The Coven's Daughter

by Lucy Jago

  “What?” said Jasper. Cess shook her head and Jasper snatched the piece of cloth and pressed it onto the scratch to staunch the blood. “That bird will give us away if anyone comes into the room,” he whispered grimly, dabbing at his lacerated face. “Let’s go.”

  They carried on along the corridor, sometimes hearing voices behind the paneling so close that they dared not breathe for fear of being heard. At the end of the passage some steps led down to floor level. Here they found another set of hinges on a section two panels high. It would be possible to walk through it bent only slightly. As before, the panel was shut with a single hook, but beside the hook, a small hole had been cut and plugged again, to look like a knot in the grain. Cess saw that if someone inside the room wanted to open the panel, all he need do was push out the plug of wood and put a finger through to lift the catch. There was even a small wicker basket beneath the hole to catch the plug.

  The peephole in the panel looked into a room several times larger than Cess’s entire cottage. On one wall was an enormous mantelpiece carved from white stone, with lifesize statues in niches and pillars taller than her. A huge bay window in the wall opposite the spyhole had rows of coats of arms in stained glass along the top. Although she had seen the colored glass from the outside, she had never seen it from within and marveled at how the early afternoon sunlight was transformed into shafts of deep color that seemed to stain everything it touched but left no mark. The other wall she could see was covered from floor to ceiling in books. Cess had only ever seen two or three books in one place. To someone who could only haltingly read her own name, the idea that anyone could read so much was like discovering they could fly.

  In front of the books was a long trestle table covered with a Turkish carpet. A large wooden writing box stood on the table with a multibranched candlestick beside it, and on the floor next to the trestle were several chests with locks. Two chairs with backs and velvet coverings stood around the fireplace, and several stools and benches were pushed against the walls. Two candles in holders stood on a wooden stool near the fire. All was still, other than the stormy afternoon sky outside. Through the windows Cess could see the rooks thrown around like ash from a fire. Suddenly they heard footsteps approaching, voices, and the sound of the outer, then the inner, door opening. Into her view walked Sir Edward Mortain, followed by Sir Nathaniel Davies holding the letter he had just received.

  “It is from the informant at Whitehall. The list of those women who might be Drax’s betrothed is inscribed in alum in the margin.” Lord Montacute held out his hand and Sir Nathaniel put the rather squashed-looking scroll into it. Sir Edward went to the window to scrutinize it. When he had finished, he rolled the letter back up.

  “And of those on this list, the one at the top is most likely?” he asked, sounding as if he hoped the answer would be no.

  “Indeed, although if it is the Lady Arbella Stuart, she has entered into the betrothal secretly, for there is no talk of it openly. Certainly Her Majesty has not—”

  “Yes, yes, I know that,” said Sir Edward, raising his eyebrows. It was a habit Cess had noticed when he came to inspect the poultry yards. His eyebrows seemed to talk to save his breath. “But it would be an act of madness to betroth himself to Lady Arbella. They may be alike in age, and she is comely enough, but without the Queen’s consent they’ll be thrown in the Tower when it becomes public knowledge. Elizabeth talks still of making Arbella her heir and has spent much time considering an appropriate match for her. My son’s name has certainly never come into the discussion.” His Lordship looked worried and stared distractedly around the room.

  Sir Nathaniel waited a while before speaking again. “Sir, there is more. I wished to tell you yesterday, but you gave orders instead concerning the poultry girl.” The steward paused pointedly. His feathers appeared to be still ruffled at being sent after a lowly servant.

  Far from looking contrite, Sir Edward turned on his steward. “You may be my trusted servant and steward, Nathaniel,” he said quietly, but with such a threatening edge that it made Cess’s skin prickle. “You may even be privy to the clandestine work I perform on our sovereign’s behalf, but do not presume to think that you know everything that comes to my attention. Some of my orders may seem perverse to you, but everything is done for a reason.” Sir Nathaniel visibly shrunk a few inches and bowed. Cess and Jasper stared at each other, and Cess moved aside to let Jasper look. “You said you had other information about my son?”

