Queen's Bounty

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  ‘I know. The Cobbolds are friends of yours, and they have a long-standing quarrel with the Ferris family,’ said Cecil. ‘Dr Fletcher informed me of that some time ago.’

  ‘A ridiculous situation,’ said Hugh, ‘that has hardened over the generations, and no one on either side has had the good sense to shout stop. Ferris tried to pretend that his son, who is in love with Christina, had paid my wife to make the draught for her and that it was a love potion. But there are people here who can testify to its harmless ingredients and its innocent purpose. And love potions aren’t illegal, anyway.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ said Cecil, ‘a complaint has been laid, with Sir Edward Heron, the Sheriff of Surrey. He got in touch with me at once. He is aware of your importance to the court, Ursula – and of your link with the queen. He is therefore hesitant about taking action against you. But the complaint isn’t a mere matter of a love potion. It claims that you have caused death by witchcraft.’

  ‘It claims – what?’ I said blankly. ‘What death? Whose?’

  ‘There were the two deaths here, from smallpox,’ said Cecil. ‘And others have suffered the same disease, to the peril of their lives. One of them, according to Dr Fletcher, is Christina Cobbold. She is recovering, but her life was in danger for a time and she will be scarred.’

  ‘But . . . people are always catching smallpox,’ I protested. There was a cold, hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. I tried to cling to common sense. ‘What has witchcraft to do with it? Do you mean that Walter Ferris is accusing me . . .? But he wouldn’t care a straw if Christina Cobbold had died, and he’s probably delighted that she’s going to be marked. It may cool his son’s ardour!’

  ‘Ferris isn’t the one who laid the complaint,’ said Cecil. ‘That was Christina’s mother, Jane Cobbold.’

  ‘Jane Cobbold . . .! Look, Jane doesn’t like Ursula particularly.’ Hugh looked uncomfortable. ‘When we were first married, the Cobbolds invited us to dine, and while Jane was showing Ursula round their garden, Anthony asked me how we’d met. I let out to him that Ursula had been on a mission for the queen at the time, one that brought her into danger. I was proud of you, Ursula. You were – you are – a loyal subject of the queen, and a courageous one. But I suppose Anthony told Jane what I’d said, and gradually, I realized that Jane, well, has attitudes that are different from mine.’

  ‘She can’t understand me,’ I said. ‘I think she believes that ladies shouldn’t mix themselves up in political affairs, let alone dangerous ones. I fancy she feels I could be – perhaps am – an unhealthy influence where Christina is concerned! But that doesn’t explain this!’

  ‘Indeed it doesn’t!’ said Hugh. ‘You have always been courteous to Jane and careful not to interfere in any way with Christina’s ideas. You’ve never done anything to provoke Jane Cobbold into such extremes.’

  I had never heard Hugh sound so nonplussed.

  ‘With the Cobbolds and the Ferrises at daggers drawn as they are,’ he said, ‘the mere fact that Walter made such a threat ought to make the Cobbolds not want to make it. If you follow me.’

  ‘Mistress Jane Cobbold is angry, just the same,’ Cecil said. ‘The gravamen of the accusation is that you, Ursula, together with a known witch, Gladys Morgan, who lives in this house, created the outbreak of smallpox by using witchcraft to conjure it up. As I said, Sir Edward Heron is hesitating. It’s a serious charge, of a kind he usually pursues all too eagerly, but it’s quite true that smallpox is one of life’s natural hazards. He knows that. I understand, in fact, that Walter Ferris’s daughter died of it recently, in Hampshire.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I heard about that when I interrupted a secret assignation that Thomas had with Christina. Ferris bellowed about their meeting when he burst in on us, so I take it that Dr Fletcher has told you about it.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Cecil. ‘He did.’

  ‘I disturbed the two of them in the garden,’ I said. ‘I ordered Thomas to leave and I took Christina back indoors, but before I did that, they insisting on telling me about Thomas’s sister. It seems that he sought Christina out for the sake of comfort. His own family weren’t offering him much. Thomas said his father was still at his sister’s home then, helping with funeral arrangements.’

