by Lucy Jago
Lord Montacute thought a moment. “Nathaniel, put a watch on my son. But discreetly—Drax must not know.”
The steward bowed and left the room quickly. Sir Edward pulled himself to his feet and looked around the great chamber. Had the thief come into the house too? It occurred to him that things were a little disarranged. A candlestick was missing, and his writing box was not quite how he had left it. He opened the precious object and noticed immediately that several pieces of parchment were gone, and his favorite goose quill was blunt. The small square of vellum had not been taken, however. Hurriedly he walked to the fireplace and pushed on the secret panel. With relief he saw that the scroll was in place. He plunged his hand to the back of the cubbyhole until it closed on the heavy leather purse. He opened the drawstring with shaking fingers, grunting with relief as he saw the gold sovereigns glinting undisturbed. The bag contained the bulk of the cash he had raised to cover the enormous costs of hosting the Queen and her huge retinue.
He replaced the gold and shut the panel, deeply relieved that the intruders had not found his hiding places. He pulled out one of his hairs and stretched it across the closed cubbyhole, fixing it in place with tiny dabs of candlewax. The gold he pushed into his doublet to put in the armory later. He opened the locked compartment of his writing box and took out a sturdy key. Leaving his chambers, he walked down the main stairs to the great hall and then down a narrow spiral stone staircase to the storerooms under the house. He had only been down here once, with the achitect, and it took a few tries to find the right door for the key. Eventually he found himself in the tiny room he remembered, with a narrow staircase. He noticed a large hole in the floor where the stone flags had collapsed into what looked like an ancient cellar or cesspit.
It had seemed fitting to build the secret passages, given his position as spymaster. He thought to use them during the Queen’s visit to ensure her safety and keep abreast of what her privy counselors were up to, but had not expected to enter them before that. However, it occurred to him that someone else was finding them very useful indeed.
“Is he expecting you?” said Sir Nathaniel, doubtfully.
“No, but he will see me,” said Amelia, lowering her head but looking up at the steward with her clear blue eyes.
“Wait here.”
Amelia did not. She was not a peddler to be kept in the vestibule. She strolled through the arched entrance of the ornately carved wooden screen into the great hall. Light filled the room even though it was a gloomy morning. Although her own home was one of the grandest in the village, it would nearly have fitted into this one room alone. The fireplace was so large she could have stood in it without bending her head. The surroundings were grand, but she felt equal to them.
She was shivering, not with cold but excitement. She had felt like this since receiving the pendant a few hours before. She was sure it would be her key to catching Drax. She was wearing it around her neck, but had tucked the portrait into the top of her bodice to keep it a surprise. She knew Drax would not object to watching her draw it out of her bodice, slowly.
“Maid Perryn?” Amelia turned to see Bartram Paget, Drax’s page, enter the hall alone.
“I have information about Cecily that will deliver her to you,” said Amelia, with a triumphant smile.
The page suppressed a huff; the girl irritated him. “Pray tell me and I shall impart it to His Lordship.”
“Oh no,” said Amelia. “I must speak to His Lordship only.”
The two stared at each other, aware of their rivalry for Drax’s attentions and the strengths and weaknesses of their separate positions. Amelia tossed her golden curls, and Bartram Paget stroked the golden embroidery of his livery. With a curt nod, he indicated that Amelia should follow him. Amelia was surprised. Surely they would meet here in the hall or walk in the grounds? It was not seemly to meet a man unchaperoned in his chambers. However, she had little choice but to follow the steward as he mounted the stairs. It was not the grand staircase she had seen at the opposite end of the hall. The page knocked and Amelia’s heart lurched as she heard Drax Mortain’s gruff “Enter.”
“Maid Perryn, with information,” said the page through slightly gritted teeth. “I took the liberty of bringing her up, as her message is of a private nature.”
