Ridolfi rose. “Hillman, I shall spend much of tomorrow preparing the letters you are to take to Scotland. It will be a busy day and I may not be ready to sign them until after supper, but I’ll certainly do it then because you must leave the following morning. I wish you to make the best speed you can, without foundering your horses. You can change horses as often as you need to do. Don’t worry about the cost.”
“Very well, sir.”
I pretended indifference, while absorbing this information. This evening, skulking in the alders with Brockley, I had learned little. But here, suddenly tossed to me by fate, was something worth investigating. Letters! I thought hungrily. Bound for Scotland, and in some degree of haste. Before Hillman left the house, I wanted to see those letters.
• • •
The prospect was in some ways depressing, though.
“If there’s any part of my curious career that I’ve really loathed,” I said to the Brockleys, “it’s peering into other people’s correspondence. Mainly because it’s nearly always dangerous!”
“I certainly can’t see how we’re to do it this time, madam,” Brockley said. “I doubt if Master Hillman will oblige us by eating a bad chicken stew and asking you to make sure his letters are safe!”
“And Ridolfi said he doubted if he’d be able to sign the letters till after supper,” I added. “I fancy that Hillman will just take them to his room when he goes to bed. Oh, damn.”
As so often before, we were gathered in my chamber: the Brockleys and myself and this time, Gladys. The rest of the household was in bed. I was, as it were, holding a council of war by candlelight. There was a small fire, because of the unseasonable cold, and Gladys was using it to make hot drinks for us. Her infusions contained extraordinary mixtures of herbs and usually needed sweetening with honey, but they were reasonably palatable.
I was pleased with Gladys these days. Since we’d come to the Ridolfi house, she had given no trouble and although Dale and I had to remind her regularly about washing and changing her clothes, our efforts were worthwhile. Gladys looked ordinary enough and so far, her behavior had matched her appearance. She was now sitting on a stool by the hearth, steadily stirring. She looked around.
“Slip him some of that poppy stuff you always keep by you. He’ll sleep sound an’ you can tiptoe in when he’s snoring, make sure he’s got his curtains drawn round him, and then take a quick look round his room.”
“That wouldn’t be right.” Dale was shocked. “It’s . . . like poisoning someone.”
“It won’t poison him,” said Gladys, dipping her spoon, lifting it out, and letting its contents pour back into the pot, while she gazed critically at its color. “It ain’t poison! It’s just a draft for sleep.”
It was true. I had used it myself. I had learned of it in Scotland and later I had found a London apothecary who knew the drug and could supply it. Don’t use it often, the apothecary had said. In emergencies, though, it was valuable.
“How can we give it to him without him knowing?” I said.
“That’s easy,” said Gladys. “He has wine mulled with honey and spices every night. Collects it from the kitchen, he does, and takes it up with him.”
“Yes,” I said. “I heard Greaves, this evening, telling someone to get it ready. But it wouldn’t be easy to doctor it without being noticed! There’s always someone in the kitchen.”
“All you got to do,” said Gladys patiently, as though I were a stupid child, “is get at it once it’s in his room. As soon as he takes it in there, bang on his door and call him away for a minute or two, while I slip in and put the dose in the wine. I’ve been in the kitchen when it’s being mixed. He has it that thick with the spices and honey; it’s enough to drown the taste of anything and that stuff don’t have much taste anyhow. He won’t know. He’ll just sleep like a little baby, and wake up feeling fresh and ready to travel to the moon, if need be.”
• • •
We thought of several schemes for getting Hillman out of his room after he had retired for the night. Finally, I adopted a somewhat unkind ruse, but it worked very well. I had in my jewel box an amethyst brooch very like the one that Hillman sometimes put in his hat, and as it chanced, I hadn’t worn it since I came to the Ridolfi household. At the end of the next day, after everyone had retired, Dale hovered in the kitchens, gossiping, while Brockley hovered near the stairs, and between them they made certain of the moment when Hillman took his goblet upstairs. Brockley then went at once to knock on his door and ask him to come down again, to the parlor. I was waiting there, with the brooch on the table before me, in a pool of candlelight. Pointing to it as Hillman came in, I asked him sternly if it were his.
