Court of Conspiracy

by April Taylor

  Chapter Nineteen

  “You made us jump, Mistress,” Cecily said with a frown. Then she looked at the door from which Pippa had entered the cloisters. “Do you come from the Princess? Are you one of her ladies?”

  Pippa perceived in an instant that Cecily had not recognized her, and felt the beginnings of a smile. Purposely making her voice much higher than her normal throaty tones, she replied. “I am, Mistress. And you?”

  “I am one of the ladies attending the...the Lady Mary,” Cecily replied. Her eyes narrowed in a frown. “Have we met before?”

  Pippa made her tone haughty, as befitted a maid to the favored Princess Elizabeth. “I am certain I would remember if we had.”

  The man smiled and bowed. Pippa caught a swirl of scented breath mixed with something altogether less pleasant. “I will leave you, ladies,” he said, then turned on his heel and strode toward the King’s apartments.

  Cecily looked after him. Pippa knew that sulky, thwarted expression only too well.

  “I am newly arrived here, Mistress,” Cecily said turning to face her, making an effort to be civil. “Perhaps you could guide me back to my lady’s apartments?”

  Pippa thought quickly. She had no idea where the Lady Mary’s rooms were.

  “I am sorry, I am only lately arrived here myself. Mayhap they are past the Privy kitchen and through the Fountain Court. Shall we see?” As they walked across the courtyard, Pippa fought to control the laughter bubbling up inside her. Not only had Cecily no idea of her identity, but that foul-breathed lout for whom her cousin had so obviously been playing the coquette was not a patch on her Geoffrey.

  She felt her stomach turn to water when she remembered last night, reliving the memory of his insistent hands stroking her neck, his urgent mouth seeking hers. Bertila had done exactly as Pippa had hoped and told him of her new situation. At the first opportunity, he had slipped into Dufay’s garden to see her. The Elemagus had almost caught them, but Geoffrey stayed motionless and Pippa had pretended to be putting out slops for the pig. Cecily’s voice brought her back to the present with a start.

  “Have you been at Hampton Court long?”

  Pippa thought quickly. “The Princess Elizabeth only arrived lately.”

  “Have you seen the King?”

  With every question, Pippa was getting deeper into unknown territory. She could sense that the girl walking next to her was trying to pin down a sharp prick of familiarity. Another three or four questions and her identity would be laid bare. She opened her mouth to excuse herself and escape through Fish Court when a series of cries, followed by a loud crash and screaming made both girls cry in fright, their hands to their throats. They rushed through to the Base Court from whence the noise originated.

  A knot of people gathered round the large chunk of masonry evidently just fallen from the roof. Courtiers surrounded the King, some gazing around, their hands on the hilts of their swords. Henry stared at the roof, his brows drawn over black eyes in a thunderous scowl.

  “Who is up there?” he shouted, gesturing at the guards to investigate.

  All eyes scanned the four sides of the roof as the guards scrambled to obey, but there was no discernable movement, all the workmen having finished their duties for the day. Everyone spun round as a door flew open on the west side of the court. The Queen dashed into view, attended by three ladies, terror clear on their faces.

  The Queen sank into a deep curtsey. “Your Majesty, are you hurt?” she asked, her voice clear and high but with an audible tremor.

  The King leaned forward and raised her to her feet. “My dearest mother, do not look so pale or speak so shrill. I am, as you see, unhurt.” He examined the huge block near his feet and scrutinized the faces surrounding him. “It would appear somebody is throwing stones at me.”

  * * *

  Hearing the kitchen door slam back on its hinges, Luke grabbed a pestle and hurtled through from the shop. Pippa, wide-eyed and breathless, stood confronting Robin, his hair still dark. The boy had knocked over the bench jumping to his feet, adding to the noise and confusion.

  “Who are you?” Pippa asked, looking from one to the other of them.

  “I should ask you the same,” Robin replied.

