The Fugitive Queen

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  I fumed, but Brockley was talking sense. I had no confidence in Toft, either. Something else had also occurred to me. I now told Brockley and Dale, in detail, everything that the Thwaites had said to me concerning a possible marriage between Andrew and Pen, both during the visit they had made to Tyesdale, and at Fernthorpe.

  Before I had quite finished, Brockley was clearing his throat and obviously longing to speak. I paused inquiringly.

  “Madam, it’s clear to me that Master Thwaite not only wants a wife for his son, he also wants a well-dowered wife. Now, the morning you left the Grimsdale farm, if you recall, the farmer wasn’t pleased that we were leaving Mistress Pen behind. And the Grimsdale sons were out before us that morning—and out the previous evening, after supper.”

  “And you think they may have told the Thwaites that a likely prospect for Andrew was in the district? Sybil wondered the same thing. She thought the Grimsdales might have sold news of us for money.”

  “They may well have done! But they’re so eager to marry Andrew Thwaite to our Pen, that what I’m wondering is—did they try to cut a corner by grabbing her before we even got here, only they grabbed the wrong girl? If you remember, we thought Master Grimsdale resented Pen being left behind because they were short of provender but perhaps it was because he knew that his sons had gone to tell the Thwaites she was on the road and he couldn’t let them know that she wasn’t. Dear God, what a risk we took, leaving her there! Just as well Tom and I were both there with her and that Dick Dodd joined us. It’s my belief that on the day of the attack, the Thwaites just snatched the only young girl we had with us—Meg—and it wasn’t till they got to Fernthorpe and had a good look at her that they realized she couldn’t be Mistress Pen. I daresay the Grimsdales had told them how old Mistress Pen is.”

  “So they turned Meg out to take her chance on the moors in the mist! And what kind of folk would do that?” Dale’s blue eyes were fairly bulging with horror.

  “How they must all have cursed,” I said. “I suppose then they decided that Pen was too well protected and to go about things in a more decent fashion!”

  “But why should they be so wild to marry her to Andrew?” Dale was puzzled. “Tyesdale’s her dowry, but it’s not much of a place, to my mind.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m asking myself,” I said. “It doesn’t make sense. I’ve been thinking the same as you, Brockley—I mean that they mistook Meg for Pen. But for a place like Tyesdale, kidnapping the girl is going to ridiculous extremes.” I passed a hand across my forehead. I had a slight headache and hoped that I wasn’t about to follow Seton’s unhappy example and develop a migraine. “Very well, Brockley. First of all, I have to go to Bolton to see Sir Francis about Tobias and, I hope, to see Mary Stuart, and Pen will come with me. I want both of you with me as well. When we return, we will try to find Harry’s grave.”

  But before we left for Bolton, I thought, I really must talk to Tobias Littleton.

  • • •

  I interviewed him after supper, in the parlor, and came to the point without wasting time.

  “Master Littleton, I gather that you have been making advances to my ward, Penelope Mason. Is that correct?”

  Master Littleton, of course, was still in the clothes he had been wearing all day, in which he had hawked and danced. He had had a doublet with him and had put it on for supper but on his own admission it had been pushed into a saddlebag along with a water bottle and some cold chicken. It was creased and looked as though both the chicken and the water bottle had oozed. He had joked about it at supper, saying that he had undertaken to be a human larder, and this was what came of it, and I had caught Pen looking at him adoringly, as though this were the very height of wit.

  “Mistress Pen,” he said now, “is a most delightful girl. I have to admit that I am smitten. I have perhaps overstepped the mark but I have been in touch with her brother and . . .”

  “As her guardian I principally represent her mother, whose views are not the same as those of George Mason. If you have actually spoken to Pen of marriage without first speaking to me, then you have indeed overstepped the mark. Have you spoken to her thus?”

  “Yes, Mistress Stannard.” He grinned at me. The sun and wind had worked on his clerk’s indoor face, giving him bronzed cheekbones and a peeling nose. The effect was to make him both more handsome and more endearing. “But I did propose marriage,” he said frankly. “I wasn’t trifling. Matrimony is an honorable estate, or so we are told.”

