The Heretic’s Creed Read online

  The crowd pleased me, too. We had a gratifying number of guests. My married daughter Meg and her husband George had come all the way from Buckinghamshire to be with us here in Surrey, while Kate’s parents had ridden from Dover, along with her sister Sheila, the husband that Sheila had recently married, and her brother Duncan, also with a newly wedded wife. I was very pleased to see Duncan. He had had to leave the country for a while after killing his adversary in a duel but his name had been cleared and I was happy to see that he had been allowed to marry the girl he had already been in love with. Bessie was the daughter of a Dover innkeeper and Mr Ferguson senior had once objected strongly to the idea of an innkeeper’s daughter in his family. Evidently, he had given way at last and with good grace, for at this very moment he was talking animatedly to his daughter-in-law and both of them were smiling.

  The guests also included Eric’s parents, who had gallantly made the journey for the second time (the first was when they brought Eric to meet Kate), even though neither was young. Their marriage was the second one for both of them and I had gathered that Eric had arrived in the world somewhat unexpectedly, when his mother was in her mid-forties. Fortunately, it was not so very far from my home at Hawkswood to the Lakes’ farm near Guildford, and the couple had come by wagon rather than horseback. In addition there were many friends of my own from round about, and one very prestigious guest indeed: Lord Burghley, Sir William Cecil. He was seated beside me, at the top table, to the right of the newly wed pair. The hall hearth had a good fire in it, but the hall was too big to be easily warmed and Sir William had kept his fur-trimmed cloak on. It was made of thick russet velvet and the fur was white miniver. He was a splendid figure, an ornament to any big occasion.

  ‘They’re a fine-looking couple,’ he remarked. ‘I think they’re well matched. I like to see a bride look so happy.’

  Sybil Jester, my gentlewoman, friend, and to some degree chaperone (for she was now well into her fifties), was seated on my other side. Leaning forward to address Cecil, she said: ‘Yes. A frightened bride must be a difficult problem for the groom! Kate clearly won’t be that. Of course … we don’t know …’

  The reason why Kate had become my ward was because she had once fallen in love with a most undesirable man and run off to him, only to find that she had run herself into terrible danger. I had become involved in her troubles and when Kate’s outraged father rejected her, I had offered to take charge of her. He had consented, and now, forgivingly, he had come from Dover to lead her to the altar himself. But none of us knew, and probably would never know, just how far Kate’s unsuitable affair had gone. Fortunately, Eric Lake was not censorious. He had been told about her previous history before he agreed to meet Kate, and had said from the start that he had an amour or two in his own past and he wasn’t one to throw stones. He reckoned, he had said with a grin, that he was capable of keeping his wife content and he wasn’t going to trouble himself about her girlish fancies.

  But of course, if the undesirable Captain Garnett had been her lover, then she probably had no fears about the night to come and I couldn’t regret that, because I had had wards before and I had once had to cope with one to whom marriage, at least at first, had been a nightmare.

  But for Kate and Eric, all the omens had been propitious, from the start. I remembered that beginning very well, and with pleasure.

  My good friend the Queen’s Messenger Christopher Spelton, who had once offered me the chance of being his wife instead of just his friend, had first brought Kate and Eric together. He had visited us the previous November and while he was there, I had confided to him that I was anxious to find a husband for Kate. I spoke quite casually, but he at once looked interested.

  ‘I may be able to help you there,’ he said. ‘I have a younger cousin living with his parents quite near Guildford. Eric is my Aunt Anne’s son. He’s twenty-five, a very suitable age for marriage, and he wishes to find a wife, and my aunt has actually asked me if I know of anyone. She married a yeoman farmer; they’re comfortably off, goodhearted folk. Suppose we arrange for the young people to meet? Just to see if they take to each other. Lake, that’s the name of the family.’

  Accordingly, I asked Christopher to bring his aunt, his uncle by marriage, and his cousin Eric to dine with us one day. Kate and I, attended by other household members, received them in the great hall of Hawkswood. I remembered how nervous we all were. I know that when we heard the guests arrive, I had to restrain myself from rushing out to inspect young Master Lake straight away.

