means he may have done something to annoy Mr Vice and that is very unwise.’
‘Sir,’ said Dodd with an effort. ‘What sort of thing would your brother do for the Vice Chamberlain?’
‘Ah. Yes. Well, as I told you, Mr Vice is currently Her Majesty’s spymaster. So it was probably something shady and difficult, not to say treasonous if viewed in the wrong light.’
‘Och. But I thocht your family didnae take to Heneage?’
‘Edmund is a bloody idiot. He’ll do almost anything for money. Walsingham would never have let him near intelligence work, so Heneage must have been desperate. He has some Catholic contacts through his friend Yorke, of course, but still…God knows what he was up to. My guess is he made a complete balls up of it, whatever it was, and has gone into hiding, but my father’s worried and so we’ve got to find him. Which is a blasted nuisance.’
Dodd thought about London and the huge number of people in it. How could you find one man amongst all that lot, especially if he didn’t want to be found? It was impossible. Dolefully he asked, ‘But where will we start, sir?’
‘Well, my father was paying a poet to make some enquiries, but he hasn’t heard from that man either.’
‘Will, d’ye mean?’
‘Who?’
‘The little bald-headed man that was…er…Mistress Bassano’s servant. He…er…he helped me find ma way back to Somerset House yesterday and had me carry some rhymes to Mistress Bassano, the ones that annoyed her so badly, damn him.’
Carey wrinkled his brows in puzzlement for a moment and then laughed. ‘Oh, him. Skinny, nervous, Wiltshire accent?’
‘Ay, sir.’