A Perilous Alliance

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  ‘But of course. I would be happy to do that for you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I would welcome absolute certainty.’

  Yes, I would, even though, at heart, I already knew the tale was fact this time. I had sensed it, smelt it, somehow in the wording of Cecil’s letter. Even yet, it seemed, I had harboured a small, thin hope that Matthew’s existence might defend me against marriage with the count. That hope was finally gone. It would no longer be bigamy even to the most rigid of Catholics.

  ‘Do you intend staying here tonight?’ I asked. ‘Or are you riding straight on?’

  ‘I meant to deliver your letter, beg a meal and then ride on, but my mare has a loose shoe on her off fore. You have a smithy in the village, I believe. This afternoon I will lead her there and have it seen to. Then, if I may, I will rest here tonight and set off again in the morning. The ship I am to take from Dover does not sail until the day after tomorrow, in the evening. May I do that?’

  I said yes, as any good hostess must. I called Phoebe to arrange a bedchamber and show Master Spelton to it, and then went to talk to Sybil. It would be best, I thought, if she were the one to tell Ambrosia of Cecil’s reply.

  I found Sybil lending a hand with hanging out the wash. She frowned, however, when I said what I wanted. ‘The letter from Lord Burghley was to you, Mistress Stannard, in answer to one you wrote to him. I think it would be better if you told her. Let her read the letter for herself, if you think it right, and explain anything she might not understand. Then she can come to me for comfort.’

  ‘Where is she now?’ I said. Ambrosia had not come to help with the wash.

  ‘Out in the garden again, I think. Still showing the count round the grounds. After dinner, you could ask her to walk with you instead! I don’t think she should be spending so much time in the company of the count. Has he spoken to you yet? About … well, you know.’

  ‘No. No, he hasn’t. Very well. After dinner, then.’

  Ambrosia came for the walk quite willingly. But as we sauntered through the rose garden and the woodland, I told her of Cecil’s unpalatable recommendations. She said nothing until we had emerged on the far side of the woodland, and reached the lake.

  Hawkswood’s little lake was always kept well stocked with fish; fresh trout was always at my command. The breeze had dropped and the water was still except for the trout rings here and there. I found a fallen log and the two of us sat down.

  ‘I don’t like the man they want me to marry,’ said Ambrosia flatly. ‘And that’s that. I don’t think he will be a good stepfather. He wants to send my boys away to “learn manners in some good household”. Well, it’s often done but I don’t want to do it and if I did, it wouldn’t be yet. They’re only four! Anyway, I just don’t like him.’

  ‘What’s amiss with him?’ I asked her.

  ‘He’s fat, for one thing. And he’s a schoolmaster like my first husband. I don’t like fat men and though I did love John, I was never really at home as a schoolmaster’s wife. I was so used to the pie shop and … and arranging supplies and cooking and serving customers and doing accounts and all the things that go with running such a place and I missed it. My parents-in-law just want to keep John’s money and property in the family. They want to get their hands on it.’

  ‘We must talk to your mother,’ I said. ‘She and I must find you someone else. Once you’re married, you can’t be pushed into marrying this man you don’t like. The boys might well be handed back to you then and anyway, you’d have someone to help you fight for them.’

  Ambrosia looked at me and smiled. It was Sybil’s smile, always notable for its sweetness. ‘I was right to come here,’ she said. ‘Though I fear I was not welcome at first.’

  ‘Your mother’s daughter would always be welcome,’ I said firmly. ‘Only, I have troubles of my own just now. As you know.’

  ‘Yes. I am sorry. To feel as though one is being forced … well, I know all about that.’ We were silent a moment and then Ambrosia said: ‘There is a little island in the middle of your lake. What is that – something – on top of it?’

  ‘Probably the remains of last year’s moorhens’ nest,’ I said. ‘Or perhaps they’ve started building again. They nest there. We don’t mind them. They don’t eat trout – just water insects and seeds and the like.’

  ‘I wish I were a moorhen,’ said Ambrosia with sudden passion. ‘Life seems so simple for them.’