  ‘Quite. You can hardly be linked with that death. It was clearly natural, and that’s one of the things that has made Heron pause to think,’ Cecil said. ‘But there are the other cases, which seemed to originate here, and also one of the wedding guests, Meg’s uncle, Ambrose Blanchard, has died suddenly, of an apoplexy. It seems that Mistress Cobbold knew of that and spoke of it to Sir Edward.’

  ‘How did she know?’ I demanded.

  ‘I can’t tell you that, but it’s a fact. It’s one more death that could be put down to sorcery.’

  ‘Oh, really!’ I spluttered.

  ‘Sir Edward does, passionately, consider that witchcraft should be illegal in all its forms, not only when used for harmful purposes,’ Cecil said. ‘He values his position, and he doesn’t want to get into bad odour with me or the queen, but nevertheless, Mistress Cobbold’s accusation is one he might well decide to pursue if he has any further excuse.’

  ‘He has no excuse at all!’ said Hugh angrily. ‘Ferris’s charge about the love potion is absurd, and I don’t call either an outbreak of smallpox or the death, in hot weather, of a hard-drinking man from apoplexy very convincing evidence!’

  ‘Nor do I,’ said Cecil. ‘But I think, Ursula, that you should be on your guard from now on. If I didn’t feel that so strongly, I wouldn’t be here now. Tell me, has Gladys Morgan done anything of late that could bring her within the grip of the law? The queen pardoned her once, but a pardon isn’t a declaration of innocence. Gladys Morgan is still a convicted sorceress.’

  ‘Gladys has behaved perfectly since her reprieve,’ said Hugh. ‘She has done nothing – nothing – that could possibly be a reason for raking up the past.’

  ‘She hasn’t annoyed a local physician by prescribing for his patients and jeering at his remedies?’ asked Cecil, who knew all the details of the charge which had once nearly brought Gladys to the gallows. ‘Or cursed anyone? If she has dosed or cursed anyone who has since died, a new charge could be brought against her, to strengthen the one against you, Ursula. You have been her champion. That could force Heron to act.’

  I thought about the hair-raising curses Gladys had hurled at people in the past and shuddered. ‘Since we brought her home, she hasn’t done either of those things,’ I said. ‘Or anything else.’

  ‘Then I should think,’ said Cecil, ‘that any enquiry would fall very flat, even if Heron were to set one in hand. I have recommended him to say as much to Mistress Cobbold and explain to her carefully that, for that reason, he can’t justify an enquiry. But I repeat, I urge caution on you. I feel there is ill will here, directed against you, Ursula.’

  I shook my head in puzzlement. ‘I think so too, but I can’t understand it. Neither Hugh nor I have any quarrel with either the Ferrises or the Cobbolds. Christina Cobbold and Thomas Ferris did manage to meet while Christina was here, but that can’t be behind all this mysterious animus.’ I told him about Dorothy Beale’s confession. ‘She came here before Christina and Thomas had their secret tryst. It’s like a sum that won’t add up straight.’

  Cecil sighed and shifted what was obviously a painful left leg. ‘I can’t offer you an explanation. I came to tell you the facts so that you would be prepared, if after all anything did come of this attempt to blacken your name, Ursula. You see, if there is a serious purpose behind it . . . and I have to say that I smell one . . . then if this attempt fails, there could be another.’

  I looked at Hugh, and he at me. He shrugged helplessly. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘that it is time to dine.’ He looked at Cecil. ‘We hope that the outbreak of disease is over but . . . you have had the pox?’

  ‘When I was three. I brought no one with me who has not had it. I fancy we can dine here with impunity.’

/>   ‘You will be welcome,’ I said, unhappily but graciously. This time, Cecil really did have my well-being at heart. I could not accuse him of ruthlessness now.

  Cecil left after dinner. Afterwards, we told Sybil and the Brockleys – all of whom were agog with wondering why he had come – all that had passed between us. I didn’t know what to say to Gladys. The news couldn’t be hidden from her since it included a warning that she should be careful. But how on earth I was to explain that her questionable past now posed a threat to me? It would be like hitting her. Gladys was old. Her brush with the gallows had terrified her, and she had grown frailer in recent months. I quailed, imagining the hurt I would see in her eyes.

  Brockley, who disliked her but had brought her into the household in the first place, said he would undertake to tell her and would do so in the morning. ‘You should go out on Roundel to enjoy some fresh summer air while I do so, madam, and let the wind blow away your worries.’