  “Sir, yes. From our contact in Billingsgate, the servant in Vicar Harris’s household. He saw a noble gentleman ushered into the house, his visit intended to be secret from all members of the household. From the description, the visitor could have been your son. Harris is a known Catholic, although he pretends to follow Elizabeth’s church.”

  Cess pushed her way back to the spyhole; Lord Edward was her master after all.

  “Drax? A Catholic? He appears to believe in nothing but himself,” said Sir Edward, rubbing his neatly bearded chin, clearly perplexed. “He traveled in Europe when he was younger to improve his languages—could he have been drawn to the Catholic faith then and kept it hidden? It seems far-fetched to me,” he mused. “Certainly he has never been connected to papists on English soil.”

  “Until now,” said Sir Nathaniel solemnly.

  “I will write to Sir Robert Cecil to have Vicar Harris brought in for questioning. Wright should conduct the interview. We must tread carefully, for if Drax’s name is mentioned it must only be in front of men loyal to me.”

  “Could he have converted for his bride-to-be? I have heard said that Lady Arbella has become a Catholic.”

  “The poor girl has been accused of many things, including being unhinged,” said Lord Montacute sharply. “Well, she would have to be, to become betrothed secretly to Drax.”

  “Has your son made no hint to you, sir?”

  “I fear I do not know his mind at all,” said Sir Edward, sighing. “It has been so many years since he has lived with me, and at court we are both so busy our paths rarely cross.”

  Cess thought His Lordship cut a lonely figure, despite his gold chains and fine clothes. Nathaniel Davies perhaps thought so too as he spoke in a cheery tone that did not quite ring true.

  “Any ambitious young man will arouse suspicions, my lord. Perhaps your son is simply a victim of his success at court?”

  Sir Edward looked at his steward so sternly that, although his back was to her, Cess could see him wilt further. “I am old, Nathaniel, but never take me for a fool. We both know full well that my son has come to stay for reasons other than honoring me during the Queen’s visit. He is my only surviving child, but I am not blind to his, or anyone else’s, faults.” The steward bowed his head and began his backward exit.

  “And what of Cecily Perryn? What have you found out about her?” Cess’s heart shot up to her mouth, and she nearly coughed. Jasper turned to stare at her, obviously amazed that the master of a great estate, one of the most powerful nobles in the land, was asking after his poultry girl, and by name. Cess could barely breathe as the steward stopped his retreat and stood wearily.

  “I traced her to an inn in Yeovil, but she left without being seen. The innkeeper’s boy has also gone missing.”

  “They’ve run off?” exploded Lord Montacute with more emotion than he had displayed during the rest of the conversation.

  Cess blushed deeply at the thought of being romantically linked to Jasper. First, she would never pick a conceited dolt like him. Second, what good reputation she had would be damaged beyond repair if gossip spread that she had run away with a boy.

  “It seems unlikely there is any…romantic…link. I spoke to the boy’s mother.” Sir Nathaniel seemed to quail a little at the memory. “The girl washed pots in return for her bed and had never been to the inn before. Nothing has been seen of them since Monday evening. I felt it best to return here but have men making inquiries in the villages and towns nearest Yeovil. They cannot simply disappear
.” Sir Edward frowned deeply and dismissed Nathaniel, who looked grateful to leave.

  For the rest of the afternoon, Sir Edward Mortain sat at his writing box, stopping only to call a servant to light the fire. From the peephole Cess and Jasper could see him up close, in profile. He sat with his back to the fireplace, facing the book-lined wall. His writing box was one of the most luxurious objects Cess had ever laid eyes on. Once opened, the writing slope was covered in intricately patterned gold-embossed leather. Lifting up the top part of the slope, Sir Edward had removed some parchment sheets. Under the lid of the bottom half of the slope she saw him unlock a compartment containing finished documents and a small money bag. In the base of the box were three drawers, the fronts of which were decorated with family crests and other pictures she could not quite see. One of the drawers contained sticks of red sealing wax and a ring seal; another, a small pot of prepared ink; the third, sand for drying the ink. From a long drawer in the side of the box, he pulled a fine goose-feather quill.

