“I do not care for the unexpected presence of this Thomas Vine at the priory. We expected there might be a guest present, but not a suspicious one. It would behoove us to keep watch on that situation.”
Nicholas’s annoyance grew. “Meaning what?”
“I want you to pay a visit to Mistress Vernon in the next few days. Clandestinely, of course. Find out how she’s faring and what she’s learned of this Vine character.”
That was the last thing Nicholas wanted. He was Madeleine’s spymaster, the man controlling her every move. He felt drawn to her in a way that gave the lie to that relationship, and further contact would only intensify his feelings. Any dallying with the spies under one’s command was strictly forbidden by Cecil, the queen’s chief councilor. “It is too soon, Father,” he protested. “She won’t know anything yet.”
Francis Ryder leaned across his desk. “It matters not how you arrange it, but I want it done.”
In no mood for an argument, Nicholas nodded. “I should go and find Daniel, if there’s nothing more.”
“That boy could talk if he wanted to,” the old man said. “One of these days he’ll speak, if he knows what’s good for him.”
“He will talk again in his own good time. The physician said we must not press him.”
Impatiently, his father waved a hand through the air, which Nicholas considered a dismissal. He left his parent to his papers, dispatches, and maps.
It was yet too cold for Daniel to play outside, although Nicholas often led him about on his pony, even in the coldest weather, for the benefit of some fresh air for them both. He knew Margery would not have ventured out, so he headed for the glass house, trusting that Daniel would find him there. His plants no doubt had been sorely neglected during the weeks he’d spent at the castle.
He puttered about, watering, pruning, cutting away dead foliage, and thinking about Mistress Madeleine Vernon in a desultory way. She was an interesting creature. She had borne her imprisonment stoically, and once she had agreed to work for him, hadn’t expressed any trepidation or hesitance. He admired her for that. He was having difficulty dismissing her image from his mind. The glorious hair. The entrancing blue-green eyes…
Give over, man.
He dragged a barrel over and swept the detritus of his work into it. And then he heard a giggle, which he pretended not to notice. It was a game he often played with Daniel, his favorite. “Hmm. I wonder what that noise was. There must be a mouse in here. I shall have to call the mole catcher.” Another partially stifled laugh. Nicholas rolled the barrel back to its place and turned to walk down the other side of the workbench. “Where could that diminutive, hairy pest be hiding?”
Daniel’s small arse protruded from under a low shelf. “Ah! There’s the mouse! Fie, away to the fields with you, Sir Mouse!” He pounced on him, gathering his squirming little body into his arms. Every time they played this game, he expected the lad to beg for mercy, but he never had. Nor did he now. Nicholas made as if to open the door and cast him out. Daniel stopped laughing and shook his head vigorously. The game was finished.
“What shall we do now, young Master Mouse?” Daniel shook his head, then swept into a bow. Odd that Nicholas understood him through his gestures and expressions. “You wish to be called ‘Sir Mouse?’ Are you a knight, Sir Mouse? Shall we do a bit of jousting?” A smile and nod from Daniel, and they were off riding their imaginary destriers.
For the remainder of the evening, Nicholas pondered ways to secretly visit Madeleine Vernon, until at last he concocted a viable plan.
Chapter Six
The following day passed exactly as Maddy’s employer had described. In the morning, when she entered the small dining chamber, her mistress was already at the table. “Good morrow, my lady.”
“I trust you slept well? Were you warm enough?”
“I was. And thank you for sending Edith to me this morning. It is difficult to lace one’s own bodice.” Maddy sat down and cut herself a slice of bread and a few slivers of cheese. Figs were on offer too, so she helped herself to a few. Since she’d been too tense to eat much the night before, her empty stomach begged for sustenance.
She was savoring a bite of the rich cheese when Lady Dacre spoke. “May I call you Madeleine? Mistress Madeleine is a mouthful, is it not?”
Maddy smiled. “Pray do.” They finished their meal and then proceeded to the drawing room.
