The Muses’ Darling – Chapter 9

Apologies for delaying the February Marlowe Month but hope it’s better late than never. In this chapter Kit travels from Canterbury to Scadbury, all within the county of Kent, and is lucky with the weather!

Aside from Kit Marlowe, his family, the headmaster and Sir Francis Walsingham, all other characters in this chapter are figments of my imagination, and any resemblance to reality and people past or present is pure coincidence.

If you missed the previous chapters of the Muses’ Darling, you can find them via these links: The Photograph (mini biography), The New Playwright (Chapter 1), The Journey to Canterbury (Chapter 2), Back Home in Canterbury (Chapter 3), A Wet Monday (Chapter 4), A Double Surprise (Chapter 5), The Gifts (Chapter 6), One Day Leads to Another (Chapter 7), An Eventful Weekend (Chapter 8)

Also available to listen to on Spotify:

The Muses’ Darling

Chapter 9

A Tour of the Kent Countryside

Kit awoke on the Monday morning and began pondering the seemingly ubiquitous presence of Martin Arnyngton in his life. Admittedly, he hadn’t been followed on every outing, but on far too many for his liking and not too well either – or was that deliberate? There had to be a reason, and Kit had no real inkling as to why, though had a few theories, the main one being that Martin was a Catholic spy. But what was to be gained from all the stalking? Kit thought about his time in Canterbury – had his cover been blown and his role as one of Her Majesty’s spies become an open secret? If so, had his presence in his home city been misconstrued as a mission for Queen Elizabeth, when it was very definitely a genuine visit to see his family? He vowed to keep a lookout for the brown-cloaked follower and avoid him wherever possible. With this in mind, Kit got out of bed, dressed and made his way downstairs for his first meal of the day.

After 10 days with his family, Kit’s holiday was set to end the next morning. His journey back to London would include an overnight stay at Scadbury, for a meeting with Sir Francis Walsingham – head of the queen’s secret service, or spy ring to use its more colloquial name. Sir Francis had given no hint as to why he had convened the meeting, just directions to Scadbury Manor which was owned by his unmarried cousin Edmund Walsingham, who had no need for the whole house and allowed Sir Francis the use of one wing whenever he was in Kent. Kit wondered whether Martin Arnyngton’s name was known to Sir Francis; if not, he would be making him aware of it.

Kit had a schedule for Monday afternoon mapped out in his mind, starting with a visit to George at the Rising Sun to ask him to get Tamburlaine ready for the journey the next day and, of course, to enquire after the family. He also had a pre-arranged appointment to say goodbye to the headmaster and lower master at the King’s School and was hoping to be able to see his brother briefly as well.

Getting well out of the way on washing day, Kit spent the morning packing as he intended to set off early the next day. Scadbury was over 50 miles away, and it would be a two-day journey. As, on his ride to Canterbury, he would stop frequently to give Tamburlaine a rest and some food. He knew it was usual for hired horses to be changed every few miles, but he felt so at one with this animal he had no desire to say goodbye to him at any stage of the journey.

After lunch, Kit set out to see George. He found him in the stables giving the horses their feed and waited till the task was over. He nodded to Chief Ostler Ned Turner, who was a kindly man and gave George a few minutes to speak to his friend. Kit confirmed Tamburlaine’s leaving date and was delighted to hear that Alice was feeling stronger and the twins were thriving. Accepting George’s invitation to call in and see them all before setting off the next morning, Kit then took the shortest route to the school. He soon became aware of footsteps behind him but, by using the back alleys of Canterbury, easily shook off his mysterious shadow. At the King’s School, he was warmly welcomed by Anthony Shorte, who had arranged for his deputy and Thomas to spend a few minutes with Kit between classes.

“I must thank you again for your talk on Friday, Christopher,” Headmaster Shorte told him. “You really enlivened the boys with your descriptions. For at least the next few weeks they should approach their drama classes with renewed enthusiasm.”

“I hope so. Drama was one of the highlights of my school week,” Kit replied.

“I’m not surprised. Though looking through your school records, I see that you never struggled with Latin translation,” the Reverend Constant remarked.

