Read Online Bartholomew Fair by Ann Swinfen - Free Book Online Page B

throughout London, or that Sir Francis looked so grey and drawn with worry. On his shoulders rested the safety of the Queen in the face of all this danger. Even Phelippes, Gregory and I played our part in it.
    For the moment, we could do nothing but keep watch for more messages from this new agent ‘David’. Something about the confidence of his writing worried me, that and the hint that there had been earlier despatches, concerned with a project and a planned visit to England.
    As I was donning my doublet before leaving that afternoon, I turned to Phelippes.
    ‘That despatch from the new agent, David – it refers to a visit to England.’
    ‘Aye.’
    ‘I wondered . . . Everyone is saying that this year Bartholomew Fair is to be larger than for some time. Many foreign merchants are expected to come. Do you not think it might prove easy for an agent from France or Spain to slip into the country, under cover of the Fair? The customs officers at all the ports cannot be sure to scrutinise everyone who comes.’
    ‘A good point, Kit. I’ll give orders for extra vigilance at the ports. And I will make sure the constables and officers patrolling the Fair keep their eyes open. Do you still plan to attend?’
    ‘Aye. I think I will go with a party of friends. I will also keep my eyes open. Though I suspect any secret business will be carried on well out of sight.’
    ‘No harm in being watchful.’
    ‘I will do my best.’
    However, I doubted my ability to recognise a foreign agent amongst all the hurly-burly of the Fair. Agents are chosen for their skill at disguise, at blending in with ordinary folk. Despite the lurid descriptions in the penny chapbooks hawked in the streets for the entertainment of the common people, dangerous foreign spies did not dress in flamboyant clothes, wear masks, or grow extravagant facial hair. They were more likely to resemble the humble shopman who sold you new laces for your shirt, or the street vendor carrying a tray of pasties or ribbons.
    ‘Before you go, Kit,’ Phelippes said.
    ‘Aye?’
    ‘Where can I reach you, if need be?’
    Reluctantly, I gave him the address of the Lopez house in Wood Street.
     
    The marriage of William Baker and Liza Cordiner took place at their parish church, St Clement’s in Clement’s Lane, just round the corner from Eastcheap, and was attended by a sizeable crowd. The marriage itself was held, as the custom is, at the church door, then everyone followed bride, groom and priest inside for the service of blessing on the marriage. I went to the wedding in company with Peter Lambert. When I asked William if Peter might attend he grinned with pleasure.
    ‘Indeed! I shall not forget how he gripped my hand while the sawbones cut through my leg. I near broke his fingers. Bring him, by all means.’
    All William’s family were there, and Liza’s father, come back from Essex for the occasion, with a large family I took to be her aunt and cousins. It seemed nearly every shopkeeper from Eastcheap was there, leaving their premises – trustfully! – to their apprentices. Amongst the throng I noticed a sprinkling of soldiers, friends from William’s army days, some of whom I had cared for after the disaster of Sluys, including the very young boy who had been carried off by his scolding, diminutive grand-dam. There were a few of the better sort as well. One man I knew as the landlord of many of the premises rented by the Eastcheap traders, though I believed Jake Winterly owned his shop. Also, to my surprise, I saw Dr Stephens from St Bartholomew’s. I poked Peter in the ribs with my elbow while the priest was delivering his sermon, and nodded toward Dr Stephens. He put his mouth close to my ear.
    ‘I told him I was coming,’ he whispered, ‘and he said he would come too. I think he takes some credit for William’s recovery, though we know that it was you who saw that he must have an amputation, and who cared for him day and night till he recovered. And found