Marlowe A Quantime Adventure Chris Deggs This is a work of fiction apart from the bits which aren't. Published in 2016 by FeedARead.com Publishing Copyright © The author as named on the book cover. First Edition The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work. All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library. Dedication To my loving friend Lyn, without whom preparing this story for publishing would be a tedious task. Foreword England 1593 The young dramatist arrived at the home of Nicholas Skeres in the dead of night. He knocked in a particular fashion at the solid oak door. When challenged he gave the correct password and was admitted inside. The man who let him in stood dark in the shadows holding a lantern to illuminate their way. Upon entering Skeres' study the rebellious young man with long wild hair and an immature moustache, asked, “Master Skeres, what is so important that I must be here tonight?” Nicholas, placing the lantern on the table, replied, “To warn you, Master Kit.” “To warn me about what?” the young man queried, somewhat perplexed. Skeres moved closer. “For your sake, you must keep quiet about Essex's plot against Raleigh.” Christopher Marlowe argued, “Why, the man is an utter scoundrel. Ever since Walter beat him in that damned duel, Essex has had it in for him.” Skere's corrected, “Even before that, Master Kit. But that isn't the point. Since Walter's last voyage he has been out of royal favour. Essex is the Queen's favourite now, and you would do well to step carefully.” “That may well be the case Master Skeres, but Walter is one of us. We need to watch his back.” Skeres tutted, “Kit, you are young in the ways of the world. Please heed my counsel on this.” Kit shook his head. “Master Skeres, I refuse to be silenced on this matter.” “Young Kit, before you expose yourself to such risk there are things I need to impart to you.” “To what do you refer?" “Things you may not know about Sir Walter.” “Of what things do you speak?” “A year ago, the queen discovered Raleigh's secret marriage to Elizabeth Throckmorton. Her Majesty became enraged and had both Raleigh and his wife imprisoned in the Tower.” “I remember the troubling event very clearly. However, Walter and his bride were later released, so what is the problem?” In the dimly lit study, Skere's stared into Kit's eyes. “It's rumoured that Essex, Elizabeth's current favourite, told her about Raleigh. If you go against Essex, you go against your Queen. So are you prepared to risk dying for that scoundrel Raleigh?” Marlowe stared at Skeres, “Do I detect a threat in your words?” Skeres shook his head. “I am not your enemy. But that scoundrel Essex most certainly will be if you warn Raleigh. He is obsessed with destroying Walter, and if you step in his way, woe betides you, young Kit.” Marlowe responded, “I need to seek further counsel on this troubling matter before I follow my conscience.” “Then I would suggest you speak with Walsingham. He has the Queen's ear, yet moves to the beat of his own drum.” As principal secretary to Queen Elizabeth I, Sir Francis Walsingham was well placed to hear whispers around the royal court. Essex hung around the Queen like a loyal but sometimes annoying little dog. His daughter had married Robert Devereux the Second Earl of Essex and Walsingham, having no liking for the man, kept a discreet distance whenever possible. He received a petition from the young playwright Kit Marlowe and received him in his office. There was some tension in the room and an elephant that stayed well concealed. As the subject matter concerned Sir Walter, with whom they had both had private engagements, they both carefully skirted that particular issue. Marlowe said, “I am here on a delicate matter that must not go beyond these four walls.” Walsingham stroked his full beard. “Do you think I don't know the reason for this meeting?” He added, “Don't just stand there, take a seat. Kit sat down, then he said, “Then Master Skeres must have informed you of my intention to seek your counsel.” “Indeed. And from what Skeres told me it is just as well that he did so.” “Really! Why is that?” “Because the Earl of Essex won't let anybody spoil his plans.” “Is he aware of my intention to warn Sir Walter?” Kit asked, his brow knotted. “I know you love Sir Walter dearly. However, for your sake you must not get involved, Master Marlowe. To do so will be your undoing.” “But I cannot just stand by while...” Walsingham got close to Marlowe's ear. “...I shouldn't be telling you this, but the Privy Council has issued a royal warrant against you. They will come for you on the 18th of May.” Marlowe, his face a question mark, said, “With what am I charged?" “Essex didn't specify. Although there is speculation that there are allegations of blasphemy.” “Blasphemy! Where have I blasphemed?” “A manuscript believed to have been written by you is said to contain 'vile heretical concepts'. To which of my many manuscripts do you refer?” “I don't know about any particular writing, but the Star Chamber will find any evidence it needs to make a case." “Then what should I do?” Walsingham fixed the young playwright in his gaze. “You must either distance yourself from Walter or disappear for a while. Until this whole thing blows over.” “Pray, how am I supposed to disappear?” “You will have to leave that to me.” Chapter 1 It's funny how some things happen, how some seemingly insignificant event can lead to something huge. As it turned out, this was one of those times. It all started very innocently with me, Oswald Doyle, following up a left message on my phone. Someone called Jerrod Moors needed my professional help and wanted me to call by the Putney Arts Theatre, which had been set up in a former 19th-century church. I parked my Subaru in a place provided, near the church's main entrance. I entered the church and heard some singing coming from inside. Then I noticed a sign on an 'A' frame: Please be quiet. Rehearsal in progress At this point, I became aware just how difficult it is to walk silently on a stone floor, with my footfalls reverberating around the walls. The singing stopped, and a man with a shock of ginger hair surrounding a large bald patch looked in my direction. I figured he was the person who left me the message. Acknowledging my presence he approached me, saying "Hello, can I help you?" "I'm here to help you, Mr Moors." I smiled. “You are?” he said, reaching me. “Oswald Doyle. I believe you left a message for me.” “Jerrod Moors,” he smiled. “Yes, I do need your help with a little matter.” That much was evident, but I didn't say so. Some clients don't know how to deal with us PIs. That's private investigator for the uninformed. Jerrod was fiddling with the buttons of his cardigan, a sure sign he felt nervous. I said, “So what seems to be the problem?” “One of our Thespians is missing.” I wanted him to feel comfortable. So I asked, “Is there somewhere we can sit down and have some tea?” Well, it's a relaxing thing to do. He turned to his crew. “Angela, can you organise some tea for us. There's love.” Apart from Jerrod eight rehearsing members were present. "Mr Moors, can you ask your group to remain here until I have asked them some questions?" “Oh, we haven't finished our rehearsal yet. Mind you it's going to be a waste of time unless we find Celine.” “Celine?” I queried, taking a seat in one of the pews. “Celine Yeldon, our missing Thespian and our leading lady in our upcoming Buckingham Players production of 'The other Marlowe'.” The tea duly arrived, and I asked him, “When did you last see Ms Yeldon?” He pushed his spectacles up to the bridge of his nose. “Let me see. Yes, it was at our last rehearsal, a week ago." “So you have weekly rehearsals?” “Usually, yes.” “Do you make contact with your actors between rehearsals?” “Only if necessary.” “Did she say she wasn't coming today, Mr Moors?” “No.” “Then how come you left a message for me last night?” “Well, you see there's something I haven't yet told you.” “I'm all ears.” “Celine is an excellent actress - an actor we're supposed to say these days - but she can be a prima donna at times. She has been known to throw hissy fits and storm off the stage, but she always returns to the fold.” I still couldn't understand why he needed me. “So Celine could turn up at any time?” He hesitated, “Yeees.