  I did restrain myself, however. We all stayed where we were while the guests dismounted in the courtyard and were escorted indoors by Adam Wilder. The two elder Lakes came in first and then, behind them, came Eric. They entered the hall through a door that led straight into the open air of the courtyard, and as he stepped over the threshold, a shaft of low December sunshine caught him, revealing a young man, tall and looking even taller than he really was because he held himself so well.

  He was clean-shaven, with tanned features and his fair hair, though cut short, was thick and vigorous. His blue eyes had small laughter lines at the corners. His doublet was of tawny velvet with blue slashings on his sleeves and matching blue stockings, and the blue hat which he had taken off and was carrying in his right hand had a jaunty golden-brown feather in it and a topaz brooch. He had a tawny cloak, airily tossed back from one shoulder and he was smiling.

  He looked, in fact, like a young god, Balder perhaps, the son of the Viking god Odin and the goddess Frigg. As a child, being brought up by an uncle and aunt, I had shared my cousins’ tutor, a man of wide learning. He had told us tales of the Viking gods. Aunt Tabitha and Uncle Herbert didn’t approve when they heard about it and after that, there were no more of what my aunt and uncle called pagan tales, but we had already heard a good many. Balder, the tutor said, had been splendid to behold, wise and gentle. Eric Lake could have played him in a masque without needing to act. Just for a moment, despite my mature years, I felt the visceral jerk that is the instinctive female response to beautiful males. But he barely glanced at me. He was looking about him and taking in all who were present, and when his gaze lit on Kate, it stayed there.

  Christopher Spelton came in behind the family party, but once in the hall, took charge and performed introductions. From the very first, Eric and Kate seemed to look only at each other. There was general conversation for a while, during which the two of them exchanged a few commonplaces with the rest of us and then dinner was served, but throughout all that, their eyes constantly sought one another. I remember how keenly Christopher had watched them, and how impressed he was with Kate. He was seated beside me at the table and whispered his admiration to me.

  ‘She looks so beautiful! I think you have taught her how to dress well.’

  ‘I was once one of the queen’s ladies,’ I said. ‘In that position, one has to dress well, and of course, there are examples of fine clothes all around. I suppose I learned a good deal myself. It’s true that I’ve advised Kate. I think that rose-coloured damask suits her and I would have recommended it, but she chose it herself.’

  ‘A good choice. She is a most elegant young lady now. I can hardly take my eyes off her. And I can hardly believe that she is the same girl who, according to you, was so brave when you were in danger together, and actually struck an enemy with an oar!’

  ‘Well, it’s true,’ I said, remembering the occasion with a shudder.

  ‘My cousin Eric is going to be a lucky man, if she takes to him,’ said Christopher.

  After the meal, I spoke a word in Kate’s ear and Eric’s father spoke a word in the ear of his son, and the young pair left the hall. Kate led her companion to a parlour, the smaller of the two that Hawkswood boasted, a comfortable little room where I had ordered a fire to be lit in readiness. When they emerged, a good hour later, they were hand in hand. It was as easy as that. They met, I think, as simply and trustfully as Adam and Eve in the lost Garden of Eden, and now they were wed, and
everyone in the hall smiled to look upon them, and heartily wished them joy.

  The dessert course was being carried in. Between blasts from Adam Wilder’s bugle, I remarked: ‘I’m delighted to have you here, Sir William. It’s a great honour for Kate.’

  ‘I am glad I was able to attend,’ said Cecil. ‘I have many commitments, as you know. I’ve had a talk with the bridegroom. I fancy he’ll be good for Kate. For all his spectacular looks, he strikes me as a sensible, practical young man. The kind to settle down and settle her down as well. She has had a wild past.’

  ‘She just fell in love,’ I said indulgently. ‘And now she’s done it again, and more safely.’

  In fact, on closer acquaintance, Eric, despite his spectacular looks and evident good humour, had struck me as slightly dull and I knew that Kate had in the past annoyed her father by refusing suitors that she said were dull. But I knew that they had also been much older than she was, probably chosen by her father for that reason, thinking that they would curb the wildness that he knew was in her. Eric was young as well as handsome and that must make a difference. Yes, the auguries were good, I thought.

