Queen's Bounty

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  ‘I’m coming more and more to believe,’ I said, ‘that Dorothy Beale wasn’t the only person he planted on us. Ferris trapped poor Jennet and Margery and little Bessie by hiding not one but two incriminating books in their house. He might have doubled his chances of information from Hawkswood in the same way.’

  ‘We considered the notion of a second spy after I was attacked,’ Brockley said. ‘Do you remember? But we let the idea go. Maybe we were wrong.’

  ‘I’m sure we were,’ I said. ‘Ferris fed Emory the news that Meg’s Uncle Ambrose had died, but how did Ferris know? It could have been the Dodds babbling away in some inn or other, but what if someone in our house told him? Didn’t I whisper as much to you, back there when Jane Cobbold was testifying?’

  From behind us, Adam Wilder remarked: ‘Joan Flood. Possibly Ben as well, but I’d bet on Joan. She was brought up a Catholic; she’s the more likely tool for Ferris.’

  ‘But Joan is so kind, so helpful!’ Sybil protested.

  ‘Yes, always going here and there, doing work that isn’t hers, making herself useful, and not just to people inside the house. She slips off to the village to be helpful there, as well, and rushes off without being asked, to buy fresh cinnamon sticks,’ Wilder said sardonically. ‘At a guess, I’d say that Joan has a contact in the village, who passes news on to White Towers. I would recommend, madam, that you dismiss her and Ben, even if it does upset Hawthorn.’

  ‘But Walter Ferris won’t be paying for Joan’s services now,’ I pointed out. ‘And she and Ben are such very good cooks. I shall speak to them when we get home, Wilder. If Ferris did plant them – or planted Joan – well, I fancy Brockley and I can frighten the truth out of them. There are things I still want to know – like whether there are any incriminating books concealed in Hawkswood and, if so, where. Joan might know, even if Dorothy was the one who hid them. If so, I think we can get it out of her. Can’t we, Brockley?’

  ‘Or out of Ben. I’d reckon he knows all about it, whether he’s taken part in it or not. If it wasn’t them, I dare say that will become clear enough.’

  ‘But if it was, well, after we’ve said our say, and terrified them half to death and got rid of any horrible books that happen to be lying about, let’s keep the Floods, if they’ll stay,’ I said. ‘They’re very useful in the kitchen, and after all, who knows, we might save their souls!’

  And then we were all laughing, so much that the woods rang with it, and several indignant birds, who had just retired to roost for the night, flew off their perches and went to find more peaceful places to sleep.

  All the same, when our absurd fit of merriment had passed, I remember that I said: ‘I’ve sometimes thought of all this as the Affair of the Three Weddings, but it’s been too frightening for anything so frivolous. It’s the first time that either Brockley or I have had a bounty on our heads, and I hope it will be the last. I know that I’ve felt like a hunted animal.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Brockley soberly. ‘We ought to call it the Affair of the Queen’s Bounty. There’s nothing frivolous about that.’

  When we set foot in the courtyard of Hawkswood, most of the household was there. There were cries of relief and welcome. Hawthorn marched forward, exclaiming: ‘Thank God you’re safe back, madam!’ and Tessie, though hanging back, too shy to speak to me, looked as though she had been crying. Dale was there, anxious for me but with her eyes straying to Brockley. I ordered him to leave his horse to Simon and pushed him at his wife.

  ‘Dale, take care of him! He’s been in a fight, and his ankle’s got twisted again. Sybil, you look after Margaret. Where’s Hugh, Dale?’

  ‘He’s in his bed, ma’am,’ Dale said. ‘What’s been happening, ma’am? We all got such a shock when Roger came back and told us you’d been taken, and Master Stannard, he took on like anything! He’ll be so glad to see you safe home. He’s not been well at all . . . Oh, Roger! You’re hobbling! Your ankle must be in a terrible state! How did it happen?’

  ‘I’m going to Hugh,’ I said. ‘Wilder, take charge of everything.’

  I hurried indoors, truly wanting to be with Hugh but hoping, too, that Dale had understood how much. It would reassure her, if she had.

  I found Hugh propped on pillows and reading a book about chess. He dropped it and held out his hands to me. ‘Ursula! Oh, I’ve been so afraid for you. I heard you ride in; I heard your voice, down in the courtyard. It was the best sound I ever heard in my life. I wanted to come down to greet you, but I didn’t feel—’ He broke off, as if he had run out of breath.

