A Pawn for a Queen: An Ursula Blanchard Mystery at Queen Elizabeth I's (Ursula Blanchard Mystery at Queen Elizabeth I's Court)

by Buckley, Fiona

“Leave it,” I said. “Let us never speak of it again. Dale will tell you when you’re alone. I don’t ask her to have secrets from you.”

  “Dear God!” said Brockley.

  I said, determinedly: “How far is it to the English border?”

  25

  Face-to-Face

  It took us five weeks to reach southern England. The weather turned wet, changing tracks to rivers, flooding fords, converting once solid ground to quagmires and delaying us, and then both Dale and I caught cold on the way. We fell ill virtually together, Dale on one day and myself on the next, and spent a fortnight of shared misery, confined indoors in a Midlands hostelry. It was lucky that I still had enough money with me to pay the innkeeper for the extra time and the stabling for our horses.

  I was very worried about Dale, with whom colds so easily turned serious. She developed a cough, which I did not, and took much longer to recover than I did. Brockley, who remained well (and prudently slept over the stables rather than with Dale), went out to buy horehound medicine and a balsam to put in boiling water so that she could inhale the aromatic steam. We got her well in the end, but she had lost a great deal of strength, and when we set off again, we could only do a few miles a day.

  Brockley’s manner to me, throughout the whole ride, was odd; not disapproving exactly, more a mixture of the distant and the anxious. But only during the later part of the journey did he actually comment, and then it was oblique. He did not mention Dormbois’s name, or speak of Roderix Fort, but as he rode at my side one misty morning, he said: “Madam, you may think me impertinent, but you know me well enough to know that I only have your welfare in mind.”

  “Yes, Brockley?”

  “The way you are living isn’t right, madam, for you, or for Fran. I do ask you, with all my heart, to find a more settled manner of living. I urge you to marry again.”

  He didn’t add and it would be easier for me, but the implication was there and I knew it. Brockley loved me. Dale by now must have told him (even if he hadn’t guessed) that in Roderix Fort I had been with Dormbois as I would never be with Brockley himself. He was a conventional man and he could accept the thought of me with a lawful husband, but Dormbois had not been that, and the thought of that night must stick in his gullet. It was hard for him.

  I said: “I know,” and he nodded, understanding that I also knew the things he hadn’t actually said.

  It was the last week of April before, at last, we came in sight of the chimneys of Thamesbank, where I had left Meg. I intended to collect her but not to sleep under Thamesbank’s roof. I didn’t want to hurt Mattie’s feelings, but this was Rob Henderson’s house and accept its hospitality now I could not and would not. I saw to it that we timed our arrival at Thamesbank for mid-morning, so that we could easily pack Meg’s things and be on our way to Withysham the same day.

  But before we had dismounted, Mattie came out to greet us, and though she was smiling bravely, I knew at once that something was wrong. The smile was a mere pretense. She reached up a hand to clasp mine and hers was shaking.

  “Mattie, what is it?”

  “You’d better get down. You . . .”

  “Mattie! What’s wrong? Meg? Is Meg all right? Tell me!” Giving Brockley no time to alight and offer his help, I was already scrambling out of the saddle.

  “Meg is perfectly well and is at her lessons,” said Mattie. “You shall see her in a moment. This is nothing to do with Meg. Please come inside. You too, Dale, and Brockley, leave the horses to our grooms. You know very well they’re reliable. Come.”

  Bewildered, we did as she said. Thamesbank was a large and beautiful house close to the river, with a wide stretch of grass running down to the water and a landing stage and boats of its own. We had come to the landward side, but as soon as we were indoors, in the big main hall where the family dined, with the minstrels’ gallery above and windows looking out to both the front gate and the river, I saw that an unfamiliar barge was drawn up at the stage.

  “You have visitors?” I said to Mattie.

  “They’ve been here since yesterday,” said Mattie. “They’re waiting for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Ursula . . .” Mattie took my hands and drew me away to a window seat, out of anyone else’s hearing. We sat down and she looked gravely into my eyes. “My dearest Ursula. I love you, and I love Meg. But I also love Rob. I don’t know what to say to you. Rob came home a few days ago. He expected to find that you had been here long before him and was surprised and worried that you had not.”

