When the first week drew to its end, I became more curious than ever about what would happen on Sunday. Would the household attend church in Great Hartwell? There did not appear to be a private chapel on the manor. Nothing was said of this until Saturday evening, when Lady Bridget drew me aside after supper.
‘We shall be attending early service tomorrow at the village church, Master Alvarez. Will you accompany us?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ I said readily.
‘Good.’ She smiled at me. ‘The men will ride and Cecilia and I go pillion. The servants will set out half an hour earlier, to walk.’
‘My horse will be glad of the exercise,’ I said. ‘He has been idling in the stable since I arrived.’
‘Oh, but you must feel free to ride about the estate whenever you are not occupied with the children. It is so lovely at this time of year.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Perhaps I will do that tomorrow afternoon. You would not want me to keep them at their lessons on a Sunday?’
‘No, no. They have a holiday from their studies, and so must you. It is very pretty over by the lake. We do not all need to be fishermen to enjoy it!’
I laughed, as I was meant to. However, the thought crossed my mind that she seemed quite eager to send me off on a long ride the following afternoon. Walsingham had said that it was about now that he expected another delivery of letters. For a long time I lay awake that night, trying to untangle my confused impressions of the Fitzgeralds – so warm and kind in their welcome, so open (apparently) in everything they did, yet tainted with this suspicion of Walsingham’s. Sir Francis was the cleverest man I knew. I did not believe he could be entirely mistaken.
Hector was delighted to see me the next morning and could hardly contain himself when we joined the other men to ride down to the village. Sir Damian, the steward Alchester, and Miles Fitzgerald were all there, and Edward on his small pony. Despite Hector’s eagerness for a faster pace, we rode down the hill at a sober walk and I was glad to feel that my muscles, which had ached for a day or two after my ride from London, now seemed to have adapted themselves to riding again.
The service in church was impeccably that which was laid down by the Queen’s government. There was no hint of Rome here, which I would have recognised at once from the Catholic church services I had attended in Coimbra. Afterwards the rector greeted me as an old friend, having shared the schoolroom with me on three occasions. Nothing could be more open and above board.
In the afternoon I saddled Hector myself, rather than troubling one of the grooms, who were enjoying their own Sunday rest. I decided I would follow Lady Bridget’s suggestion and ride out to the lake. It would give me an innocent opportunity to explore the first part of the route to Barn Elms. I had taken care to ask Edward for directions, as I could not be expected to know the way. To my surprise, he did not suggest coming with me. When I asked whether he would like to come, he avoid my eye and mumbled that he had something to do for his father. It was the first time I had seen Edward anything other than as open and transparent as glass, so it briefly gave me pause. However, the sky was beginning to cloud over. If I wanted to have my ride without a soaking, I must be on my way.
The route was exactly as I had memorised it from Walsingham’s map. Out of the rear archway of the stableyard, where the start of the track was plain to see and clearly used regularly. I turned right and followed it along the edge of two large fields. One was planted with barley, the other with wheat, both already well grown in this fertile soil. As I rode, I was conscious of a closeness in the air, as if thunder was brewing. There was no breeze, but it was not a peaceful feeling. Rather the world seemed to be holding its breath. In the woods, there were swarms of insects and birds darted about amongst the trees, shrieking and feeding – swifts, martins and swallows. As I came to the end of the woods I caught the first glimpse of water through the trees. I had reached the lake.
It was larger than I had imagined from the drawing on the map. Several species of waterfowl were swimming near the shore, and like the birds in the wood they seemed agitated. Where the track first reached the water’s edge there was a small pier with two rowing boats tied up. This must be where Edward came to fish. Beyond this point I noticed that the track appeared less frequented, though I could still make it out, following the edge of the lake.
Suddenly there came a great gust of wind like a giant’s sigh, and the reeds on the fringes of the lake bowed and whispered together. The heavy grey clouds which I had noticed in the distance when I set out began to roll in from the east, gathering together and blotting out the sun. Hector shivered and laid back his ears. It was time to turn back.
As we retraced out route, I gave the horse his head and he broke again into that smooth canter, though between my knees I could feel his eagerness to go faster. The track seemed safe enough. I had seen no protruding roots or holes on my way to the lake, so I slackened the reins and let him ease into a gallop. Cassie was right. There was real speed in this horse, even though he was not exerting himself yet. Just as we emerged from the wood, there was a flash of lightning and a crack of thunder, too close to be comfortable. Hector jerked sideways, but no more than I did myself, and we carried on past the fields as the clouds broke open and threw rain down on us like a waterfall of pebbles.
Although I was quickly soaked, it was exciting, invigorating, after a week of playing my double part in Hartwell House, and my spirits soared. As we neared the house, I realised we were not the only ones heading for shelter. Some distance away I could see two mounted figures riding swiftly up the lane toward the house, their heads down again the rain. I pushed the wet hair out of my eyes and reined in the horse. One of the men was unmistakably in dark clerical garb. The other?
I blinked away the rain. I knew that figure. I had had it under my hands, I had faced it across my father’s table, I had encountered it on the stairs at Seething Lane.
It was Robert Poley.
Chapter Seven
At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks, half blinded as I was by the heavy downpour and the trees of the orchard, which partially blocked my view. But no, I was sure it was Poley. Was he here on Sir Francis’s business? But why? Would not Sir Francis have let me know he was coming? Yet that might have been risky. If this was indeed a treasonous household, a letter to me might have been intercepted and read. Something might have occurred after I left London which had meant Poley had been sent after me, but then who was the other man?
For a long time I hesitated. I was well shielded by the orchard trees and if I stayed motionless I was unlikely to be noticed by men hastening to reach the house and escape the heavy rain. Hector shifted uneasily beneath me, not understanding why our swift return home to his warm, dry stable had been suddenly halted, leaving him to stand here shivering while the thunder rolled overhead and intermittent flashes of lightning alarmed us both.
I watched the two riders disappear round the front of the house and continued to wait as long as I thought it would take for them to ride into the stableyard and attend to their horses, though from my knowledge of Poley I suspected he would not see to his horse himself, but would hand him over to one of Hartwell Hall’s grooms. At last, drenched and shivering myself, I rode Hector along the last stretch of the track and into the stableyard. The groom Tom Godwin was just coming out of the stable with a sack over his head for protection against the rain.