  I took his advice, but although the outing was pleasant, I came back as full of anxiety and bewilderment as ever. Hugh was in his study, playing chess with himself, and I too felt the need to occupy my mind with something intellectually demanding; something that would compel me to think about subjects less emotionally upsetting than Edward Heron, Ferris, Cobbolds and witchcraft.

  Until three months before her wedding, Meg had had a tutor, and I had often shared her studies, as I had a liking for Latin and Greek, a taste I shared with my royal sister. I got out my copy of Homer’s Odyssey and took it to the small parlour, where I sat down to read it. It was a better distraction than needlework. But I was not left quiet for long. Hugh appeared almost as soon as I had settled myself, and behind him trooped the Brockleys, Sybil Jester and Gladys, in a solemn deputation.

  ‘What is it?’ I said, alarmed.

  I was addressing Hugh, but it was Gladys who answered, speaking out of turn as was her wont. ‘I bin that upset. Didn’t close an eye last night for fretting, I didn’t. To think of you, Mistress Stannard, being accused of witchy doings, just because of being kind to me. Lot of nonsense, that’s what it is, and I’d curse them as did it, except I promised meself I wouldn’t curse anyone any more, not after what happened to me. But I’d like to! Accusing you of a thing like that . . .!’

  ‘All right, Gladys,’ said Hugh. ‘We all feel the same. But no one’s blaming you. There’s nothing against you now, and we’re going to protect you, just as we always have. It’s right that you should be here in this room now, because you have been dragged into this, but what we’re here for, Ursula, is something different. Sybil has had an idea. She told Fran Dale and Brockley here, and they came to me with it – Gladys seems to have joined them in mid-progress – and I said, at once, we must bring it to you.’

  He said mid-progress with a smile, trying to make a joke of it, as though the four of them, walking to his study, were the equivalent of one of Queen Elizabeth’s annual tours of her realm, but it didn’t quite work. The situation was too serious for that.

  ‘Sybil has an idea?’ I said. ‘What kind of idea?’

  Hugh, with a gesture, invited everyone to sit, and they all disposed themselves on the window seat and the settles. Then he nodded to Sybil, who said: ‘I didn’t sleep much last night, any more than Gladys. And a thought came to me. It’s so strange, Walter Ferris sending Dorothy to spy on you, and then coming here to attack you as he did, all for no reason that anyone can see; and now Jane Cobbold is being nearly as bad. Didn’t you tell us, Mistress Stannard, that Cecil himself said there must be something behind all this? And then I remembered that letter from the Netherlands. From Anne Percy, the Countess of Northumberland, who is now in exile. You told me about it, if you remember, Mistress Stannard.’

  ‘Yes. So I did. But what . . .?’

  ‘Maybe she’s the source,’ said Sybil. ‘Maybe Anne Percy, that we all thought couldn’t possibly harm you, has managed it after all.’

  ‘Anne Percy,’ I said slowly. ‘Sir William didn’t mention her, and nor did we.’ He probably didn’t know about her letter, I thought, since I was sure that the busy Dr Fletcher didn’t.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Sybil, ‘it all stems from her.’

  NINE

  Out of Nowhere

  ‘If you remember, madam,’ said Brockley, ‘I wondered the same thing, when I had that narrow escape from being arrested for theft.’

  ‘Yes.’ I looked at Sybil. ‘Now that you’ve said it, it seems obvious.’

  It did. It was as though some obtrusive animal, such as a dancing bear, had been wandering round the house and till now been unaccountably ignored.

  And yet . . .

  ‘I can’t see how,’ I said. ‘I mean, I can’t see how she could reach out from the Netherlands and be responsible for the things that Ferris and Jane Cobbold have done.’

  ‘Nor can I,’ Hugh said. ‘And I am not one to imagine connections where no connections are. But there has been quite a succession of incidents, beginning with you, Brockley. That necklace could have got into your saddlebag through carelessness on someone’s part but . . .’

