by Mez Blume
The King’s eyes positively bulged. “And do you confess before God and His appointed King to have employed the magical arts to murder the noble Lord Buckville?”
When she only gaped, Master Van Hoebeek spoke for her again. “The woman confessed to me that she did not plot the murder herself, Your Majesty, but acted as a consultant to the true conspirator. It was he who gave her entry into this house and lodged her in his own chambers. And I have reason to believe, Sire, that he would not have stopped at the Earl, but might have caused harm to your own esteemed life.”
The King’s face went red. “WHO IS THE PERPETRATOR?”
A small, lifeless voice escaped the woman’s lips. “The man who consulted with me to curse the Earl takes wine and meat with you, Your Majesty.” She spoke as if she were reading lines from a page. She sounded like the worst actor in my sixth-grade school play. “He told me he was the Earl’s heir and could not wait any longer for his inheritance. He is that man there.” She hung her head and pointed a shaking finger at Digby. “Ll-lord …” she stuttered.
“Lord … Frederick?” Master Van Hoebeek growled through gritted teeth.
“Ay. Lord Frederick.”
My blood went icy cold. I crumpled down onto the bench as my legs turned to mush. All I could do was watch the terrible drama unfold. Men with helmets and swords charged the dais and bound up Digby’s hands. He didn’t even try to defend himself. But where was Sophia? And then I saw her, struggling to break free from the Lord Steward and Nurse Joan as they led her away from the dais and out into the antechamber.
I had to do something. I forced myself to stand up on my jelly legs and swung around desperately looking for Jack. I saw him; he was trying to push his way through the crowds to the door.
“Jack!” I screeched. Thankfully he turned and came right for me, bending down to my height and swinging his cape over my shoulder to whisper in my ear, “Tell no one.”
Was he serious? “But we have to tell them the truth. Digby doesn’t know what to do. They’ll kill him!”
Jack looked as serious as a funeral. “If they find out he’s not really Frederick, they will surely kill him for deception and conspiracy. The only hope for either of them now is for us to hide Master Frederick until we can find a way to prove his innocence. I must go to him at once. Speak to Mistress Sophia, but remember: Tell no one.” And he was gone.
16
Powder, Treason and Plot
The banquet guests dispersed after Digby’s arrest. The Countess was whisked away from the hall by a flurry of maids while armed guards escorted the King and Queen. I stood still for a while, letting the world move around me like a stormy sea. Only when several teary kitchen maids began clearing tables did I dare to move.
Should I go to the stables first so I could bring Sophia a report of exactly what had become of the real Frederick? I decided it was too risky; I might give away his hiding place. Better to speak to Jack after things quietened down and then find out where Frederick was hiding. Just then, I thought, Sophia needed a friend more than anything.
Having decided to make my way directly up to the red bedchamber, I crossed the hall, went up the staircase and tiptoed down the Portrait Gallery as always; only when I got to the end of it, where normally I’d turn right to enter the family’s quarters, two guardsmen blocked my way with crossed spears.
“Name and purpose,” one of them demanded looking right over my head.
“Katherine Watson.” I clenched my fists at my sides, hoping the guard wouldn’t see me shaking. “I’m Mistress Sophia’s companion.”
The guard eyed me suspiciously, but thankfully stepped aside to let me pass. The first door on the right to Frederick’s chambers was open, and two more guards were inside peeking under carpets and in the hearth as if searching for something, but I couldn’t linger in case the guards behind me changed their minds and threw me out for snooping.
It turned out the guards were only the first obstacle, and hardly the most frightening. Sitting outside Sophia’s door was the last person I wanted to see: Nurse Joan.
I did my best to sound polite when I asked her, “May I go in?” She scowled at me and looked as though she wasn’t going to allow it. Then, to my huge relief, she swiftly stood up to let me to the door.
“What the Mistress needs is a good night’s sleep,” she snapped. “Not a lot of girlish prattle.”
