“It certainly isn’t simple rabbit,” said her mother. “And you will not mention wagers again, Avice, not even indirectly. Indeed, that’s quite enough chatter for now.”
Adrian interrupted. “I’m sure it will be a great disappointment to all you ladies,” he said with firm deliberation, “to know that I’ve decided to stay. With Nicholas about to scurry off, I feel at least one sober masculine presence is imperative. I intend staying until I escort my sister back to Nottingham.”
“How nice,” said the baroness without noticeable conviction.
Emeline said, “Nicholas is out at the stables organising his departure. But he’ll have supper with us before he leaves.” She looked directly at Adrian. “You’ve been so very nice, sir, offering to come here and look for Nicholas when he was missing before. But I know where he’s going this time. At least, I have some idea. Nicholas trusts me to stay on my own. And now there’s Maman. So we can look after Sissy, truly we can. You don’t have to stay.”
“Searching for murderers and clues and such nonsense. Pooh,” said Adrian. “And as for Nicholas’ trust, I put no more store in his opinions than I do in my sister’s. I must tell you, madam, London is a dangerous place.”
“And I’m so looking forward to going there,” sighed Avice.
The spring sunshine was sinking a little behind the gables. Moss had crawled over the stable thatch, merging with the reeds and oozing green shadows down to the neat clipped edges. Nicholas was leaning against one of the stalls, regarding his liard’s impatience. The horse kicked at the stable door. Nicholas smiled. “I feel the same, my friend, and these fools make me all the more eager to be gone.”
Rob was quarrelling with his brother, and the new boy Wolt was watching with the first smile he’d managed since leaving Gloucester.
“Pompous codsprick,” spat Harry. “Just ‘cos you took up with ‘is lordship afore I did, don’t make you no more special now. We’s both needed, ain’t we m’lord?”
“Desperately needed. Needfully desperate,” said his lordship. “Otherwise I’d send you both back to the tenements with pleasure.”
David Witton shook his head. “You’re sure of this, my lord? It’s an odd package we’ll seem, I think, which could make us too conspicuous.”
“And another package of oddments left indoors,” agreed Nicholas. “Eccentricity is my destiny, it appears. But I know what I want, David, and this, sadly, is it.”
It was David who later arranged the filling of two saddle bags and gave further instructions to the grooms. The boy Wolt regarded the baggage sumpter with misgivings. “You’ll ride it, or you’ll walk,” David said, reading the boy’s thoughts.
Wolt looked increasingly haggard for his twelve years. “No one shows no sympathy,” he mumbled, “nor even for a poor motherless lad like me.”
“Brainless whelp,” said David Witton. “I’d shown you less sympathy than his lordship chooses to, a motherless child himself at a younger age than you, and who offered you employment even though you possess no skill of any kind except feeling sorry for yourself.”
“Just shows, dun’it,” said Wolt, retreating from the hooves around him. “Don’t no one else care – so if I feels sorry for meself, wot’s only right and just.”
“And if I kicks you up the arse, ‘tis only fair the same, since you gets on me bloody nerves.” Harry turned from Wolt to David. “Since his lordship don’t like explaining too much, maybe you’d like to give us some idea of where we’re going later? Seems strange to me, leaving at dusk. The London gates is likely locked, and there’ll be no way to get to the tenement after that ‘cept by river. And with five horses, the river’d make less sense than all the rest.”
“We’re not going back to the tenements,” David said. “We’re heading south. It’s the coast we’ll be seeing, not the city. And a fair view over to France, perhaps.”
Harry went pale in the sunshine, and nervously scratched at his neck. “Don’t trust them Frenchies. Don’t trust them big oceans neither. As for boats – there’s not a sane man would trust one of them. We ain’t going to France is we? For I might reckon on changing me mind and going back home.”
“Take no heed,” Rob interrupted. “My brother will do what I tells him.”
“There are no plans for us to head for France yet,” frowned David. “But there might just be plans for France to head for us. It’s the possibility of French invasion we’re investigating, and you’ll keep that a secret for now by the way. No cause for panic.”