  I sank to my knees at his bedside. ‘Hugh, what’s wrong? What is it?’

  ‘It was a shock, when Brockley turned up here at daybreak and said you’d been taken. I was afraid of what Ferris might do. I didn’t like what Margaret Emory had said about witchcraft being brought into the charge against Sybil. I suddenly found I couldn’t breathe properly. I put myself to bed, and Gladys made me a medicine. Are you all safe? Sybil is with you, isn’t she? I mean . . .’

  ‘Yes, we’re all safe. We’ve brought Margaret Emory back with us. It’s a long story, but Ferris is dead. He and Brockley had a fight.’

  ‘Brockley killed him?’ said Hugh in horror.

  ‘No, no. But they did fight, and then Ferris pulled out a dagger. Brockley tried to take it from him, but he turned that weak ankle and they fell over, and in the struggle Ferris stabbed himself. The sheriff was there and agreed it was an accident.’

  ‘Thank God. I wouldn’t want Brockley in trouble with the law. I’ll hear the details later. I’m too tired just now.’

  Trying to lighten the atmosphere, I said: ‘We’ve all come through safely, me and Brockley and Sybil. Oh, and Thomas is sending the Dodds’ ladder back tomorrow. We won’t even have to buy them another one.’

  I was rewarded with a chuckle. ‘But best of all,’ said Hugh, sobering, ‘you’re safe, and you’re here with me. I’m so thankful.’

  ‘Everyone is, touchingly!’ I said. ‘Even little Tessie looked as though she’d been shedding tears!’

  ‘That was only partly about you,’ Hugh told me. Having news for me seemed to stimulate him, and he sat up straighter. ‘The whole house has been at sixes and sevens. Meals served late, Hawthorn in a temper because some milk he wanted to use went off, and then when Tessie went to feed the fowls this morning, the black cockerel wasn’t there. There’s been a fox about, apparently . . .’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen it. But why was Tessie feeding the fowls? Phoebe does that. Tessie’s so scared of the cockerel.’

  ‘Apparently, Phoebe was busy, and Tessie offered.’

  ‘That was brave of her.’

  ‘She’s a good lass. Joan Flood says the girl is trying not to be so timid. If we’re kind to her, Ursula, and let her grow out of her nervousness, she’ll probably end up either as a respected matriarch with hordes of respectful grandchildren, or else as someone’s head housekeeper with all her underlings terrified of her. Such things can happen! But she’s still easily frightened, and I think you’d better have a word with Wilder.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘When he heard that somehow or other the fox got the cockerel in the night, he accused her of either not locking the chickens up properly last night or leaving it too late. He shouted at her – they were outside, just under my window and I heard everything – and I could hear Tessie bursting into tears and saying it wasn’t true, she had locked them up properly and at the right time, and then, I’m sorry to say, Wilder slapped her. He’d been as upset as anyone by Brockley’s news, but that’s no excuse for bullying Tessie. I wanted to get up and protest, but when I heard you’d been seized . . . well, it knocked all the strength out of me.’

  His brief spurt of energy faded. He sank back against his pillows. I studied him concernedly. His lips once again had the bluish tinge that worried me. I said: ‘There’s nothing to fear any longer. I’ll let you rest now. I shall look after you. Just as Dale, by now, is probably putting ointment on Brockley’s br
uises and a cold poultice on his ankle. It’s all right, Hugh. I’m here and I’m with you, and Hugh . . .’

  ‘Yes, my love?’

  He looked so very far from well. And now, finally, I realized how bleak the world would be without him. I said: ‘Even if Matthew de la Roche really did walk into this house, in person, I would choose to stay with you. I mean it.’

  After a time, when he had relaxed into sleep, I went down to the hall, where I found Sybil, Margaret and Gladys deep in a discussion about the end of the Cobbold–Ferris feud and whether Thomas would, one day, succeed in marrying Christina.

  ‘I think he will,’ Margaret was saying. ‘I’ve seen them together, and we all heard what Mistress Cobbold said. She doesn’t think anyone else will want to marry her daughter. Poor Christina. But Thomas still loves her, and I fancy he’ll get his way, if her mother is on their side. Or maybe the two of them will just run off together. I wouldn’t be in the least surprised.’

