To Ruin A Queen: An Ursula Blanchard Mystery at Queen Elizabeth I's Court

by Buckley, Fiona

  For the moment, I tried to seem oblivious. Indeed, just then a new idea came to me. When at last the song was over and we had all applauded suitably and Mortimer had announced that he must be off to terrify his defaulting tenants, I cleared my throat and issued an invitation.

  “Sir Philip! One moment. You are offering us such good hospitality. Please let us return it in a small way. Our guest rooms have a kitchen. If we may ask for what we need from your own stores, will you sup with us tonight? Become a guest, as it were, within your own walls? We should be so happy if you—and you too, Lady Thomasine—would honor us. I am sure we can prepare something to your taste.”

  I managed to catch Lady Thomasine’s eye as I spoke. “How kind,” she said. “We should like that very much. Should we not, Philip?”

  Mortimer himself looked slightly bemused but with me gazing at him pleadingly and his mother watching him expectantly, he could do little but reply: “I shall of course be delighted. At what hour?”

  “You understand?” I said, as I stood with my friends in the parlor at the keep. “After we’ve supped, you must all withdraw. Meg is to be in bed before our guests arrive. Bridget, you will stay with her.”

  “And we’ll take ourselves off, yawning, when we’ve finished eating,” Mattie said. “We can say that after all, we’re rising early tomorrow, to set out for Tewkesbury—to London as far as Lady Thomasine and Sir Philip are concerned.”

  “I don’t like going, but you may be right to want Meg away from here,” Rob said. “I can’t make a display of the fact that you’re being guarded but I’ll leave a man—Geoffrey Barker—at Ledbury, with a fast horse at his disposal. If you need me, send to him. He’ll be at the Sign of the Feathers.”

  “Thank you. I wish you were staying, but after all, Lady Thomasine invited me here. I am under her protection, if such a thing should be needed,” I said. I turned to Brockley and Dale. “After supper, you must keep out of sight as well. I want to talk to Sir Philip alone. I have had a word aside with Lady Thomasine and she understands that too. By the way, where’s Gladys?”

  “Downstairs, with Joan,” said Mattie. “I sent Joan to fetch Gladys’s belongings and she brought them but her two spare gowns were so disgustingly dirty that we’ve thrown them on the midden. Joan is altering a couple of her old kirtles to fit Gladys. She’s to be off first thing in the morning too. One of our men is going with her, and one of Mortimer’s Welsh retainers, who knows the way to her home in the mountains.”

  “Good,” I said. “Now, what are we to serve for supper?”

  “Madam,” said Brockley.

  “Yes, Brockley?”

  “I shall be within earshot. On duty, as it were. I too think that it is right to send your little daughter away from here. There are things in this castle that I don’t care for.”

  “What sort of things, Brockley?”

  “As Fran and I were going out for our walk this morning, madam, we saw something we haven’t mentioned to you yet. Well, maybe you’d better tell it, Fran. With your leave, madam, I’ll go and ask Pugh for a good wine for this evening.”

  He left the room. “Dale?” I said.

  “Well, ma’am,” said Dale, flushing slightly, “what we saw was Sir Philip, ma’am, down by the big kitchen. He was dressed to go hawking, but he didn’t have falcons on his mind just then. He was with that girl Olwen, that waits on Lady Thomasine. He’d backed her up against the wall and well—you can guess.”

  “Guests shouldn’t speak slightingly of their hosts,” said Mattie. “But do you begin to see what I was hinting at, Ursula?”

  “I’d already gathered that Olwen was flighty,” I said. “Lady Thomasine said as much. These things do happen. Mattie, if it was only a matter of a servant girl and the master of the house, I think you would have said so. Is there something more? Why do you keep hinting instead of saying outright what you mean?”

  “There is more,” Mattie said. “But I’m not sure of some things. I only guess at them. Rob thinks I may be wrong.” Mattie glanced at her husband, who nodded. “You do jump to conclusions sometimes, my love,” he said.

  “Perhaps. Well, Ursula will come to her own conclusions. But I’m very glad you’ve agreed that we should take Meg away,” said Mattie. “And I agree with Brockley. Be careful, Ursula.”

  I had never thought of myself as seductive, and indeed, seducing Mortimer wasn’t at all what I had in mind. But I did need, as it were, to soften him. As though, I said to myself, he were a piece of clay. I gave serious thought to the preparations for supper.

  There was a sideboard in the guest parlor, which I had already discovered contained silver-plated cups and dishes and some rather handsome wineglasses. The parlor candlesticks were only pewter, but there were plenty of fresh candles, and I had also found a well-stocked linen cupboard.

  Under my supervision, the dour Susanna (a puddingy woman with eyes like black raisins, who wheezed ostentatiously when asked for the slightest exertion) made the table fine with polished glass and silver and clean white napery and candles, lit in readiness. After some anxious consideration, I put on a gown of tawny velvet over a kirtle and undersleeves of cream satin, with a fresh ruff, and Dale tidied my hair into a white cap with cream embroidery. It was a pleasing ensemble but not too striking. It said courteous hostess but not come hither.