  I had one regret. ‘I wish Christopher Spelton could have come,’ I said. ‘After all, he is Eric’s first cousin and it was he who arranged to introduce him and Kate to each other. I sent him an invitation and he sent back word that he had an errand to Scotland – Edinburgh, I think he said – but expected to be back in time to be here. There’s been no sign of him and no word from him. I suppose his errand, whatever it was, has taken longer than he thought it would.’

  ‘No doubt.’ For some reason, Cecil looked troubled, and changed the subject. ‘Where are Eric and Kate going to live?’ he enquired.

  ‘They’re leasing a house and farm a few miles the other side of Guildford. It’s ready for them now and they will be moving straight in.’

  Cecil smiled. ‘And no doubt, by the end of the year, they will be inviting you to a christening! Mistress Jester!’ He leant forward a little to speak to Sybil. ‘I believe you are to be congratulated on once more becoming a grandmother? The mention of Edinburgh reminded me. Is it not true that you have a married daughter there and that she has lately had a little girl?’

  I was well aware that for various reasons, Lord Burghley kept himself informed about me and those close to me, and that his main source of information was our local vicar, Doctor Fletcher, but it always startled me when he revealed the extent of his knowledge. It made me feel that I was under constant scrutiny. It was for my own good, but I disliked it.

  Sybil, meanwhile, was answering the question. ‘Yes, the little girl was born in January. A courier arrived soon after the snow had gone. All went well, it seems, and the baby has been named for me! They have called her Sybil!’

  ‘I see.’ Cecil seemed oddly distracted. He had a slice of fruit pie on his platter – made from Hawkswood’s own apples, kept from last autumn’s harvest, sweet as honey and encased in rich, buttery pastry – but instead of eating, he seemed to be crumbling the pastry with his fingers and had apparently not noticed the jug of cream that someone had set on the table near his place. Abruptly, he said: ‘You must long to see your new grandchild. Are you considering a visit to Edinburgh?’

  I was suddenly and uncomfortably alert. I knew Lord Burghley so well. ‘Well … no,’ I said. ‘It’s a long way. Though, of course, I’m sure that Sybil …’

  ‘Would you not like to go?’ asked Cecil, addressing Sybil and me both at once. Sybil said, ‘Well …’ and stopped and I adopted a light tone of voice and said: ‘Hardly at this time of year. We’re only just into February!’

  Cecil was a serious man. Above his pointed beard, his face was grave and lined, especially between his light blue eyes. That line had deepened suddenly and I knew that he was thinking of something solemn. ‘Lord Burghley?’ I said, questioningly.

  ‘When the feast is over,’ said Cecil quietly, ‘when the dancing starts, I would like to talk to you, Ursula. In private.’

  My pleasure in this successful day was dimmed at once. I felt alarmed and with good reason. Many years ago, when my first husband, Gerald Blanchard, died suddenly of smallpox, he had left me with Meg, then a small child, and with very little money, for my marriage to Gerald had had a somewhat scandalous beginning and neither his family nor mine showed any inclination to help me out.

  I had scandalous origins on my own account, anyway. My mother had been at court, as one of Queen Anne Boleyn’s ladies, but she had been sent home, disgraced, carrying an unlawful child and refusing to name its father. That child was me.

  Home for her was that of my Uncle Herbert and his wife Aunt Tabitha. They had sheltered us, but reluctantly and grimly. After her death, they continued to shelter me, but they never loved me. Probably they suspected that if not watched, I might go the same way as my mother. I more or less proved them right, eventually, when I eloped with Gerald, who was at the time betrothed to their daughter Mary.

  When I was widowed, my position might have been desperate but I was rescued from penury because Gerald had been an aide to Sir Thomas Gresham, who worked in the Netherlands in the financial interests of Queen Elizabeth. Through him, I obtained a position as one of the queen’s ladies, which meant that I was housed and fed and paid a stipend that enabled me to settle Meg in a cottage with her nurse.

