She turned to her brother. ‘Edward,’ she said, and her voice sharpened a little, ‘stop hopping about like that and send one of the grooms to take Master Alvarez’s horse.’
Edward turned to do as he was told, but I slid down from the saddle, feeling a twinge in those same unaccustomed muscles.
‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘you are most kind, but I would like to see where my horse is to be lodged. My grandfather, who had a famous stud in Portugal, taught me when I was very young that a gentleman should always see to his horse’s comfort before his own.’
The girl gave me a slightly disparaging look, but the steward smiled his approval.
‘Quite right. If you will follow me, sir, I will show you the stables. Master Edward, you might run ahead and tell Tom Godwin that Master Alvarez has arrived.’
The three of us set off round the side of the house, leaving the girl standing there alone. I was afraid we had not made a good start, but I was determined to learn the layout of the stables and outbuildings at once, in case I needed to make my escape that way.
‘And you are . . .?’ I asked the man.
‘Edwin Alchester, Sir Damian’s steward,’ he said. ‘Sir Damian is away until this evening, but Lady Bridget asked that you might be brought to see her once you have been shown your chamber and have had time to rest from your journey.’
‘Thank you,’ I said again. ‘That is most kind.’
The stables, like the house, were newly built of brick. What was the source of the Fitzgerald wealth? I wondered. Many families had risen to new wealth under the Tudors, but if this was indeed a Catholic family, they did not show much sign of it. New money and the old faith. It suggested that Sir Damian might be a very clever man. I would need to be careful myself. Walsingham had said that priests had been seen to come and go to Hartwell Hall. Did that mean that someone was watching now? And where? In one of the villages I had ridden through? Or behind the orchard trees beside the house? Or even in the house itself? Surely Walsingham would have told me if he had a man inside the household. But perhaps not. Perhaps it was better that I should not know. No, that was a stupid thought. If he already had someone inside the house, he would have had no need to place me here.
The groom Tom Godwin came running up and between us we soon had Hector settled in a roomy stall with fresh straw on the floor and a manger full of hay. I took my saddlebags, eased my lute off my back, and left Tom rubbing Hector down, whistling softly between his teeth, while the horse munched contentedly.
The steward led me back to the front door of the house. That settled one point. It was not to be the servants’ entrance for me. Edward followed closely behind, chattering like a flock of sparrows: When had I left London? Did I really come from Portugal? Was that a lute in the case? Would we be starting lessons today? Did I like fishing?
I answered distractedly whenever he drew breath. The girl was nowhere to be seen as we climbed the front steps and entered the large entrance hall, from which a double staircase mounted in a lovely sweep, apparently floating on air. Master Alchester conducted me to the first floor, then along to a large bright room.
‘This is the schoolroom,’ he said, his gesture indicating comfortable chairs, three tables, books, a rack of recorders and a virginal. It had a slightly untidy, lived-in look.
‘It used to be the nursery,’ Edward said, ‘but of course I am too old for that now.’
‘Of course,’ I agreed.
Master Alchester crossed the room and threw open a further door.
‘This is the chamber used by the last tutor,’ he said. ‘I hope you will find it satisfactory.’
It was more than satisfactory. My relief that I would not be required to share a room made my heart give a leap in my chest.
‘Who teaches the other subjects?’ I asked. ‘Edward, you are surely studying more than music and mathematics?’
‘Oh, the rector from Great Hartwell comes over three times a week,’ he said. ‘The Reverend Conings. He teaches me Latin and Greek and history, but he says he has no head for mathematics. And although he can hold a tune in church, he cannot play an instrument to save his life.’
I could hear the rector’s own voice behind the words and suppressed a smile. But this was interesting, that the family employed a cleric of the English church to teach their children. That did not suggest Catholicism.
‘And does your sister also study with the rector?’ I asked.
‘No, she does not.’ I had not heard her come in, but she stood now in the doorway, eying me speculatively. ‘I have had enough of those dry subjects. I keep up my music, and I read.’ She gestured toward the generous piles of books. Another sign of wealth, I thought.
‘And mathematics, Cecilia?’ I said. ‘I understood you were also to be instructed in mathematics.’ I had used her first name deliberately, rather than Mistress Cecilia. I was determined to establish this barrier of age and position from the start.
She made a face. ‘My father feels I have not made sufficient progress in mathematics, but why he supposes I should ever need a knowledge of the subject, I cannot imagine.’
Edward laughed. ‘She is as stupid as a log of wood. I am far better at mathematics than she is, although she pretends to be so superior because she is older.’
The girl frowned and the steward said, ‘Master Edward, that is no way to speak of your sister.’
I saw that the steward had the authority that comes with being the master’s most valued servant. But I was anxious that hostility should not build up between the girl and myself.
‘I understand that you love music, Cecilia, and are a skilled musician. There are many links between music and mathematics. Perhaps we might look at the mathematics of harmony, something I find fascinating myself.’
A spark of interest showed in the girl’s eyes and she inclined her head. ‘I should like that. It would certainly be more enjoyable than our former tutor’s lessons on bills of trade and merchants’ accounts. What use would I have for them?’
She was scornful, and had a right to be. By all the evidence of her home and her clothes, she was destined for marriage to a great landowner. Someone else would keep her accounts for her.
They left me to ‘rest’ as the steward said, though I had no intention of keeping Lady Bridget waiting. I must be quiet, courteous, attentive, and unobtrusive if I was to do what I was here to do. Already I felt uncomfortable at the thought of spying on these people, even though I did not much like the girl. Telling me to come down to the great hall when I was ready, Master Alchester herded my pupils out of the schoolroom, closing the door behind him.
I went into my new chamber, to examine it more thoroughly. It was a corner room in one of the rear bays of the house, with two windows, one overlooking the stableyard, the other facing a formal garden. There was a comfortable bed, a coffer for my clothes and a chair upholstered in the modern fashion with padded cushions tacked on to the frame. On a table below one of the windows stood a basin and a ewer of – amazingly – warm water. Someone must have put it here while I was seeing to the horse. Clearly this was a very well run household. On a dish beside the basin lay a bar of fine Castilian soap, such as I had not seen since leaving Coimbra. This was a family which could afford expensive imports.
I washed my hands and face and dried them on a soft towel laid on the table beside the soap, then changed my shirt and brushed the dust off my shoes and the rest of my clothes. My spare clothes I laid in the coffer. My papers and textbook, and the map to Hartwell Hall, I arranged neatly and openly on another table, together with my writing materials, and my lute I propped up in a corner, having checked that it had survived the journey. The Barn Elms map I kept tucked inside my doublet. I had a feeling that this was a house where invisible servants glided through every room, cleaning and tidying, laying fires and bringing hot water. And that anything suspicious would be reported back to the steward or Sir Damian himself. The thought made me wary and also made my task of searching for letters seem impossible.