  Luke burst out laughing. That two people, one lately under the perception spell and the other still in its power, should stand in his kitchen and not recognize each other tickled his sense of the ridiculous. Pippa’s expression soon sobered him.

  “This is no time for laughter,” she said. “A chunk of rock has fallen from the roof, missing the King by inches.”

  Luke righted the bench and dropped onto one end of it. “Tell me everything,” he said, feeling the blood drain from his face.

  Pippa hesitated, eyeing Robin, who was still standing alert. Luke nodded. “It is good that you do not know Robin with dark hair. You have sharp eyes, and if you cannot penetrate his disguise then mayhap he is safe. He has been helping me since...since we last met.” He turned to Robin. “I need to speak to this lady alone—”

  “She’s no lady. I know her voice. Have you dyed her hair, too, or is it a wig?”

  Luke’s eyes met Pippa’s. “It is a wig, of course,” she said. “How else do you think this color would be achieved?”

  “Robin, stay here,” Luke said. “We’ll be in the shop.”

  Pippa sank down on the settle as Luke closed the door. Ajax and Joss greeted each other and flopped to the floor, the one curled round the other.

  Pippa laughed. “Look at them, all ears and legs.”

  Luke, however, had no time for social discourse. “What has happened? Quickly.”

  Pippa closed her eyes. “I can’t remember much about being with the Princess, except that Queen Anne was there, too. I remember the smell of roses and musk and then the Princess smiled and gave me some milk and cakes. It was after I left that things got interesting.”

  Seeing the color return to her face, Luke guessed that she was beginning to recover from what had been a terrifying experience and to enjoy being the bearer of such momentous tidings. The shock of being in close proximity to an attempt on the King’s life, coming on top of the intense relief at successfully escaping Cecily, caused the words to tumble from her mouth like the Thames in full spate. He did not interrupt, but waited until she ran out of news.

  “What did the man with scented breath look like?” he asked when she ground to a halt.

  “He was showing courtly elegances to Cecily, but I would not care to meet him alone in the dark. Sturdy with a surly expression. I couldn’t see the color of his hair because he wore a cap, but it might have been brown. I’ll tell you one thing, though.” She waited for Luke’s response. and he knew that the tension he tried to conceal was evident in every line of his body.

  Pippa’s voice faltered for a moment. “I think Cecily hesitated before saying the words “Lady Mary” because she had been about to say “Princess Mary.” In fact, I am sure of it.”

  “You do not surprise me. The Queen must be incandescent with rage at this latest attempt.” Luke chewed the side of his thumb.

  “Not with you, surely? How can you be at fault?”

  “Of course she will blame me. Are you still so naive? Think, girl. If the King dies, who will inherit the throne?” He watched puzzlement cloud her face, his frustration willing her to see the obvious.

  “Surely it would be Princess Elizabeth.”

  “No, no. In his will, Great Harry put the Lady Mary ahead of her sister, should his son die without heirs. He was very clever, always balancing the factions on the council so that no one clique gained the upper hand.” Pippa blinked like a pupil hearing something for the first time. Surely she must know this? He tapped his finger on the counter to emphasize his words. “He feared insurrection if he disinherited Mary. Didn’t you know that?” When he
thought on it, why would she know? She was of no account in her uncle’s house and suspected of heretic tendencies. He lowered his voice and explained.

  “Mary is only mentioned in the will because he was certain Henry would marry, have children, and the problem would never arise. As things stand at the moment, the heir-apparent is the Lady Mary. That being the case, who do you think would be the first victim fed to the fires? Queen Anne. Their mutual hatred is well-known, if not openly acknowledged. I believe that even if the Queen recanted, Mary would still burn her.”

  “Do you think, then, that the Lady Mary is behind these attacks on the King?”

