Before I made my way to Hernes Rents, I sought out the head groom and explained that Hector’s shoes would be worn down from our long journey.
‘Aye,’ he said, ‘I’ve noticed already. The farrier is coming this afternoon. How far did you say you’d ridden?’
‘Near three hundred miles.’
He whistled. ‘You’re a hearty lad to do that in a week.’
I went on my way, smiling to myself. If Phelippes did not appreciate what I had done, at least the groom did.
I found the house in Hernes Rents easily enough, but like Phelippes I was puzzled that Sir Anthony should choose to live here when he owned a fine London house. If I was asked how I knew where he was, I could say that Barnes had told me. I just hoped I would not find Barnes here, or my masquerade would be discovered at once.
As it was, I need not have worried. I was admitted to the house by a servant in the Babington livery and taken straight to his master. I felt a curious mixture of excitement and guilt as I was shown into the room. I was part of the trap set to ensnare this man, who was young and idealistic – even Phelippes admitted that. He truly believed in his cause. Although, I remembered, he had also taken fright at the implications of what he was doing, and asked for permission to travel abroad.
The man who looked up from his desk and gave me a charming smile was certainly the same young man I had seen all those months ago with Poley’s arm around his neck, but the intervening time had worn lines of worry about his eyes and mouth. He looked tired. Yet he was very courteous, rising to greet me with a bow. There was a kind of glow about him. I could see how other men would follow him with delight and devotion. Walsingham had told me that he was learned and witty. He was certainly very good-looking. I could understand why Sir Francis had hoped to win him over.
I explained that I had a letter for him from Curll, that I had missed him by just an hour in Litchfield and had followed him to London.
‘That’s a good lad,’ he said, patting me on the shoulder. ‘It’s a long ride.’
He broke open Gregory’s carefully forged seal, barely glancing at it, and opened the letter. He frowned and sighed. I could see that he was not pleased that it was in cipher. He looked up at me.
‘I shall need to prepare an answer to this. Can you be here in two days to carry a letter back to Chartley?’
‘Yes, sir.’ My throat tightened on the words. This was what Phelippes wanted, but for me it would mean another long journey.
‘Good lad,’ he said again. ‘Here’s something for your pains.’ He slipped a coin into my hand, but I did not look at it, feeling it would be ill-mannered.
As the servant ushered me out, I saw Babington sit down again at his desk and run his hand through his hair, clearly not relishing the task of decipherment.
Once out in the street, I opened my hand and looked at the coin. It was a gold sovereign. Stupidly I felt tears come to my eyes. I tried not to think of it, but I knew that Sir Anthony Babington was on the road to his certain death.
I felt like Judas.
Chapter Thirteen
When I returned to Seething Lane, I took a roundabout route. It was not only Phelippes who could have people followed. Anthony Babington was so open and trusting that he made himself an easy prey for more cunning men, and I did not suppose he would have arranged to have me followed, but one of his companions might. Although I had seen no one but Babington and his serving man at the house in Hernes Rents, I had heard other voices from upstairs. For one sickening moment I realised that Poley might have been there and seen me from a window. He would have recognised me even in these clothes and might have alerted Babington to my identity. One of my identities. All would depend on which faction Poley was serving at the moment. So I headed for Cheapside, took a meandering route through dirty alleyways down to the river, followed the river bank to the Customs House, then spun on my heel and headed for Walsingham’s house. No one seemed to be following me.
Walsingham was in Phelippes’s office when I returned, hearing an account of my journey and the letter Mary had written to Babington.
‘It is delivered, then, the letter?’ Sir Francis asked.
‘Aye, sir,’ I said, pulling off the woollen cap. My hair was damp with sweat from my roundabout trip through the hot dusty streets.
‘And?’ said Phelippes.
‘And he scratched his head over it. I think he does not enjoy secret ciphers. I would say he is a man who would prefer above all to be open and honest.’
I had spent but a few minutes in Babington’s company, but I was moved to compare him favourably with what went on here.
Phelippes gave me a hard stare, as if he did not quite like my remark. ‘Does he wish you to carry the answer to Chartley?’
‘Aye. He asked me to come back in two days’ time.’
‘Good, good.’ They smiled at each other.
I sat down on the chair beside my desk, unasked. I was suddenly very tired.
‘Perhaps someone else could carry the message. Maybe Gifford?’
‘Why?’ Phelippes looked alarmed. ‘Do you think he suspects you?’
‘No,’ I said, with a wry smile. ‘No, I believe Sir Anthony is as trusting as a babe. It is just that I think . . . I am not trained for this work. I might do or say something to make him, or the people at Chartley, suspicious. Also, it is a very long journey, three whole days on horseback to Lichfield, then another half day to Chartley. And the same to come back.’
I realised that my voice sounded pathetic. I tried to assume a firmer tone. ‘Besides, there is my work at the hospital. It has been seriously neglected these last weeks. I may lose my position. When all this is over . . .’ I gestured vaguely at the neat stacks of paper on the desks and shelves, ‘when all this is over, I still have my living to earn.’
‘You need not worry about that,’ Sir Francis said. ‘I have explained to the governors of St Bartholomew’s that you are engaged on important work for the state. You will not lose your position at the hospital.’
As I slumped defeatedly, I saw them exchange a glance.
‘Come, Kit,’ Sir Francis said, ‘I would like to speak to you in my chamber. We will leave Thomas to his work.’
I got up to follow him, dreading what this might mean. As I picked up my woollen cap, he waved his hand and smiled. ‘Leave that dreadful cap here. I cannot think where Thomas found it.’
When we reached his room, he seated me in a comfortable cushioned chair, poured me a glass of wine, and sent one of his maidservants for food.
‘Have you eaten anything today, Kit?’ he asked when the girl returned with a tray of cold meats and bread.
‘Um,’ I said vaguely. ‘No, I do not think I have. I was too apprehensive this morning.’
‘And now it is well into the afternoon. As a doctor, you know that is folly. Now put down that glass and eat something, or the wine will go to your head.’
Obediently I helped myself to some cold beef and a chunk of fresh white bread. This was the Walsingham I remembered from Barn Elms, not the London Walsingham. He said nothing more until he was satisfied that I had eaten well.
‘Now,’ he said, sitting back in his chair and briefly stroking his beard.
Now, I thought, I am to have a dressing down for speaking well of Anthony Babington.
‘We have been asking a great deal of you lately, Kit. I think Thomas forgets that you are only sixteen. You have worked side by side with him for months now, with your extraordinary aptitude for analysing and breaking codes. He has come to think of you as a grown man, not a boy.’