  “I was ill on the way and so was Dale. Mattie . . .”

  “Yes, we know that now. Word reached Cecil three days ago—one of the innkeepers on your route is . . .”

  “One of Cecil’s agents. Is that what you mean?”

  “Shh. Listen. Ursula, we know everything that happened in Scotland. I know that your cousin was murdered and by whom—which means that I know what part my Rob had in it. What am I to say to you? To me, he is still my Rob and always will be. But . . .”

  “I don’t blame you, Mattie. How could I? You have been a good friend, a blessing. No one could have been kinder to Meg. Only, now . . .”

  “I know. Oh, Ursula . . .”

  “It means,” I said, “that I can’t stay a night with you because . . . because . . . well, I’ve come to fetch Meg and take her home. I’ll have to go to Faldene, of course, and . . .”

  I was upset and nervous, almost rambling. Mattie put a finger on my lips.

  “Ursula, I said that I had guests who were waiting for you. They come from the court. It was they who told us that you were on your way and were making for Thamesbank and would arrive soon. Sir William Cecil sent them, with orders to bring you to court at once. If you hadn’t appeared by tomorrow, they were to set out to meet you. They haven’t actually come to arrest you, but . . .”

  “I went to Scotland illegally,” I said tiredly. “I daresay that a man called Christopher Rokeby informed them of that. But . . .”

  I broke off, hearing voices. The door of the hall opened and in came three men. One of them I instantly recognized. He was middle-aged, his hair by this time almost entirely gray, but he looked as tough as ever and he was a man whom Cecil trusted absolutely. So, indeed, did Brockley and I. He had been with us for a while in France and Brockley had made friends with him.

  “John Ryder,” I said.

  “Mistress Blanchard.” He bowed, but his face was unsmiling. “We are relieved to see you safely here. You will wish to take a glass of wine with Mistress Henderson and greet your daughter and I will allow that. But after that, you and your people must come with us. We have orders to bring you with all speed to Hampton Court, where the queen and Sir William await you. And I regret to say,” added Ryder, sounding as though he really were regretful, “that you have no choice in the matter.”

  I said: “But I must go to Faldene. My cousin Edward was murdered and I ought to see his family and . . .”

  “Your letter, sent in March by Master Henderson’s man Barker, was duly delivered,” said Ryder. “They know of Master Faldene’s death. They can wait a little longer for you to come in person. Mistress Henderson, I suggest you send for the wine and fetch Mistress Blanchard’s daughter to her. But we must leave before midday.”

  • • •

  So, a brief hour with Meg. Long enough to hug her, to exclaim that she had grown again, to ask after her studies in Latin and hear her play a melody on the lute. I asked her the name of it and she said: “It is ‘Leicester’s Dance,’ Mama. The music master here says it is the most popular dance at court, and has been named after the Earl of Leicester.”

  “Robin Dudley,” said Mattie, who was watching in the background. “He was made Earl of Leicester in the autumn.”

  “Yes, I know. So he is still—very much a favorite?” I was speaking to Mattie.

  “It would seem so. But that’s of no interest to you, Meg,” Mattie added hastily. “These court affairs won’t matter to you for
a good many years yet. I only wish . . .”

  She stopped. Knowing that she wanted to speak to me privately, I kissed Meg and told her to fetch her latest piece of embroidery, so that I could see it before I left. Then I looked at Mattie.

  “I only wish I could share her future with you,” she said. “I wish that together we could see her grow up and go to court and marry. I see that that may not now be possible. But need we quite cease to be friends, Ursula?”

  “No. No, Mattie, of course not. After I get home—when I’m released!—I will write to you. I promise,” I said.

  Presently, having admired the embroidery, it was time once more to hug Meg, assure her that I would come back for her as soon as I could, and then, with the best grace possible—because, as I had found at Roderix Fort, if you are being forced to do something, it is more dignified to look as if you are willing—I went out to the barge, Brockley and Dale in attendance, and embarked for Hampton Court.