  “And Pen is attractive to you?”

  “Very much so.”

  “And Tyesdale? Tyesdale is her dowry, as you probably realize. I assume you are taking that into account.”

  “Do you mean am I proposing marriage to Mistress Mason in order to get my hands on her property, or am I proposing marriage to her in spite of the fact that her property needs a deal of work to be done on it?”

  “I have no idea how you view it,” I said. “Do you see it as an asset or a liability? Which?”

  “An asset. It has great potential,” said Tobias, “and both Mistress Pen and I are young. We can make something of it. Mistress Stannard, I cannot afford to marry a girl with no dower, but I am not looking for riches on a platter. I admit that on my side, I have no property and that my elder brother will inherit Father’s business. However, Father has already made over some money to me and has made further provision for me in his will; I am not quite penniless and I have expectations. I also have a good position with Sir Francis Knollys.”

  I was beginning to soften, though I was careful not to show it so soon. This was just as well, because his next words startled me.

  “I know Tyesdale a little, as it happens. I think that Magnus has had a difficult job, left alone here to take all the decisions and never sure if he was doing the right thing or not. I would be more helpful to him. I came to know Tyesdale through visiting him here. He’s my cousin. He too was at school with me and George Mason. I could work with him.”

  “I . . . did not know that,” I said, disconcerted, and instinctively scanning Tobias’s features for some resemblance to Whitely. There was a faint one; they both had the same indeterminate-colored eyes. Otherwise, they were a contrast. Tobias was by no means nondescript.

  I recovered myself. “I can’t possibly give you an answer now. I must ask you, meanwhile, to keep a polite distance from Pen. No more stealing kisses, if you please, Master Littleton. If . . . if for any reason I felt I couldn’t agree to this match, I don’t want her to be hurt. If you steal kisses, you might also steal her heart, too soon.”

  “I do realize,” said Tobias, “that there may be others in the field. I believe that the Thwaites are considering her as a match for Andrew.”

  “How on earth did you know that?” I was jolted out of my caution.

  “Magnus told me. He knows everyone for miles.”

  “You and he aren’t related to them as well, are you?”

  “No. But people in this district have close bonds, Mistress Stannard.”

  “I’ve noticed,” I said caustically. I thought of my party arriving at the Grimsdales’ farm one evening, and being the targets of a kidnapping the very next morning. I was beginning to wonder if everyone in the vicinity of Tyesdale communicated with everyone else at dead of night by means of crystal balls, or possibly coven meetings, reached with the help of flying broomsticks.

  “Have I your word, Master Littleton, that you will hold back until I finally make up my mind? I am coming to Bolton with you tomorrow. I shall speak to Sir Francis Knollys regarding your character and family. You realize that I am bound to do that?”

  “Certainly, Mistress Stannard.”

  “Thank you.” I moved toward the door. “I won’t be too long in coming to a decision.”

  And how much difference, I wondered as I went upstairs to bed, would the fact that we were about to dismiss Magnus Whitely make to Tobias? I longed for Hugh’s advice. Then I realized that I knew what he would say, and that I agre
ed with him.

  Hugh would say: “Whitely is dishonest and there is no question of keeping him on. If that causes Tobias to take against Penelope, then it would be better to find that out now rather than later.”

  Quite. Added to which, I thought, as I reached the top of the stairs, a cousin as dishonest as Magnus Whitely must make one look twice, or even three times, at Tobias, and judging from Ann Mason’s letter, the fact that George approved of Tobias as a match for Pen was another point against him. Implicit in that letter, to anyone who knew the Mason family, had been a hint that George was something of a Catholic hothead who would choose a similar husband for his sister if he could. Ann, wisely discreet, hadn’t said so in so many words, but her insistence on finding a loyal and law-abiding match for Pen had made the point clear. She did not want Pen to marry into a family of potential traitors. Was Tobias really a harmless individual who looked on his Catholic faith as a private matter, or was he likely to let it lead him—and any wife of his—into trouble?