Amelia’s eyes narrowed. The page was implying that she was a strumpet of low enough class to visit Drax’s private chambers without worrying about her reputation. He was also making it clear that he did not deem it appropriate for Drax to be seen in Amelia’s company in the public rooms and gardens of the house. It occurred to her that Drax had only ever spent time with her in the maze, where they were hidden from public view, even from the upper floors of the house. She suddenly felt so uncomfortable that she was ready to turn and flee when the viscount walked toward her, smiling.
“It is always a delight to see you, Maid Perryn. How kind of you to take the trouble to bring me information.” He cupped her elbow, glared over her head at his page, and led her to the casement, where there was a high-backed chair and a stool beside Mexica’s perch. With a flourish he helped her into the grander seat and perched on the stool beside her. Appeased, Amelia gave him a coy smile and tried to look admiringly at the hawk, for she knew the nobleman admired it, although she thought herself a more worthy object of admiration.
“A fine hawk, is she not? She was given to me by the captain of a ship returned from the Americas,” he said, stroking the bird’s ghostly plumage. “Normally they have a black stripe on their tail and the tips of their wings. This beauty is pure white.” Amelia had no real idea of where “the Americas” were; she had not even seen the sea just a few hours north of Montacute, but it was where her father threatened to send them when he was annoyed. Like “heaven,” she had always assumed it was a great distance away and not somewhere you came back from. The bird was exotic and inscrutable; Amelia hoped Drax did not seek in his women what he admired in Mexica, for she knew her charms were more local.
“Of course, where Mexica comes from, white is a feared color. It is the color of death and spirits. She is a little unsettled at present, but do not be alarmed if she suddenly takes flight. May I offer you some small beer or wine?” Amelia did not want anything, but she did want the page to have to do something for her, so she accepted. With a scowl, Paget left the room to find a servant.
“Now, what have you to tell me?” said Drax, leaning close to her. Amelia blushed. She had rehearsed the drawing out of the pendant from her bodice many times, to look both seductive and pure, but with Drax so close she lost her composure and pulled it out in a rush. The look of astonishment on Drax’s face was not one of the many responses she had envisaged. Excitement, desire, interest perhaps—she had thought he would bend forward and peer closely at the portrait, but he did none of those things. In fact, he paled and moved slightly away.
“Where did you get that?” he asked in a flat tone.
“From my cousin Cecily Perryn.”
Drax’s eyebrows shot up before he composed himself again. “Indeed? So you met with the little witch. Did she tell you how she came by this jewel?”
“No, my lord, but I have laid a trap that you might catch her and ask her for yourself. She will even bring evidence of her use of philters to bewitch men.”
“Good, good, you are a clever maid as well as beautiful.” Drax spoke with his usual languor. He seemed to be avoiding looking at the pendant.
Paget entered, followed by a servant carrying a pewter tray on which stood two silver goblets. He offered one to Amelia, which she accepted with what she hoped was haughty indifference.
“Tell us of your trap, Maid Perryn.”
“Did anyone see her?” asked Drax a few moments later, when Bartram Paget returned from showing Amelia out.
“Sir Nathaniel,” Paget replied.
“His opinion of me is so low he will assume I am trifling with her, though it is not ideal that my father find out at this moment. I must uncover that list of his conta
cts,” he spat angrily, banging his fist against the wall. “I feel them moving in on me. Without it, all our work could fail. With it, my father will be finished. Don’t you realize the importance of it, Paget? Why did your prophecy fire fail?”
“With all due respect, sir, the fire was extremely accurate in revealing the whereabouts of your father’s hiding places. Why and to where the documents you seek had been removed I do not know, for I cannot always predict the vagaries of human nature. I fear your father’s suspicions are aroused.”
Drax grunted. “I will find them if I have to rip the house apart. I will look again tonight. Or perhaps a rapier to the old man’s heart might be quicker. Send a messenger to prepare both assassins. Once that list is in my hands we will have to work quickly. Inform the Lady Arbella of my intention to come to London, and have a priest made ready for our marriage.”
“A Catholic priest?” Paget asked.
“What? I don’t give a damn, man. No, not a Catholic, for the union must be lawful in the eyes of the courts and the people. She won’t care either. She’s just desperate to get out of her grandmother’s clutches and has had enough of being the Queen’s pawn.”
