Read Online His Dark Lady by Victoria Lamb - Free Book Online Page B

a theatrical. And for a young theatrical to be in Parry’s company meant one of two things. Either he was of the same persuasion as Parry, who rumour had it enjoyed young men the way the decadent Romans used to, or Marlowe was a spy. Possibly both at once.
    Kit Marlowe was looking Goodluck over in the same assessing way, his dark eyes narrowed. ‘Will you take some ale with us, sir?’
    ‘I’ve already ordered mine. Here it comes now.’ Goodluck could see the plump serving maid threading her way across the crowded taproom with a tray. The girl kept halting to slap away a groping hand or two, though she seemed more amused than angered by the attention. ‘I’m just waiting for …’
    Goodluck hesitated, then thought better of mentioning John Twist. He seemed to remember there was some bad blood between the two men. He did not want to frighten Parry off. Parry was a weasel and a turncoat, everyone knew that. But he had been known to serve Walsingham as a spy from time to time, and he might have some useful information about the latest Catholic plots.
    ‘Well, no matter. Come and drink with me, both of you.’ Goodluck drew up some chairs for them. ‘It’s been an age since we last met, Parry. Lisbon, wasn’t it? Before Philip of Spain took it.’
    ‘Madrid,’ Parry corrected him.
    ‘Both dangerous cities for Englishmen these days.’ Goodluck smiled as the serving maid banged his tankard and supper down on the table. ‘Thank you.’
    The two men ordered their drinks.
    Once the girl had gone, Parry turned back to him with a frown. ‘You think Spain more dangerous for Englishmen now? So things will soon come to a head between our queen and King Philip, is that what you’re saying? Well, I cannot pretend I’m surprised at the enmity there. Philip very gallantly offered to marry her, you know, after Queen Mary died. They say Elizabeth sent him a lemon, as a token of the bitter hospitality he could expect from her.’
    Goodluck sipped at his ale, trying to hide his grimace. The ale tasted bitter too, though not to an unpalatable extent. Some claimed the ale around Bishopsgate was traditionally ‘improved’ with a little piss. That would certainly explain the taste, he thought. ‘Come, these wild taproom stories get us nowhere. You know as well as I do that the English Catholics grow more daring and ungovernable every day,’ he said, not bothering to lower his voice.
    It was not treason to speak against the Catholics, only to speak for them. But he saw Kit Marlowe’s hands clench on the arms of his chair and wondered at it. Was the boy playing both sides?
    ‘Spain has become the seat of their passionate hatred for the Queen,’ Goodluck continued easily. ‘This is not news. Any fool with half a brain can see that.’
    ‘Aye, well, I know more about that than most,’ Parry muttered. ‘England shall have war before the year is out. And I say we shall lose if Elizabeth does not marry, and soon. For what country ever won a war with an unmarried woman on the throne?’
    ‘A war between England and Spain?’ Goodluck glanced about the crowded taproom to see who might be listening. This was open and dangerous talk even for someone as foolhardy as Parry. ‘I would not care to bet on that, Parry. There are those who might mistakenly think I had some special knowledge.’
    ‘And do you?’
    Goodluck laughed, and began to tear his coarse bread into strips. He dipped a piece into the steaming bowl of pottage.
    ‘You are a bold man, Parry, and a clever one. All the world knows that, and I should not dare dispute it. But I am not so bold. I have no special or intimate knowledge of Spain, nor of what the Catholics may be planning. I am merely hungry, and my supper is getting cold.’
    Parry watched him in silence for a moment. Then he shrugged. ‘One day you will come to me for a favour, Master Goodluck. On that day, I trust I may give you a more favourable reply than this you give me.’
    ‘You must forgive me,