Mistress Spy

by Mingle, Pamela

  “We rode along the river a few days ago and did a little angling, didn’t we, nephew?”

  “Any success?” she asked, facing the boy.

  He nodded and pretended to throw fish up on the bank. “And did you eat them for your supper?”

  Daniel hesitated, so Nicholas said, “We threw some back and brought the rest home. Cook prepared a tasty trout pie for us.” Daniel rubbed his belly and they all three laughed.

  Nicholas placed a palm on his nephew’s head. “Mistress Maddy and I have business to discuss, Daniel. We shall come and find you when we’ve finished.” Without protest, the child left the room, but not before giving her a wistful glance when he reached the door.

  She looked at Nicholas, her eyes telling the story of how woefully she’d missed him. His lips brushed hers, briefly. “Let’s talk first and be done with business quickly.”

  Ah. So he had missed her, too. “Aye. Well, then. I’m afraid I haven’t had time to discover much. What do you know of Lady Dacre’s background?”

  Nicholas led Maddy to the settle before the hearth, though no fire burned today. “Hmm. She was raised in Carlisle. I do not believe she ever married before she wed Sir Thomas Dacre.” His eyebrows shot up. “From your expression, I collect my information is wrong. What have you learned?”

  Could it be they truly didn’t know about Lady Jane Dacre’s former husband—lover? “You are not aware that her first husband was Sir John Lowther, once the warden of the castle? Growing up, her daughters played in the bailey. She herself must have a thorough knowledge of the grounds and the layout of the castle.”

  “John Lowther was her first husband?” Nicholas sprang to his feet, obviously agitated. “Sweet Christ, how could we have missed this? Musgrave should have been aware.”

  “According to Lady Dacre’s maid, they never wed, but lived together as man and wife for years.”

  “Something so vital! We searched the records for any mention of a marriage and found nothing. We should have pursued it further, questioned what she was doing all those years.” He brushed vigorously at his beard. “It’s she who will know how to gain entry to the castle. And she probably knows every possible chamber where Mary Stewart and her son are likely to be housed on their visit.”

  “Undoubtedly. Lady Dacre was Lowther’s mistress. Fancy that! She seems such a proper lady, I have difficulty believing that state was acceptable to her.”

  “Had she never told you of her daughters?”

  “Not one word. I’m certain that was deliberate. She didn’t want me to know, possibly because she would have had to reveal who their father was. Eventually, I would have worked out her connection to Carlisle Castle.” Maddy paused, musing. “When I was your…guest…at the castle, Joan told me Mary had stayed there once. Wouldn’t they put her in the same chambers as before?”

  He shook his head. “Too many people know their location.” Resuming his seat, he said, “This makes it even more likely that the Dacres are involved in a plot involving Mary. How did you discover it?”

  “Coincidence.” Maddy related everything Edith had told her, including Lady Dacre’s upcoming trip to visit her daughter.

  “She will be in Carlisle when Mary Stewart arrives, and make no mistake, there is a reason for that. They—whoever they may be—need her help at the castle. Well done, Maddy.” He smiled, looking as though he’d like to rub his hands together in glee.

  “I cannot truly take any credit, since I found out purely by accident.”

  “Have you learned anything else?”

  “Nothing at all about any attempt to liberate Mary. If they’re planning something, they’re hiding it well, at least for now.” Maddy glanced at the tray bearing food and drink. “May I pour us some wine? You may be preoccupied with other matters, but I’m ravenous.”

  “Of course, you must be hungry.” Nicholas filled their wine glasses, and she laid out cheese, bread, cold mutton, and berries. “My first day back was…interesting. The Dacres, Christopher in particular, grilled me at dinner, to the point that I almost felt fearful.”

  Nicholas paused, a piece of mutton halfway to his mouth. “About what?”

  “The night of the raid. Why hadn’t I stayed in my bed? Where was I when they captured me? Where did they drop me? Dacre’s tone was biting, as though I were to blame for my own abduction. In hindsight, my guess is that they were trying to figure out if I’d seen Ferniehurst.”