“Another favourite of mine,” Kit confirmed. “And if any punishment were meted out, I was always delighted with extra Latin, as opposed to extra Mathematics.”

“The easier option for you.”

“Without doubt, Sir.”

After a few minutes of chatting, Thomas was brought into the room and the Marlowe brothers were given a short time alone to chat. Kit brought his brother news snippets from home and asked how his work was going. Never as keen a student as his elder brother, his reply was simply. “All right.”

He then went on to tell Kit that Richard was keenly pursuing any information he could on Tamburlaine and was taking notes. Kit still held doubts that Richard, or anyone, would get as far as a full-length essay but gave his brother a message for his friend, “Please tell Richard I am delighted to hear that he is researching so thoroughly, and I look forward to receiving his essay once he has had the chance to complete it.”

The brothers hugged as they heard footsteps approaching the door, announcing the return of the Head. Thomas immediately bid goodbye and made his way to his next class, while Kit voiced his intention to leave.

As they walked to the front door, Anthony Shorte turned to Kit with a smile, “And I would like to invite you back to give another talk, perhaps next time you are in Canterbury.”

“Thank you very much, Sir. I shall prepare a topic prior to my visit.”

“Do keep in touch, Christopher, and I am sure we can arrange something mutually convenient.”

As he walked through the doorway to the outside world, Kit turned and said, “Not goodbye, but au revoir, and I shall write once I am back in London.”

A few yards from the school building, Kit noticed his dreaded follower lurking in the shadows, so hurried off in the opposite direction, hiding in an inlet in a wall till Martin had passed. He then retraced his steps before hailing a passing carter, whom he knew, and settling in between bags of flour. He soon arrived at his parents’ house, having paid a farthing for the ride which had gone unnoticed by his pursuant.

Up bright and early the next day, saying farewell was a wrench for Kit and all the family. Though he hadn’t had the restful time he had hoped for, he was sorry to leave them and promised that now he was no longer a student he would visit them more often. He walked to Frances Fisher’s house where he was welcomed by George, on his day off, who took him upstairs to see Alice and their babies. Her mother was there, the week-old twins had been fed and, though both looked sleepy, their eyes were open and taking in their surroundings.

At George’s request, Kit prepared to read the two poems he had written for the twins. George was seated beside Alice, a baby each in their arms, eager to hear the verses come alive. As he recited the lines, Kit noticed the tiny sister and brother dropping off to sleep.

This amused him, and he paused to remark to his friends, “It seems to me you shouldn’t wait to read these to your twins till they’re older, just start today as my words have lulled them to sleep very quickly.”A laugh from parents and grandmother then prompted him to add, “And it’s quite likely the audiences at my plays have reacted similarly, even those standing up!”

Amid more giggling he continued with the poetry-reading while young Christofer and Stefanie slept through it all.

Looking through the bedroom window before leaving the house, Kit noticed a brown cloak and made an instant plan which involved some knitted clothes he had been on the verge of handing to Alice. A couple of minutes later he was lingering on the doorstep, talking to George and promising to keep in touch and to see them all on the next visit. He then walked briskly to the Rising Sun, settled his horse’s accommodation fees with Ned, with many thanks, and set off on his journey, delighted to be reunited with Tamburlaine. Certain he had also been watched while chatting to Ned, Kit put his plan into action. He looped round into a side road before Martin had even got Midnight saddled. Returning to George’s house, on the pretext of having forgotten to hand over the knitting his mother and sisters had recently finished for the twins, Kit bade farewell to George for the second time and set off in a north-westerly direction, certain that Martin would be well ahead of him. Kit intended to call in and see Robin Sutton in Ospringe again. Suspecting he would encounter Martin somewhere along the way, he hoped it wouldn’t spoil his chat with his father’s old friend.

Taking it steadily along the country roads, Kit stopped every so often to look round for his follower. He seemed to be alone each time, and as the sun rose higher in the sky, he reached Ospringe and Robin Sutton’s inn.

“Good morrow!” greeted Robin from behind the bar, placing a just-filled tankard of ale in front of Kit before he’d had time to order one! While quenching his thirst, Kit handed his father’s letter to Robin and agreed to stay for a meal, knowing from his last visit that Robin’s wife was an excellent cook.