“And the poultry girl?” asked the steward.
“The dogs have her scent?”
“Yes. I took a smock from her mother. I told her we were trying to help.”
“She does not know where her daughter is?”
“I believe not.”
“And the dogs found nothing yesterday?”
“They seemed confused and out of sorts. They sneezed a great deal. Perhaps it is a bad time of year, fungus spores…It is not normal hunting season.”
“Have you conjured another prophecy fire?” asked Drax.
Paget frowned. “I have. The results were most unsatisfactory, for it seems she has learned to close her mind to unwanted intrusion.”
“Really?” said Drax, raising his eyebrows. “Is that usual for a peasant girl?”
Paget smiled without mirth. “It is one of the reasons I consider her a notable threat.”
“Seize her tonight when she meets with Amelia,” said Drax decisively. “She is not to be killed yet. I have questions for her.”
“There is one more matter to be settled,” said Paget.
“What is it?” said Drax.
Mexica was shifting about on her perch. Bartram Paget could see that the bird would happily rip his face to shreds if Drax allowed her. “The boy who does not die is becoming a nuisance, shouting out and goading the monks. They are weary and frightened of him.”
“He has been scraped again?”
“Several times, but each time seems to have less effect. Father Garret demands he be dispatched.”
Drax nodded. “I will do it,” he said, pulling on a thick leather glove and letting Mexica stand on his hand. “Take him to the chapel when you have the girl. As they are such close friends, it will be interesting to see how they face each other’s deaths. Take your instruments, Paget. We will need to know who else she has told. Their bodies will be easily disposed of up there, and if they are ever dug up, the deaths can be blamed on the witch.”
“I will have to be caught,” said Cecily, holding a piece of wood for Jasper and too preoccupied to notice him glance at her approvingly.
Sometimes she was beautiful. It all depended on her expression. When grumpy she looked jowly and dim-witted. When she laughed, her huge hazel eyes flashed and her giggle was so infectious he could not help but join in, even if it was him she was teasing.
“That is too great a risk,” said Edith firmly, dipping two lengths of hemp cord in the saltpeter Joliffe had given them.
“She’s right,” said Jasper to Cess as he tapped some nails into the wood in her hand to make the petard case. “I heard Drax tell his page to take three men-at-arms with him and that he himself will arrive when you and William are in the chapel. That damn bird nearly gave me away. How can Edith and I overcome that many people?”
Cess noticed that Jasper looked exhausted. He had slept for just a few hours before going to the House early to discover the reaction to their night’s forays.
“We will have surprise on our side,” she said. “Edith, can you prepare a sleeping potion for the guards?”
Edith carefully hung the cords to dry on a rung of the ladder. “Sleeping potion must be drunk, and I doubt we can make them do that. But I can prepare arrows and sharp sticks dipped in deadly nightshade. How is your bowmanship, Jasper?”
“I’ve only ever shot standing targets,” he said, chewing hard on a sage twig stuck between his lips as he concentrated on getting the petard case right.
“We should get one shot each. After that, of course, our presence will be noted. If I can tip the arrowheads correctly, the men-at-arms will become delirious and fall down. But we will have to be very careful that we are not overpowered and the weapons used against us, for I shall make nightshade port strong enough to fell a grown man. That amount would kill any of us.”
“You and Edith can use the tunnel to reach the chapel,” said Cess.
“But that might not be safe now,” said Jasper, looking up. “I told you, when I was leaving there today I heard someone opening the door in the cellar room that leads to the secret passageways.”
Cess thought hard. “But you thought that was Sir Edward. Now we know that the man we saw in the cellars with Father Garret was Drax’s page, and that Drax and his father are largely estranged. Do you not think it safe to trust His Lordship?”
“Not sure I trust any of them,” said Jasper.
“If you attack from outside, Paget will hear and will kill us before you get in. You will have to use the tunnel and take the risk. Can you block it behind you so that you can’t be followed?” asked Cess.
“I suppose so,” said Jasper, already thinking how to do it as he started on the second petard casing. “Hold this, please.”