  I needed to know a great deal more about Tobias. And his proposal could make no difference to Whitely’s fate. I must find a replacement steward and get the dismissal of Whitely over. It was urgent.

  The next day was fresh and bright. My headache had subsided during the night. Rain had fallen, cooling the air, and even the stagnant moat looked less repulsive than usual. Meg, intrigued by the sound of quacking, found a couple of ducks preening their plumage on the narrow ledge between the moat and the house wall and regretted that they were too big for Joy to tackle. Those of us who were going to Bolton were relieved that the rain had cleared and hoped that the day would stay fine.

  I thought it likely that we would stay at least one night at the castle and must therefore take a change of clothes and some night gear. We were just assembling the hampers in the hall when a cheerful clatter of hooves and a halloo in a female voice as loud as a bugle announced that Mistress Cecily Moss had arrived. She was accompanied by one of her sons, and when they had dismounted and come inside, she announced that this one was Clem. “T’younger lad; I daresay you could hardly tell t’difference between ’em!” boomed Cecily.

  “We haven’t had time to get to know them yet,” I said. “Come into the parlor.”

  “Makin’ ready to go off somewhere, are you?” inquired Cecily, looking at the hampers. “I was at church in Fritton early this morning and saw you weren’t there.”

  “Not this Sunday, no. We’re going to Bolton and may hear the evening service there. Agnes, wine and some of your oatcakes, please.”

  “Kind of you and welcome enough, I admit, but I’m here on business,” Cecily announced as I led the visitors into the parlor. “So is Clem. Now, you’re looking for a steward . . .”

  “I must tell you, Mistress Moss,” I said hastily, “that our present steward still doesn’t know that . . . well . . . that we wish to replace him. Please keep your voice down.” I thanked heaven that by this time we were safely in the parlor and that I had shut the door. Whitely was in his office at the opposite end of the hall and even Cecily’s voice couldn’t carry all the length of the hall and through two closed doors.

  “Well, if thee’s agreeable to what I propose, thee needn’t hide it much longer,” said Cecily, though to my relief, she dropped her voice to a normal level. She pushed Clem forward. “Here’s your answer! Not permanent, maybe, and he’ll have a wife before long, but t’arrangement ought to last long enough to do for t’time being. Peter’s my heir and there’s nowt spare for Clem here. He’s got to make his way and he’d best set about it quick, now that he’s betrothed to Mabel Holme. You’ll not mind Mabel comin’ with him? She can help Mistress Appletree and there’s room here for when t’babes come along. No need for wages for her beyond all found. Hope that’ll suit. Clem knows what’s what in house or farm. Speak up, lad!”

  “I reckon I could do t’job,” said Clem calmly, and, to my relief, in a voice which didn’t rattle the fire irons. “I can steward the house and I can oversee t’land as well. I’d save, as best I could, and with t’little dowry that Mabel’s got, and whatever I can put together, I daresay after a few years I might rent a smallholding for her and me, but meanwhile, I’ll serve thee as well as I can, Mistress Stannard. Would it do, mistress? With Mabel in t’bargain with me, like?”

  “It’s Mistress Mason you’d be serving,” I said mildly. “Tyesdale belongs to her. She may live here with her husband when she’s married—that isn’t settled yet.”

  I recalled that when the Moss family paid us their first visit, they had thought of abandoning Mabel Holme in favor of Pen. I wondered if Clem would mind working for the young woman he might once have been asked to consider as a wife.

  Clem, however, merely smiled. “I’ll work for my wages honestly, for whoever’s t’owner here. Don’t matter about that.”

  “I’ve no objection to Mabel and I don’t suppose Mistress Mason will have, either. Nor will Agnes, I think. She’ll welcome the help. Can you keep reliable accounts?”

  He nodded. “Aye, I can that. Peter and I have done t’accounting for our own place together these last few years.”

  “I’ve no patience with stewing over ledgers,” boomed his mother. “I was right glad to pass them over to t’boys. But they can do more than that. Both my lads know a bit of Latin and they’ve read verse and books of travel, too. They’re gentlemen, for all they’ve been reared to be practical on the land.”

  “I think,” I said, “I really think—that we might do business.”