There then ensued a friendly altercation with the innkeeper.

“No, Kit, I won’t let you pay for the food and drink this time.”

“I can’t let your profits suffer.”

“If we had invited you, and you had dined at our table behind that door, you wouldn’t have offered to pay.”

“All right, Robin, you win this time,” Kit conceded.

Mary’s cooking was among the finest, and he was able to thank her personally when she arrived to clear his table. She smiled and told him it was a pleasure to serve a meal to someone so appreciative, especially the son of Robin’s old friend. Of course, she had had years of experience in the kitchen, catering for the family and the inn’s diners. However, as Kit knew from the many meals he had eaten in taverns, years of practice do not always make perfect.

He returned to the bar for a few parting words with Robin, promising to call back in when he was next in the area. He turned to go but not before handing over two groats for the Suttons’ two grandchildren, insisting that Robin couldn’t refuse a gift for the youngsters!

Minutes later and with a wave from atop Tamburlaine, who had benefited from a meal and two hours’ rest, Kit rode off and continued his north-westerly journey, this time to the abandoned Rochester Castle, where he suspected he would encounter Martin. On arrival, the area was deserted. He tied Tamburlaine to a tree behind the building and, with a small luggage bag, crossed the dry moat, via the drawbridge, before continuing to the gap in the wall.

Once inside the castle, he located the main door and, after some effort with the mechanism, raised the drawbridge, preventing anyone from entering the remains of the castle. On the orders of the queen, the castle wall had been depleted of many of its bricks, for the building of the nearby fort of Upnor Castle. Kit walked from room to room, then stopped. In the grate of one bedroom there was evidence of a fire, no longer warm but obviously having been lit and used for cooking since his last visit as there were food traces around. The rest of the castle seemed to have been untouched, but the plot thickened as he wondered whether the cooks and diners were Martin’s accomplices.

Kit surveyed various rooms from different angles but could find no clue as to why it had recently been inhabited. Feeling that further investigation at this stage would be pointless, he decided to get on his way. He reversed the position of the drawbridge, then left the building and hurried to Tamburlaine who was happily devouring the grass around his hooves. As he was about to gallop off, a movement caught Kit’s eye – a man walking along the drawbridge, and the colour of his cloak almost spoke the name of the wearer: Martin Arnyngton. Kit spurred his horse on, determined to avoid his stalker, and left the castle grounds. Bypassing the Rochester inn where he had intended to stay again, he had to find accommodation elsewhere, and he knew the very place.

Recommended by one of the actors at the Rose, the coaching inn towards the centre of Gillingham was Kit’s destination that afternoon. This meant doubling back by a couple of miles, thus putting Martin off the scent, but it was well worth the detour. Confident that he was not being followed, he soon slowed Tamburlaine to a canter and stopped to give them both a rest. He looked at the scenery in the afternoon sun and was sorry that he had neither time nor the necessary ability to capture it on canvas but hoped that at least one artist had reproduced it for posterity. A nearby milestone indicated that they were close to Gillingham, so he lingered a while, sitting under a tree where Tamburlaine was chomping his way through more grass.

“You eat more often than I do,” remarked Kit to his equine companion who gave him a look then concentrated on the matter in hand. “Still,” he continued, “it’s all free to you, no watching the pennies and adhering to etiquette. What a wonderful life!”

He led Tamburlaine to the nearby stream to drink the cool water which flowed along. Then, feeling refreshed, both horse and rider set off under a cloudless sky, reaching Gillingham’s village green and nearby inn, via the old Roman road, Watling Street, in the late afternoon. Kit’s first port of call was the stables where he was able to book Tamburlaine in for the night, leaving a small deposit to try to ensure his horse would not be hired out and thus disappear under cover of darkness. He walked round to the entrance to the inn, reserved a room overlooking the stables and before long was enjoying a delicious meal with a tankard of ale. During his meal he was joined by two local men, and conversation ensued, followed by a few a games of shove halfpenny, with Kit walking away a penny and a half poorer. “You’re just too good for me,” he remarked to his opponents as he bid them goodnight.