  Starting a new letter, Sir Edward pulled out the drawer with the ink pot and felt carefully along the inside top edge. There was a tiny click, and the roof of the drawer space dropped. Sir Edward retrieved a small piece of vellum and spread it out carefully on the table beside him. It was covered in tiny writing, far too small for Cess to make out through the spyhole. Cess touched Jasper’s arm and indicated he should look. When Cess looked again a few minutes later, Sir Edward was writing but looking at the piece of vellum over and over again.

  “It’s a cipher,” Jasper breathed into Cess’s ear. Cess looked puzzled, but neither dared to say more with Lord Montacute sitting just a few paces away.

  The afternoon was already turning to dusk when Cess and Jasper gave up watching and slumped quietly against each other on the ground. They wanted to leave but dared not for fear of being heard. Jasper kept fidgeting, twisting the buttons on his doublet and nibbling at his lips. Cess guessed he was missing his regular dose of tobacco. She mimed chewing on a stick, and Jasper’s eyes lit up as he remembered the sage twig in his doublet. They were almost dozing off when a slight noise in the room roused them.

  Sir Edward had moved to the mantelpiece and was lighting the candles in a branched candlestick with a taper he had lit from the fire. Holding the candles aloft, he felt down the right outer edge of the fireplace until there was a grating noise. Asmall panel opened and he took a scroll from his doublet and tucked it inside, shutting the panel carefully afterwards. He left the room, carrying the candlestick. Cess noted how gray and lined he looked.

  “I’m going to get that scroll,” said Cess as soon as she heard the outer door close.

  “What?! You don’t even read,” said Jasper. Cess lifted the gold hook, bent down, and entered the room. It was dusk now, but there was just enough light to see by. Jasper followed reluctantly. Once through, he pushed the panel back into place without latching it while Cess went to the mantelpiece. She ran her hands down the right side, which was carved with interwoven animals, birds, and plants. The details were so intricate that it was difficult to see where one plant ended and another began, or which was animal, which bird. Although she poked and prodded, she could not find the hidden cubbyhole.

  “Jasper,” she whispered, “come and help.” But Jasper was busy with the writing box. He had seen the open ink drawer and dropped panel, and was carefully running his fingers around the inside edge where the drawer had been.

  “In a minute,” he said, then sighed with satisfaction as he heard a click and the secret panel dropped out. He took out the vellum square, unfolded it, and began to read.

  Cess sat back and looked again at the carvings. Near the top was a white deer, which she recognized as one part of Lady Mortain’s emblem. She looked to see if there was a raven too. She could see many other birds, but no raven. Cess was just thinking her hunch was wrong when she spotted an eye among some ivy. The bird had been cleverly disguised in the foliage. She pushed, and a panel, ingeniously hinged on a central pivot, opened with the faintest noise of stone on stone.

  Jasper folded the vellum and pushed it inside his doublet. He carefully replaced the panel, closed the writing box, and walked over to see what Cess had found.

  She reached into the cubbyhole and pulled out the scroll, which was tied with a narrow red ribbon. She then felt right to the back to make sure she had not missed anything. Her hand closed around a leather bag. She pulled it out, handed the scroll to Jasper, and whistled between her teeth as she opened the bag. It was heavy with gold sovereigns. She had never held one before, and now she had at least one hundred in her hand, more money than anyone she knew could hope to earn in his entire life. Jasper took the bag from Cess. He looked at her with unusually shiny eyes.

  “This would be useful, wouldn’t it?” he breathed.

  “Yes, but we are not thieves,” she said firmly.

  Jasper was about to argue when they heard soft footsteps in the corridor and the sound of a door being opened, very quietly. Cess threw the money into the cubbyhole and pushed it shut. They dived under the table just as the second door opened, this time into the chamber.