  Luke paced the shop floor, his mind working through permutations and consequences. “She is known to be a most pious lady. No. If she ascends the throne, it will be the will of God, not the will of man. The thought of murder to achieve England’s return to the fold would never cross her mind, although she would, I think, be without mercy for the sake of her faith.”

  “And what if she considers the King’s death to be the will of God however it is accomplished?”

  Luke’s hands scrabbled through his curly blond hair. “I know not, but I must redouble my efforts, or else I can see that the Tower will gain another hapless prisoner. And you should return to Master Dufay’s house. The spell will be almost spent.”

  * * *

  Luke left the shop as soon as it was dark and headed for Hampton. He was alert, his mental tendrils reaching in all directions. There were people on the road to the village, but none registered as a threat and Joss gave no sign of being disturbed. As a precaution, he had again treated her with the shimmer spell. He knew the tavern would be crowded, but trusted her to avoid unwary feet.

  Of the two taverns in the village, The Ship was frequented mainly by river traders, so he headed for the Black Boy. It took a little time in the dingy atmosphere to pinpoint his quarry. Feeling the glass of the small phial tucked into his sleeve, Luke bought a jug of ale and turned to study the customers whilst taking his first sip. The buzz of conversation that had lulled on his arrival now returned to its former volume.

  He made his way through the crowd to a seat next to John Bell, affecting not to see the Mewsmaster. Now he was here, he was uncertain how to proceed. Should he ask his questions here or take the man elsewhere? Which would be safer? No, his mind corrected. Which would get him the answers he needed?

  The diablerie was still on the man sitting next to him. Luke’s mind tried to penetrate it, but could not. Perhaps if he progressed to Dominus, seeing through a shadow like this would be easy. The next morning, he would go to Master Dufay and begin his studies. Meanwhile, his silence seemed to have made his neighbor uncomfortable.

  “Not often we see you in this neck of the woods, Master Ballard.”

  “Sometimes, as you must know well in your job, Master Bell, you need a change of scenery and a moment or two of peace. My duties are by no means as onerous as yours, but I am no different.”

  “Indeed. And I’m shorthanded. Two of my best boys gone and their replacements are as much use as a young buck in a field of sheep. I haven’t forgotten that dung you want for your herbs, neither. Should have some ready next week.”

  “I take it that Robin Flete has not returned?”

  “Nor been taken, neither. Though I do know he’s bin back to the stables.”

  “How so?”

  “That tack he stole. I found it in an empty stall two days since. He must’ve sneaked in during the night to put it back. I reckon he heard the sentry, dumped the lot and legged it.”

  “You think he is still in the district?”

  “He don’t know anywhere else. Though, come to think on it, he mentioned someone out Bridewell way. Mayhap they would do better raising a hue and cry there.”

  Another silence fell between them. If Luke jogged Bell’s arm, it would arouse suspicion. But to get the clarifying spell into the man’s ale, his attention must be distracted. Could he drop it into the mug? The spell would take a few minutes to become effective. Safer to stay here and converse in undertones than get the Mewsmaster on his own outside.

  In the event, the decision was taken from Luke’s hands when Bell called for another jug. Luke insisted on paying and put on a show of fumbling for his coins, in the course of which he slipped the bottle from his cuff into his palm, eased off the stopper and emptied it into the other’s mug. Then he seized the newly filled jug and poured fresh ale over the top. Luke watched Bell’s hand as it lifted up and down from his mouth. Four or five gulps later, he judged the time was right.

  Luke leaned toward Bell and immediately identified the faint scent emanating from him. The same as on the glove. Bell might not have been wearing the gloves that morning in the stables, but he had certainly held or worn them at some point. This interrogation would be interesting.

  “Strange thing about Goodwife Pitt being found like that,” Luke said.

  “Aye. I reckon her wits did desert her.”

  “Why d’you think Gethin did it?”

  He felt, rather than saw, Bell’s head swivel round, suspicion in his voice. “What’s it to you?”

  Luke cursed under his breath. Too early. “It’s not every day you come close to a traitor, is it?”

