Queen's Bounty

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  Sybil certainly had courage. In her place, I would never have dared to speak up like that. But it didn’t help her.

  ‘She’s making excuses. Trying to say she wasn’t committing a crime!’ Maine shook his captive’s arm again, and I could see that his pudgy fingers were clutching so tightly that he must have been hurting her a lot. And probably knew it.

  I was upset, and bewildered too. I had taken to Sybil so strongly. I couldn’t believe she was either a thief or a witch.

  ‘She has certainly committed a crime!’ Mistress Ferris spoke up. ‘Breaking into a document box, reading other people’s letters . . .’

  ‘Quite. But the cellar’s not the best place; I keep my good wine down there. She might break into that as well!’ There was a mocking humour in Master Ferris’s voice. ‘Take her to one of the unused attic rooms and lock her in. There’s an empty one next to the west tower; that’ll do. Maine, see that someone reliable is on guard outside her door. And send for Sir Edward Heron. Say the charges concern spying, forcing locks, possible intended theft, and association with witches.’

  ‘I’ve stolen nothing, and I’ve never had to do with witches!’ Sybil shouted. She was getting panicky. She cried out: ‘Please, for the love of God, will someone let the Stannards know what’s happened? I’m here on their behalf; please tell them!’

  ‘You want to inform them because they have influence in high places!’ Master Ferris thumped his fist on the inglenook wall. ‘We all know they saved that witch Gladys Morgan from the rope! You expect them to mount a rescue for you! We will not send word to them. Take her away!’

  No one seemed to have noticed us at all. Thomas pulled me backwards out of the door, and we took ourselves out of sight, into a parlour, while Sybil was being marched upstairs. The parlour was chilly, with no fire, and we didn’t sit down but stood staring uncertainly at each other.

  ‘What now?’ I said. ‘Thomas, you can’t talk to your parents about . . . about . . . Well, not today, when they’re already so angry.’

  ‘No, I can’t,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll have to wait.’

  ‘I think they were wrong not to let the Stannards know,’ I said doubtfully. ‘They’ll find out in time, of course, but if Sybil is being employed by them, they do have a sort of right to be told about this.’

  ‘Sybil?’ Thomas frowned. ‘Why are you worried about her? Or the Stannards?’

  ‘I like her,’ I told him. ‘I don’t think she’s dishonest . . . or a witch, either. Thomas, couldn’t you get word to Hawkswood?’

  ‘No, I could not. Why should I?’ said Thomas resentfully. ‘Christina was at the Stannards’ house, Hawkswood, when the daughter of the house was married, and I went there to meet her. Mistress Stannard caught us and hauled Christina away. She’s against us, just like my parents. Why should I do anything to please the Stannards?’

  ‘I suppose Mistress Stannard felt she was doing right,’ I said timidly. ‘If you weren’t supposed to meet, and she knew that and then came on you, on Stannard land . . . She’d feel responsible.’

  ‘And children must always obey their parents, no matter how unreasonable their parents may be, and good little girls like Margaret Emory always keep the rules.’ His voice was mocking. He had never spoken to me like that before.

  I didn’t answer.

  ‘If I’m forced into marrying you after all,’ he said savagely, ‘then will I spend my whole life hearing your prim little voice explaining the difference between right and wrong? Will I have to put up with you for ever as a living, breathing conscience, always at my side? What a bitter reminder that will be, of how I failed myself and Christina!’

  And then I became angry, just as I started to do when his mother made remarks about my appearance and looked at my teeth. I felt my spine stiffen. My head went back. ‘We’re not married yet, and I don’t have to do what you say,’ I said to him. ‘And I don’t want to marry you any more than you want to marry me. I like Sybil. I think word should go to the Stannards.’ I drew in a deep breath, and then, because he had been rude, had hurt and angered me, and because I truly thought he was wrong, and because, after all, no one had told me not to, I said: ‘If you won’t take the news to them, then I will.’