I nodded before turning the door handle and pushing it open a crack. I’d expected to find Sophia in a pool of tears — that’s probably where I’d be if my brother had just been accused of conspiring to murder — but instead, she sat on her couch in front of the fire with Tannia’s big head in her lap and stared into the flames. Both looked up when I closed the door behind me, and Sophia jumped to her feet and lifted her skirts to rush over and throw her arms around my neck. I hugged her back.
“Katie, I am so glad to see you.” We sat together on the couch. “My head is all confusion. I need your help. I tried to speak to the Countess, to tell her it was all a mistake, but they refused to let me see her and dragged me off here like I was their prisoner as well as Frederick!”
“I know,” I said, wishing I had anything to say that could help. “But maybe it’s best you didn’t speak to the Countess.” I explained what Jack Hornsby had said, and how he had urged me to say nothing to anybody for both Frederick and Digby’s sakes.
Sophia pinched her eyebrows together and bit her lip in deep thought. “Yes, Jack Hornsby is right. The only thing we can do is to prove Frederick’s innocence and exonerate him. Then he can come out of hiding, and Digby can return to the stables as if none of it ever happened … But where do we start?” She looked into my eyes as if hoping to find the answer.
And of course the answer came to me easily. Anyone who knows the least thing about detective stories would have known the first step to solving a mystery. “We need a list of suspects,” I said confidently. “If we could just find evidence of who really murdered the Earl, we can make a case to the King.”
“Yes!” Sophia looked hopeful for half a second. “That is … if he will hear us. But who would wish to murder the Earl? He has no enemies that I can think of. He was a godly and respected lord, more interested in scholarly matters than politics. Not unlike Frederick.”
I rested my chin in my hand and tried to think. Closing my eyes tightly, I replayed the entire evening, searching my memory for some detail I might’ve missed. At least that technique always worked for Sherlock Holmes. “What exactly happened up there, on the dais?” I asked.
“The Earl was choking before he died,” Sophia said. “He held his throat and a sort of white foam, like the foam on the top of a pint of ale, bubbled up out of his mouth.”
I grimaced. “Sounds more like poison than a curse to me.”
“Genau! I too do not believe he was cursed, nor that Bessy Tippery is really a witch.”
“Bessy Tippery?” I asked in disbelief.
“Oh yes, I forgot you’ve never seen her. That girl who accused Frederick was Tom Tippery’s daughter, Bessy. The one who was so kind to me. She can’t be a witch! She’s a Christian woman if ever I met one, and anyway, I do not believe she has ever even laid eyes on Frederick before.”
“Although …” I hesitated, because the thought playing in my mind sounded insane even to me. But then, here I was in the seventeenth century. Anything might be possible. “Are you sure she’s not really a … a you know. I mean, after all, Tom brought me here by some kind of magic.”
Sophia’s eyes searched about uncertainly. “Yes, but Katherine, you heard what I said to Frederick. Whatever power Tom used to bring you here, it was not the devil’s work. Witches are believed to put hexes on their neighbours, to make their cows’ udders dry up or their crops fail. A mere witch could not have performed the magic that brought you here. It was nothing short of … of a miracle!”
I couldn’t argue with Sophia’s logic. “So then you think somebody put Bessy up to framing Frederick? She did so
und far too rehearsed to be genuine.”
“Yes, I am certain somebody was using her. But who?”
I tried to call up the faces of all the people in the Great Hall that night. Could it have been one of the servants? Or maybe … “Tom Tippery was missing from the banquet,” I blurted. “But then why would he put his own daughter in danger? No, that doesn’t make sense.”
Sophia shook her head. “And besides, Tom was so kind to me, I cannot believe that he could be my guardian’s attacker. Or my brother’s for that matter. If Tom is involved, he must be following another’s instructions.”
