Honor Bound

by C. J. Archer

  "Perhaps he works for the Queen’s Coroner," she said, thinking out loud. "They usually investigate such matters."

  "Only if someone died. Lady Manningham is as pale as a corpse at the moment, but she is recovering."

  Isabel stared at the door. "Then the Privy Council must have employed him." But why Nicholas in particular? She reached for the door intending to find out but Lawrence caught her hand.

  "Be careful with this stranger. He seems to like you, but I suspect he intends investigating Father’s business by getting close to you." His thumb rubbed along her knuckles. "Don’t tell him anything."

  Isabel withdrew her hand. "Lawrence, there is nothing to tell. We stock the poisons but so do several others in this street." He looked a little offended so she gave him a smile then thought of something that might cheer him up. "Perhaps you could stay for a while. I prefer not to be alone with him in case I say something I shouldn’t." More like in case she did something she shouldn’t, like drag Nick upstairs and tumble into bed with him.

  "I can only stay a short while then I have to return to my patients. With everything going on at Whitehall, I’ve been neglecting my regular practice of late."

  Then Isabel only had a short while in which to get rid of her husband.

  ***

  Nicholas tried talking to Fox the apprentice but the boy didn’t seem to know too much about Isabel’s life outside the shop. When a customer entered, he abandoned his questions to concentrate on his other investigation.

  With Fox’s attention drawn to the customer, Nicholas roamed freely around the shop. He already knew where the poisons were kept and that Isabel had the only key to the storeroom but that didn’t mean she was the only one with access. Fox himself had been in there minutes earlier. What about the servants? And how bedridden was the old man? The fact that he had been a friend of Isabel’s father put him right at the top of Nicholas’s suspect list.

  The coincidence was too strong to ignore. Damn it, why did he always have to be the one investigating people close to Isabel? He leaned against the bookshelves and silently cursed Ash, Walsingham and every other agent he could think of for not being available to take over.

  With that off his chest, he checked the book titles. One in particular, an Herbal, was entirely free of dust, unlike its neighbors. He removed it from the shelf and flipped through the well-thumbed pages. He was about to return it when he noticed the corner of one page had been turned over as a marker. He opened it at that page and a loose sheet of paper fluttered to the floor. Nicholas picked it up and read it.

  Your courage in this life will be rewarded in the next.

  It was signed S. de B.

  Nicholas frowned. What did that mean? And who was S. de B.?

  He replaced the paper and was about to close the tome when the text on the open page caught his eye. It contained a recipe for developing a lethal concoction using the exact three poisons that Doctor Lopes had found in the sweetmeats intended for the queen.

  CHAPTER 4

  "Lawrence told me you bought poison off Pullman," Isabel said to Nick when she re-entered the shop. It was all she could think to say since Lawrence was within earshot.

  Nick returned the book he’d been reading to the shelves. With surprise she noticed it was Turner’s Herbal. Perhaps he was reading up on poisons.

  She went cold. What if Lawrence was right and Nick was investigating her.

  "Yes," he said, holding up his hands in surrender, "and I’m sorry if that offends you. I’ve already been chastised for not coming here. Next time I want to kill some rats, I’ll think of you first."

  "I’m sure you will. And I wouldn’t go to Pullman for anything of a more...personal nature," she said, keeping her voice low so the other customer couldn’t hear. "His remedies generally don’t perform the miracles he claims they do."

  "He did try to sell me some ground unicorn’s horn," he said. "I declined."

  "A wise decision. I hear it’s nothing more than the crushed teeth of whatever poor creature wandered into his shop the week before. He didn’t try to sell you a love potion too, did he?"

  Nick crossed his arms. "No. I don’t need a love potion."

  She wondered if that was said for her benefit or Lawrence’s, hovering at her side like a trusty hound. "Of course, N—, ah, what was your name again, Sir?"

  "Merritt. Nicholas Merritt." He bowed. "At your service, m’lady."

  She blushed. Being the wife of a knight, he was entitled to address her that formally, but it felt strange, particularly in front of Lawrence who would have noted it. "Mistress Camm will do fine."

  When Nick had told her he’d been knighted, it had struck her as odd at first, since it appeared he’d done nothing of worth to deserve it except own a large part of Kent. But if he was in fact working for the crown, it made sense. Perhaps he’d performed a commendable deed for Her Majesty in a previous investigation.

  The customer left and Fox coughed to get her attention. She dismissed him with a nod and replaced him behind the counter. "Now, would you like more ointment?" She had to think what for. Although he’d claimed he had a sore throat, she now realized that was probably a ruse to cover up his investigation. Besides, Lawrence thought he was there for an entirely different problem. "Did the last treatment not help?"

  Nick leaned against the counter and looked at her, a half smile playing around his mouth. "Oh, it helped. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough."

  Good Lord, he still had a mischievous streak as wide as the Thames. "Stop it," she muttered under her breath.

  "Only if you agree to see me tonight," he whispered back.