Hillman was still dressed, having had no time to be anything else. He looked tired, however, and he was understandably irritated.
“Was it necessary to call me down because you’ve found a piece of jewelry that could be mine? I’ve a long ride tomorrow and I could do with my sleep.” He picked the brooch up and examined it. “Surely Brockley could just have brought it to me! It isn’t mine, as a matter of fact. I have one not unlike it, but mine is upstairs, in my hat.”
“It was found,” I said severely, “on the floor in the chamber used by Master Brockley here and his wife. If it were yours, I would have asked you to explain what you were doing there. It is not the sort of question to ask casually in a doorway.”
Hillman’s expression was a mixture of the exasperated and the amused. “Am I supposed to have had a liaison with Fran Brockley while her husband was elsewhere?”
“Not exactly. But if this belonged to you, I would ask for an explanation. However, if it isn’t yours . . . ”
“It isn’t. I can produce mine, if you like.”
We went through with the pretense and Brockley went with him to fetch his own brooch. Gladys had had plenty of time to slip into Hillman’s room with her sleeping draft. “I hope she did it. There was no sign of her,” Brockley said afterward. The brooch was brought to me for comparison; I apologized to Hillman for my suspicions and for disturbing him, and let him go crossly back to his room.
“I won’t ever be able to wear that brooch in this house,” I said regretfully. “Now. We’ve got to give time for the drug to work. It’s quick as a rule but it lasts well. We’ll wait an hour. It will let everyone else settle down, too. We’d better go to my chamber.”
My room was lit by two branched candelabra. Gladys was there, on a settle with Dale, waiting for us. I raised my eyebrows at her as we came in and she nodded. “Aye, it’s done. He’d taken a sip, I reckon, but not more. There was plenty left.”
We all seated ourselves. “Brockley,” I said, “when you fetched Hillman, and when you went with him to find the brooch, did you have a chance of looking round his room? And does he bolt his door? If he does, we’re defeated before we start.”
“He didn’t need to draw any bolts when I went up the first time to fetch him and tapped on his door,” Brockley said. “I think we can get in. Yes, I did have a chance to look round. His saddlebags were on the floor by the bed. Most likely, the letters will be in them. Best try there first. If not, we’ll have to try his doublets, and they’ll be in the clothespress. That stands by the right-hand wall as you go in. But the betting is on the saddlebags.”
“I’ll go in alone,” I said. “No need for you to be involved any further, Brockley.”
Brockley regarded me gravely. “I shall accompany you, madam. I can’t allow you to do this on your own.”
“That’s good of you, Brockley, but . . . ”
I wanted him with me but there had been a protective note in his voice. Too protective. I had felt the jerk in Dale’s mind.
“Master Stannard would expect me to go with you,” said Brockley firmly.
Very very faintly, I heard Dale’s sigh as she relaxed, reminded that I had a husband. Hugh was a tolerant man, but he wasn’t one to extend that tolerance to rivals.
We waited for the hour I had prescrib
ed, all of us taut with nerves. I possessed a little hourglass, which I set on the small table by the bed, to keep track of the time. I also made sure that my writing set was ready on the table as well, with spare candles handy. “If we do get hold of the letters, I hope they’re short and we don’t have to take all night over copying them!” I said.
• • •
The hour dragged. When it was finally over, Brockley and I went quietly out. We both wore soft shoes and Brockley had a hooded candlestick. I had found it in my room, where it had evidently been put for me to use if I wished. It was made of silver, and the polished hood which sheltered the flame from one side not only enhanced the light but also reduced the flickering and, of course, shed the light only in one direction. If I kept the mouth of the hood turned away from Hillman’s bed, it wouldn’t easily disturb him, but it would illumine my task all the better.
Like shadows we moved through the house, through the passages to the room where Hillman slept. His door was closed, but when I tried it, it was unbolted, as Brockley had anticipated. It opened noiselessly.