When they had seated themselves by the fire, Lady Dacre handed her the Bible. “Will you read the book of Ruth? It is my favorite Bible story.” After Maddy began to read, the older woman collected her embroidery from a basket.
Maddy decided the only way to keep her mind from wandering would be to make a game of it, to challenge herself to become first Ruth, then Naomi. Apparently, her mistress enjoyed it.
“You read very well, Madeleine,” she said. Maddy held back a smile and thanked her. At the lady’s request, she moved on to Psalms. If she were doomed to read these stories and psalms all day, Maddy thought she might die of boredom. Finally, Lady Dacre said, “Go, rest and refresh yourself, and collect your sewing things. I must talk to the cook about the day’s meals.”
The path to the tower had been swept clean, and the fresh snow sparkled like the queen’s jewels in the brilliant winter sunlight. If she’d had the time to bundle up, Maddy would have enjoyed a walk. Perhaps later, while Lady Dacre had her afternoon rest. She refreshed herself and returned to the vicarage. Climbing the steps, she heard male voices, so clearly they had to be coming from a chamber off the gallery. As far as she knew, no other men were in residence besides Christopher Dacre and John Musgrave. She stopped but did not dare draw closer. Even so, she could make out some of the words.
“…your scheme is ridiculous…Scots might capture…kill you.” That was Musgrave.
Then Christopher Dacre’s voice. “We need a leader…one of the earls. ’Tis said…Ferniehurst shelters…find him easily enough.” From within the room, boot heels thudded against the floor, and Maddy hurried on. She half expected Musgrave to fling the door open and chase her, but she made it to the drawing room unimpeded and breathed a sigh of relief.
Lady Dacre was not yet there. Maddy stood by the hearth and whispered what she’d learned over and over so she wouldn’t forget. She knew of Ferniehurst; he was a powerful Scottish laird who, according to what she’d overheard, was hiding “one of the earls,” and maybe some of his men, at his castle over the border. It had to be the Earl of Westmoreland, if what Ryder had told her about Northumberland was true, that he was Hector Armstrong’s prisoner. A bit of news for Ryder, if he did not already know. Was Christopher Dacre planning a raid over the border to come to the aid of the rebels? Musgrave had sounded as though he thought such an idea was mad.
“Do you have your embroidery, Madeleine?”
She started. Lady Dacre had returned, and Maddy had been so caught up in her musings she hadn’t even noticed. She must be more alert, or at least make sure her back was never to the door. Falling so deeply into thought would not serve her well. “Aye, madam, I do.”
“Let me see your design and your stitching, then.”
Maddy unfolded a canvas begun at Carlisle Castle. It was a floral design of violets, cowslips, and gillyflowers, chosen because of the colors of the silks she’d found in the hempen bag.
Lady Dacre peered at Maddy’s work. “You’ve made a good start.”
Hmm. Faint praise if she ever heard it, but no matter. The room was finally beginning to warm. They sat quietly and sewed for some time. Lady Dacre broke the silence with a question. “Do you want to know why I like the book of Ruth so well?”
“Of course, if you wish to tell me.”
“With little care for her own wants or desires, Ruth pledges herself to Naomi. Even when Naomi urges her to return to her own people, Ruth is adamant. I like that.”
“‘Whither thou goest, I shall go also.’ Ruth shows great love and loyalty to her mother-in-law, it is true.”
The older woman sighe
d. She did not say it, but Maddy wondered if she was thinking of her stepson, the one who was suing her. Thus far, Maddy did not believe the woman’s legal dilemma would be related to her work here, but it couldn’t hurt to find out what she could about it. From Lady Dacre’s description, it sounded as though it was the primary subject of her correspondence, so Maddy need only do what she was meant to be doing to learn more.
That afternoon she donned her long cloak with the hood and her warm boots and gloves. She walked the length of the hall—in daylight a magnificent room with its high, beamed ceiling, enormous fireplace, and colorful wall paintings—and exited at the far end nearest the church. Standing before the west front of the beautiful old building, she admired its arched door and tall slender windows. And of course, the statue of Mary Magdalene, its patron saint, nestled into the gable. Maddy held very still and imagined she could hear the canons singing their prayers.