  ‘I agree,’ I said with a sigh.

  SIX

  A Sense of Injustice

  I woke the next morning to a sense of deep unease.

  It came from more than one source. One, obviously enough, was the fact that Christopher Spelton had spoken to me of a secret mission that Cecil thought I was entitled to know about, and I was still sure that someone had been listening at the door, though for the life of me I could not imagine who or why. It was wildly unlikely that anyone in my household would behave so improperly and I couldn’t think why the count would want to do such a thing or order anyone to do it for him. Yet the certainty was there.

  My other source of unease was private and personal. The fact was that advantageous matches, certainly matches of value to her majesty the queen, could not be reasonably refused on the grounds that I preferred dark hair to light hair, and the man was rough in his handling of a high-spirited and probably all but unmanageable stallion.

  But today, that match would be, must be, discussed. The count would surely not put it off any longer. Though I wasn’t going to raise it myself. Absolutely not. I knew now, for certain, that I did not want to marry him, and I was filled with a sense of injustice, because I had been forced into a position that I did not want, even feared, and one that would affect my whole life – for the rest of my life.

  I was late to breakfast and everyone but Renard had come and gone before me. I could see no sign of either Pierre Lestrange or Father Ignatius. I ate alone with the count, while his round blue eyes gazed into mine across the table, and when – not at all to my surprise – he asked me to walk in the garden when we had finished, I agreed.

  There was no point in procrastinating. The moment had come. He was going to talk of marriage. What else was he here for?

  I was, however, relieved to see the stocky figure of Christopher Spelton appear at the door with a pair of laden saddlebags over his arm. Any delay to the inevitable was welcome.

  ‘I must just speed a parting guest on his way,’ I said as I rose from the table. ‘You have breakfasted, Master Spelton?’

  ‘I have, Mistress Stannard, sometime earlier. Many thanks for your hospitality.’ The nice brown eyes smiled at me. ‘My mare is already saddled. She now has four sound shoes. I had her reshod all round yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘A wise precaution before a long ride,’ I said. ‘I must see you off.’

  ‘I wish you a safe journey, Master Spelton,’ said Renard politely. They had met at dinner the day before and I gathered that they already knew each other slightly, having come across one another at court.

  In the courtyard, I watched Spelton mount and reached up to shake his hand in farewell. ‘I wish you success in all you undertake,’ I said as he adjusted his girth. He had already checked the curb chain on the (reasonable) curb bit. He was a careful horseman. ‘Take good care of yourself,’ I added.

  ‘That I always do. We live in a dangerous world, Mistress Stannard, as you no doubt know. You should be wary too.’ He hesitated and then said: ‘I know who Count Renard is, Mistress Stannard. I mean, I know he is the man that the queen wishes you to marry. I knew beforehand that I was likely to find him here. No doubt my lord Burghley would say it was none of my business but as you know, since it emerged at dinner yesterday, the count and I have met. I don’t know him well, and I’ve never heard anything against him. He is quite popular in court circles and I haven’t a morsel of a right to speak as I am doing, but I do urge you to consider carefully before you accept his proposal. For some reason, I just don’t take to him. If
that is an impertinence, forgive me.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘I expect that Lord Burghley would think me impertinent and probably not forgive me.’

  ‘Even Lord Burghley wants me to be sure about what I am doing,’ I said. ‘Or he wouldn’t have asked you to tell me of your confidential mission. There is no impertinence. I feel as you do, as a matter of fact, but my position is difficult.’

  ‘May God give you a good deliverance,’ said Spelton, sincerely, and then he was gone and I went back indoors, feeling as if a good friend had just taken leave of me.

  Count Renard was just rising from the table. ‘We might ride together after our walk,’ he said. ‘Would you like that?’

  ‘Not with you on that stallion!’ I said, trying to be bright and friendly. For the queen’s sake, I must try to like him. ‘He might excite my mare. We don’t want her coming into season unexpectedly.’

