by April Taylor
* * *
The next morning, Pippa came running into the shop to tell Luke that a grand company was expected to come over the Kingston Bridge later. “I asked one of the guards. He says it is the Lady Mary and her retinue. They are coming in preparation for the King’s birthday and the foreign visitors. May I go and watch?”
“If you must. Come back directly, though.” Luke looked into the girl’s excited face and smiled. Their usual morning meal had been largely silent. Although Luke had decided the previous night to make peace with Pippa, he knew he would have to address the question of her lie about living in Norfolk when it was in Suffolk and close to the Lady Mary. It would be useful to know if she had ever been to Framlingham or if the Lady Mary had ever visited the Messinghams. He would use the royal arrival to broach the subject and, at the same time reinforce the fact that now she was his housekeeper, Pippa must quash her impulse to behave as one of the gentry. Even the Queen, great lady as she was, could do nothing without the consent of the King, lest it be regarded as treason.
Nonetheless, Luke doubted if the King knew that his mother had given him the task of tracking down the would-be murderer. The weight of responsibility thrust upon him put his worry about Peveril, Bertila and Pippa to the back of his mind.
Having made up the pomander for Gwenette, Luke sat on the settle, Joss between his knees. She seemed to sense his inner turmoil, for she rested a paw on the inside of his thigh. He slid both arms around her and hugged her, something he knew usually made her fidget, but today she sat immobile, her head on his chest, her nose nuzzling into his neck, and soon the tumult in his mind eased.
He rose, picked up the pomander and clicked his fingers at her. As he saw it, he had three distinct problems. The first and most pressing, was, of course, the investigation given to him by Queen Anne. Then there was the issue of Robin Flete. Pippa was the third difficulty. Luke knew that he had to keep her away from Peveril at all costs. Thinking about this, he acknowledged he had a fourth problem, Corbin Quayne’s anxiety at the situation between Peveril and Bertila. He saw again in his mind Corbin snatching up the roses and throwing them into the fire. Reflections on the previous night brought his mind circling straight back to Pippa.
He made a detour through the palace kitchens complex to try and find young John Corbet, needing to learn who had carried the gossip regarding the discovery of Goodwife Pitt’s body. This occupied his mind as he wondered what kind of young woman would be in church at that time of night. She might be a wife praying to produce a son. She could equally be using God’s house for an assignation. No point asking the Beadle. He had been fool enough to let her escape, which gave weight to the assignation theory. Well, if they used the church for their meetings, mayhap it would be profitable to keep watch there for a few nights.
He walked through the kitchen complex, dodging assistants running to fetch items from the different larders and almost colliding with a boy carrying a huge tray of pastry from the Pastry House to the main kitchen so that the Master Cooks might finish the pies. From the bustle and shouting around him and the rumbling of Luke’s own stomach, he knew it was almost time for the first sitting in the Great Hall, where the lower courtiers ate.
This, in itself, led him to speculate how whatever it was that had caused the King to be ill had been introduced to his food. Everyone knew His Majesty’s own private kitchen prepared and cooked his food, so, if something had been put into it, it had not come from the main kitchens. He had not heard of anyone in the King’s private kitchen being taken for questioning, so perhaps his ailment was being passed off as of little importance. Had it been Great Harry, half the kitchen staff would have been languishing in the Tower by this time.
He hailed Serjeant Gates, an occasional drinking companion at the local tavern, and asked him where he could find John Corbet. Gates frowned. “He’s in one of the dressers, Luke, but you can’t bother him now. The meal’s about to go in. I need to keep the way clear.”
“I’ll come back later,” Luke said, backing away.
The Serjeant grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the way of a procession of liveried servants, all carrying trays of food. When he spoke his voice was loud and rough.
“Don’t bother to come back at all. You can see him at his lodgings,” he said. “We’ve instructions that nobody is allowed to enter any part of the kitchens except on official business, and as yours isn’t, you can sling your hook. And take that four-legged pisspot with you.”
Behind Gates, some yards away, Luke could see a richly robed high official watching them. Gates’s wink told Luke that the Serjeant had seen the man, and it robbed his words of any offense.
“I prithee pardon, Master Serjeant,” he said in an equally loud voice. “I will go now.” So that the unknown official could not see the grin on his face, Luke scurried backward before wheeling about and vanishing around the nearest corner. He stopped with his ear cocked to hear what, if anything, the official would say. He was not disappointed. He heard a high-pitched blustering voice.
“Who was that, Serjeant?”
“The apothecary, my lord. He lives near the palace gates.” Gates had put on a stolid wooden voice, knowing that Luke would be within earshot.
“And what did he want?”
“I can’t say, my lord. I moved him on, like your orders said.”
Luke did not stop to hear any more. He bent to wipe shimmer oil on Joss, then hurried to the Fountain Court, up the stairs and through the Great Hall to the doorway of the Great Watching Chamber. The room was thronged with courtiers and servants preparing the sittings. Luke had difficulty swimming through the mass of people scrabbling for seats at the tables.
“Why are you here, Master Apothecary?”