  I turned from him and ran. I still marvel at myself. I’ve never done such an outrageous thing before, in all of my life. I’ve never acted on my own judgement without deferring to anyone else’s, never shouldered responsibility alone, never defied any prohibition, even one that hasn’t actually been spoken. No one had forbidden me to take Sybil’s message, but only because no one had dreamed that I might want to. At heart, I knew that. But somehow this time was different; somehow, all of a sudden, I’d become different. No one said I couldn’t, I told myself, and I clutched at the excuse, as though it were a coat of mail, and . . . ran.

  I was still in my cloak and hat; I had no need to fetch any outdoor things. I didn’t take Blue. A groom might have wanted to come with me, or asked if I had permission to go out alone. I couldn’t be sure of anyone in this house. I didn’t yet know what rules I would be expected to keep, and I didn’t intend to ask. I did know that all of a sudden I hated White Towers, hated everyone who lived there. I had been looked over as though I were a horse for sale and was to be pushed into bed with a man who didn’t want me there and had just made it clear in a cruelly unkind manner. I was going to enjoy defying them all.

  So out I raced. I think most of the household was otherwise occupied by this time, aware of the drama and either chattering excitedly in the kitchen or upstairs helping to get Sybil locked up. No one saw me go except Thomas, and he didn’t try to stop me. I went out by the front door but not by the main gate because I’d have had to pass the gatekeeper’s lodge, and for all I knew he’d ask questions. I ran through the gardens and the patch of woodland that’s inside the grounds, and got out through a little door in the boundary fence that I know about. It’s always bolted, but on the inside. I could open it easily. Once outside, I made for Hawkswood, walking and running alternately. It was five miles, but I knew I’d get here in little more than an hour.

  I was very afraid that Thomas would come after me to drag me back, or send someone else to do it. But he didn’t. Thomas is good-hearted, really.

  I think he was horrid to me only because he has done this strange thing called falling in love. But meanwhile, what I’ve come to say is: Sybil has been caught reading Master Ferris’s private letters and is going to be charged with all sorts of awful things, and I thought you ought to know, and can you help her? I really did take to Sybil.

  THIRTEEN

  Wild Geese

  We gave Margaret some wine, but she refused food and would barely stay long enough to drain her glass. ‘I have to go back,’ she kept saying. ‘I don’t want to; I detest the very thought of White Towers, but I have no choice. If I get back quickly, then perhaps they won’t realize how long I’ve been gone. If only Thomas hasn’t told them!’

  Then she almost broke down. ‘I don’t know what to do about Thomas! I can’t marry him! I’ve seen him with Christina, and I don’t want to spend my life with a man who wants someone else. He’ll hate me. But they’ll make us marry; his parents will! What will that mean for me, in all the years to come? Oh, I’m sorry, I know you can’t do anything about that. I know I have to go back, whatever happens, and I must go now!’

  Brockley took her, not on a pillion but perched straddle behind him on Mealy, with her skirts bunched. That way, the horse could go faster. They went off at a canter. We had told Brockley to put her down in the woods before they were in sight of the house so that she could go in on foot and say that she had been walking in the fresh air because she was upset about Sybil. We could only share her hope that Thomas hadn’t told on her.

  ‘And take saddlebags,’ Hugh said when instructing Brockley. ‘Because, after you’ve put Margaret down, you’d better go to Priors Ford and collect that child Tessie.’

  Brockley was back quite soon, with Tessie clinging on
behind him and saddlebags bulging with the belongings she and Sybil had taken with them. I went out to meet them.

  ‘I was that happy to see Master Brockley, come to bring me back,’ said Tessie shyly. ‘I wouldn’t have known what to do, left all alone in them lodgings with no word from my mistress!’

  ‘We will decide what to do; don’t fret,’ I said. ‘You go and tidy yourself, and then I expect there’ll be things to do in the kitchen.’ She scurried away, and I thought that if we went on treating her well, she might one day become less nervous and might even become pretty and have a chance to make a decent marriage. I hoped so. I wanted to help her. I know what it’s like to be brought up by people who don’t want you.

  Meanwhile, we had Sybil to worry about.

  ‘What next?’ I said to Hugh. ‘What do we do? What can we do?’

  ‘I think,’ said Hugh grimly, ‘that I must now pay that call on the Ferrises and hope I’ll be let in. I won’t involve Margaret, but I can reasonably say I want an explanation of Master Ferris’s incredible behaviour at Meg’s wedding and see if the fish rises. It ought to, seeing that they now know we sent Sybil there – or more or less. Short of locking her up ourselves, we couldn’t have stopped her.’