  Lawrence approached the counter. "Give the man his remedy, Isabel, so he can be on his way. We wouldn’t want to keep you," he said to Nick.

  "I’m in no hurry."

  Isabel tried hard not to roll her eyes. It was like watching a battle of wits and wills. Knowing both men as she did, she could guess which one would win. "Lawrence, could you fetch me Turner’s Herbal. I need to look up a different combination of herbs since the last remedy didn’t work well enough on Master Merritt."

  Lawrence seemed reluctant to move away but in the end he shrugged and walked over to the bookshelves. Not quite out of earshot, he probably thought he could overhear their conversation just as easily from there.

  With his back safely turned, Isabel glared at Nick. Go, she mouthed.

  He shook his head and reached for the pen near the accounts book. He dipped it in the ink and wrote in the corner of the book: Midday Four Feathers Bishopsgate. He raised his eyebrows at her.

  It was clear he wasn’t leaving until she agreed so she nodded. After all, she could always not turn up. But then he’d probably return to the shop tomorrow and she certainly didn’t want that. Not with Lawrence already behaving like a mother cat on the prowl.

  Lawrence returned with the book and Isabel made up an ointment loosely based on the ingredients given then handed it to Nick.

  "Thank you," he said, pocketing the phial. "As always, you’ve been exceptionally helpful. I’ll recommend your establishment to all my friends."

  "That’s quite all right," Lawrence said, "there are enough regular customers for Isabel and Fox to handle already."

  Isabel frowned at him. Why would he say that?

  "Perhaps your father needs to employ more staff," Nick said.

  "Thank you for your advice." Lawrence crossed the floor and opened the door. He stood to one side and made an after-you gesture with his hand.

  Nick took the blunt hint. With a cheerful bow to Isabel and a tip of his hat to Lawrence, he left.

  "Why did you say that?" Isabel said to Lawrence after he shut the door. "We always need more customers. Paying ones, as you often point out." Although Old Man Shawe had built up a shop with an excellent reputation for service, he tended to be lax about payment. Many of his customers paid in kind, with poultry or other livestock or by offering a service in return. Those who paid with coin generally added the expens
e to their list of owed monies and paid only when they could afford to, or wanted to. It meant there was often a shortage of funds in the household and Isabel frequently went without wages to make ends meet.

  Whenever she brought the issue up with Old Man Shawe, he would dismiss her with a wave of his hand. "We’ll manage," he’d say. "We always do."

  "Yes," said Lawrence, "but do we want that sort of customer? If that man is intelligencer as we suspect, then he is little better than a liar and a scoundrel." He had a point about the lying. "What we want is the nobility," Lawrence continued. "I doubt that disrespectful rogue would know a single knight, let alone an earl."

  If only he knew. His mistake should have made her laugh but Isabel couldn’t even summon a smile. She sighed and wondered about the people Nick did associate with in London. Was his circle of friends any different to when he was living in Kent? She couldn’t recall anyone there that he was particularly close to, except his older brother before the accident. When Walter had died so soon after their father it had devastated Nick. Looking back, Isabel considered that to be when their own troubles started. Instead of becoming closer to his wife in his grief, Nick had become more distant, literally and figuratively.

  Isabel bit her lip to stop the welling tears from spilling. Taking a deep breath, she touched the message Nick had left in the accounts book. The ink had dried so she turned the page and began ruling columns on the fresh sheet. It wouldn’t do to let Lawrence see the message, just as it wouldn’t do to let him witness the turmoil Nick’s presence created within her.

  ***

  "You need to find out who her associates are," Ash said, pouring wine into two cups.

  "That’s why I’ve invited her here," Nicholas said, accepting his cup. He sat on a bench seat across the table from Lord Ashbourne in the Four Feathers inn on Bishopsgate Street. They often met there because it was a cheerful little place close to Nicholas’s London lodgings and a long way from Ash’s mansion. The earl preferred the long walk to clear his head before facing the Dragon, as he called his mother.

  "Here?" Ash asked. "At the Four Feathers?"

  "Yes."

  "And your wife has agreed to come?"

  "Yes."

  Ash looked impressed. "How did you manage that? I thought she hated you."

  "She doesn’t seem to hate me," Nicholas said, unable to stop smiling. No, she certainly didn’t, although Isabel was a little reluctant to be reacquainted with him. But that wasn’t the same as hating, that was merely...feminine nerves. "I have my considerable charms to thank for that."

  Ash snorted. "I think your so-called charms have got you into more trouble than they have got you out of it."

  Nicholas laughed as his gaze flicked past the other patrons to the door. The large dining room was growing crowded, mostly with members of the Leathersellers Company and the remnants of an audience who’d watched a play staged in the yard earlier. Partitions had sprung up between the dining tables in an attempt at privacy but did nothing to stifle the hum of conversations rising and falling like waves lapping the shore. There was no sign of Isabel but it was still early.

  After hastily suggesting the inn as a meeting place, he’d begun to have second thoughts. An inn, no matter how clean or respectable, was no place for the wife of a knight to enter alone. Perhaps he should have offered to escort her from the shop. Somehow he didn’t think she’d agree to that.