  Even so, however, I hadn’t much left over. My thirty pounds a year not only had to cover the rent of the cottage and pay the nurse, it also had to cover the cost of dresses suitable for a queen’s attendant, and the various gratuities one always had to give pages and other servants for this or that service.

  So, because of my difficult financial state, I let myself be led into doing secret tasks, for money. I had done well out of it; that could not be denied. My circumstances had changed over time, bringing me two further marriages, a house of my own – Withysham, in Sussex – and, after my last marriage, to Hugh Stannard, this Surrey house, Hawkswood, with its accompanying grounds and farm.

  But now that I was past forty, I wished to be done with the court and political affairs and the danger into which my various assignments had at times led me. Meg was grown and married; I had taken on the wardship of Kate Ferguson and now seen her safely married as well; henceforth, I desired only to be let alone.

  The trouble was, that I had been too successful in the tasks I had been set. The court – and the queen – kept coming back for more and I usually agreed, for a very special reason.

  My mother had consistently refused to say who my father was, but the truth came to light in the end. Henry the Eighth had not been faithful to his unhappy queen, Anne Boleyn. He had fathered me and therefore, I was half-sister to the queen.

  She knew it. She accepted me as a sister. There was a bond between us. So it was no wonder that when she called on me to undertake duties for her, I found it hard to refuse. These two facts were the reason why Doctor Fletcher consistently kept Cecil informed about me and my household. Now, after seeing that line deepen between Cecil’s eyes, and hearing him ask to speak to me in private, I took fright. Here, in the midst of all these happy wedding celebrations, he had ceased to be a valued guest and turned into a spectre.

  The feast was over. We had risen from our places and stood back while the tables at which we had dined were pushed aside and the musicians that I had hired, who had played softly throughout the meal, had taken some refreshment and then resumed their places. They now struck up a lively tune for a galliard. Eric was leading Kate out on to the floor to start the first dance. And Cecil had appeared at my side. ‘Shall we go now? Where would you wish us to talk?’

  ‘Hugh’s old study is best,’ I said. ‘I’ve had a fire lit there.’

  I led the way without demur. Sir William Cecil, Lord Burghley, was a friend in a sense, to the point that I thought of him and sometimes spoke of him as just Cecil, but in fact he was very much a lord of the land, a member of the queen’s council, and also her Lord Treasurer, noble and powerful. I therefo
re said nothing of my fears, or my reluctance. Before the feast was over, I had beckoned to Phoebe, Hawkswood’s senior maid, and told her to get the study ready for use. Now, as I walked towards it, I hoped that Cecil had not guessed that my feet were dragging.

  TWO

  A Perfectly Innocent Errand

  The galliard music faded behind us as we crossed the vestibule outside the hall and went into the small room that Hugh had once used as his study and where I now did my household accounts or wrote my letters. It was ready for us; Phoebe had not only seen to it that a fire was kindled in the small hearth but had had the candles lit in the three-branched, elegantly fluted silver candlestick on the desk. The light of fire and candles played pleasantly over the handsome linenfold panelling, most of which was visible, for there was only the one long shelf to accommodate the accounts ledgers, along with a stone jar of ready-prepared ink and Hugh’s books, which were mostly about travel, political history, and agricultural matters, especially rose-growing, which had been one of his hobbies. There was a pile of maps at one end of the bookshelf, and on a little table below, stood a globe showing the known world.

  The desk, which I kept polished, had on it just the candlestick and a writing set consisting of inkpot, sander, two paperweights, and a quill-holder, all in green onyx. I had given the set to Hugh as a Christmas present, two years before he died. I felt a pang whenever I used it. The rest of the furnishings consisted of three stools with padded seats covered in green damask, and an oaken settle with cushions. There were no rugs or rushes; the room wasn’t used enough to warrant such things, but the floorboards were polished. It all added up to a businesslike place where work could be done, but where one could be comfortable as well. I led us to the settle, where Cecil sat down, eased himself against the cushions and hooked a stool towards him, to use one of the crossbars between its legs as a rest for his right foot. Cecil suffered a great deal from gout. I seated myself beside him.