  ‘I doubt if they’ll appreciate the difference,’ I said gloomily.

  ‘Maybe not, but they’ll probably enjoy telling me that they have made Sybil a prisoner, and then, once I know officially – from them – that she’s in their hands, I can try to get her out. I’ll be there as an injured party, after all. I’ll take my stand on that. I have a position in this county, and I don’t think Ferris will risk laying hands on me. Ursula, I have to try. Besides, we want to know if Sybil found anything useful before she was caught. To do that, one of us needs to speak with her. I’ll go at once.’

  He was back before dinner. The day, which had started off cool and damp, had turned bitter, with a cutting east wind. Hugh had a fur-lined cloak and fur gloves, and had travelled in his coach, but when he returned his face was pinched with cold and his mouth was set.

  ‘The fish rose, right enough,’ he said. Once more, we had gathered our inner circle of the Brockleys and also Gladys. She was involved now and could not be left out. We were in the study, where I’d had a fire lit. Hugh sat down beside it, holding his hands to the warmth.

  ‘I was let in,’ he said. ‘There was no trouble over that. But my welcome was chilly from the start, in every sense of the word. Raised eyebrows from that steward Peter Maine – some of this east wind would do that pale face of his good – and Mistress Bridget saying in oh such a cool, well-bred voice that she must ask her husband if he would receive me. I was left to wait for half an hour in a freezing cold parlour, and then in came Walter Ferris, looking as plain and ordinary as he always does but in a bad temper. He said he wondered I had the impertinence to enter his house.’

  ‘Impertinence! He’s a fine one to talk!’ Gladys snorted.

  ‘I agree,’ Hugh said dryly. ‘I said to him that it had been fairly impertinent of him to intrude on Meg’s wedding feast. Then I started to ask him his reasons for what amounted to an attack on my family, but he cut me short and said that he was aware that I had introduced a spy into his house. He told me, triumphantly, that he had her under lock and key.’

  ‘He meant Sybil?’ I asked.

  Dale, with a shudder, said: ‘Poor Mistress Jester.’

  ‘Yes, he meant Sybil,’ Hugh said. ‘Well, at least I didn’t have to drag her into the conversation by a back door, as it were. I’d been wondering how to do that, if it came to it. I said yes, Sybil had gone to White Towers on our behalf, though not at our behest, in search of something that would explain his incomprehensible behaviour. She had done it out of loyalty to us, I said, and could I please speak to her. Ferris said no, I couldn’t. I told him I was horrified to learn that she was locked up!’

  He paused, his mouth set more grimly than ever. ‘And then,’ he said at length, ‘he told me that a messenger had already gone to the sheriff, carrying an accusation against Sybil, of intended thievery and also of association with sorcery. Edward Heron has sent word back that he will come in person to White Towers tomorrow. No one mentioned Margaret, so I think Thomas has held his tongue.’

  ‘That’s a mercy, at any rate,’ I said.

  ‘I tried my hardest to get Sybil released.’ Hugh passed a hand over his hair. When I had first met him, his brown hair had been turning grey; now it was all grey and becoming scanty. ‘I told him,’ he said, ‘that she was an honest woman and certainly was neither a thief nor a witch. I said I had every right to know the reason behind his campaign against my household, that my family and his had been good neighbours for generations and I had found his behaviour unbelievable. I said we had worried about Sybil and that, yes, I had come partly in search of her. Do you know, I had the impression that he doesn’t really believe in his own accusations against her? It’s hard to say why – a tone of voice, an expression crossing his face; it was no more than that. But it was still an impression, and a strong one. Ursula, I’m sorry but . . . I think his real motive is that, for some reason, he simply wants to harm her.’

  ‘But why? Sybil didn’t help to defeat Mary Stuart’s ambitions, or throw pepper at Anne Percy and arrange for her to lose her footing in her own kitchen and end up sitting on the floor with pottage all over her!’ I said.

  ‘No,’ said Brockley. ‘But she is your friend, isn’t she, madam? To harm her is to hurt you. Just as you would have been hurt if Mistress Meg or her husband had caught smallpox.’

