The Queen's Spy by Clare Marchant

Author:Clare Marchant [Marchant, Clare]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2021-05-05T17:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty

October 1584

The evening he was due to meet Kit Marlowe, Tom grabbed some bread, cheese and figs and ate quickly in his room. It would have to suffice as he didn’t have time to eat supper with the other servants as he usually did. A stew bubbling in a huge black pot over one of the two enormous fires that burned in the kitchen smelled of rich appetising venison for once, and he was sorry to miss it, but he couldn’t do anything to upset Walsingham’s plans.

Dressing in his new clothes he ran his fingers over a pair of new boots, the leather burnished and shining, that had appeared on his bed together with two shirts decorated with simple blackwork embroidery around the neckline. They were substantially less darned than his own and were made of fine cambric, softer than the linen he was used to. Better quality than anything Tom had worn since he was a young child, cool and smooth against his skin.

Tom examined them carefully, especially for any tell-tale blood stains. He suspected Walsingham was obtaining these additional wardrobe items from the same source as his new blue coat and he was concerned as to where they may have last been worn. They smelled fresh however, and there were no unpleasant stains.

Once he was fully dressed he felt smarter than he could ever remember, slipping out of a side door to make his way to the wharf and find a boat to take him upriver. He was amused when the guards not only didn’t stop him but also inclined their heads thinking he was a gentleman of the court. What he wore turned him into a different man he realised, holding his head higher and striding down to where a collection of small craft bobbed about on the choppy Thames water.

Although he was only going half a mile it was against the tide and the water was rough out in the middle of the river. He could see the sculler swearing and sweating as he pulled as hard as he could on the oars and slowly, they made their way to Drinkwater Wharf where Tom carefully negotiated the slippery steps which were covered in dark green slimy algae. The last thing he wanted was to spoil his new outfit.

Once on the quay he nipped along the passageway that led to Pudding Lane and then on to East Cheap. Here the city’s butchers and slaughterhouses were situated and the metallic iron rich tang assaulted his nostrils. Outside every house carcasses and joints were hung as if they were on the spits in front of the fire they were destined for, thick dark blood congealing in pools on the cobbles.

Eventually he found The Bell Inn Theatre and spotted a man outside rolling barrels along the floor. He held his hand up to gain attention and showed him the piece of paper on which Walsingham had written Marlowe’s name. The man nodded and pointed to a small door almost hidden in the dark wall.

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