  “Don’t think I don’t know.” The man relaxed and Luke released the breath he had been holding. “I was taken for questioning, too, you know,” Bell continued.

  “No. What for?”

  “Wanted to know how long he’d worked in the stables.”

  “Makes sense. If he had only been there a short while, he might have been put there on purpose to do what he did,” Luke said gesturing with his mug, thus causing the Mewsmaster to take another swig.

  “Well, that’s where you’re wrong, see. He’d bin there longer than me, and I bin there four years come Michaelmas. I thought you knew that.”

  “I take it you were away that day?”

  “Why? ’Course I were there. I’m always there unless the King is away. I got to be, in case he needs his horses. The Master of Horse would have my innards for lute strings if I was away.”

  “Aye, I see.”

  Another silence. Luke risked a glance at his companion. The man’s eyes were half-shut now. Luke laughed and leaned over as if to share a quiet joke.

  “Speak softly but true, John Bell. Did Gethin saddle the King’s horse?”

  “Aye.” The voice was so soft Luke strained to hear it.

  “Did you go near the horse afterwards?”

  “Aye.”

  “Laugh as if I have just told you a jest.”

  Bell began to laugh and Luke joined in. Then he leaned close again. “Did you check Jasper’s girths?”

  “Aye.”

  Time was running out and Luke had not yet asked the most important question.

  “What did you put under the saddle?”

  “Thorns.”

  “When?”

  “As I took the horse outside. Slid ’em under.”

  “Who gave them to you?”

  “Can’t see him.”

  “What color hair did he have?”

  “Can’t see him.”

  “Where is the rose stem now?”

  “Buried it.”

  “Where?”

  “Between the shit heap and the river.”

  “How was the man who gave you the stem dressed?”

  “Can’t see him.”

  “Laugh again.”

  Luke joined in and disengaged his mind. Bell’s head dropped onto his chest, sleeping. If Luke could find the stem, he could take it to the Queen to support his argument that Gethin was blameless. No innocent man would have buried it. The Queen might suspect that he was embellishing the confession, but the stem would be solid evidence of Bell’s guilt. Aye, if Luke
could bring Queen Anne definitive proof, he might be able to persuade her that she needed a better brain than his to decipher this conundrum. Too late for Gethin and his mother, but together with the glove, it was the beginning of a long strand that had to lead to the would-be murderer. He would get up at first light and retrieve it.

  Preoccupied by his thoughts, Luke became aware only gradually that he was under surveillance. He lifted his head, which must have alerted his watcher. Using all his senses, Luke rose to his feet, pushing through to where he knew the observer had been standing. Nothing. His best course of action was to make haste home.

  He kept his eyes and senses alert for anyone in the vicinity, but could discern no threat, so he decreased his vigilance and began to rerun the recent interview in his mind. Joss padded at his side. She stopped once or twice and looked back, but each time, after a few moments, she caught up with Luke and he, busy with his own thoughts, paid no heed to her.

  He had passed the stables and could see the nimbus glow of the torches at the main gate to the Outer Green. Still thinking about John Bell, his mind was suddenly wrenched back to full awareness by Joss growling. Only then did he register the scent of danger behind him. In an instant he ducked to one side, an action that saved his life. The blow intended to kill him did not land as hard or accurately as his would-be assassin intended though it was still enough to fell him.

  Luke heard a loud bellow, realizing a few moments later that the sound emanated from him. He fought desperately to stay conscious, hearing running feet receding in the direction of Hampton. Joss stood over him, still growling softly, but even as he put up his hand to stroke her, everything went black.

  Chapter Twenty

  Luke swam up from black depths, his head throbbing, his face wet. Joss alternately whimpered and growled and he knew that she had been trying to rouse him by licking his face. The front of his tunic reeked of ale and he felt his shoulder being shaken in no gentle fashion. Captain Creswell leaned over him.