Cecily took the wood and looked at Edith, whose head was bowed. When she eventually looked up, Cecily saw such a deep sadness in her friend’s eyes that her stomach turned over with fear. What awful news or future event was her friend protecting her from?
“What is it, Edith?” Cecily whispered. “Will William die?” she asked, unsure she wanted to know the answer.
“Death is foreseen,” Edith replied.
C H A P T E R 19
The sun is setting,” Cess said. “It’s time to go.” William had endured five days of hell in the cellars. She prayed he would understand why it had been impossible to get him out any sooner. She moved close to Edith, who took out her pentacle and made the sign of the five-pointed star over Cess, whispering three times:
With our power, I do lay
Protection on you, night and day.
Gracious Goddess, day and night
Watch o’er this child with all your might.
Edith and Cess hugged so tightly that Cess wondered if Edith would ever let her go. As they dragged themselves apart, Cess felt waves of nerves flooding through her. Edith handed her a clay flask.
“This is the so-called philter. If anyone drinks it, they will get a bad case of flux,” said Edith, grinning.
Cess put it in her purse and turned to Jasper, unsure whether to shake his hand or kiss his cheek.
As she agonized, Jasper stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. “You are the bravest wench I have ever met,” he said. “William is lucky to have you to love him.” He held her at arm’s length and looked at her intently. Cess blushed. “Don’t worry. Whatever happens we will not leave you in the hands of that man,” said Jasper, watching Cess as she climbed the ladder.
The hardest thing was going to be looking surprised when they jumped her, they were so poorly hidden. Drax’s page and three armed men were crouching behind a hedge close to Amelia.
“Hello, cousin,” said Cess coolly as she approached.
“Where’s the philter?” replied Amelia.
Cess pulled it from her purse and held it up. They stood either
side of the stile.
“And my pendant?” asked Cess, wondering how the guards would overpower her when they were on the wrong side of the fence. She smiled to herself, for it was clear from Amelia’s frown that she was worrying about the same thing.
“I have it,” said Amelia, patting her bodice, “but you must cross the stile and give me the potion, or you might make a run for it.”
Normally Cess would have refused to obey Amelia’s orders, but she had to be caught.
She handed Amelia the small clay jar and climbed the stile, carefully turning her back to the guards to save her pretending not to see them. The weight of three men falling on her crushed the air out of her lungs, and she thought she might vomit. She was thrown on to her stomach and her arms pulled roughly behind and bound.
“Well played, Maid Perryn,” said Bartram Paget to Amelia, unpleasantly, as he detached himself from the hedgerow, carefully brushing away stray leaves and twigs.
Cess looked up at her cousin, who seemed uncomfortable rather than victorious at seeing her trussed up at her feet. “Where are you taking her?” Amelia asked. Cess noticed that the girl tucked the little flask safely into her purse.
“Good night,” said Paget, staring rudely at Amelia to indicate she was no longer needed. Amelia looked petulant, and for a moment Cess thought she might refuse to go home, but eventually she turned and walked back toward the village.
Cess watched her go with a sinking heart. Although Amelia had betrayed her, her presence forced Paget to behave. With her gone, the four men could do anything.
“Get her on her feet,” Paget ordered, and the men heaved her upright, nearly pulling her arms from her shoulders. Cess cried out in pain and Paget whipped his hand across her face and spat in fury. “Silence! Any sound and you will have your tongue cut out.” He began walking across the field to the start of the cart track up the mountain.
Cess could have shown them a much quicker way but kept her mouth shut. The page set a fast pace, despite not lighting the torch he carried, and she stumbled along as best she could with her arms tied behind her. She received regular shoves from one or other of the armed men, all of whom were also carrying unlit torches. Cess noticed that Paget had what looked like a rolled-up piece of leather tucked under one arm. She felt sick as she remembered where she had seen something like it. The barber-surgeons who visited the village every few months used a similar roll to store the nightmarish instruments they used for incisions, lancing boils, pulling infected teeth and toenails, or amputating limbs.