  “Did they actually put the question to you?”

  She broke off a piece of manchet. “They stopped short of that, probably hoping I’d inadvertently reveal it. Then they started in on me about Cath. I’m afraid my equanimity deserted me, and I fled from the room. I couldn’t bear hearing them talk about her, as though they had truly cared what happened to her.”

  Nicholas took her hand, kissed it, and said, “I’m sorry, sweeting. The situation seems to be worsening, becoming riskier for you. I don’t like it. If you feel you’re in imminent danger, don’t wait to get word to me. Leave. Brampton is well within walking distance.”

  “If I left suddenly, they’d probably come after me. They would assume I’d learned something incriminating. I must try to behave as though all is normal, even if I’m frightened.”

  Apparently not satisfied with her answer, Nicholas adopted the look of a schoolmaster dressing down a disobedient pupil. “If you believe you have reason to fear for your life, get out of there. You can sneak out under cover of darkness, if necessary, and walk along the Roman wall. There are places to conceal yourself if it comes to that. Safer than the road or the path. Promise me you will do so. I’ll hear no argument on this, Maddy.”

  She cocked her head at him, even though he had an excellent reason, in this case, to order her about. “Very well, I promise.”

  “What of our friend, Musgrave? Where was he during this?”

  “He was there but did not speak a word. You’ll be interested to know, however, that he accosted me while I was out walking. He asked me what I knew about the raid. It seems he also thought it was contrived.”

  She related her conversation with Musgrave, Nicholas listening intently.

  “So he must sense danger as well.”

  “It would seem so. I scoffed at his being my protector, though. I said, ‘Like you protected Cath?’ I regretted the words as soon as I’d spoken them—”

  A scratching at the door. Nicholas looked up, irritated. “Pray, let him join us,” Maddy said. “I believe he must have feared I was not coming back, judging from the way he clung to me earlier.”

  “I tried to reassure him, but apparently, that did not quell his fears.” He walked over to the door and opened it. “There’s a rodent about, Mistress Madeleine. What shall we do with him?”

  “Leave the door ajar, sir. He’ll smell the food and fall into our trap.” Nicholas came back and sat beside her. They ate quietly for a while, pretending not to notice the small form sneaking into the room and nearing the table. When a little hand reached out and tried to filch a strawberry, Nicholas pounced.

  “Aha! I’ve got you, you little rat.”

  Daniel, laughing, wriggled out of his uncle’s grasp, shaking his head vehemently.

  “That’s no rat, Master Ryder,” Maddy said. “That’s a mouse. A harmless creature. Let’s feed him.”

  Daniel crawled up between them and shared their collation, until finally they’d all eaten their fill. Then he stood up on his sturdy little legs and tugged on their hands. Maddy glanced at Nicholas. “Outside? Do you want to go outside, Daniel?” she asked. “I sometimes wish you would say out loud what it is you’re thinking, for I have never heard your voice, you know.”

  Everything stilled. Nobody moved. Daniel and Nicholas were both staring at her as though she’d grown a pair of horns. Surely his uncle had talked to Daniel about his lack of speech. Had he never tried to gently coax the boy into talking? Nicholas shrugged, and suddenly, normality resumed. They followed where Daniel led, toward the glass house.

>   “I fear I have not cleaned up in here as thoroughly as I normally do,” Nicholas said. “Just before you arrived, I was propagating.” Maddy almost laughed. The word sounded indecent. She knew it meant reproduction, but obviously he was referring to the roses. Indeed, the room was in disarray. Containers were strewn about, some filled with soil, others empty. Soil was sprinkled all over the floor, too. Knives, small pruning shears, other tools lay on one table, and three or four pots of rose bushes on another. “Daniel,” Nicholas said. “I need your help. Will you sweep for me?”

  The lad marched directly to one corner, where a straw broom was kept, and got to work. Maddy helped Nicholas pick foliage up off the floor. “From the pruning,” he said, looking rather sheepish.