  14

  Captive Bird

  I parted Clem from his mother by calling Sybil and asking Cecily to advise her on a local supplier for some new wall hangings. Then I fetched Pen and let her ask Clem a few questions herself. It was the kind of thing she needed to learn.

  She pleased me. The young are adaptable and willy-nilly, Pen, who had hated Tyesdale so much to begin with, was now developing the feelings of an owner. She asked sensible things, such as what Clem, as steward, would do if this or that should happen and what kinds of decisions he would be prepared to take on his own responsibility.

  Clem in turn made sensible replies. In his mother’s presence, both he and his brother seemed tongue-tied but probably they just couldn’t be bothered to shout for a hearing. Away from Cecily, Clem was both forthcoming and shrewd. Of his own accord, he remarked that he’d see that old plows weren’t left rusting in the fields. “Did tha know there was one in t’barley field? That field’s due to be left fallow next year and have cattle grazing in’t. They’ll fall over that old plow and hurt theirselves.”

  “You mean it’s still there?” I said. “I told Whitely to have it removed.”

  “I saw’t on t’way in,” said Clem simply. “And if t’coffers’ll run to’t, I’d have that moat drained and refilled and stocked with fish. I saw a pair o’ ducks there as we came in. No reason why you shouldn’t have ducks in plenty and duckling for dinner whenever you fancy, but t’moat’s too dirty as it is. There’s a stream feeds it that’s choked with weed and wants clearing but likely thee’d have to hire men in for t’job.”

  I exchanged small nods with Pen. After that, it was only a matter of settling when Clem should come. He wanted to go home, put his belongings together, and talk to his betrothed. “I can settle a date for t’wedding now. Peter’ll be pleased. He’s got a fancy for us two to get wed on t’same day. No reason why I shouldn’t move in here beforehand, though. I can come in a week if that suits.”

  We all shook hands on the bargain. I went to tell Cecily and when she and Clem had gone, I explained to Pen that although one day dismissing unsatisfactory servants was another thing she must be prepared to face, I thought I’d better deal with Whitely on her behalf. Then I went to give that gentleman his marching orders. I sent Tobias out of earshot, saying that a domestic matter had delayed our departure for Bolton, and asking him to take Mary Seton for a walk outdoors. I also asked both Sybil and Brockley to attend me at the interview. At home I could have de
alt with Whitely alone, but in the north I was permanently nervous.

  It was unpleasant. Whitely first of all stared at me in disbelief, and then embarked on a stream of self-justification. He had been left to carry Tyesdale on his own for years on end. He had had to take all the decisions. He had never known how much of the profits he was expected to put back into the house and farm; he had never had anyone to give him orders, tell him when he’d gone wrong, or give him a word of praise—or a rise in wages—when he had done right. He’d lost heart, frankly. Men do when no one takes an interest in their work . . .

  I asked him to bring me the box that he kept under his bed. At this point, the protests, which up to then had been expressed in a kind of whine, became a resentful shout. The box was private. If we’d been poking and prying in it, we ought to be ashamed of ourselves. It was no more than one might expect from a pack of women, peeping and sneaking, but it was a scandal and a disgrace and . . .

  I sent Sybil for the box. When she brought it, Brockley invited Whitely to open it. He refused, so I opened it myself, with my lockpicks, while Whitely watched with amazement and fury struggling for supremacy in his face. When the bills and receipts were out on his desk, I myself took from its shelf the ledger which we had studied, and then let Sybil point out the discrepancies in the figures. Whitely began to bluster that women couldn’t be expected to understand accounts. Sybil calmly produced the notes she and Meg had made, picked out a few specific cases of discrepancy, and asked him to explain them.

  Whitely refused to answer. Brockley went to the door and called, which brought Ryder to join us. Brockley and Ryder then shoved the Tyesdale steward up against the wall and told him he’d better answer or else. Frightened and sulky, he admitted that yes, he’d paid himself a rise when he thought he’d earned it. Who else was there to authorize it? What if he had taken a bit of commission for haggling to get good prices for the wool clip and so on? Didn’t most stewards do the same?