The room within was dark. Softly, taking the candle from Brockley, I edged the door a little wider and we crept in. Hillman had drawn his bed curtains only partially, but he was in a deep sleep. We could hear his even breathing and a faint, rhythmic snore. Brockley touched my arm and then pointed. I made out the saddlebags beside the bed.
Brockley stayed near the door, in shadow. I stole to the saddlebags, set my light down on the floor, turned to cast its light on the bags, and very very carefully, began to undo the buckled straps of the nearest compartment.
I was trembling and I could hear my heart pounding in my chest. To my utter relief, I struck treasure at the first attempt. My fingers found a velvet bag with, surely, papers inside. Slowly I drew it out, loosed the drawstring, and removed the contents. Yes. Letters, two of them, apparently, rolled into cylinders and sealed.
Noiselessly, I picked up the candlestick, rose, and tiptoed out of the room. Brockley came with me. A moment later we were outside and had closed the door after us; within five more minutes we were in my bedchamber again, where Dale and Gladys awaited us. In the candlelight, their eyes were enormous.
“I think we’ve got them,” I said. “We’ll have to return them presently—but first, let’s have a look.”
I had been prepared, albeit nervously, to cope as best I could with seals. With the aid of a sharp knife heated in a candle flame, a seal can be cut free if one is deft enough, and even replaced afterward, using a little more melted wax. It’s a delicate business, though. I was thankful to discover that although the letters in Hillman’s care had wax seals on them, Ridolfi, this time, had decided to keep his authorship secret. He hadn’t stamped his device into the wax. The seals could be removed and replaced very easily.
When we had opened our booty, we found that although there seemed to be only two letters, one was rather thick, and when we unrolled it, there were three missives inside, folded together. We spread all four letters out. Then we came to a halt. There was nothing that we could read. The text in every case consisted of an incomprehensible jumble of figures. All the writing was in cipher.
“We meant to copy them,” said Brockley. “Do we copy these?”
“Yes,” I said.
It was difficult work. The accurate copying of meaningless lines of figures, or even letters, is far more difficult than copying words that make sense, and candlelight doesn’t help. Mercifully, none of the messages were long. Brockley, who had had some education as a boy and wrote a neat hand, did two and I did two, working slowly and checking each line as we went, for avoiding mistakes was vital. Errors might make it impossible ever to break the cipher.
When at last the work was done, I rubbed my sore eyes and folded the copies away in one of my hidden pouches. I rolled the originals up as before, putting on fresh seals. “Now,” I said. “I’ll get them back.”
“No, madam,” said Brockley. “I will. Tell me how to make sure they go back into the right compartments of the saddlebags.”
“The one I took them from is the nearest when you crouch where I did, and I left it unbuckled,” I said. “The other buckles are all still done up—I never touched them. But . . . ”
“No, madam! I’ll take the risk this time. I shouldn’t have let you do it the first time. I died a thousand deaths, waiting there for you. This time, you stay here.”
“But if you’re caught . . . ”
“I’ve been paid by Cecil, but you know nothing about it. Leave this to me,” said Brockley.
He took the letters and the hooded candle and went out. I waited with my heart now thudding so anxiously that it was a wonder it didn’t shake the walls and bring people running to find out what that strange, dull thumping could be. But in only a few minutes, he was sliding back into the room, with his rare smile glinting. “It’s done. He’s still fast asleep.”
I passed a hand over my brows, where a very real pulse of pain had begun. “Thank you, Brockley. Thank you.”
Gladys cleared her throat. “You’re getting one of your bad heads, mistress. I can see it coming on. I’ve got some of the herbs here that I use to put you right, and some fresh chamomile and feverfew that I got from the herb garden here only today. Fresh-picked is always best if you can get it. I’ll make you a tisane afore you go to your bed.”
“Gladys, you must need rest yourself.”
“Not till I’ve done this for you, mistress,” said Gladys with determination.
I was glad of her medicine, because by the time it was ready, the pain was growing ominous. It eased, however, when I finally lay down and when I woke in the morning, though I was still short of sleep, my head was clear and such sleep as I had enjoyed had been sound and peaceful.