Although from his bedroom window Kit could see Tamburlaine in a roomy stall, he still went along to make sure his steed was settled, and he certainly was. Surrounded by hay, the horse was in paradise, though did stop eating to give a welcoming whinny as his rider approached.

Up in the small but clean and tidy room, Kit got ready for bed. He took the precaution, as always, of placing a chair by the door, tilted under the handle to prevent easy access. This gave him peace of mind, and once in bed he began to recall the various events he felt duty-bound to report to Sir Francis privately the next day.

The night passed uneventfully, and another sunny day dawned. Having paid for his board and lodging, Kit left the inn with Tamburlaine cantering along towards Chatham, before veering north-east, en route to Scadbury. Although there was no hint he was being followed, he took the precaution of another detour, despite the 30 miles or so he had to travel that day. With the sun warming the air and so many more miles in front of them, Kit knew that he had to pace himself for his horse’s welfare. He therefore kept Tamburlaine trotting, and they stopped frequently to rest by grass and running water. They passed through some picturesque villages, and when the sun was high in the sky Kit decided to have an extended lunchbreak at the next coaching inn and soon came upon one which looked quite inviting.

He left Tamburlaine in good hands, paying an extra farthing to ensure the horse would still be awaiting him after the meal. As it was mid-week, he knew a variety of fish dishes would be on the menu as in the Elizabethan era it was compulsory to eat fish on Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays, though strangely poultry, game and veal were permitted. Not being too fond of fish, Kit chose chicken, then for his second course a custard tart with cinnamon which was second only to his mother’s delicious recipe. He lingered over it all to give Tamburlaine time to recover from the first half of the journey that day.

After lunch they set off, a milestone showing their destination was 14 miles away, and Kit made sure they took it leisurely. It didn’t matter if they arrived after dark, which was just as well as the sun had set by the time they entered the gates of Scadbury Manor. A gatekeeper directed them to the stables, where a stall had been prepared, and Tamburlaine began tucking into a liberal floor-covering of hay. Satisfied that his horse was content and settled, Kit then made his way to the main door, was greeted with deference and escorted to the west wing where Sir Francis Walsingham welcomed him. Over a private dinner a little later that evening, Kit related the events, and his suspicions, regarding Martin Arnyngton. Sir Francis listened attentively, nodding and asking the occasional question, but offering no solution to the mystery.

During their conversation, Kit learned that the next day they would be joined by Thomas Walsingham, younger brother of Edmund who owned Scadbury Manor. Accompanying Thomas would be new recruit Matthew Abbing. Sir Francis explained that Matthew was still at the training stage and would benefit from the experience of one of the secret service’s best intelligencers, nodding in Kit’s direction as he said this. Although Kit preferred to work alone and certainly without the encumbrance of a trainee, he gave his boss a smile of appreciation while taking the flattery with a pinch of salt. Without showing his reluctance, Kit agreed to take Matthew under his wing, requesting that this extra workload would not interfere greatly with his work for the theatre – a request to which Sir Francis consented, adding that it would be discussed fully the next day.

He then went on to apprise Kit of Matthew’s background. The young man was from Suffolk, the second son of a county administrator. With his BA under his belt, Matthew was currently juggling his new paid work with his MA studies at Cambridge, an art with which Kit was especially familiar. Matthew was keen to help keep the queen and England safe. He was deemed to be reliable and able to keep sensitive information in confidence. However, he did have a tendency towards impetuosity, and this was one area on which Kit was to concentrate, by encouraging him to dampen his over-enthusiasm. Kit felt sure that there was more to this than met the eye but knew that Sir Francis was a past master at holding his cards close to his chest. He was also wondering, whether he knew Matthew Abbing, if only by sight. The name meant nothing to him, but then students from different colleges at Cambridge rarely came into contact with each other. However, he felt sure that the next day all would be revealed – at least all that was required to carry out the inevitable job with his name on it.

Sensing their chat was ending, and parting amicably, Kit headed for bed, leaving the Spymaster to go through his paperwork. What tomorrow would hold was open to speculation.

© Chasqui Penguin, 2023

Twitter: @ChasquiPenguin