Something she said flipped a switch in my brain. “You mean like an apprentice?” Could it be? If Tom had been willing to paint for Master Van Hoebeek and give away all the credit, might he also be willing to kill for him? I stood up and paced back and forth in front of the fire. The pieces were falling into place now. My strange encounters with Master Van Hoebeek had always left me feeling uneasy, though I couldn’t say why. Then there was the blank canvas incident … and tonight, his eagerness to accuse Frederick … There were still many pieces of the puzzle missing, but I just knew it had to be him. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before!” I groaned. Stopping in my tracks, I turned to Sophia. “Master Van Hoebeek is no artist. He’s a murderer!”
Sophia’s eyes were as doubtful as a doe’s at first, but they turned as fierce as a tiger’s as I told her all about Master Van Hoebeek’s deception, using Tom to do his work and cover his tracks for him.
“To think!” she said at last. “I’ve been sitting right in front of that monster for days. How could I be so blind?” With her hands balled into fists in her lap, she looked ready to fight. “That explains how Master Van Hoebeek appeared so quickly on the scene with Bessy. He must have been rehearsing her lines with her even whilst the King’s Players recited theirs. But then, that is odd … ” She laid a finger to her cheek.
“What is?” I asked.
“Master Van Hoebeek came in from the antechamber with Bessy only seconds after the horrible scene. If he wasn’t even in the room, how do you think he managed to murder the Earl?”
I gnawed my lip, thinking. The answer hit me, and I hit my forehead with my open palm. “Duh!” I groaned, then noticed the bewildered look on Sophia’s face. “Duh means … oh never mind. I just remembered something. Before you all came into the banquet, Master Van Hoebeek was loping around the dais, pretending to look at the paintings. He could easily have slipped poison into the Earl’s goblet without anyone noticing!” It all fit, all made sense. If Sophia hadn’t been so distraught, I’d have felt quite smug about my detective skills at that moment. Charlie would be proud.
There was a tap at the door, and Tatty and Elinor came in to help us out of our ball gowns. I shivered when the velvet gown came off and the night air pricked my skin. The door creaked open again and Nurse Joan entered, turning the room a little bit colder with her scowl. Had that woman ever smiled in her life? I might as well have tried to picture Master Van Hoebeek in a tutu.
To be fair to Nurse Joan though, no one was smiling tonight.
“Get your sleep, Sophia,” she said in what I think was an attempt at a gentle voice. “On the morrow you shall appear before the King to give an account of your brother’s words and deeds since returning to this house.”
“And if the King will not listen to the truth?” Sophia asked, her head held high like a queen’s.
“It is insolence to question the King’s judgement, Mistress. He is God’s appointed.”
“Yes, but he is not God himself. Elsewise he would not suffer from such a fright of demons and witches!”
Nurse Joan shot a fierce finger to her thin lips to hush her. “Mistress,” she hissed. “Do not speak of such things on a night such as this. Have we not been plagued enough by evil, that you would invite the devil’s servants to do us more mischief? Even now the stewards are marking the doors and hearths with the witches’ marks for the King and Queen’s protection.”
Sophia crossed her arms. “Tell the stewards I should like no witches’ mark placed on my hearth. The Earl is dead and my brother is on trial for murder. I prefer to pray for protection.” She spun around, marched to the bedside and knelt down. Her lips moved, though the words were silent.”
Realising it was useless to scold Sophia any further, Nurse Joan looked at me as if I’d just insulted her. I was grateful when she picked up her skirt and strode out of the room with Tatty and Elinor following meekly behind.
We did pray that night, silently, side by side. And as I prayed for Digby and Frederick, I imagined how I would feel in Sophia’s place with my world upside down and my own brother in grave danger. This was not the adventure I’d imagined or hoped for. But maybe … just maybe … this was the reason I had been brought back in time, to be a friend to Sophia when she needed one most. Maybe she was right. I was here by a miracle. And if a miracle is what I’d been given, I decided there on my knees, I would make the most of it.
But as I drifted off to sleep, another sickening thought crept in to eat away at my resolve, like a storm cloud snuffing out the sun. If Tom Tippery was somehow tied up in the Earl’s murder, it was possible, even likely, that he had fled the scene, and with him my way of getting home. My best hope was if he had stayed to be near his daughter, but then his mind would be preoccupied with graver matters than helping some little girl get back home again.