  It wasn’t far. The day was one of brisk wind, with alternate sun and cloud. The river went from sparkling to iron gray and back again to sparkling as we journeyed, and I was glad I had a thick cloak to keep the breeze off. I told myself that I was shivering because the breeze was so cold. It was better than admitting that I was frightened.

  Hampton Court is a beautiful palace, standing serenely by the river, built of rosy brick with gray stone edgings, its rooms spacious, its tapestried and ornamental ceilings a wonder to the eye. It has ghosts, though. It is also the palace where Kate Howard, King Henry’s young, frivolous fifth wife, was arrested. She glimpsed him at the far end of a gallery and ran screaming toward him, only to be dragged back by the guards. Some say that sometimes, in that gallery, at dusk, those screams still echo, and although I have never heard them myself, I always feel uneasy there, as though there were a shadow on my spirit.

  I was now, for the first time, coming to court as something nearer to a prisoner of the queen than one of her servants. As I disembarked and walked into that beautiful palace, my feet felt as though they were weighted with lead.

  I was taken to a small room overlooking the wide grounds, and there I waited, with Brockley and Dale, with Ryder to keep an eye on us. We were there for the best part of an hour, before I was called into an adjoining room. Cecil was there. With him was Rob Henderson.

  I made a correctly deep curtsy to Cecil, and a very shallow one to Rob. He held out a hand to raise me, but I pretended I hadn’t seen it and straightened up unaided. Wordlessly, he stepped back.

  “Be seated,” said Cecil. He was already sitting down. Like Uncle Herbert, Cecil suffered from gout and did not like to stand for too long. He studied me gravely. He had a neat fair beard, serious, intelligent blue eyes, and a deep line between his eyes. “Ursula,” he said, “you had no business to go to Scotland without asking the queen’s consent. I think you know that.”

  “It was a family matter,” I said. “And Edward . . . I couldn’t ask permission without stating my business. Because then I would have had to explain Edward’s and his was treason. I can say that now, since he’s dead, and anyway, I think you know. But I went to try to stop him from committing treason. It can’t be wrong to try to stop someone from doing that! And,” I said, suddenly ceasing to be afraid because I was very angry and anger drives out fear better than anything else, “I hoped to bring him back alive. I didn’t go to Scotland to murder him! As you did, Rob!”

  Henderson said soberly: “I had to. At least, I could have arrested him and brought him back to the Tower. Would you have preferred that, Ursula? You know what would have happened to him next. And even men in prison have been known to smuggle information out. Instead, I stopped his mouth for good, and he died quickly. Does that make me a monster?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. I stared at him. I was seeing the Rob Henderson I knew: the handsome, fair-haired man who had so often helped and supported me in my difficult and dangerous work, the beloved husband of my dear Mattie. But he had, so to speak, put the dagger into the hand that killed my cousin Edward and something in me cried out against that. I had once got my own uncle Herbert arrested for treason and I had always felt uncomfortable even about that, though I had little enough reason to love him and I had at the time been trying to do my duty as a loyal subject of Queen Elizabeth. This dead-of-night assassination was far worse. Rob had been my friend, but that friendship was poisoned now, beyond all recovery. I said blankly: “But I don’t understand how anyone knew what Edward was doing, anyway.”

  Cecil said quietly: “Your cousin Edward dismissed a valet he believed was spying on him. His family told you that, I think. Well, Edward was quite right, but what he didn’t realize was that the valet wasn’t—and isn’t—the only servant at Faldene who was in our pay. A copy of the document that Edward was carrying to Scotland was made and sent to us just before he set off with it. Master Henderson here was already preparing to join Henry Lord Darnley and accompany him to Scotland. When the news arrived, he was given a second task to perform, that of seeing that neither Edward nor his document reached their destination. And then, just as Master Henderson had finished his packing, further news arrived—that you were going after your cousin as well.”

  I remembered the hovering maidservant when I was at Faldene.

  “I told Mattie that I was going north to retrieve some jewelry that had been sold by mistake,” I remarked. “I felt at the time that she didn’t believe me.”