  His eyes sparked and I knew I had made a tactical error. I should not have mentioned anything which related in any way to sex. He had misinterpreted what was actually a plain down to earth statement as a semi-invitation.

  ‘We will find you something else to ride,’ I said, still brightly. ‘There’s plenty of choice.’ For a moment, my reluctance to walk or ride anywhere with the count forced its way to the surface. ‘I do have one or two household duties,’ I said. ‘I must see to them first.’ I was procrastinating after all, though I knew I should not. ‘I will join you very soon,’ I said.

  ‘Very well, madame. When you have interviewed your cook and scolded the maids for carelessness, you will find me in my room. A tap on the door – and I will come out to you. We will stroll out together and then we will ride. Ah, when we are married you will have no such household tasks to concern you. My chateau is well run. You will have nothing to do but enjoy life.’

  Yes, he meant to speak of marriage and I shrank from it. His smile was pleasant but it stirred nothing in me. Once more, I remembered that savage curb.

  He went upstairs and I sought out Hawthorn to settle the day’s menu. After a lengthy discussion – which I dragged out for as long as possible – I took myself upstairs as I usually did after breakfast, just to see if the routine work there had been properly done.

  The first thing I saw when I reached the upper landing was Joan Flood standing at the door of Renard’s room, with her left ear against the panelling.

  Well, that was one mystery solved! No, I hadn’t been imagining things when I was talking to Spelton, and it was now clear that there really was someone in my household who had taken to listening at doors! At least it disposed of any suspicion against the count, and that was a relief. But to catch Joan doing such a thing …! Furious, I grabbed her by the arm, shook her hard as she started to squeal, and hauled her along the upstairs gallery to my own chamber, at the far end. Once inside, I shut the door, pushed her into a chair and stood over her.

  ‘Just what do you think you’re doing, listening at guests’ doors?’ I was so angry, I was shouting. ‘There can hardly be two eavesdroppers in one house so I take it that it was also you who put an ear to the door yesterday when I had what should have been a private conversation with Master Spelton. I knew I heard someone out there!’

  ‘But I didn’t!’ Joan was gaping at me, eyes wide and appalled. ‘I didn’t! I don’t know what you mean! I wouldn’t …! I didn’t know you had a private conversation with Master Spelton! If anyone eavesdropped on you then it was that sneaking Lestrange. He creeps about in silent shoes. I don’t like him.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ I said. ‘There can hardly be two of you at it! I’d have thought you’d approve heartily of the count and his entourage,’ I added sardonically. ‘Seeing as they’re all Catholic.’

  Joan looked completely stricken, understandably, for I had never before gibed at her or Ben concerning their religion, even though it had once led them into conspiring against me. I had let it go, even granted permission for them to attend the count’s Mass under my roof – which Joan had actually declined to do. I also knew quite well that she and Ben sometimes heard Mass at another house and I had never interfered; never tried to find out which house it was. I was not myself, I thought.

  She was a small, nervous woman with stringy hair and I had never heard her answer anyone back before, but she did it now and in a surprising way, for her. ‘There’s other things besides religion,’ she said with dignity. ‘This is a good house and Ben and I appreciate it. Ma’am, I have to tell you, what I heard just now was … well, I think you should know. It’s true I didn’t understand much of it because it was in French, but I did catch …’

  ‘Joan, be quiet!’ Indignation seized me once again. ‘How dare you behave like this! Eavesdropping on the private conversations of my guests – when you can’t understand them anyway! And I don’t believe it wasn’t you doing the same thing to me and Master Spelton yesterday!’

  Joan began to cry, but I persisted. ‘Whatever you heard, either time, is private – you understand? It must never be repeated to anyone, not even to me or to your husband. And what were you doing up here anyway? You have no work here – you are employed in the kitchen!’

  ‘Don’t shout so, ma’am, please don’t shout at me! I came up to put clean sheets in that cupboard there, to save Margery from doing it; they’re heavy and you know what washday’s like!’