  There was something just a little wistful in her voice. I smiled at her and said: ‘One day, Margaret, you’ll meet someone who will feel about you as you obviously think Thomas feels about Christina. If you stay with us . . . My dear, you come of a Catholic family, but this is not a Catholic household. If you would rather we found Catholic guardians for you . . .?’

  ‘I don’t care about that,’ Margaret said. ‘I have never thought that there was enough difference for the fuss that everyone made about it. And it feels strange, being whisked from one house to another, twice in such a short time. I’d rather stay put for a while. If I may.’

  ‘You certainly may,’ I told her. ‘And we shall see that you meet plenty of suitable young men, and one day, the lightning will strike for you. Yes, it will! You’ll see.’

  Margaret flushed but smiled. Sybil put an arm round her. ‘Mistress Stannard is right. You’re still young. Just wait a while.’ She glanced at me. ‘Brockley and I have been talking to Joan Flood. I thought you’d like to know straightaway. Just now, Joan is Flood by name and flood by nature – I never saw such a flow of tears. She was Ferris’s spy, all right. Brockley had the truth from her in two minutes. She’s told us where to find the books on witchcraft, and we fetched them. One was pushed to the back of a shelf in the master’s study, and the other was in a drawer in Mistress Meg’s old chamber. They were foul things – I could hardly bear to touch them. We took them straight to the kitchen fire. I hope that was right. You didn’t want to see them, did you?’

  ‘No,’ I said with a shudder. ‘I didn’t.’

  Gladys said to me: ‘I’d like a word. Alone, like.’

  I led her out of the hall and into the small parlour where Hugh and I usually sought privacy. ‘Is it about Master Stannard?’ I asked. ‘I think we should call Dr Hibbert to see him.’

  ‘He’s been already,’ Gladys said. ‘I didn’t tread on his toes, don’t you worry. Kept out of his sight, I did. But I’d given Master Stannard my foxglove potion, and he was better, a little, before Hibbert got here. Having you safe home, too, that’ll be the best medicine of all. You came near the rope, Brockley says. If you’d hanged, that would have killed Master Stannard, I reckon.’

  ‘So do I, Gladys. He needs a quiet life, and from now on, I mean to see he has one. I can’t believe I was nearly taken up for a witch. It feels like a bad dream.’

  ‘It were no dream, and I know what it’s like,’ Gladys said grimly. ‘And it were my fault, or almost – I’ve been nearly hanged myself, and that’s the peg they damned near hanged you on! Think I don’t care?’

  ‘It’s all over now, Gladys. Ferris is dead, and Sheriff Heron knows I’m innocent.’

  ‘Ah. Ferris is dead. Yes, Brockley told me that.’ Gladys grinned, her dreadful grin, which glittered in her black eyes and displayed her brown, unlovely fangs. ‘Well, so he should be. Witching ain’t all nonsense, Mistress. I’ve always known that. When Brockley come back, just as the sky were showing grey in the east, I woke up and I got myself up too, look you, and I was down in the hall listening while he told the master that you’d been taken, at that White Towers place. So I went out quick and quiet and crept to the fowl yard. Lucky it’s not easy to see from the windows. I opened the fowl house and grabbed that vicious old cockerel round the neck and yanked him out. I pushed the door to and latched it with me elbow, and then carried him off to the herb garden, where no one would see or hear. He flapped and tried to squawk and peck me, but I held his beak shut tight. It’s said midnight’s best for this sort of thing, but I reckoned dawn would do.’

  ‘Gladys, what are you saying?’ A dreadful suspicion had started up in my mind.

  ‘Sky were clear, just then. First lift of the sun in the east, that’s magical enough, I said to meself, and that’ll be any minute. So when it come, I held him up to it and then cut his throat and poured out his blood on the earth that’s mother of us all and what we’re made of, and I cursed that man Ferris.’

  ‘You . . . what?’

  ‘Cursed him. Cursed him for real. Cursed him out of this life and into hell if he meant harm to you. I tossed the old cockerel over the fence into the wood. Fox will have had him by now. Got Tessie into bother, and that I’m sorry for, but there was you to think of. Everyone’s saying it was the fox as snatched him. But it was me,’ said Gladys, grinning more horribly than ever. ‘And it worked, didn’t it?’