Harry gulped, staring at Rob, who was grinning. “Don’t tell me you ain’t dreamed of bashing a few Frenchie heads from time to time,” Rob said. “I shall have my knife right ready for the first foreign voice I hears.”
“Which is probably why his lordship didn’t tell you,” nodded David, “and why I should not have told you either. So forget what I said and help me with these panniers.”
With the sunshine oozing through the mullions, Avice and Sysabel remained only half awake, curled together on the wide guest bed, covers discarded. “Maman’s idea,” whispered Avice, “is interesting. This disappeared boy, the son of that dreadful woman. What if he killed Papa?”
“What would he do that for if your father was paying his mother?” objected Sysabel. “Disapproval? But I don’t think sons of whores think that way.”
“How many sons of whores do you know?” objected Avice, sitting up a little and rubbing her eyes. “But why would a whore’s son from Gloucester want to kill Peter, and how would he even know Peter existed?”
“Peter would never have had anything to do with such people.”
Avice sighed. “You know, everything’s just too complicated. There’s Emma – she was in love with Peter for ages and she hated Nicholas. Even after the wedding she thought he was hideous. Now suddenly she thinks he’s an angel.”
“Peter was the angel. Nicholas – well,” Sysabel shook her head. “He’s nice sometimes. But compared to Peter, he’s very shallow.”
“I never really knew Peter. But a little while ago I started thinking I was in love with your Adrian. Oh, don’t laugh. He was so smart and wise and kind and I dreamed of romance. Romantic love sounds so – glorious. Dressing up and kissing and having a man really smile at you – wanting you. Instead of just sitting around being ignored and bored all day every day.” Avice screwed up her nose. “But since getting here, Adrian’s just cross all the time and I don’t think he even likes me. He’s not kind anymore. And I don’t think he’s wise either.”
“He’s not interested in women,” said Sysabel. “He’s too serious and he acts as if he’s my father. I wish he’d just go away.”
Emeline was upstairs and back in her husband’s arms. “For brief moments only, my love. I have to leave as soon as the sun sinks. Before the London gates are locked, but not too much before.”
“You’ve told me very little, Nicholas.” she sighed. “Can’t you tell me a little more? And you look so very strange in those clothes. It’s disconcerting.”
“But not skirts this time.” He was laughing. “Just a little fustian and worsted. Unbleached linen and second hand wool. Does it prickle?”
“Yes, very prickly. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this close to such uncomfortable materials before. This must prickle even more inside.”
“I’m thick skinned,” explained Nicholas.
Emeline smiled into his prickles. “So who are you supposed to be this time?”
The shutters had not yet been raised. The sunshine streamed in, angled in a wide sweeping stripe of gold across the floorboards. They sat together on the settle, she resting her head on his shoulder. The window was behind them, its light warming the back of their necks. Nicholas stretched his darned hose and scuffed brown shoes. “Oh, anybody will do. The story will change in different places. A wandering doctor perhaps, selling tinctures and salves. David has packed me a bag of herbs and spices, including lavender which I could smell from the other side of the stables. I suspect him
of mischief, since he knows I loathe the stuff and will throw it out at my first chance.”
She sat up, startled. “But Nicholas, how can you? What if people come for medicines? What if they want to be bled? What if you have to examine them?”
“I’ll cheerfully examine the women. I’ll send the men to Harry for treatment. He’s been bleeding folk for most of his life.”
Emeline said, “Oh, Nicholas. Would you really? Being quite free to do – without a boring wife pulling at your lacings – will you? Knowing I shall never know about it.”
His thoughts were momentarily focused elsewhere. Then he realised what she was asking, and grinned. “Oh, I imagine I can resist for a few days. So think the best of me, little one. And I shall miss you, and promise to avoid the temptations of lust and fornication.”
“Promises again.”
“I’ll be busy, my love, with no time for pleasure except in my dreams.”
