Distinguished gentleman he might be, but I knew he needed help quickly. I went swiftly to his side.

‘Sir Jonathan,’ I said, ‘you are not well. Come with me.’

I took him by the arm and led him out of the ward to one of the small rooms we sometimes used when we needed to isolate a patient. The other governors were so taken aback they simply stared after me, but Peter followed me into the room. Sir Jonathan sank down on the bed.

‘Tell me quickly,’ I said, ‘what ails you?’

‘My stomach is heaving,’ he said, ‘and my head . . . I feel dizzy. I . . . eurch . . .’

I managed to insert a bowl hastily under his chin. He vomited three or four times before he could speak again.

‘What have you eaten?’ I said.

He looked at me with pleading eyes. ‘Am I poisoned?’

‘Does anyone have a reason to poison you?’ I was brisk, but impersonal.

‘No. I don’t know. There are always men jealous of those in positions at court. And I have had some law cases lately . . .’

‘Tell me,’ I said. ‘This is urgent. Have you eaten or drunk anything away from home in the last six hours?’

His eyes were blurred and I could tell that he was feeling faint again.

‘I . . . I took some refreshment at an inn this morning. But there was no one . . . at least, only the inn servants.’

‘Did you feel ill before?’

‘No. It came on me about an hour ago, just as we were starting our inspection.’

‘What did you eat and drink at the inn?’

‘A good Rhenish wine. I saw the bottle opened. And duck prepared in the French fashion. It was a rather rich sauce, a strong flavour . . .’ As though the thought of it was too much for him, he vomited again.’

I turned aside to Peter and told him what to fetch. He hurried away to the storerooms.

‘I think it was more than the sauce that was strong,’ I said. ‘I suspect the sauce was used to disguise tainted meat. You have food poisoning, Sir Jonathan. I’m afraid it will mean a purge.’

He groaned. ‘Do what you must. I do not think I can survive this.’

That was probably true. It was food poisoning which had laid Robert Poley low, but Sir Jonathan must have been a good thirty years older, and slightly built. Food poisoning can carry off such a man in hours.

Peter returned with what I needed, and I set to work. At one point I saw the anxious faces of the other governors peering in the door, but there was no time for explanations. When it was all over, I washed my own hands, then Sir Jonathan’s hands and face, and drew a blanket over him.

‘You must rest now. Nothing to eat or drink for the next two days except boiled water or small ale and, tomorrow, dry bread. Sleep as much as you can. It would be best if you spent the night here, but in the morning we can have you carried home in a litter.’

He nodded and gave me a weak smile. ‘Thank you, Dr Alvarez. I shall not forget this.’

‘I’m glad I was able to help,’ I said. ‘And my assistant, Peter Lambert.’

‘Thank you as well, Master Lambert.’

He closed his eyes and fell immediately asleep.

I grinned at Peter and nodded towards the doorway.

‘Well!’ I said, closing the door behind me.

‘Well, indeed.’ He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. ‘I wouldn’t like to go through that again.’

‘Not with a governor of the hospital, anyway.’

‘No.’

‘I must find the others and tell them that all is well with Sir Jonathan,’ I said.

He nodded. ‘I’ll check the wards for you until you are free.’

I knocked on the door of the governors’ meeting room and was bidden in. Five faces wearing identical worried looks turned toward me.

‘He is well,’ I said, leaning my arms on the edge of the table. I was suddenly very tired. I had been spurred on by the urgency of the case, but now I realised that I had been frightened. If one of the governors of the hospital had died under my hands, what would have become of my father and me?

‘Sit down, Dr Alvarez.’ One of the men pulled out a chair for me, another poured me a glass of wine.

‘It was food poisoning,’ I said. ‘In a man of his age and build it could have been fatal if it had not been treated at once. I am afraid I had to purge him, so he will be weak for some days, but should gradually regain his strength.’

I took a sip of the wine. If it came to that, I needed to regain my own strength.

‘We are very grateful for your prompt action,’ said the man who had poured the wine.

‘I have dealt with food poisoning before,’ I said. ‘I knew what to do.’

‘It seems,’ said one of the others, ‘that it was quite safe to leave the hospital in your care. We have taken note of your prompt and efficient action and will be reporting it to the hospital superintendant.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, and drained the last of the wine. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I must go back to the rest of my patients.’

‘Of course, of course.’

They saw me off with more murmured thanks. Once out in the corridor with the door closed, I leaned against the wall and shut my eyes. By the grace of God, the attack had been something I could cope with. There was a flutter of panic under my breastbone. What if I had not been able to cope? I pressed the thought down, took a deep breath, and went back to my patients.

It was dusk by the time my father returned to the hospital and I was just making my final checks before going home. He was preoccupied with his attendance on Lord Burghley.

‘My lord suffers acute pain with the gout and there is not a great deal we can do to help, apart from treating it with colchicum, which should provide some relief. I gave him a mild potion of poppy syrup, but he will not take strong medicine to ease the pain in case it should make him drowsy and unable to carry out the Queen’s work. As her closest advisor, he carries a great burden. It is a matter of delicate balance, giving him enough, but not too much. I fear he was still in considerable pain when I left. Gout is a strange affliction, which we do not wholly understand. Many learned men believe that it is caused by excessive drinking of strong red wine, yet I have known it in men who are abstemious in their consumption of wine.’ He shook his head. ‘It appears to afflict men more than women, yet some women suffer from it.’

I packed my satchel and picked it up.

‘Are you ready, Kit? Let us go home.’

As we walked out of the gate, the gatekeeper smiled at me and gave a little bow, something he had never done before, but I think my father did not notice.

‘And did you have a quiet day at the hospital?’ he asked.

‘Mostly quiet, yes.’ I paused, choosing my moment. ‘Except that I had to purge Sir Jonathan Langley for food poisoning.’

He stopped and looked at me in astonishment.

The telling of that took us all the way home.

‘Well,’ he said, as we sat down to the fried collops and celery Joan had prepared for us, ‘it seems you saved the day at the hospital. Perhaps I can retire now.’

I laughed and laid my hand on his arm. ‘Not for a few years yet, Father.’

Despite the demands of my work at the hospital, Phelippes sent word the following week that he would need me again. Intercepted documents were piling up once more and it was too much for him to manage on his own, in the time available. The first afternoon I went as I was bidden, but I had a suggestion to make.

After I had explained the situation at the hospital, with Dr Stevens still bed-ridden, I said, ‘I cannot come every afternoon, Master Phelippes. There is too much work at the hospital. I could come in the evenings, just until this present crisis is past. Would that suit you?’

He grumbled a little at this, but finally agreed that I could come around five o’clock every day and stay until ten. It seemed that the projection devised by Phelippes and Sir Francis, using the courier Gifford to carry letters from the French embassy to the Scottish queen at Chartley, was more successful than even they had hoped. The queen and her attendants were convinced that the method of sealing letters wrapped in waterproof leather within the bung of a beer barrel was their own clever and secret plan, so that more and more open and revealing correspondence was passing that way, carried to and from Chartley on the brewer’s cart.