  Nicholas drained his cup and Ash topped it up from the jug. "So do you plan on doing more than just speaking to her tonight?" Ash asked.

  "Now that would be telling."

  "That would also be highly unethical." Ash leaned across the table and fixed Nicholas with a stern glare. "She’s your suspect," he said, voice low. "Don’t jeopardize this, Merritt. I’m your friend and I’m warning you, Walsingham expects a result."

  Ash rarely spoke with so much seriousness let alone with barely veiled threats. Walsingham must be exerting a great deal of pressure on him to close the case. Nicholas felt sorry for his friend but there was little he could do to speed up his enquiries. And keeping Isabel out of his bed wasn’t an option.

  "Did you tell him about my conflict?" he asked. A few days ago, Nicholas wanted someone else to take over, but now he wasn’t so sure. Another investigator might think Isabel guilty and take appropriate action, whereas he knew she was innocent and so continued to investigate other suspects—despite, and even because of, the evidence he had found in her herbal.

  "He knows of your marriage, yes. It changes nothing." Ash twisted his wine cup between his thumb and finger. "Tell me, why did you ask me here tonight? Somehow I doubt it’s for my elegant manners or pretty looks."

  "Pretty? Ha! Definitely not."

  Ash touched the small white scar slicing through his eyebrow as if he knew it marred his otherwise handsome face. "I assume there’s something amiss with the case?"

  Nicholas leaned forward so that only a few inches separated them. "It’s about my wife. And her father."

  "The traitor? What of him?"

  Nicholas winced. The word grated like a saw across his skin, even after all this time. Perhaps it was because he associated his father-in-law’s crime with the beginning of the end of his own marriage and happiness. "Something about his case and this one makes me uneasy."

  "You don’t think there’s a connection, do you? Other than your wife, I mean."

  "I’m not sure. It’s certainly an unlucky coincidence for Isabel."

  Ash hesitated slightly before saying: "Most people would not think it a coincidence."

  Anger flared but Nicholas dampened it. "Most people don’t know her like I do. She’s not guilty." Of that he could be sure. More or less. "She’s got a good heart and wouldn’t step on a snail if she could help it."

  "What if she can’t help it?"

  Nicholas didn’t like where Ash was heading. "Meaning?"

  Ash looked down at his empty cup. Loud laughter peppered the general hum in the dining room but Nicholas barely noticed it. "What if she is compelled by her beliefs to do something?" Ash asked. "Perhaps she believes removing the queen will be good for the country, or perhaps she believes she does God’s work—"

  "She’s not a papist. She’s not even overly pious, and she admires the queen."

  "People change."

  True. "But something doesn’t feel right about this. First her father, now Isabel. It’s too...convenient."

  "Are you doubting her father’s innocence now?"

  "No. Do you know much about his case?" Nicholas asked, swallowing the rest of his wine.

  "A little, but tell me what you know."

  Nicholas suspected his superior knew more than "a little" but obliged him anyway. "Samuel, my father-in-law, had both the means and the opportunity to administer the poison. He was visiting court at the time. The queen herself invited him to discuss his theories and remedies with her physicians. He had considerable notoriety, having written a book on herbal cures. On the morning after the unfortunate incident, a concoction of the deadly poisons was found in his room. The night before, he’d had a conference with Her Majesty and could easily have slipped some of it into her wine."

  "Is that when you became involved?" Ash asked.

  Nicholas nodded. "I’d been married about six months. My father and older brother were not long in their graves and I was still coming to terms with their deaths and my new responsibilities. Walsingham contacted me and informed me I would be assuming my brother’s role in the intelligence network. My first case was to investigate my own father-in-law." He rubbed a hand across his forehead, wishing he could bury that time once and for all. "I tried to refuse it, but there was nothing I could do. As you know, Walsingham can be...convincing."

  Ash snorted. "Go on."

  "Through my investigations, I learned that Samuel moved in some highly dangerous circles. He met with men who were known to Walsingham’s agents. Many of them were educated, intelligent men and I suspect Samuel’s initial contact with them was purely
scientific and innocent. But the relationship must have moved beyond discussions of the New Sciences at some point." He shook his head. "I think they used him, manipulated him into doing their dirty work for them."

  "What happened to them?"

  "Nothing," Nicholas said bitterly. "There was no proof of their involvement and Samuel wouldn’t confess. They're still free. He died in jail awaiting trial." He shook his head, trying to dislodge the painful memories. It still haunted him—Samuel’s despair, Isabel’s and her mother’s distress and Nicholas’s own involvement in the terrible saga.

  "Don’t blame yourself," Ash said.

  "I don’t." And that was the truth, mostly. His hands had been tied. He’d undertaken the investigation believing he would exonerate Samuel. It had torn him apart when he’d discovered his father-in-law’s guilt instead. He’d known it would spell the end of Samuel, and of Nicholas’s own wedded bliss with Isabel.