  This made sense as Joan had a helpful nature and often lent a hand to her fellow servants. I said: ‘I’ve no objection to that, but …’ It suddenly occurred to me that there was a very pertinent question that so far I had failed to ask. ‘Why did you put your ear to the count’s door?’

  ‘Because of his valet, ma’am!’ Joan raised her voice in passionate protest against my anger. ‘That Pierre Lestrange. Padding about everywhere … you must have noticed how you can never hear him coming. Yesterday I was up here too, with those towels that dry quickly, putting them away in that same cupboard, and I swear I saw him come out of your room, though I had my head in the cupboard and only glimpsed him through the crack where the hinges are.’

  ‘You saw Lestrange come out of this room?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am!’

  ‘Joan, this won’t do. You’re making up stories to excuse your own snooping and though I hate to remind you, you have a questionable past. You once schemed against me. I don’t believe this tale; I don’t believe you …’

  I was not myself. I would never normally have been so downright and obstinate and I wasn’t surprised when Joan’s sobs escalated into a loud wail, whereupon, the door was flung open and in marched Ben. I glared at him. ‘What is this? Since when have you had permission to stride into your employer’s bedroom – a lady’s bedroom! – without knocking!’

  ‘I heard my wife crying. No one makes my wife cry in my hearing without I want to know why!’ Ben, who was short like his wife, had a bald head and watery pale-blue eyes and though he was less timid than Joan, he was normally very respectful towards me. Just now, however, the pale eyes were flashing, which was rare. Today, no one at all seemed to be themselves.

  Joan proceeded to tell him why she was in tears. I interrupted her. ‘This time,’ I said, cutting the whole wretched scene short, ‘I will take no action. But there is to be no more of this snooping. I will deal with any velvet-footed valets who require it. Go away now. Both of you. Back to the kitchen.’

  I was very angry but I didn’t threaten to dismiss them, in case I actually had to carry out the threat. I really didn’t want to lose them as they were most gifted as cooks and John Hawthorn, who valued their skills, would have been furious with me.

  And then, after all that, I had to face reality and walk in the garden with Gilbert Renard and let his courtship begin.

  Which, of course, was exactly what happened. We strolled about in the rose garden while Renard said, in gentle tones, that now that we knew each other a little, there were things that we must discuss. I made myself say that I understood. First of all, though, said Renard, he wished me to know what he had to offer me. He then began
to talk to me about his chateau in France and the kind of life his wife would have there.

  ‘The place is most beautiful. It is in good vineyard country. It is called the Château d’Oiseaux because it stands high up on a hillside and there are birds all around it. It was taken from me when I showed sympathy for the Huguenots and I feared it would be sold but I do have friends among some sections of the royal house and perhaps they hindered that. At any rate, my steward has kept in touch with me always and no one has disturbed him. He has continued with his duties and even taken my orders, secretly, you understand. There is a good staff and you would have nothing to do for all can be left to him. The mistress of my house will not have to wring sheets or berate servants herself. Now that my land has been restored, we can live there like a prince and princess. Harry shall have a beautiful pony of his own; he is of the right age now. The chateau looks down into a valley which all belongs to me. There is a village down there, and vineyards, and believe me, my wine is second to none. My people are experts. They create a smooth, dry light red wine that will delight you. And also …’

  It went on and on. Later we went back to the house to change for a ride. I had Bronze, the amiable gelding whom I had had for years, saddled for Renard. I was sorry to see that the count was as ham-fisted with a quiet horse as with his temperamental stallion.

  On the way back, he said: ‘Ursula – may I call you that? And will you, henceforth, call me Gilbert? Ursula, you have listened, and smiled and asked questions now and then but what are you thinking? We need to come to the point. I say it myself but I represent a valuable match. Will you accept it? Will you marry me? We can hold the ceremony at will. I already have a licence.’

  While we had walked and ridden, something had clarified in my head. ‘I have a visit first to make to court,’ I said. ‘I shall go tomorrow. When I return, I will answer you.’

  SEVEN

  Playing the Queen