Emeline reached out, cradling his face, her palm light against the long black scar. “Even when we’re not making love, you still call me your love. But I know I’m not. I’m the woman you didn’t want to marry. You don’t have to pretend.”
“I’m fast becoming accustomed.” He took her fingers, moving them from his face to his lap. She felt the sudden quickening of his body, and was surprised. He said, “And pretending is what I have to do from now on. I’ll be playing a different part. Adventure. Danger. But also border security, with a small hand, perhaps, in keeping our country safe.”
She shook her head. “Are you a – spy – Nicholas?”
“Lord no.” Nicholas stood abruptly, striding over to the window alcove where a small bundle lay; the last of his preparations. “Just a messenger – a man of small skills but trustworthy – one of the many the king uses. Then there’s a troop of ordinary men – perhaps more intelligent than the rest of us – who do the king’s bidding in even greater secrecy. Those are the spies, faceless and nameless. It’s a spy who gave the information I’m now being sent to act on. It’s a king’s main responsibility to protect his country. He can’t do that with sword and axe alone.”
“Oh dear,” mumbled Emeline. “Why would any man want to be king?”
“Many do. Many don’t. Some seek power. Me – power doesn’t interest me but action does. I’ve seen my father slouch too long at the ear of kings, hoping for recognition. So I don’t want boredom either. I doubt our good King Richard ever yearned to be king, though when Bishop Stillington announced the old king’s bigamy to the world, Richard of Gloucester was the direct heir. He had no choice once he was elected by all three estates. But I believe he was born to power. He handles it better than most.”
She took a deep breath. “But I don’t want you to go on dangerous missions.”
“But I do.” Nicholas dropped the small bundle at his feet and came back to the settle, sitting quickly again beside his wife, both hands to her shoulders. “I call it adventure, and that’s a convenient word, but I stand for more than that, my love. And I’ll be back, I promise. Meanwhile you can start believing my promises. If the king trusts me, you might as well too. Can you love a man you don’t trust?”
“You don’t even believe I love you,” she pointed out. “You said I was just infatuated because you make me feel – and you know how you make me feel.”
And he said, “I know what you love, my little one,” and chuckled.
“You don’t understand,” she sighed. “I wanted something all my life. Dreamed of it. Yearned for it. Not just romance, and certainly not making love, since I didn’t even know what that was. It was so much more than that. I thought it was Peter, of course. Our wedding was nearly planned, so it had to be him. Then after you made love to me, I realised it was you. All the dreams, all the wanting, all the coming alive and feeling safe, it all just happened in your arms.”
He took her hand, squeezing her fingers. “Silly puss. So trust me then.”
“But you go away so often, and I’m frightened you’ll never come back at all.”
“I’m not such a fool.” Nicholas stood again, bending to kiss her briefly on each cheek and once lightly on the mouth. “The king wants a little exploration, questioning and poking into corners. His grace would send Brampton or Lovell if there was real danger expected. I’m little more than fledgling fodder, my love, a tadpole amongst toads.” He stepped back, smiling. “But I’m hoping to meet up with two very different men, one a Tudor emissary bringing letters from France to Northumberland, and I mean to intercept him. And the other –”
But he was interrupted. From downstairs echoes rumbled, the slamming of doors, calls for the steward, then for Nicholas. Adrian’s voice answered, but was shouted over. “I’ll have you know this house belongs to me before all else,” roared the Earl of Chatwyn, “and I’ll be attended to, nor accept argument. So where’s my boy? Where’s that fool son of mine?”
Upstairs Nicholas nodded to Emeline and spoke quietly. “I’m away, and fast. If the old drunkard sees me dressed like this there’ll be a thousand awkward questions and I’ll never escape. You’re the lady of the house, so deal with your difficult guest while I get out by the stables.”
Emeline whispered back, “Is he drunk?”
“He’s so habituated, it’s hard to tell. But listen; slurred, slovenly, and angry without motive. So yes, he’s drunk, and I wish I was. Can you handle it, my love?”
