A Queen's Spy by - (black authors fiction .TXT) 📖

own room. His servant, who was sitting by the fire, looked up at his entry.

“A good night?” Dan asked.

“No.” Richard dropped his cloak over the back of a chair and, sitting on the edge of the bed, began pulling boots from his feet. Dan sensed his mood and kept his counsel, busying himself in collecting the discarded clothes as the other flung himself face down on the bed and spoke no more.

 

 

Chapter Three

London – March 1553

 

†

 

Nothing but a shadow in a darkened doorway, Jack had watched as Richard Fitzwarren ducked through the low inn entrance. That had been over an hour ago, as dusk filled the gap between day and night.

He wondered at the night’s outcome. It was, after all, this meeting alone that had brought Richard, Jack and twenty-one hired men back across the narrow waste of sea between France and England to London. Jack harboured the fervent hope that it would lead to their hire, and soon. His back ached: the chill night air carried with it a cold damp that had begun to penetrate his body.

A taper in a first-floor window flickered and Jack returned his attention to the room and his task of observing those within the inn, and those who may be outside watching. Three others of a likely look had entered shortly after Richard arrived. Too well dressed, they walked with swift purpose, without camaraderie or companionable banter, setting themselves apart from the other patrons who ambled to the door. Illuminated by steady flame, men’s faces, lurid in the candlelight, could be seen as they passed the open window.

Jack concluded, correctly, that in this room a meeting was being conducted, with his brother among the participants. Whatever else he fancied Richard’s shortcomings were, a lack of intelligence was not one. He would not provide his lit form as a recognisable portrait framed by the embrasure for any other concealed observer. One man though had no such qualms. He was elderly and dressed in folds of rich russet, their luxury deepened by the fire’s glow. The harshness of age lined his face, the dynamism of youth long since lost, ruddy wine-reddened cheeks heightened by the contrast with the grey shroud of once-brown hair.

Jack turned his eyes to the street again, attentive to detect others, like himself, who spied on the night’s work. A drunken sailor, in his inebriated staggering, collided with the inn wall opposite and spent some time sitting in the gutter before he could gather his wits and his balance and clamber back to unsteady feet. The drunk moved unhurriedly from the street, using as support the wall that had caused his original collapse, and which was now so vital in preventing a plummet from the vertical. Jack concluded it could not be a ruse; to act drunk in such a manner would seem too contrived for a sober man.

Three men left the inn. Light from the interior momentarily split the street in half before the door closed once more. Jack guessed they were drinkers from the downstairs room. After a hasty conversation in the fresh air of the night, the group split and two staggered off to Jack’s left. The remaining man urinated up the wall before departing.

Jack shifted his weight again, leaning with his other shoulder against the wall. Prepared for a longer wait, he was surprised when Richard emerged from the door. From the preparations and the time of waiting for the meeting, he had expected a long one, not an hour’s rapid discussion concluded before the night was late.

Jack watched Richard disappear from sight. He walked without haste, a figure of no particular note in the night. Darkly clothed, as was his style, his obscurity was ensured. Minute inspection was required of the observer to see the finery of the cloth, the expense of tailoring, the high quality of the few jewels and the arrogance of manner; only then would he concede that this was a man of some significance. Jack glowered at his retreating back. The cuts in expenditure that Richard had forced on Jack, he thought bitterly, he had not turned on himself.

Unable to absent himself until sure all had left, Jack remained. The man with the grizzled fringe emerged, pausing briefly on the threshold of the inn. He looked nervously about him and then ducked back inside. Some minutes later, a carriage drew up in front of the door and Jack’s view was blocked as an unknown number boarded. The springs tipped to the weight of the new burden; he suspected three had stepped up from the street.

After a long while, when Jack was wondering if all had departed with the grizzled man, two more emerged from the door. Young, less than Jack's own age, well dressed and extremely in their cups they staggered in unison, heads together sharing some quiet and slurred conversation, the gist of which Jack could not make out. He judged they were part of the trio who had walked purposefully and soberly to the Inn earlier. Jack saw a servant extinguish the tapers in the room above. It was his signal that his night’s work was done, for none now remained. Looking carefully up and down the street, Jack assured himself he was temporarily alone and vacated the doorway, slipping into the dark shadows that clung to the walls and gutters.

He found Richard, as he knew he would, in the rooms they had hired in Aldergate Street, just outside the city walls. He was seated at the desk, writing, a pile of sealed letters sitting neatly in front of him. Richard signed the last and applied the seal to the folded sheet. Jack removed his cloak and cast it absently on the bed from where it slithered to a heap on the floor, Richard noting its careless journey.

“A good night’s work?” Jack asked, pulling a chair loudly across the floor.