Luke turned to see Sir Nigel Kerr lounging against the doorway.
He bowed. “Good morrow, Sir Nigel. I am here to deliver a pomander to Mistress Paige, one of the sewing women. I believe she is mending hangings in here.”
“Why you and not a court apothecary? And who gave you leave to enter the palace at will?”
“As for your second question, sir, I did a service to the late Duke of Suffolk in the matter of his second son. King Henry VIII of blessed memory gave me free access to the palace as a mark of his favor and gratitude. In answer to your first, I have known Mistress Paige for some years. She came to me yesterday suffering from a headache. I suggested that she should get more fresh air and offered to bring her this.”
At the mention of Henry VIII, Nigel Kerr’s face paled and he swallowed. It was as much as Luke could do not to laugh at the man’s expression.
“Very well, let us find her. Follow me.”
Luke cursed under his breath, but had no option other than to do as he was bidden. The Watching Chamber was also full, the pages preparing tables for the high courtiers to eat their main meal. Luke saw Gwenette almost at once, but could not give her prior warning. She looked up to find Sir Nigel standing over her. She sprang to her feet before sinking into a deep curtsey, head bowed.
“How now, Mistress. The apothecary tells me you asked him for treatment.”
Gwenette did not raise her eyes. “Indeed, my lord. The close work gives me a headache.”
“Why did you not ask a court apothecary?”
“My lord, I would not be so forward.”
“That is very humble and proper of you, Mistress, but you attend the court and are permitted to ask court officials, including the apothecaries, for things you need. There is no call to go to a pigeon-livered rascal who will overcharge you.”
Luke concentrated on keeping his hands by his side, his demeanor submissive, although he longed to smash his fists into that mocking, supercilious face. It was men like this smooth courtier who climbed to lofty heights on the backs of whoever came between them and their ambition. They could condemn a man unheard and, the following week, have fo
rgotten the life snuffed out as if it had been no more important than a beetle.
Luke felt the warning touch of Joss’s nose nuzzling his palm. She knew him better than he knew himself, and he realized that his current worries were allowing his emotions to gain the upper hand. With a conscious effort he forced his muscles to relax. He could see that Gwenette was also torn between compliance and a sharp retort. Compliance won.
“You honor me with your concern, my lord. However, as the fault was mine, it would be churlish to send Master Ballard away when he has many calls on his time and has gone to the nuisance of making the pomander. I will bear in mind what you say should I need aid again.”
Sir Nigel turned to Luke.
“You have leave to give Mistress Paige the pomander, but do not come here without good cause and do not think that this is an opportunity to increase your business.”
Luke bowed, gave the pomander to Gwenette, and then turned and walked away. He knew that sooner or later, probably sooner, he would have another visit from her, but hoped that she took heed and did not come to the shop openly. Was the pounding in his head because of the behavior of the boorish Sir Nigel or from the stuffy atmosphere mixed with the smell of food? No wonder Gwenette felt ill. He ran down the stairs to the courtyard. The sight outside the Gatehouse made him forget Sir Nigel Kerr and Gwenette Paige both.
Luke pressed himself to the wall. It was the first time he had seen the Lady Mary at close quarters. Of small stature but richly dressed in fine velvets and bedecked with jewels, she glittered like the sun coming through the huge stained glass window in Hampton church. She must know that the King frowned upon such opulent display. Luke’s opinion was she did it solely to annoy her half brother. The retinue following her looked endless, so he turned back to make his way out of the palace by the Counting House gate.
A few minutes later, he entered his house to find a white-faced, frightened Pippa huddled over the kitchen table.
“What ails you?”
She lifted a tear-stained face to his. “I’ve just seen the Lady Mary and her train arriving. I can’t stay here now. I’ll have to leave.”
Luke shook her by the shoulder. “You’re going nowhere until you explain.”
She twisted her hands in the skirt of her gown. “I got a good position by the outer gates just as they started to come through.”
“Stop. Just tell me what has made you curl up like a mewling kitten.”
“I’m trying to tell you. It’s the visit of the Lady Mary. I saw her ladies in waiting, and one of them is Cecily Messingham.”
“Your cousin?”
“Aye. If she discovers I am here, I am lost.”
Chapter Thirteen
Luke sat on the other side of the table. “Was there talk of her being in the Lady Mary’s service before you ran away?”
“Not in my hearing.”
“I don’t think it will really be a problem, Pippa. Cecily won’t expect to see you, especially dressed as you are now, and I doubt very much if she will leave the confines of the Lady Mary’s apartments, unless it is to attend her to the King.”
As far as Pippa knew that was true enough, and he had the Queen’s instruction to put a perception spell on her when she took messages to the Princess Elizabeth. Besides, there would be no need for the girl to walk through the public chambers. The Princess’s chambers were on the north side of the palace, and Pippa could access them via the Privy Orchard. She did not need to know that yet and certainly not in her current state of fright.
“Do you know how long Lady Mary is staying?” Pippa asked.
“No, but Mistress Paige may be able to find out for us.”
The girl sprang to her feet and began to pace the room. “Mistress Paige does not like me. She must not know about Cecily.”