  Hugh said tiredly: ‘I am truly sorry, Ursula, but in the end, I had to leave, having had no success. I could feel Ferris’s smile like a knife in my back as I drove away. Sybil is still there, God help her, and I never as much as glimpsed her.’

  ‘But . . .’ said Dale, and then stopped.

  I turned to her. ‘Go on.’

  Dale was often a little diffident in Hugh’s presence. But he looked at her encouragingly, and she said: ‘I mean . . . she could still be charged, couldn’t she? Wherever she was – there or here. Maybe it won’t make much difference to her.’

  ‘In this house, she wouldn’t be locked up,’ Hugh said. ‘And if anyone came for her, we could make it clear that we were standing by her.’

  Brockley said: ‘I wonder if Master Ferris is any good with a crossbow?’

  Hugh said: ‘He does archery for sport, crossbow and longbow. He has a set of targets in his grounds. I could see them from the windows of that parlour.’

  Brockley made a noise like a growl. ‘And we do need to talk to her, to ask her if she found anything useful,’ he said.

  ‘But none of this,’ I said, ‘is the real point. The real point is that we can’t leave Sybil in Ferris’s hands. At least, I can’t. I can’t bear the thought of it. She put herself at risk for us, and I refuse to abandon her.’

  ‘But how can we get to her?’ said Dale.

  Gladys emitted one of her dreadful cackles. ‘Mistress Stannard’s got it in mind to go adventuring again. I knows the signs!’

  I said: ‘I know the layout of White Towers. Bridget Ferris showed me round the place, the time we dined there. Margaret said they had put Sybil in an attic room just below the west tower. I think I know where she means. It’s got a dormer window. Let me think. All the attic rooms looked the same way if I remember rightly. The other side of the attic floor is a passage. That has windows too, and I remember the midday sun pouring in. So the passage side looks south and the attic rooms must face north.’

  ‘But how can you get into White Towers? They wouldn’t let you in, surely? Or they might lock you up as well as Sybil and not let you out,’ protested Dale.

  ‘I wouldn’t have to get into the house, exactly,’ I said. ‘I could go at night, and I think I could reach that attic window from outside. That floor isn’t as wide as the rest of the house. It stands on a level roof, so to speak, and Bridget walked us all round it. The outer walls are low, with ornamental crene
llations – like battlements, but not proper ones. The towers have doors opening on to it, though they wouldn’t be any use to me, of course. I’d have to come in through those imitation battlements. I’d need a good long ladder. I’d have to break the window of the right attic and get Sybil out.’

  ‘Getting over the boundary fence would need a ladder anyway,’ said Brockley. ‘I’ve seen the fence often enough from the outside. It’s stout and high all the way round. But you can’t go swarming over fences and battlements, madam, even fancy battlements. If anyone does such a crazy thing, it had better be me. If Ferris catches me, I would at least have the chance of a word with him about Brown Berry. Or maybe not just a word.’

  ‘Brockley, it really won’t help if you murder Ferris for Berry’s sake!’ I protested. ‘Or even if you just injure him! You’d end up arrested for assault as well as housebreaking. That wouldn’t help Sybil. It’s my task. If Heron is coming tomorrow, I’ll have to go tonight.’

  ‘You can’t!’ Brockley expostulated. ‘Master Stannard, only you can forbid her! I beg of you, forbid her now!’

  Just as ours was about the only household in the land that would have spawned Sybil’s enterprising plan to get into White Towers, my husband was probably the only man in England who would not instantly have done what Brockley was asking. Hugh was silent.

  It was a silence that went on and on, until Brockley said: ‘Please, Master Stannard! Please!’

  Even then, there was a further pause, until at last Hugh said: ‘I could forbid her, Brockley, of course I could. And I know, Ursula, that from sheer loyalty to me, you might obey. I also know that if anything . . . happened to Sybil . . .’

  ‘She could end up being hanged,’ I said fiercely. ‘You know what that means! We came near to seeing Gladys hang.’ I saw Gladys shrink into herself. ‘We did see the others die, who were in that death cart. If I thought that had happened to Sybil because I didn’t even try to save her . . .’