Mistress Spy

by Mingle, Pamela

  Dacre wanted to know what she’d told the Ryders. The fact that he didn’t already know convinced her his ride along the Roman wall with Nicholas had been happenstance. Although her faith in Nicholas was not completely restored, she’d obviously rushed to judgment in thinking he might be working with Dacre. Maybe she’d been too hasty in judging other matters as well.

  How best could Maddy help Nicholas without risking her own safety? She could claim that he and his father had only a vague idea that the Dacres were planning something. Surely that would not be enough for Christopher Dacre to kill them. It was highly unlikely he’d believe her, though, and she might be forced to reveal more. And if she did, what would that mean for her? Once Dacre had gotten the information he needed, he would have no further use for her. He’d shown he was willing to kill to keep his secrets. The deaths of two young women, both employed at the priory, might appear suspicious, but Dacre was resourceful. He would devise a way to absolve himself of guilt.

  The other alternative was to reveal nothing. Then what might happen? Maddy could think of several possibilities, none with a favorable outcome. She didn’t believe he would kill her immediately. He might withhold food and drink or beat her. Or he might put the scold’s bridle on her head.

  If Maddy held out as long as she could, it would buy Nicholas some time. Time to find a way to foil the Dacres’ scheme. But most important of all, she might save Nicholas’s life. And her own. And then what she’d been dreading happened. The key turned in the lock, and Dacre entered. Maddy was sitting on the bed, her hands folded, posture upright. He was carrying a taper, its flame guttering with the movement of the door. After lighting the candle on the table, he walked over and set the other one down next to the scold’s bridle. Maddy pulled her gaze away and stared straight ahead.

  “Been contemplating your future, mistress?” he asked.

  She said nothing.

  He stepped closer. “Mark this, Mistress Vernon. Time is running out, both for me, and most perilously for you. In case you were depending on your cousin’s messenger to save you, put that from your mind. He’s been…dispatched.”

  “You killed him?” she said, incredulously.

  “He got in my way.” Dacre’s eyes were cold, heartless. “You’re a smart lass, and I’m sure you’ve put all the pieces together and figured out our little scheme. We ride tonight to Carlisle to steal away Mary Stewart and her babe. We’re taking them to Scotland, to a safe haven, until she can be restored to her throne—and wed the Duke of Norfolk. Someday she will succeed Elizabeth as Queen of England.”

  By God’s light, they’d gotten it all right! Her jubilation was short-lived, given her perilous situation. To buy some time, and satisfy her curiosity, she said, “I thought you did not care for the Scots queen. You disparaged her that day at dinner.”

  He huffed a laugh. “She’s a harlot, like so many women. But she is the rightful successor to Elizabeth.” Maddy wondered if the man had been crossed in love and thus judged all females harshly.

  “I have a problem you can help me with,” Dacre said. “I need to know if I must deal with Ryder and his father first. As our scheme won’t be set into motion until midnight, we have plenty of time to take care of the Ryders beforehand.”

  “The Ryders should be the least of your concerns,” Maddy said. “It is the king’s men you should fear. Those who support Mary Stewart’s child as Elizabeth’s successor. It is my understanding they may attempt to assassinate Mary while she’s in Carlisle.” This was a transparent effort to deflect suspicion from Nicholas and his father, one she was sure Dacre would see through.

  And he did, even though he looked nonplussed for a few seconds. “Cleverly done, mistress, but we’ve ruled out any threat from that quarter already. Now, tell me of the Ryders.”

  “They know nothing. ’Tis true, Francis Ryder works for the queen on occasion. But he is no longer young, and the queen doesn’t rely on him as she once did.”

  “Why do I not believe you?”

  Maddy shrugged. “That is your prerogative.”

  He came over and stood unnervingly close to her. “All those visits to Brampton. Do you expect me to believe you weren’t reporting on everything that went on here at Lanercost? That you haven’t been reading my stepmother’s letters and eavesdropping on conversations? And you told the Ryders nothing about what you saw the night of the raid?”

  “May I remind you, I was ill the night of the raid. And I thought you and my cousin were friends. I saw you riding together along the wall the other day.”

