I leaned forward to remove the music from the stand, managing at the same time to slip her head gently from my shoulder, although her hand still lingered on my leg, which it began to caress. A kind of hysterical panic seized me.
‘Shall we play one of our lute and virginal duets now?’ I asked, in what I hoped was a casual voice. She knew that I had felt her physical advances, but nothing had yet been said which needed to be unsaid.
She opened her mouth to speak – and I was afraid of what she might say – when we both heard from downstairs the very faint tinkling of a bell. She flinched as if she had been shot, sitting up and withdrawing her hand.
‘I must go.’
She got up from the stool, suddenly dismayed and flustered, looking more like an embarrassed girl and less like a young seductress. ‘I had not realised it was so late.’
She hurried from the room, taking care to close the door very softly behind her.
Curious. I had not heard that bell before in this house, but I had heard bells like it before. In the Catholic church at Coimbra, during Mass.
When we all sat down to dine that night, I was not surprised that the two strangers were absent. I had donned my doublet again, although it was still damp, and forced my feet into my wet shoes, for I had brought but the one pair with me. Lady Bridget asked about my ride and commiserated with my soaking. Sir Damian offered me one of his spare doublets, which I declined, for it would have gone round me twice. Edward promised to take me fishing soon. Now that I had seen the lake I would surely want to try my luck. The steward and the secretary were engaged in a discussion about the management of the home farm. Only Cecilia was silent, her eyes demurely on her plate, though from time to time she glanced across the table at me and smiled secretively.
There seemed to be a little too much eager conversation.
I wondered where Poley and the other man might be. I was sure they were still in the house, for I had kept a watch from my chamber and no horses had left the stable. Were the servants aware of their presence? They must be. Tom Godwin, for example, had mentioned their visits quite casually. But if there was nothing to hide, why were they not at table with us? In such a large house it would not be difficult to lodge them and feed them somewhere out of sight, but to do so was as good as an admission that their business here was secret and possibly unlawful. How was Poley involved? That was what kept running through my mind.
Sir Francis had told me that Poley posed as a Catholic sympathiser and was thus able to insinuate his way into the confidence of the men who ran the web of conspiracies which were wound around our country and our Queen. But perhaps it was not a pose. Perhaps he was a traitor to Walsingham and really loyal to men like Thomas Morgan in the Bastille, begetter of treason, and William Allen, trainer and master of priests who doubled as assassins.
I found it difficult to maintain my normal attentive but modest demeanour during the meal with all these thoughts chasing themselves round in my head and with the knowledge that Poley and his companion were somewhere in the house. Was the other man a priest, smuggled into the country? I had instinctively imagined him to be a cleric from his sober garb, but would a secret priest not try to pass himself off as secular? I remembered that one man that Phelippes regarded as particularly dangerous, whose real name was (probably) John Ballard, called himself Captain Fortescue, a swashbuckling soldier of fortune. Although it was possible that a priest coming to this remote country house – having just landed, perhaps, on the Sussex coast – might see no need for a disguise. He would not have expected an agent of Walsingham’s to be in residence. More than ever I was certain that I must not let Poley see me. It had always been Walsingham’s plan that I should tell as few lies here as possible (his words), so I retained my own name and admitted to my Portuguese ancestry. In which case, someone in the household might have mentioned to Poley that one Christoval Alvarez was acting as tutor to the young Fitzgeralds.
As that thought crossed my mind, I found the food sticking in my throat. If anyone had told Poley that I was in the house, he had only to reveal that I worked for Walsingham and my life would be in danger. For I had convinced myself by now that some form of treason was at work here. The risk to my own life depended entirely on which side Poley chose to play at the moment.
I tried not to show my palpable relief when the meal came at last to an end. It seemed to have gone on for hours, though it had probably lasted no longer than usual. It might have been my heated imagination, but I felt that the others around the table were equally glad to finish. I excused myself and said I would retire to my chamber, that I felt a cold coming on, which seemed reasonable enough, for I had sneezed several times during the meal.
Only Edward objected. ‘Oh, but Master Alvarez, you said yesterday that you would start to teach me to play chess this evening.’
‘I’m sorry, Edward, but I would probably just give you my cold.’
I did feel sorry, for I liked Edward, and I had promised. He was too young to be part of whatever treason was being plotted in this house. It was like a knife in my conscience. If I reported the family to Walsingham, what would happen to them? Would the children suffer? Would Master Alchester, whom I had also grown to like? And Tom Godwin, the groom? This was an unpleasant business, being an informant. Working with Phelippes, solving ciphers and transcribing letters, I had felt distant from it all. Now I was trapped in the midst of it, amongst people who had been kind and welcoming to me. For the first time since leaving Portugal, I had been living amongst a normal family in a home which was not unlike an English version of my grandparents’ estate.
‘Now, Edward,’ his mother chided him, ‘you can see that Master Alvarez is not well after his soaking. Let him retire early tonight and perhaps he will be able to play chess with you tomorrow.’ She turned and smiled warmly at me. ‘I will have a hot posset sent up to you. I always find that very comforting.’
I thanked her and climbed the stairs to my chamber, feeling guilty and ashamed, as if I were the one at fault.
After one of the maidservants had brought me the posset, I closed my door and sat down to think while I spooned it up. It was sweet and delicious, rich in cream and spices and laced with brandy. And it did seem to clear the stuffiness in my head and throat. I must decide what to do. Tom Godwin had said these visitors normally stayed only one night, which meant they would be off tomorrow, probably early, to avoid being seen. I was almost certain that a Catholic Mass had been celebrated somewhere in the house this evening, but was that the only purpose of the visit? Had they also brought letters? And if so, were they letters for Sir Damian, or would they be passed on to someone else? How?
My mind went round and round as the light faded and my chamber began to grow dark. When it became too dark to see across the room, I lit a candle, first looking out over the stableyard to make sure there was no activity there. Finally, I came to a decision. I could not risk the possibility that Poley had discovered I was in the house and had told Sir Damian. I must leave. But I must leave deep into the night, when I was sure everyone was asleep. I started to pack up my belongings, which did not take long. I also wrote a short note to Lady Bridget, thanking her for her kindness and saying that I had received word that my father had been taken seriously ill so that I must return to London at once. It seemed wise to explain my departure in case my connection with Walsingham had not been exposed. They must wonder how I had received word, but that could not be helped. I would leave the note under the silver posset cup, so that the maidservant would see it when she tidied my room in the morning.