The Queen's Man by Rory Clements

bed.’
    She turned away but he raised his hand to stay her.
    ‘Wait. Sit and talk with us, Miss Whetstone.’
    She laughed but did not sit down. ‘You see how thronged this taproom is, sir. My father would not allow me the liberty to sit down with customers.’
    Shakespeare could not imagine her father refusing her the liberty to do anything, but he let it pass. ‘At least stay a minute or two and tell me about the people who come here to this place. If it is the closest coaching inn to the castle, many couriers and men of note must stay here. Is that not so?’
    ‘Indeed, they do. Government men aplenty, which is a fine thing for us. The years since the Scots Queen came here have been the best my father ever knew. And no one calls me Miss Whetstone. I am Kat to one and to all.’
    ‘Foreign men sometimes – from Scotland and from France?’
    ‘From time to time.’
    ‘Please, Kat, be seated. I can wait a while for my brandy. Talk with us. There are potboys aplenty here, are there not? They will serve your other customers.’ He moved along the bench and patted the warm wood at his side.
    This time she accepted the offer of the seat. He could smell her warmth. Her linen chemise was cut low and her bosom was full and rounded and ripe. Her hair was less tousled than it had been at dawn, but there was still an alluring wildness to it.
    ‘First tell me a little about yourself.’ Was it his imagination, or had she moved closer to him than was necessary? He could feel her thigh against his. ‘There is nothing more to tell, master. My mother went to God when I was ten. My father is the landlord and I do all the work. Even without government men such as yourself we would make a fair living for, as you say, we are on the highway and by the castle . . .’
    And because you are here, thought Shakespeare. Men might come a long way for a glimpse of you.
    ‘In truth, I would rather hear about you, Mr Shakespeare, sir. Do you hail from London? Some say there are as many folk in the town as you will find in the whole of Yorkshire, that ships sail from London to the world entire, that there is a menagerie of strange beasts, and that there is a great bridge across the river. Tell me true: is all this so?’
    ‘It is so. There are lions of Africa at the Tower. Great cats the size of a horse, with pointed teeth six inches long. They would eat a man were they not caged. Perhaps I will take you there and show you.’ He regretted the words immediately. It was the beer talking, but it was a cruel thing to do; hopes could so easily be raised and dashed by a remark made in jest or in a man’s cups.
    ‘I should like that very much. Indeed, I should. It has always been my dearest wish to see London. And I would die to see the lion-cats.’
    Shakespeare looked at Boltfoot. Did he note a slight shake of the head? Remember who is the servant, Boltfoot, and who is the master.
    ‘But for the moment,’ Shakespeare said hurriedly, ‘I have much work to do. And a particular question I must put to you, a strange question, you may think: did a Frenchman with one arm stay here recently?’
    ‘Mr Seguin?’
    Shakespeare sat up straight. Suddenly he felt a great deal less inebriated. ‘He was here?’
    ‘Why, yes, sir. A fine French gentleman. Most generous and with a pleasing manner. I was sorry to see him go.’
    ‘When was this?’
    ‘He left four days past, I do believe. I can check in the black book, if you so wish.’
    ‘Yes, Kat, I do wish that. And I would very much like to inspect his chamber.’
    ‘Well, that is easily done, sir, for he was in the chamber you and Mr Cooper are to share this night. And I can tell you that Mr Seguin spent two nights here.’
    Shakespeare recalled his conversation with the Earl of Shrewsbury. He said he had entertained the Frenchman to dinner and that he had seen Mary the next day before departing. So why had he stayed at the Cutler’s Rest two nights?
    ‘Did he have any visitors while he was