  He laughed. “Purely coincidental. We ran into each other on the bridle path and decided to race. A foolish pastime, I grant you, but one we men find hard to resist.”

  So their meeting had been unplanned. Though Maddy felt tremendous relief at having her suspicion confirmed, she was ashamed of believing Nicholas might be part of the plot. Without warning, Dacre grabbed a hank of her hair and pulled so hard tears stung her eyes.

  “You’re hurting me.”

  He laughed. “That is the point, my dear. Your pain will only increase if you don’t provide me with the answers I seek.”

  “You mean the answers you expect.” A whimper flew out of her mouth as he gave her hair another a hard yank. “If you’re convinced I’m lying, why don’t you proceed accordingly?”

  “Because your cousin could be laying a trap for us. For me and my little band of Scots. Our position is…precarious, to say the truth. You must know, I cannot leave anyone alive who knows of our intentions. My mother and I could never return to Lanercost—that would mean arrest and execution. We would be forced to live out our lives in some hut in that pathetic excuse for a kingdom to the north of us. Cold, and most regrettably, poor.”

  Finally, he let go of Maddy’s hair and moved to the cupboard. Leaning against it, he aimed his gaze at her, his eyes points of light in the candle’s flame.

  “Do you know what a scold’s bridle is, Madeleine? Some call it the branks.”

  She nodded. Her mouth had gone too dry to speak.

  “I thought you might. Perhaps you hadn’t noticed—it was so dark in here—I have one, right here in this chamber. For years, my stepmother was the mistress of John Lowther, constable of Carlisle Castle. She refers to him as her ‘husband,’ but we all know he never wed her. According to her, the castle has a whole array of torture devices. She found this one of interest and brought it with her as a small token of her years with Lowther.”

  “A gruesome object in which to place sentimental value.”

  “It is, I agree. Fortune smiles on you this day, Madeleine. You are going to try it on, and you can tell me—when you are once again able to speak—how you would assess it as a means of punishment.”

  Maddy felt as she had as a child, when her father had taken her to have a tooth pulled. Limp with fear. What if she couldn’t breathe? The bit, pushed to the back of her mouth, would cause her to gag—and then what? But she would rather bear it, all of it, than beg for his mercy. He would never grant it, in any case.

  “I must find someone to assist me. Pray excuse me for a short time. While I am away, I urge you to reconsider telling me what I seek to know.”

  In deep despair, Maddy sat hugging herself while Dacre was gone and thought about her plight. An unexpected feeling of calm washed over her. A few months ago, she had set out to seek revenge on the queen by joining Leonard Dacre’s raid. Her actions had been rash, and her present situation was a direct result of what she’d done. The only good that had come from the failed raid was Nicholas.

  Nicholas was ever his father’s man, even as he swore he would no longer do his bidding. He hadn’t told her about the pardons. Even more hurtful, because it was crucial to her happiness, he’d kept from her the fact that Robbie was alive. Yet Maddy still cared about him. Even loved him.

  There was much in Nicholas to soften the hard edge of her anger with him. Qualities demanding her admiration and respect. He was doing the best he could for himself and
his nephew until he could cease his work for the queen. When she’d seen how he was with Daniel, playful, yet fiercely protective…her heart had fairly leaped in her chest. She would not reveal things to Christopher Dacre that would endanger Nicholas’s life. Now, looking death in the eye, what had once seemed unforgivable became trivial. It was an unbearable sorrow to her, that she may never see him again. If she could, Maddy would forgive him unconditionally.

  Maddy heard the door opening and steeled herself for the worst. Dacre walked in with Musgrave, who neither looked at her nor spoke.

  “Have you had a change of heart, mistress?” Dacre asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Stand up, then.” Maddy did as he asked. When he walked over to get the bridle, she bolted for the door. Musgrave saw her, but he made no attempt to stop her.

  She raced down the hallway, Dacre’s furious words to Musgrave catching up with her. “What’s the matter with you, fool? You let her get away.”