Footsteps came crunching up behind her. Swiveling around, she fully expected to see John Musgrave. But it was Christopher Dacre who approached.
“How now, mistress?”
She curtsied. “Sir. I thought to explore while your mother rested.”
He smiled. “Aye, ’tis a good time for it. She likes her afternoon respite.” His glance swept upward, taking in the facade of the church. “Did you know it dates from the twelfth century? Made from the stone of the great Roman wall, as are the other buildings at the priory.”
“I thought it might be quite old.” And even though she already knew the answer, Maddy asked a question. “How did your family come to own the priory?”
He looked at her then, but not with any annoyance. “Ah. That was good King Henry.
“Sir Thomas’s reward for his role at Solway Moss, and for supporting the reformed church.”
Solway Moss was a battle fought with the Scots a few years before she’d been born. Now that he’d raised the topic of rebellions, Maddy decided to try a bit of prying. “I collect you and your stepmother opposed the recent…trouble here in the north?”
“It accomplished nothing except to give the queen a stronger and more visible presence in these parts. And to make her more suspicious of all of us northerners.”
“But you are loyal to the queen. Why should you be disturbed about that?”
He shrugged. “We like to keep our own counsel here. As with any monarch, there are certain laws and practices with which we take exception.” Just as she was poised to ask him to elaborate, he inclined his head toward the church and said, “Would you like to go inside? It’s quite beautiful.”
“Another day. I do not want to be gone too long.”
“Then let’s go on. It is too cold to stand in one place.” Dacre took her elbow and moved toward the Lanercost Cross. The very place she was meant to leave messages for Ryder if the need should arise.
The grand stone shaft arrowed above them. “It’s quite imposing. What is the inscription?” It was in Latin, of course.
“It mainly tells us when it was made, 1214. When Innocent III was Pope, and John reigned in England and Philip in France.” Maddy glanced at the base, but since it was covered in snow, she could not make out where the loose stone might be. She hoped she wouldn’t be forced to employ it, in any case, since it would mean she was in trouble. Out here in the open as it was, Maddy did not see how she could place something there and not be found out. Ryder had recommended darkness, but how would she ever find the loose stone at night?
They turned and walked toward the gatehouse and precinct wall. Had the snow been any deeper, they could not have managed. Dacre chattered on about the history of the structures, giving her an opportunity to study his profile. He possessed a receding chin, hidden by his meager beard. And when he looked at her full on, she noticed his eyes were very close set. The overall effect was not pleasing.
She did not listen closely to his lecture but managed to utter appropriate responses now and then. Following the wall, they eventually reached the stables. The blacksmith’s forge was fired, and he loomed over it with his bellows. He was in shirtsleeves, and with every push of the handles, his huge muscles bulged. Dacre introduced her.
“Mistress Madeleine, meet Matthew, the best smith in the county.”
Matthew had a hearty laugh. He bowed and said, “Welcome to the priory, mistress. Looking about the place, are you?”
“Aye. I hoped to get my bearings.” Maddy edged closer to the blazing warmth of the forge.
“You’d best get her inside, Master Dacre. She looks half-frozen. And her feet are wet.”
“No, I assure you, they are not. My boots are damp on the outside, but my feet are dry.” She smiled sheepishly. “They feel like ice, though.”
“Matthew is right, then. The sun is already low. Do you wish to return to your chamber, mistress, or to the vicarage?”
“The vicarage, sir. I am afraid your mother may be awake and wondering where I am.”
After they bid farewell to Matthew, a couple of frightening-looking dogs appeared. Dacre called to them. “These are my coursers, Irish wolfhounds. I call them Devil and Prince. Beautiful, are they not?”
“They are indeed.” They looked rather menacing to Maddy, and appropriately named. She knew coursers were trained to stalk and trap their prey and go about it very silently. She would steer clear of them. Another smaller dog ran up behind them, a beagle.
“Oh, this one is more to my liking,” she said.
Dacre laughed. “That dog is useless. For some reason, her scenting ability has never developed.”