  When they’d finished cleaning up, she asked him if he would explain his propagation method. Nicholas was passionate about his roses and willingly shared the techniques of grafting and taking cuttings, as well as his opinion about which method worked with greater efficacy. “Cutting is easier, but grafting produces heartier roses.”

  “You love doing this.” It was a joy to see the tension lifted from his brow. His whole face shone with enthusiasm.

  “I correspond with other growers, and we share information about propagation techniques, soil composition, and the heartiness of various bushes. At present, all of us want to get our hands on roses grown in the Orient. ’Tis said they breed new varieties in a multitude of colors. Even orange. I hope one day to grow and sell them locally.”

  Daniel wasn’t looking, so Maddy clasped Nicholas’s face with her hands and kissed him soundly on the mouth. “It makes me happy to see you engaging in something that gives you such pleasure.”

  He held firmly onto her arms, not letting go, and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You give me pleasure, sweeting. Let’s go upstairs.” His words held a slightly desperate tone. “There’s time.”

  Maddy was tempted, but in fact, the afternoon was waning. And there was Daniel to consider. “Nay, you know we cannot. I must be on my way. I have still to make a stop at the market.” Resigned, Nicholas heaved a sigh and went off to ask Margery to bring her things.

  Daniel, perhaps sensing the change in mood, had wandered over and was looking up at her. She stooped down to tell him she was leaving, fearing he might be upset. He hugged her around the neck, and Maddy felt tremors running through him, then heard his sobs. “Don’t cry, little mouse. I will be back soon.” When she stood, he clung to her skirts, and she bent down and lifted him into her arms. He was surprisingly light. In that way, they walked out into the central corridor leading to the front of the house, where they met Nicholas.

  She looked at him, brows raised, but he was at a loss as much as she. Maddy walked into the drawing room and lowered herself to a chair, Daniel in her lap. Nicholas followed, setting down her basket and cloak. “Can you tell us what is wrong, Daniel?” Maddy asked.

  But Daniel did not speak. He would quiet at intervals, but whenever she attempted to rise, his gulping sobs resumed. They broke from deep within his chest. When there seemed no end to his tears, Maddy glanced at Nicholas and said, “I am going to give you to your uncle now, Daniel. ’Tis time for me to take my leave. The people I live with will worry if I am not home for supper.” Kissing his temple, she whispered, “I’ll see you again soon, love.”

  Maddy pried the child’s arms from around her neck and handed him over to his uncle. Hurriedly, she donned her cloak and grabbed the basket. “I will be fine on my own, Nicholas. You must stay with Daniel.” He walked her to the entryway with the lad clinging to him. By the look on his face, she knew he was torn. He’d planned to accompany her back to the priory.

  At the door, Nicholas kissed her cheek and said, “God keep you safe, Maddy.”

  “And you.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she turned quickly so neither of them would notice. Leaving them was like a physical pain, but there was naught to do about it. Maddy’s horse waited at the mounting block, and she mounted without assistance.

  As she rode off, it struck her that she hadn’t told Nicholas what Musgrave had said about Cath. That he knew who killed her but refused to name him. After Daniel had interrupted them, she’d forgotten.

  Market day was winding down. Maddy strolled around the stalls and purchased a few items—a darning needle, a small painted box, some hairpins—and looked longingly at others. A lace handkerchief and a pair of tawny stockings made of fine yarn. Alas, she didn’t have the coin for either. Wanting to quench her thirst before she left, she wandered over to the alehouse and asked for a tankard at their outdoor stall. Several citizens, both men and women, were milling about, drinking and talking animatedly about something. Maddy moved to one side, not wishing to be caught eavesdropping. But as it turned out, she could not help overhearing them and picking up on the subject of their excited babble.

  Pardons.

  Pardons for those who had joined the northern rebellion. Apparently, some were in hiding while others rotted in prisons. They had not all been executed.

  She edged a little closer.

  One goodwife was crying with joy. “It is over. My boys can come home now.” Overcome, the woman leaned on a friend until she’d recovered.

  “But all the ones put to the block or the gibbet,” a man said. “What about them? Too late for them, isn’t it?”