  Maddy heard their footsteps thumping behind her, but she had a decent head start. She dashed around the gallery and made for the stairs. Sensing freedom within her grasp, Maddy pushed the door open and plunged through. She came to a sudden and precipitous halt when she saw what awaited her. Dacre’s coursers, Devil and Prince, growling and ready to spring.

  God have mercy.

  She lunged to one side, and Devil sank his teeth into her ankle. Screaming in pain, Maddy barely noticed when Matthew, the blacksmith, appeared and said, “Off, Devil!” The dog immediately obeyed.

  She tried pleading with the smith. “Pray help me, Matthew. Dacre intends to hurt me.”

  “Sorry, mistress. He is my employer and I must do as he says. I have a wife and little ones to think of.”

  “You will get in trouble with the sheriff. That could result in dire circumstances for your family.” By then her words were futile, as she heard Dacre and Musgrave approaching.

  Without a word, Dacre took one arm, Musgrave the other. Blood from the dog bite flowed into Maddy’s slipper, causing her foot to slide about. Within minutes, she’d been dragged back to the chamber from which she’d so recently fled.

  “Sit,” Dacre commanded. Maddy obeyed.

  Musgrave stood guard over her while Dacre picked up the scold’s bridle. It appeared small, and for a moment, she hoped it would not fit over her head. But that proved to be no problem for Dacre. He forced it down until it pressed against both sides of her head like a vice. Maddy’s nose fit through the opening between two of the bands. When he started to shove the bit into her mouth, she balked. “Wait! May I have a drink first? My mouth is so dry.”

  Dacre seemed to hesitate, and Musgrave said, “What harm could it do? I’ll fetch some water.”

  Dacre objected. “No! I don’t trust her. She’s trying to trick us again.” Turning to Maddy, he said, “Open your mouth.”

  She pressed her lips together and tipped backward until she fell, the contraption on her head banging against the wall and jarring her senseless. Dacre dragged her upright and forced the bit against her lips until she tasted blood. Enough was enough. Maddy opened her mouth and he shoved the bit in. Even though it wasn’t more than a few inches, it felt enormous, and she gagged repeatedly. Now completely helpless, Maddy teetered on the edge of hysteria.

  Musgrave grabbed Dacre’s arm. “God’s breath, man, are you sure you want to do this? She could die, then you would have two deaths to account for.”

  She was going to be sick. Bile rose in her throat, its acrid taste reminding her again of that day so many years ago, when she’d had a tooth extracted. Her mother had told her to breathe through her nose. Maddy did so now, and while she could not seem to stop the sobs issuing from deep within her chest, at least she felt less nauseated.

  “Leave off, Musgrave.” Dacre jerked out of the other man’s grip. “Stand up,” he said to her. She did, swaying on trembling legs. “Hold her steady,” he instructed the other man.

  Musgrave gripped her shoulders while Dacre fastened the padlock on the device. To do so, he had to pull the circular band tight, making the pain excruciating. Maddy looked up at Musgrave and was surprised to glimpse sympathy in his eyes. Maybe he could not help her now, but perhaps he would return later and free her.

  When the job was done, Musgrave helped her to the bed. He pulled out a handkerchief and tied it around her ankle to stanch the bleeding from the dog bite, and that small kindness moved her to tears. Dacre was already at the door. “We shall see if you feel more like talking after you’ve worn that a few hours.”

  Maddy tried to scream a retort, forgetting she couldn’t move her tongue. It came out as a grunt, and Dacre laughed as he and Musgrave walked out of the chamber. Left alone, she could only be grateful the bit did not have spikes on it. And that he was not dragging her around a public square by a rope around her neck.

  She could not find a comfortable position. If she lay down, the bands pressed agonizingly against her head. Sitting rigidly seemed to be the only way to make the pain bearable. Her breathing finally slowed, and she felt herself drifting into a trancelike state.

  Maddy came to her senses when her head began to list forward. By now the pain was acute, as if somebody were driving spikes through her skull. She thought she might pass out from it. Better to lie down, regardless of the pain, so that if she blacked out, she wouldn’t keel over.

  The door pushed open, and Dacre walked in alone. He got directly to the point. “I’m giving you one last chance to talk, mistress. You may save yourself by telling me what Ryder and his father know. And then I’ll remove the bridle.”