“What is she called?”
“Useless. That is her name.”
Maddy frowned. “Oh, no. You cannot be serious.”
He laughed. “I’m afraid it is true.”
They had crossed the courtyard. The two hounds had run off, but little Useless still trailed along behind them. “I believe I will stop off in my chamber,” Maddy said. “Thank you for showing me around, sir.”
“Until supper, then, mistress.” He opened the tower door for her, and she stepped through. After a moment, Maddy cautiously unlatched the door and peeked out. Dacre was gone. Useless was sitting there as if expecting her, head cocked to one side and floppy ears dangling.
“Come, little one,” she said. The dog leaped over the threshold and followed Maddy down the long hall and up the stairs.
Our Lady Virgin be thanked, she had found a friend.
“Ah, there you are,” Lady Dacre said when Maddy entered her bedchamber. She was most grateful to see a fire crackling in the hearth, warming the room. Her feet would thaw while she worked.
“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting, my lady. I was outside exploring when I met your stepson, and he wished to show me around the property.” Maddy was surprised by the disarray in Lady Dacre’s chamber. Her sewing tools, her embroidery silks and canvases, from what she’d observed, were sorted neatly, allowing her ease in finding what she needed. This room, by contrast, was disordered and messy. Stacks of foolscap lay on tables, on the settle, even on her bed. A few dusty tomes that looked as though they might be law books rested on a shelf. She certainly wasn’t reading them, so Maddy assumed her stepson was.
“He is fond of the place and enjoys showing it off.” She motioned to a stack of fresh paper, an ink jar, and some quills. “Use the small writing table. I must dictate a reply to a missive I received a few days since.”
Maddy seated herself, dated the letter, and asked to whom she was writing. Lady Dacre told her the name of the solicitor and the direction, which was in York, then began to dictate the body of the letter:
3 March 1570
Sir:
The claim lately made by my stepson, William Dacre, that my husband was not of sound mind when he made his will, has no credibility. I am enclosing written and signed statements from several of Sir Thomas’s friends and family members attesting to the fact that he was of sound mind, having absolutely no impairment, when he made his last will and testament. These offer unquestionable pro
of, and I trust will bring an end to this matter.
Maddy had to ask her to speak more slowly, and to repeat a word or phrase a few times, but for the most part, the process went smoothly. When they were done, she asked Maddy to read it out loud and make a note of the date and nature of her reply, so that she would have a record of her response.
“Now, I must locate the statements. Where did I put them?” She flung her arms up, looking so rattled that Maddy offered to help.
“Pray do. Look through the documents on the settle.” Maddy picked up the stack she’d pointed to, and it was then that she noticed strands of embroidery floss adhering to each separate document in the pile. The papers she was leafing through were marked with green threads that had been glued on.
“My lady,” she said, puzzled. “Why have you put embroidery silks on your documents?” And then she blushed, because she’d worked out the answer before she finished speaking. “Never mind. That was very ingenious of you.”
Maddy feared Lady Dacre might be annoyed with the question, but she smiled. “I had to invent a system so I could keep track of which documents were in which stack.”
“What color thread marks the statements?”
“Red.”
Although she didn’t see any red, Maddy glanced at each page anyway, trying to find clues that would identify the statements, but they all seemed irrelevant. “These look like they have to do with the priory. Expenditures and bills of sale,” she said. “That sort of thing. And they are all marked with green thread.”
Busy sorting through her own stacks, Lady Dacre merely grunted in response. Maddy moved to another pile, this one on the mantel. Just as she began examining the document on top, her mistress shrieked. “Cease! Put that down!”
Maddy complied immediately. “Pray pardon me, madam. I thought you wanted me—”
She raised her palms in exasperation, stopping her. “Let us be done for today. You are excused until supper.”
“Aye, my lady.” Maddy bobbed a respectful curtsy and hurried toward the door. Before she made her escape, her employer said, coldly, “Never look at any papers I haven’t explicitly given you permission to examine.”
Mistress Spy Page 6