The same, however, could not be said of George Hillman.
16
A Friend in Need
“You are ready for your journey? You slept well, I trust?” said Ridolfi casually to Hillman over our breakfast chops.
Or perhaps not so casually, because Hillman looked odd; he kept rubbing his eyes and shaking his head as if to clear his vision, and he had a puzzled expression.
“I slept,” said Hillman with emphasis on the second word, “but I had the maddest dreams. It was like being delirious. I was setting out on my journey and riding my horse through the sky, and there were red and purple clouds all round me; then I thought I was in my bed and awake, but there were elfin lights bobbing about as though a league of fairies were wandering through my room; then I was plunging out of the window and soaring up to go head over heels among the stars. When I woke this morning I thought I must have started a fever in the night, but I don’t feel ill and my skin’s cool enough. Extraordinary.”
Fran Dale, who was breakfasting at the same time, glanced anxiously first at Hillman and then at me. I cleared my throat and remarked that everyone had a bad night or a few wild dreams sometimes.
“I daresay, but these . . . !” Hillman sounded aggrieved, as though his strange night had been a personal affront. I don’t believe in goblins and I’ve had to spend the whole night with them, said his tone. He was a very normal young man.
I hoped that my face didn’t reflect the way my stomach had turned over when Hillman mentioned lights near his bed. He must, I thought in horror, have come half awake at some point when either I or Brockley was in his room, groping in his saddlebags!
“You are sure you are in good health now?” Ridolfi said to Hillman. “If not . . . ”
“In perfect health, I thank you, sir. I have already asked that my horse be saddled and brought round for me as soon as I finish breaking my fast.”
His appetite was clearly undamaged, but he finished eating before anyone else, and left the room in haste. Madame Ridolfi was as usual taking a tray in her bedchamber. I murmured to Dale that she was to summon Brockley and Gladys to my room and very soon, I and my coconspirators were once more gathered together, and I was telling those who hadn’t hear
d, what Hillman had said about his strange experiences last night. “How much did you give him?” I said to Gladys.
“Enough, look you,” said Gladys sulkily. “I only just give him enough from the sound of it. I reckon he almost woke up!”
“Yes, I think he did,” I said with feeling. Dale eyed me with concern. “You’re upset, ma’am,” she said. “I can see it.”
“I think we were on the edge of disaster last night,” I said. “And now I’m tired but somehow, I’ve got to get away from Madame Ridolfi today and take those transcripts to Cecil. He has codebreakers on his staff. I’m very anxious to get the transcripts out of my hands and into his. I won’t feel safe until that’s done.”
“Safe, madam?” Brockley asked.
I sat down on the edge of my bed and nodded. As I did so, a fresh shaft of pain went through my left temple. A migraine attack might be looming after all, it seemed. “Do you forget what happened to Gale?” I said. “And Walt . . . I’ll never forget poor Walt, as long as I live. We’re dealing with people who not only do murder, Brockley, but who do it in hatred.”
“Ma’am . . . ” Dale’s blue eyes were bulging and her pockmarks were suddenly very noticeable. As always, when she was frightened.
“I know, Dale. You want to get out of this tangle. So do I, for all our sakes and our safety, as well. If once I get those letters to Cecil, I think he’ll agree that I can discover that I’m urgently wanted at home. Then we’ll be off as quick as we can.”
“I can take the letters to Cecil, madam,” Brockley said.
“Thank you, Brockley, but . . . ” I looked at the little hearth, which someone had raked out while we were at breakfast, and where kindling was laid for a new fire. “Gladys, will you light that fire, please, and make me another potion against headaches. Dale, please tell Madame Ridolfi that again I am not well, and intend to rest this morning until I feel better and may then walk a little in the open air. I know she wishes to shop, but she can do that now without my help! When she’s left the house, I’ll go to Cecil. I’d rather not ask you to go, Brockley. No one knows we have those transcripts, but they’re still dangerous things to be carrying.”
The Siren Queen: An Ursula Blanchard Mystery at Queen Elizabeth I's Page 15