  Maddy sucked in a deep breath. After he released her from this contraption, what then? He’d said earlier he couldn’t allow anybody to live who knew that he and Lady Dacre were the primary conspirators. She shook her head, hoping that would indicate her continued unwillingness to talk.

  And then Dacre went into a rage, shoving Maddy to the floor and kicking her in the ribs. As he walked to the door, his booted foot struck her in the head, and pain reverberated through her skull. The last thing she heard before losing consciousness was his hateful voice. “I could kill you now, but I think I’ll just leave you to rot here.”

  Maddy drifted in and out of awareness. Did anybody other than Musgrave, and probably Matthew, even know where she was? In a final, desperate attempt to attract attention, she roused herself and banged the cage on her head into the immovable oak door—once, twice, three times. But it was of no use. In the end, she settled on the floor, because the hard surface kept the scold’s bridle stable and lessened the pain.

  Death now seemed inevitable, and yet she could not give up. As long as she was still breathing, she could not surrender to this ignominious end.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  In her few lucid moments, Maddy thought of Lady Dacre and wondered how deeply she was involved in this enterprise. Up to her ears, Maddy suspected. There had been numerous clues. The fierce guarding of her private papers. Her obvious devotion to the old faith and her defense of Mary Stewart. Her expectation of Maddy’s unquestioning loyalty. And her trip to Carlisle.

  Time dragged on.

  Surely, Dacre and his followers had set out for Brampton by now, and even if she’d had the means to escape, it would be too late to warn Nicholas. If he and his father were killed, what would happen to Daniel? Maybe a kind servant would care for him, or his mother’s family would take him in.

  Without warning, Matthew appeared on the threshold, not even bothering to close the door behind him. Why would Dacre have sent him to her? To see if she still lived? To dispose of her body had she died? Possibly the smith had undergone a change of heart and now wished to help her. But a small frisson of doubt kept her still and silent. Mayhap he had come here for another purpose entirely. Maddy let him believe she had swooned. Since she was lying on her side, she did not believe he could see her face clearly enough to know her eyes were open and watching him.

  He held a dagger in one hand and was
running a thumb along its edge, testing its sharpness. Jesu. He intended to kill her. No sense pleading for her life; she’d tried that with him already.

  The smith leaned over the table, probably to slide the candleholder closer, the better to see his prey. Warily, silently, she pressed her left hand into the floor and pushed herself up. Then she kicked out her leg and wrapped a foot around Matthew’s ankle, yanking with all her strength. The fellow was sturdy and muscular, and odds were against her, but she had caught him off guard and at just the right moment, when he was a bit off balance. He yelped in surprise, and then fell spectacularly, banging his head on the corner of the table before he sprawled onto the hard, flagged floor.

  His head was bleeding profusely, but Maddy did not stay to see if he was alive. She grabbed his dagger and, after a precautionary glance out the door, hurried through the gallery and down the stairs, skidding to a halt at the bottom. What if the dogs were still standing guard? Though she abhorred the thought, she’d be forced to use the knife. She eased the door open. Nothing. No dogs or humans were about. Entering Dacre Hall, she made for the kitchen, her heart pounding against her ribs, breathing labored.

  As she neared the kitchen, Maddy heard voices. Friends or foes? The higher register of a woman’s voice came in short bursts, and she recognized it as Mistress Derby’s. Praise God. Reaching the threshold, she waved her arms about. When that did not suffice, she banged her head against the doorjamb.

  Mistress Derby’s head flew up from her work and she rushed to Maddy’s side, with Alice right behind her. “Oh, my dear girl,” the cook said. She put her arm around Maddy’s shoulder and guided her to a stool. “Never did I dream he would do this to you. Hold you prisoner, aye, I believed it of him. But this?”

  Alice’s chest heaved, sobs breaking out, but after a stern look from her mistress, she covered her mouth and tried to compose herself.

  “How long have you…been like this?” the cook asked.

  Maddy shrugged, then held her hands wide apart, to indicate a long time. She was consumed by shame, hated that they bore witness to her humiliation.