“I think you worry without cause, girl, and Mistress Paige has given no indication that she dislikes you,” Luke said in a sharper tone than he had meant.
“Men are so blind. Can you not see that she has a fancy for you and fears lest I should get in her way?”
Luke’s mouth dropped open. He leaned both hands on the table and glared at her. “I think your eyes are greener than you know.”
“You cannot see what is in front of your face. I must make sure that I do not stir from the house until Cecily is gone. It is the only way.” She began to cry in earnest.
“That may not be possible,” he said.
“Why?” she hiccupped.
Luke sighed. “Sit down, Pippa—there are things you must know. Oh, stop caterwauling, girl. You have nothing to fear.”
Taking a few moments to gather himself, Luke gave her a verbatim account of the Queen’s visit and her commission. Pippa stared at him, her eyes growing wider with each utterance. When he had finished, she sat, digesting what he had said.
“One thing I am right about,” she said finally. “If the Queen knew about the gown, then the only person who could have told her is Mistress Paige. We need to be careful. She may be playing a double game.”
“Show me a woman who doesn’t. I am going into the shop,” Luke said. He needed the comfortable familiarity of his herbs and potions. He had bitten back the automatic denial that had sprung to his lips, because, when one looked at the situation with a clear mind, Gwenette was indeed the only person who could have informed Queen Anne about the gown.
Thinking about the Queen brought home to him the fact that he had gathered virtually no information about the investigation to take to Princess Elizabeth. He went through a mental inventory, checking off the ingredients for the perception spell. He must prepare a report because the Princess was due with her husband in the next few days. That thought brought the hand that was stirring the infusion to a sudden stop. With the forthcoming official visits, the palace was going to be very full, and accommodation would be at a premium. It would not be the first time the lowest servants had been forced to bed down in the apple store. Dolt that he was, why had he not thought about that before? True, Robin’s plight had given him very little time to plan. If he moved him from the apple store, where could he safely stow him? Tomorrow was Sunday and no visitors were expected for another few days. He could do nothing before Monday in any case, save take the lad more food.
His musings were interrupted by marching feet, and before Luke could draw breath, the Captain of the Guard, accompanied by two yeomen, tramped into the shop. One of the yeomen shut the door and stood in front of it as if he was expecting Luke to try and abscond.
“You are required, Master Ballard,” Creswell announced in a crisp voice.
Luke swallowed, but concentrated on keeping his gaze steadily on the captain’s face. “By whom, sir?”
“You don’t need to know. Come with us.”
“May I just bottle this infusion? The potency reduces when it is free to the air.”
“If you’re quick.”
Whilst his hands decanted the green liquid into a large glass vessel, Luke’s mind was concerned with the problem of keeping Joss at his side. It would be impossible to take her; indeed the soldiers might harm or even kill her if she tried to stay close to him. However, he needed her presence to calm him as much as for protection. It was only a few seconds before the solution presented itself.
He rubbed his fingers together over the small amount of liquid left in the bowl, hoping that the heat thus generated would do its job. Then he tipped the now hot liquid into a thin glass phial and almost threw it onto a shelf behind him. The glass exploded, hurling shards all over the floor. A sweet pungent fragrance magnified by the temperature of the contents flooded the shop. The Captain’s face relaxed and he burst into laughter.
“That was clumsy, Master Ballard. No need to rush that much. We have time.”
Luke nodded, but kept up the appearance of speed. He seized some of the glass sha
rds, but in his hurry to clear up the mess, he knocked the jar next to the broken phial off the shelf. The jar fell to the floor behind the counter, and for a few seconds his hands were out of sight as he bent to pick it up. He flicked the stopper off with his thumb and tipped some of the oily liquid into his palm. Then he picked up the jar with his other hand and set it upright on the counter.
“I’ve lost the stopper,” he said. “I beg your forgiveness, sir.”
“Marry, there is nothing to forgive, Master Ballard. I will wait until you are ready.” The other yeomen joined in Creswell’s laughter.
Once more Luke bent down to pick up the cork stopper, but the hand with the liquid in it stroked Joss from her head, down her back to her tail, replenishing the shimmer spell he had put on her in the palace. Then he straightened up, replaced the stopper and put the jar back on the shelf.
“I’ll tidy that when I come back,” he said.
“Aye, you should be back soon. I think the Lord Steward only wants to question you about something that happened this morning.”
Luke nodded. He walked toward the door and the yeoman opened it. The usual summer smells of cooking food and dung swept in, eradicating the scent from the smashed phial. Creswell’s manner reverted to his customary impatient tone as they trooped toward the Counting House.
The escort marched Luke to a large paneled chamber. At the other side of a table sat not the Lord Steward, but Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk. Sir Nigel Kerr lounged against the window embrasure. Head bent, Luke watched Joss slip through the door behind him, but knew that for the next hour or so, until the oil dried, she would not be noticed by anyone else in the room. She was not invisible—it was just that she would be seen as a patch of light or a shadow, not as a dog. Once the oil dissipated, her true state would be apparent, but Luke hoped to be safely home by then.