“Well, that rather depends on who you are.” Richard placed the letter with the rest. “If you are the King of England or rank yourself as a contestant in the hierarchical race to claim the succession, then I would say it was not a good night’s work.” Richard settled back in the chair. “However, if perchance you were out to sell your labours to the highest bidder, then yes, it was a good night’s work.” Richard paused. “I have completed my sordid tasks.”

“Shall I take it then that we are employed? I should hate to have to go back to France penniless.” The emphasis on the final word was sufficient for the implication of blame not to go unnoticed. “In fact, come to that, I don’t want to go back to France, penniless or not.”

Richard ignored the implication. “I thought you enjoyed France?” The guarded grey eyes warned Jack that this was not to be an easy conversation. When he chose, Richard made being difficult an art at which he excelled. Tonight looked set to be another of partial information, half-truths, falsehoods and omission; nothing straightforward or simple.

Jack continued, curiosity being the uneasy victor, “Do we stay in London, or are we to move elsewhere?”

Richard asked, “Why? Do you not want to remain in London, Jack?”

Jack sighed, allowing Richard to change the subject. “Not particularly. My mind would be eased, however, if I knew where Harry was, and your brother for that matter. London is a dangerous place for both of us.”

“If it helps any, Robert is in Kent, hunting, which, as you know, is one of his favourite passions, even if I do not agree on occasion with his choice of quarry. Your master, Harry, plucked temporarily of the finery of my dear older brother, is here in London.” Richard watched Jack’s face to gauge his reaction.

“Harry is no worry on his own; he’ll act only as Robert’s message-boy, eager to please as always. You have not been idle then. Can I assume you also wish to avoid the hounds?” Jack asked.

The sarcasm was not lost on Richard. “On the contrary, I am looking forward to meeting Cousin Harry. I admit it has been a while, but I am sure he will remember me.”

“What! Are you mad? We’re barely back and you want them snapping at our heels,” Jack blurted. The look on his brother’s face rang of mischief, but whether it was aimed at himself or Harry, he could not tell.

“I am quite sane,” Richard responded coldly.

“Why? We are back in England and on the edge of penury, and you want to start a private war?” There was disbelief on Jack’s face.

“That is exactly why I wished to see Cousin Harry. Penury, as you rightly point out, is an unpleasant state. I am going to propose he make us a loan,” Richard explained.

“A loan! You are bloody mad!” Jack stood so quickly that the chair toppled and banged to the floor.

“A loan is perhaps the wrong word, loans being generally repaid. However, I think you’ll find Harry most agreeable to my terms. Worry not, I shan’t ask you to deliver my letter to Harry,” Richard spoke evenly, still smiling at the reaction he had provoked by his revelations, adding, “Let’s just say that there are many who profit from insurrection. However, it is rarely those who thought to directly involve themselves. Harry has ever made bad decisions; one more at my behest will not overly change matters, will it?”

“As you will,” Jack retorted grumpily. “You’ll do as you please.”

“Jack, you are no fun. It’s all black and white with you. There are no shades of grey, are there? Settle your temper,” Richard said soothingly.

“By the saints, you aimed to anger me! What did you expect me to say?” Jack scooped the chair from the floor. “Go on, tell me more.”

“We will be here three days more. Dan has already delivered my invitation to meet with Harry and I don’t expect he will want to keep me waiting.” Richard had his brother’s full and undivided attention.

“Why would Harry wish to meet with you?” Jack asked carefully.

“To keep his head,” Richard spoke innocently.

“Give me strength!” Jack uttered the words through clenched teeth. “You’ll not leave me like this. What are you up to?”

Richard sighed, “I thought you were about to wash your hands of my intended deeds.”

“I was. You drew me back.” Jack was not about to be diverted again. “Why will Harry be so keen to meet you?”

“As you so rightly pointed out, I am rapidly running short of coinage, which is a most unhappy state. However, Harry – I believe – still has a good hold on his father’s purse strings, would you not agree?” Richard spoke as if explaining the obvious to a child.

“He always had when I was with him. The old man was constantly bailing the bastard out; more to keep him from turning back up at his door, if you ask me.” Jack was about to add more but stopped himself. He was not about to allow Richard to steer him to new conversational pastures.

“As you say, he can raise capital when required, and that is a facility he will have to exercise quite soon,” Richard paused. “Poor, unfortunate Harry has allied himself with Northumberland’s conspirators.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “It may have escaped your attention, brother, but is that not what we have done?”

“Absolutely not!” Richard was indignant. “We have been merely hired by Lord Byrne to allow him to fulfil his part of this most treasonous bargain. “Harry also, it appears, is in the market