Read Online The Queen's Man by Rory Clements - Free Book Online Page B

you still have not told me why you are here. The paper merely says I am to work with you.’
    ‘He is after the Frenchie I mentioned to you, Dick,’ the earl said. ‘It turns out he was not a doctor of medicine.’
    ‘Is this so, Shakespeare?’
    ‘Did you meet him, Mr Topcliffe?’
    ‘He left before I arrived. Who is he?’
    ‘This is not the place to talk about it. Let us eat, then meet in private.’ Shakespeare forced another smile, then turned away and made conversation with the young squire to his right.
    ‘N ever do that to me again, Shakespeare.’
    ‘What is that, Topcliffe?’
    ‘Turn your back on me.’
    ‘You are making something of nothing. Let us get to business.’
    They were in the office that had been set aside for Shakespeare by the earl. Shakespeare sat at a table. Topcliffe paced angrily.
    For a man of mature years, Topcliffe seemed charged with a remarkable energy and fervour. But there was something worrying close to the surface, and it was not simply his odious gloating at the taking of a priest and the prospect of having him tortured and executed. For the moment, Shakespeare decided he would simply have to pay no heed to his doubts. If Walsingham said he was to be trusted, then so be it.
    ‘The Frenchman’s true name is Leloup, not Seguin. What Shrewsbury told you was wrong; he is a doctor of medicine. But more than that he is the Duke of Guise’s man. He should never have been allowed within a hundred miles of Mary, and Shrewsbury knows it.’
    ‘Beware your tongue, Shakespeare, lest someone cut it from you. I will not have you speaking ill of the earl to Mr Secretary.’ Topcliffe’s threat was alarming, coming from one who was supposed to be a colleague, but Shakespeare declined to rise to the bait.
    ‘There is no need to. His poor judgement speaks for itself.’
    He went on to explain all he knew of Leloup and raised the possibility of moving Mary Stuart somewhere more enclosed and secure. ‘Mr Secretary wishes us to form a common verdict on the matter and go from here to Tutbury. But his foremost wish is that we capture the Frenchman.’
    ‘Then let us hope for fine hunting. I will be the hunter; you will be my houndswain.’
    ‘We will go as equals, Mr Topcliffe,’ Shakespeare said firmly. ‘The problem is that there is no reason to think Leloup is still in Sheffield, or even in Yorkshire. By now, he could be approaching Dover, his mission completed.’
    ‘I say he is still here, conspiring with the northern lords and other lewd popish insects. This county is a very ant-heap of them. Maybe my petticoat priest will have something to say on the matter.’
    ‘Then let us go our separate ways. You can seek out Leloup as you think fit; I will examine this castle for holes and look for Leloup in my own way. Let us meet again in twenty-four hours and discuss our progress. Then, depending on that, we can consider riding south to Tutbury together.’
    Topcliffe pointed his blackthorn stick at Shakespeare. ‘Very well, but first I will show you this castle.’
    ‘There is no need. I am going with the sergeant of guards.’
    Topcliffe snorted with scorn. ‘The sergeant of guards is sly. Wren will only show you what he wants you to see. You will be better dealt with in my company. I know every inch of this castle – I have been here many times.’
    Perhaps it was a good idea, Shakespeare thought. He and Topcliffe had got off to a bad start. If he had to work with this strange man, it would probably be a good idea to get to know him. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Thank you, Mr Topcliffe.’
    ‘We shall make a fine team. Let us go to it.’
    B oltfoot stopped at the bank of the Sheaf river and gazed across it up at the huge stone walls of the castle. If he took one of the small rowing boats he could cross the stream here, but the wall was sheer and too high to scale. Perhaps another man, a soldier trained in climbing fortress walls, might be able to do it, but with his club-foot, he