  “She knew what Edward was doing,” Rob said. “The news that he was going to Scotland was sent to Thamesbank first and then, because I wasn’t there, Mattie herself dispatched it on to me at court. When you arrived, also bound on an errand to the north, she guessed that there might be a connection. She was worried about you. She wrote to me to say so.”

  “You didn’t send after me to bring me back,” I said, puzzled now as well as angry.

  “It was considered but I argued against that,” said Rob. “I argued against it, Ursula. I didn’t want you to realize that we knew what your cousin was about. Because if you did, you might also, when you heard of his death, begin to suspect that we had arranged it. Believe it or not, Ursula, I knew how much that would distress you. I urged that you be left alone, allowed to make your journey—and bring back the sad news to Faldene’s family.”

  “I see,” I said. “But once I reached Scotland, I would be likely enough to find out that you were there.”

  “That wouldn’t have mattered, as long as you didn’t come to realize that I wasn’t just there to watch over Darnley,” said Rob. “Dear heaven, I’m so sorry you found out what my other errand was! When I agreed to ask Christopher Rokeby to obtain Mary Stuart’s original list for you, I did it because I wanted you to believe I knew no more of Edward’s death than you did. I didn’t even risk just forging a second version of the list for you to compare with mine, because you are so damned astute. I’ve known you to recognize a forgery before now, from very small clues. And if I’d refused outright, you were quite capable of trying to get at it yourself—I know you!”

  “I’m sorry I put Master Rokeby in danger,” I said stiffly.

  “You didn’t. That would have stopped me from taking the risk. Rokeby has a set of lockpicks, a fund dedicated to the purpose of bribery, and he happens to know that one of the clerks in William Maitland’s secretariat is the real father of the only son and heir of a particularly short-tempered Scottish noble. Rokeby can usually get his hands on any document he wants without running much if any risk. He and I played the comedy out, sweetheart, right to the end. He was in on the secret, yes. Ursula, all that was part of trying to hide the truth from you, to look innocent in your eyes. Mattie loves you. I value you more than you know. But you . . .” His voice took on an exasperated tinge. “I’ve told you before. You’re just like my dog Pokenose. You have to find out everything!”

  “Sir William Cecil,” I said coldly, “has on occasion paid me to do precisely that.”

  “You have a talent for it,” said Cecil, a
nd at last he smiled. “You have not been arrested, Ursula. You are not going to be taken to the Tower. But you are being warned. For your own safety—from us as well as from others!—never act alone in this way again.”

  “I overtook you on the road north,” Rob said. “I raced you to Scotland, and then went straight to Dormbois. I really did have Darnley to watch. I was supposed to be encouraging a match between him and Mary Stuart. I had work to do, as well as wanting to keep in the shadows as far as Faldene was concerned. I made Dormbois my deputy, as it were. He has been in our pay since John Knox converted him, a year ago now. And Dormbois—doesn’t mind too much what he does.”

  “As I well know,” I said. “And Edward was murdered in the night because he was carrying a list of Mary’s English supporters—an updated list. When she already has one, even if it is a little older.”

  “Ursula.” Cecil’s voice was calm. “Edward was carrying more than a list. He was also carrying the names of those who were on the original list, but who have since changed sides and are working for us. Dormbois is not the only man who seems to be hers, but is really ours.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I realized that something like that was happening.”

  Cecil nodded. “She and her supporters are building up a network of supporters in England—but we are creating a network, too. Ours consists of her apparent supporters, who will keep us informed of what she is doing, of every move she makes. Dormbois’s own name was on that list. The Thursbys—you stayed with the Thursbys, did you not?—are on it too. So are the Bycrofts.”

  “Those two families were the ones I found out about,” I said.

  “Pokenose!” Rob put in.

  “The Thursbys,” said Cecil with slight amusement, “are afraid of having their home repossessed by the Church if a Catholic ruler took over the English throne. My agents have worked quite hard to encourage that fear to the point where the Thursbys agreed to work for Elizabeth. The Bycrofts needed money and could simply be bought.”