“I can. I will. My mother and your father. Adrian, Sissy and Avice. What could be easier? What joyful entertainment it will be to be sure, while I’m desperately missing you and just longing to crawl into bed alone and dream of your return.” And Emeline turned from him, running into the corridor towards the main stairs. She did not look back.
Chapter Thirty-One
It was another slow saffron afternoon. They sat in Emeline’s bedchamber, still drowsy with the tired yawns of an interrupted night.
Eight women, and the chamber seemed almost crowded. Emeline curled back on her bed against the high stacked pillows. She had dressed a little grandly, hoping for confidence in face of her father-in-law’s arrival. But now her curls were unruly and the pins of her headdress were askew in the wilting starched chiffon. Her sister sat beside her, knees scrunched up and arms around her knees, showing far too much ankle and a face quite flushed with tired excitement.
The baroness, sitting very straight in her chair, faced her daughters. On the opposite side of the bed, neat and quiet, Sysabel sat resting against the end post, the open drapes like a small cloak around her shoulders. Across the chamber on the wide settle where Nicholas had sat the night before to say goodbye to his wife, now reclined the Lady Elizabeth, complaining of exhaustion and headache. The maid Hilda stood silently behind, gently rubbing the lady’s neck to ease strained muscles. Nurse Martha sat alone on the window seat, hands neat clasped, hiding her misgivings, the baroness’s maid Petronella standing quietly in the shadows beside her.
The baroness said, “My dear girl, you are a married woman, a lady in your own right and mistress of your own household. How do I advise you now?”
“I cannot believe that would ever stop you, Maman.”
“Very well,” said the baroness, “I shall tell you exactly what I think.”
Avice mumbled at her knees, “You think we’re stupid and have to stop.”
“I’m surprised to hear you consider yourself my judge and jury, Avice,” said the baroness, “yet as usual you fail me. Indeed, I have every intention of staying here for some time, and of becoming involved in this entirely interesting enterprise. I may not have mourned my husband quite as rigorously as I might have done had he not been discovered in the arms of a prostitute, but even such hypocrisy can hardly be said to merit his murder. Someone has had the unutterable temerity to slaughter the Baron Wrotham and leave me a widow. If the culprit is still cowering but living, I shall do my best to uncover him.”
Everybody stared at the baroness in considerable surprise. “So you’re not going to stop us?” asked E
meline in amazement.
“I intend helping you,” said her mother. “Now, is there quill and ink available, or must we organise in secret? I believe a written list, each of us adding a name or two perhaps, will survive better than simple whispers written on the back of my mind.”
The Lady Elizabeth, with a faint aroma of apple blossom, shook her head in silent disapproval. “Paper,” muttered Avice, “can be read by all and sundry. Minds can’t.”
“Then we must be a little more efficient than you anticipate, Avice,” her mother told her. “A skill I have in abundance, although you clearly do not. A simple list of names without further explanation is hardly a hanging matter. And it must be kept safe.”
“Everything for scribing is kept downstairs,” Emeline said, sitting forwards in a hurry. “In the little annexe off the hall. But his lordship is down there, and I would really rather not have to excuse myself to him again. He was such a trial last night and nearly as bad this morning.”
“Then we’ll leave the earl in peace with his bosom friend the wine jug,” said the baroness. She turned a little, then saying, “Martha, we are in need of paper, ink and pen. Emma will explain exactly where you might find these things, and you will fetch them and bring them back upstairs to us. If either his lordship the earl or Sir Adrian interrupts you, you will inform them that your mission is urgent and that you have been instructed to hurry.”
Having written, the baroness passed the paper to Emeline, the ink still wet and leaving its own thin trail of leakage. First she had written the anonymous boy, child of the whore who had been murdered at the baron’s side. Secondly the baroness wrote the name Edmund Harris, and Avice, who was now peering over her shoulder, squeaked, “Really, Maman, that’s ridiculous.”
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