What if I was stuck in this world of petticoats and frilly lace forever? In that moment, I felt I’d give up all the adventures in the world just to see my family again. It was all I could do to squeeze my eyes shut and pray it wasn’t too late.
17
The Black Sheep
The next morning, I didn’t say a word to Sophia of the worrying questions crowding my mind. She was to go straight after breakfast into the King’s hearing, and I could tell she was anxious. I would have to wait and wonder the morning away on my own and pray for the best, meanwhile trying not to think about Tom Tippery or let the hundred what-ifs in the back of my brain get the better of me.
Over breakfast, I tried to focus on helping Sophia prepare for the frightening task of speaking with the King. “Do you think you’ll be able to speak privately with the King, so you can say it was Master Van Hoebeek without him listening in and denying it?”
She shook her head. “It is not likely. But I shall not let Master Van Hoebeek intimidate me. I shall not even look in his direction when I speak to the King.” Violently ripping her bread roll in half, she added, “Truth will prevail.” Neither of us had much appetite for breakfast, but at least it was something to do while we waited for Sophia’s summons … and the bread was proving a good outlet for Sophia’s anger.
“If only we knew why Master Van Hoebeek wanted the Earl dead,” I said for the tenth time, attacking my boiled egg with my knife.
“Yes, if only.” Sophia sighed. “I have thought and thought and can think of no reason he should wish to kill his patron.”
“Still,” — I tried to sound hopeful — “he is so obviously guilty. The King would have to be an idiot not to see it.”
A rap at the door made us both start. Nurse Joan had come for Sophia.
“Will the Countess be present?” Sophia asked, doing her best to sound confident.
Nurse Joan sniffed. “My Lady the Countess is unwell and keeps to her bedchamber.”
Sophia closed her eyes, took a deep breath and let it out again. When she opened her eyes, we both smiled weakly, each trying to reassure the other. She stood, dusted off her skirts, and followed Nurse Joan into the corridor. The door closed, and the torturous wait began.
I tried to sit still by the fire and read The Hound of the Baskervilles, but every little creak of a floorboard or crack of the fire made me look up and lose my place. Not to mention the drama of Sherlock Holmes had become somewhat overshadowed by my own, real life ordeal.
I had finally given up reading and was lying curled up on the velvet sofa with my eyes clo
sed when the door creaked open. It was Sophia at last. I bolted upright, dying for the news, but I could see straight away from her flushed cheeks that things had not gone as we’d hoped.
The words came out so flat they might have been an automated recording. “Master Van Hoebeek is gone.”
“Gone? But where … how did he leave without the King’s guards knowing?”
“The King gave him leave to go. Apparently the master” — she said the word with mocking disdain — “had an important commission from the Dutch Court and could not be detained another day.”
“But then it’s obvious, isn’t it? He’s hit the road before anyone could find evidence that he’s the murderer. Did you tell the King about the blank canvas?”
Sophia plopped down on the couch beside me and stared into the fire. I was startled to see her usually keen and sparkling eyes so empty of hope. “I tried to tell him, but he gave me no ear. His verdict was made before I even spoke. His own obsessive fear that witches are plotting his ruin has blinded him to any other possibility than that Frederick is guilty of conspiring with one.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. My blood was boiling with the injustice of it all. “But what evidence is there other than the testimonies of a fake painter and a frightened girl?”
“That is the worst part.” Sophia’s face was still as stone, but for the first time since all this had begun, a tear tumbled down her cheek to fall into her open hand. “The guards have found a witch’s herb bag and curse-summoning marks on the floor in Frederick’s dressing chamber.”
Both my hands flew up to cover my gaping mouth. “But how … ?” Then I remembered. “Oh wait … ” I snapped my fingers as another piece clicked in place. “I know how! Just before the banquet, just after Digby joined you in the Royal Apartments, I had another run in with Master Van Hoebeek, and he was just outside Frederick’s room. He planted that evidence while everyone else was busy getting ready for the banquet!”