  ‘Anne Percy’s letter threatened me, as well as the mistress,’ Brockley said. ‘I feel it was lucky for me that I found the little stranger in time.’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Hugh said. ‘And – well, here is something else that most of you don’t know. I’m wondering now if it’s part of the same pattern. When we visited Mrs Ward and Mrs Seldon in Woking, I discovered a book in their house – a book about sorcery. They were, I think, truly shocked to find it there, and were grateful to me for burning it, which I did, in their kitchen fire. They have not wanted to welcome Walter Ferris to their house since that disgraceful exhibition here, but he used to call on them, and it was apparently his idea that they should invite us to their house.’

  ‘Do you mean,’ I said, feeling my way, ‘that he could have put the book there himself? And then tried to . . . to encourage the friendship between us . . . so that if the book were discovered . . .’

  ‘If they were accused of witchcraft,’ said Hugh, ‘their associates might come under suspicion, too. Probably would, in Heron’s eyes. Ferris would only have to lay a complaint against the two ladies, to start Heron off. Heron is apparently doubtful about proceeding against you, Ursula. But if evidence – such as friendship with a pair of witches – should come to light, he might do so. It’s similar to your necklace episode, Brockley. You had a piece of jewellery planted on you; the ladies Ward and Seldon had a book of sorcery planted on them.’

  ‘But where can Anne Percy come in?’ I said.

  ‘I know.’ Hugh frowned. ‘A piece of the pattern is missing. If there’s a link between the former Countess of Northumberland and the Ferrises, then what is it? Though there is one thing. The Ferrises are Catholic, just as she is. It was a Catholic rising that you, Ursula, helped to defeat.’

  ‘The Cobbolds aren’t Catholics,’ I said. ‘They wouldn’t lift a finger to oblige Anne Percy any more than they would to oblige a Ferris! So how on earth can Jane Cobbold come into it? She can’t be in any kind of partnership with Ferris! I really think that if a Cobbold saw a Ferris – any Ferris – drowning in a river, he or she would just stand and watch. And vice versa.’

  ‘I know,’ Sybil said quietly. ‘I said all those things to myself during the night. But if we are ever to find out what lies behind this . . . this persecution . . . we must start somewhere. I can’t shake off the feeling that Anne Percy is the hidden cause. How the Cobbolds come to be caught up in it, I can’t guess, but perhaps we’ll find out if we probe.’

  Fran Dale, sitting in the corner of a settle, said: ‘It’s all dreadful. I can’t abide such things. We all thought life was going to be just peaceful for the future, with nothing more to be afraid of. We’ve had so many frightening times in the past. And now this!’

  ‘I feel the same,’ I said. ‘But how can we find out if there is any link between the Ferrises and Anne Percy? Apart from their religion, I mean?’

/>   ‘Cecil would know,’ said Hugh. ‘Sybil, I wish you’d thought of this before he left! We could have asked him. His records probably include family trees for all the great families in the land and details of their properties and their tenants and their friends. He could have looked it all up by now, and his answer could be on its way to us this very minute!’

  ‘It’s only twelve miles or so to Hampton Court,’ I said. ‘Brockley and I could set off to find him, this very day. If the court is still at Hampton, we can be back by nightfall, and if the court’s moved on and he’s gone with it, well, we’ll just have to chase him until we catch up. We’d better prepare to be away for at least one night . . .’

  ‘Easy, easy,’ Hugh said. ‘Tomorrow will do. I think we should put our question in writing. You never know; you might not be able to speak to him immediately – he could be caught up in council meetings or attending on the queen. He’s a busy man. But a letter could be taken to him, and I expect he’d find a moment to read it and ask someone to look up the details we want. Yes, tomorrow will have to do. We have to write the letter first!’

  Writing it was more difficult than either Hugh or I expected. Since Cecil knew nothing of Anne Percy’s threats, they had to be explained, and he might well think he should have been told at once; that if the former Countess of Northumberland were trying to injure one of Queen Elizabeth’s subjects (let alone relatives) in Queen Elizabeth’s very realm, it shouldn’t be hidden either from him or from Elizabeth.

  We had therefore to express ourselves tactfully, to explain that we hadn’t taken Anne Percy’s threats seriously because we couldn’t see how, living on what was probably a none too generous pension in the Netherlands, she could possibly attack us. But in view of recent events, we were beginning to think we might have been mistaken, and therefore, we would like to know . . .