  Another man snorted. “Only God can see to their pardon.”

  Maddy thought of Robert and hoped he’d met a deity who was forgiving. More forgiving than his queen had been, though from the sound of it, she’d recently decided to show more mercy. Two questions sprang to mind simultaneously, and their implications were so powerful Maddy’s breath caught. Emboldened, she hurried up to the group, not caring to whom she addressed herself. “Pray pardon me. What about those who joined the Dacre raid? Are there pardons for them, too?”

  The man nearest to her scratched his chin, looking around at the others. It was plain he did not know. But somebody else piped up. “The sheriff made the announcement in the square, in Carlisle. I was there. Aye, them, too.” Voices rose again, and if she were to find out anything else, she must be quick.

  “Sir. When was this announcement made?”

  “Why, Monday last, mistress. But the sheriff said the decision had been made weeks ago. News came late to the north, like usual. The queen and her advisors say enough folks have been punished.”

  Indeed. Maddy could feel herself growing pale, feel the strength seeping from her body, as though she were dying. The man who’d answered her question said gently, “Come, mistress, and sit down. You don’t look well.”

  She let him escort her to a bench. He carried her tankard and urged her to drink. It was the last thing she wanted, but it would probably help revive her. She gulped several swallows and thanked him.

  “You have somebody, then, who can come home now?”

  “Nay. ’Tis too late for him.” His brows raised in a question, and Maddy realized her query about the Dacre raid did not make sense in view of what she’d just told him. “Too late for my brother,” she amended. “But I have a…friend who took part in Dacre’s raid.” He patted her shoulder and walked away.

  Too late for Robbie, but not for me.

  How long had Nicholas known, and why hadn’t he told her? After a few more sips of ale, Maddy passed a coin to the lad who had been tending to her horse, mounted, and headed back to the Ryder home. Strength was returning, and with it a blind rage.

  It only took a few minutes to get there. A sense that the world was falling in around her, on top of her, made her chest ache. Maddy hardly waited for the groom to help her off her horse. She raced to the door and with the flat of her hands, banged on it with all her strength. So hard her palms stung and would probably bruise.

  …

  Nicholas got to the door on the heels of a servant, whom he shoved out of the way.

  “Maddy, what is it? What has happened?”

  She did not answer but brushed past him and marched directl
y to the library. Dread pooled in his belly. She was angry, not afraid. As soon as the door thudded shut behind them, she wheeled on him. “When did you intend to tell me about the pardons?”

  He stared dumbly. “The pardons.” It was not a question, but a delaying tactic.

  “Don’t play the lackwit with me, sir. You never told me the queen was doling out pardons. Did you and your father think to keep it a secret from me? To get out of me what you could before I found out?”

  That was exactly what they’d done. What his father insisted they do. He stepped closer to her. “Not a secret, exactly.” God’s breath, that sounded pathetic.

  “What, then? What would you call it?”

  Nicholas knew it had been wrong, so wrong, to keep this from her. “My father thought it would further complicate things if you knew. I was going to tell you when all this”—he waved a hand through the air—“was over.”

  “Your father! You must always do his bidding. So you do not deny you withheld this information from me?”

  The comment about his father set him off. “My allegiance is to the queen, not my father. Recall, I all but told you, Maddy, when I said it was your right to refuse. I knew if you chose not to return, there would be nothing Father could do about it. It was you who insisted on going back. You and he were in agreement on that.”

  She grabbed his arm. “Because I believed my freedom, possibly my life, was at stake if I did not complete the mission.”

  “Be that as it may, I told you it was your decision to make. In fact, I urged you not to return to Lanercost because I believed the risk was too great.”

  “That was before we’d found Cath’s body. Afterward, when I told your father I was hesitant, he implied that I—we—must finish the job at Lanercost. That there wasn’t a choice.” When Nicholas didn’t respond, she asked, “How long have you known? About the pardons?”

  He deflected the question. “Have you listened to a word I said? You are quibbling, simply because I never used the word ‘pardon.’ What I offered meant the same thing.”