We withdrew into a small parlour which Phelippes had hired and set about copying the pages after Gregory had unsealed the packet, a tricky operation owing to the thickness of the contents. We each took two pages, unfolded them and copied them faithfully, just as they were, in cipher. Then Gregory resealed the letter, using his Babington seal, while Phelippes and I set about transcribing it.
‘I should prefer to complete this before you deliver the original, Kit.’
‘Do you think we can do it quickly enough?’
‘It’s not long past midday. If Arthur helps, we can finish before evening.’
‘I do not want to arrive too late. If Curll speaks to Sir Anthony, he will wonder how it could have taken all day to ride from Lichfield.’
‘Perhaps your horse was lame?’
‘Perhaps.’
Again we took two pages each. Although it was a lengthy missive, much too lengthy for discretion, it was written in that easy cipher, with an invented symbol for each letter of the alphabet – no displacement and no grid. Arthur Gregory sometimes helped with deciphering when there was a great deal of work, but he was slow. When I had finished my two pages, I took over his second page, which he had barely started, while he sought out the innkeeper to bring food for us. We had worked without stopping to eat and the afternoon was drawing on.
When Gregory returned with the potboy and supper, Phelippes sorted the pages into order and sat back with a sigh of satisfaction. ‘Well, our gentleman is hardly coy about his plans. Everything is here. Almost everything. Listen to this:
For the dispatch of the usurper [He means Queen Elizabeth], from the obedience of whom we are by excommunication of her made free [A bow to the cursed bishop of Rome, the lickspittle], there be six noble gentlemen [Ha! Noble indeed!] all my private friends, who for the zeal they bear to the Catholic cause and your Majesty’s service will undertake that tragical execution.
‘Unfortunately, he does not give us the names of the six noble gentlemen who are going to commit murder, which would have made our task easier.’
Gregory muttered something under his breath. I was silent, shocked by what Babington had written. I could not believe that charming man, with his welcoming manner and warm smile, could write so heartlessly about murder. I shivered.
‘Well, Kit, you had best be off to the manor house with Sir Anthony’s letter.’
‘Aye.’ I stood up and flexed my cramped fingers. ‘First I will hire myself an attic room here in Stowe. Sir Anthony wants me to stay in the neighbourhood, but it will be best if I am not seen in your company. And a messenger boy would hire nothing grander than an attic.’
‘That’s well thought on. We will try to avoid meeting publicly, but I have taken this parlour for as long as we are in Stowe, so you will be able to find me here.’
The room was quickly hired and I retraced my steps to where I had left Hector, worried that I had be obliged to leave him so long. However, he was unharmed, though clearly glad to see me, and we cantered up to the manor through the evening light as though we had indeed just come from Lichfield. The same curt servant showed me to Curll’s study, where I handed over the packet.
‘Sir Anthony instructed me to stay in the village in case you wished to make use of my services again,’ I said, ‘so I have taken a room at the inn.’
‘Very well.’ Curll was paying me little attention, weighing the packet in his hand and clearly anxious to start deciphering it. ‘I will send for you if I need you.’
Once again he gave me a shilling and I pulled my cap, my new cap, in a salute to him. On my way back to where I had hitched Hector, I noticed a carriage being washed down to rid it of dust. That must be the carriage Phelippes had seen. How fortunate it was that his face was not known to the Scottish queen, or everything might have unravelled at once.
The next week or so proved to be the most tedious time of my life. No word came from Chartley manor. I had brought no book with me to read. I could not even sit with Phelippes and Gregory for most of the time. One day Gifford arrived with a bundle of letters and then I was occupied for several hours, but it was nothing of great import. The rest of the time I spent either sitting in my cramped attic with its low beams, on which I cracked my head whenever I forgot, which was often, or else taking long walks about the countryside.
It occurred to me on one of these walks that I was exploring the very ground over which Babington and his comrades-in-arms would attempt their rescue of Mary from Chartley. His letter had been vague about this and I could not imagine how they could hope to storm so well-guarded a house. On this latest visit I had paid more attention and realised that there were armed men everywhere. They looked to me like experienced men, well able to withstand a group of noble gentlemen, who might be skilled in amateur fencing, but were unlikely to be able to match professional soldiers.
These thoughts should have alerted me. If I was exploring the area, others might also be doing so. I came so close to blundering again that the very thought of it turns me dizzy. I was tramping along through a small wood which lay between the village and the manor, enjoying the fresh air after my hot, close attic room. The wood must have been part of the estate, for it was clearly maintained. The undergrowth was cut down, dead wood cleared away, trees thinned so that they should not become too crowded.
Then I heard the crunch of a horse’s hooves on the leaf litter of the woodland floor. If it was someone from the manor, it would be better that I was not caught here. For all I knew it was private land. And probably they would not like anyone prowling near the place where Mary was held. I had, after all, been seen bringing packets to her secretary. I looked around hastily. The wood was too open, too well cared for. My drab clothes would not shout my presence, but I could not stay in full view. The horse was coming nearer.
I had not climbed a tree since my last summer at my grandfather’s solar and I probably could not have done so now, had I not been driven by fear. One of the oaks had a branch low enough if I jumped. On the second attempt I managed to grab hold of it and pull myself up until I had my stomach across it. For a moment I floundered there like a fish in a net, then I was astride it and reaching up to the next branch, which was within easy reach. Once I had climbed up to this one, I was able to wedge my back into an angle between two branches and draw up my legs out of sight. Just in time, for now I could see the horseman approaching.
I realised he was being cautious, as though he too did not want to be seen. He stopped under my oak tree, whose broad trunk gave him some cover, and I found myself sweating with fear that he might look up. Had the tree not been in full summer leaf he would certainly have seen me. From where I was, I could see the back of the manor house. Mounted on his horse the man would be able to see it too. I caught my breath. This must be one of the other conspirators, sent on by Babington from Lichfield, to spy out the ground.
The man seemed to wait there for hours, though I know it can only have been minutes. Then he turned his horse back the way he had come, not from the village but cross-country from the south. I went cold as I caught a glimpse of his face as he turned. It was Poley.
Back at the inn, I felt this was an occasion when I ought to contact Phelippes. When I told him I had seen Poley stealthily scouting out a route to the manor, he looked worried for a moment.
‘Poley is close in Babington’s confidence, and that is what we want.’ His voice sounded unsure. ‘However, we do not want Babington to make a move before Mary replies to his letter and we have our evidence. I may need to warn Sir Amias to double the guard.’
Sir Amias Paulet, of course, who was in charge of the manor and the Scottish queen. Phelippes would be able to send a message to him. Even so, I felt threatened. To me there always seemed to be the smell of danger about Poley.