  Cess’s heart was beating so loudly she could barely hear anything else, and did not want to swallow in case the person entering the room heard the sound in her dry throat. She and Jasper huddled to the back of the table, against the wall of books. The carpet covering the table was long but not quite to the floor. They could see the light change as the person lit a candle. The tiny sounds of the rush matting crunching underfoot told them roughly where the person was moving. When Cess was able to breathe again, she bent down and looked under the cloth from far enough back to allow no light onto her face. Although his back was turned, there was no doubt who was in the room with them. His scalp was smooth and he wore a gentleman’s doublet and hose. It was Drax Mortain. Cess sat up again quickly. She dared not look longer, for some people could sense when they were being watched.

  Drax was cursing under his breath. Cess guessed that he was looking for the cubbyhole, for why else would he hover around the fire for so long? Eventually they heard the scrape of stone on stone as the cubbyhole opened. She heard the purse being clinked, then thrown back in. She could hear more rustling, as if he was searching about inside it for something else. The scroll. Then the panel door was slammed shut and she heard Drax swear with quiet fury.

  Then, to their horror, Drax walked to the table and sat down at the writing box. His beautifully embroidered slipper was nearly touching Cess’s knee. She inched away, terrified, and prayed he did not shift his feet or cross his legs. If he did, they would surely be discovered.

  Above their heads they could hear Drax opening Sir Edward’s writing box. They heard the three drawers being pulled out and Drax’s angry growling when he came to the lockable compartment. They could hear him poking something into the lock, but it did not open. Cess and Jasper jumped as he banged his fist on the table.

  Drax pushed back his chair and started pacing up and down, occasionally coming to a stop in front of the box. Seeming to come to a decision, he huffed in frustration and thumped the chair back into the position he had found it.

  “A pox on him,” Drax muttered angrily as he walked away. They heard the sound of two doors opening and closing, but Drax walked so lightly that there were almost no footsteps.

  They waited a while before daring to speak.

  “Jesu, that was close! Who in God’s name was that? He was obviously up to something,” whispered Jasper, his eyes wide with fear.

  “That was Drax Mortain, Lord Montacute’s son.” They both looked at the scroll as if it were a firecracker with its fuse lit. Slowly Jasper untied it, and Cess held up the edge of the carpet to allow some firelight to penetrate their hiding place.

  “Can you read it quickly now?” asked Cess.

  “It’s some sort of list, in code. I can’t understand it,” said Jasper.

  “Do you know anyone who speaks code?”

  “It’s not a language,�
�� replied Jasper as if talking to someone very stupid. “Code is when you write things down in a way that is impossible for anyone else to understand. So you would write a b instead of an s for example, but only you would know that the code for s was b, so only you could read it.”

  “I see,” said Cess, not really seeing at all but annoyed by the way he spoke to her.

  “But I think this is the cipher,” he said, pulling the square of vellum from his doublet. “With this I should be able to read the scroll. If I make a copy, Drax might still come back and find the original, but at least no one will know we were here.”

  “Let’s get away from here,” said Cess.

  “If we take the scroll, Sir Edward will know someone has been here. If he knows about the secret passages in the house, which he must, he might suspect someone is using them, probably his son. It will mean we couldn’t use them again. Is Edith likely to have writing materials?”

  “I doubt it.” They both eyed the magnificent writing box. Jasper took a piece of parchment and quill from the box, and pushed them inside his doublet along with the scroll and the cipher. The small pot of ink he held carefully in his hand. As they moved back to the panel, a book on the shelves caught Cess’s eye, for it had a picture of fireworks stamped in gold on its spine.

  Her stomach tightened as she thought of William and how much he would love to read it. He was still alive; she sensed it.

  C H A P T E R 15

  Mexica slept undisturbed on her perch as Drax stood at the window, staring out into darkness unbroken by any lantern or moon. His anger mounted as every risky foray into his father’s domain brought him no closer to the scroll. He had, at last, discovered its hiding place, but his father must have taken it to use. Drax had been tempted to take the writing box, but then his father would know someone was tampering with his things. Without that scroll, the last ten years of planning could come crashing down.