  I chose simple supper food; here too I had to find the fine line between offering too much or not enough. Sir Philip’s second cook, when asked for advice, entered into the spirit of the thing. He was a plump and cheery young redhead, who was apparently called just Higg. We learned that, like Susanna and Jack, he was English but in other respects he was a delightful contrast to the Raghorns, whom neither Matthew nor I would ever have let over the Blanchepierre threshold.

  At Higg’s suggestion, I settled for fricasseed chicken, rolls, a salad of radishes, primroses, and borage flowers, and a sweet cheese flan. He brought the food to the guest kitchen, and prepared it there. The all-important wine, supplied by Pugh, was the same strong canary that had been served at dinner.

  I could think of nothing more that I could do, but I wondered if my efforts would work. I was trying hard, but was this the right approach? Did it have any chance of succeeding? And if it didn’t, then what would? What could I try next? I was barren of ideas.

  I was also very nervous.

  “I know that we are really drinking your own canary, Sir Philip,” I said, in my sweetest voice. “But this evening you are my guest—so let me pretend that the wine is mine. I think it an excellent vintage and I hope you are enjoying it. Let me refill your glass.”

  “You are an admirable hostess,” said Mortimer. I filled his glass, leaving mine as it was, nearly empty. I had drunk sparingly during supper, but I could feel the effects nonetheless, and I had to make sure that my own head survived the evening.

  Mortimer raised his brimming glass to me before he drank. “If you had not a husband already,” he said, “I might be offering my heart and hand to you myself. Though it is true that I would be foolish to consider marriage until I have rebuilt my family fortunes. I would wish, when I wed, to offer my bride a choice of fine houses to enjoy—better than this ancient castle. I have a dream of one day entertaining the queen. Tell me, Mistress Blanchard, you have been at court. What does the queen require in the way of hospitality when she visits her subjects?”

  So far, so good. Sir Philip and I were alone together. His mother, having shared the supper, had taken her leave, saying that she was tired. My own people had withdrawn too. Now, as Sir Philip and I sat over the last of the supper dishes, the subject of his future hopes had come up of its own accord. If only I could play my fish with sufficient skill.

  “I don’t believe,” I said, “that the queen would think the house of any loving subject unfit for her. She would enter the humblest cottage without hesitation.”

  “A tactful answer, mistress.” He took a long drink of his wine and then picked up the flagon, and to my annoyance, topped
up both our glasses. I sipped at mine with caution.

  “I was serious,” he said. “To be a Mortimer, truly a Mortimer, one must be informed of many things. What are the queen’s tastes? What kind of food does she eat? Would a host need to provide scented candles for her bedchamber?”

  “The queen has a most sensitive nose,” I said. “She dislikes strong smells of any kind. She likes her candles unscented. Sir Philip …”

  “Yes, Mistress Blanchard? I agree,” he added gravely, “that this wine is of a most superior vintage. From which merchant did you buy it?”

  “He keeps a cellar in a place called Vetch Castle, on the Welsh border,” I said, equally grave. “Do you know it? Sir Philip, there’s something I don’t understand.”

  “Indeed? And what might that be? Mistress Blanchard, it is a pleasure to sit opposite you and look into your fair face, which is worth any man’s study, but it would be pleasanter still if you came round here and shared my settle with me. Come. Then tell me what it is you don’t understand.”

  “It will mean turning my head to look at you, Sir Philip. It’s easier to talk across the table.” I said it mildly, but as a frown began to appear between his eyebrows, I made haste to soften the refusal by giving him the most delightful smile I could conjure up.

  It was a mistake. I had taken care to dress with propriety but I was quite old enough to know that a lovely smile can outweigh sackcloth and ashes; never mind tawny velvet and cream satin. Mortimer put down his wineglass, leaned across the table, and seized one of my hands in both of his “You know how to lead a man on, by God you do. You’re a lovely thing, Mistress Blanchard.”

  I thought wryly that since the castle had a tiltyard, it was a fair assumption that Sir Philip liked tilting and anyone who made a habit of controlling a charger with one hand while leveling a lance in the other acquired a powerful clutch. Mortimer had a handclasp like steel ivy.

  I hadn’t really expected this. After all, I was a guest and a lady of standing, and as Mortimer himself had observed, I was married. He amused himself with maidservants but I hadn’t thought he would get dangerously amorous with me. Slightly flirtatious and very very fuddled—that was the effect I wanted. I didn’t quite seem to be achieving it. Unwisely, I used my spare hand to pick up my glass and provide myself with a heartening draft of canary. My head began to swim alarmingly, almost at once. I dragged my scattered thoughts together and tried to keep to the point.

  “Sir Philip,” I said, “you often speak of restoring your family fortunes. But how do you intend to do it? Isn’t it a rather daunting task?”

  “Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t.” Releasing my hand, he turned sideways on his settle, presenting his profile to me, and gave me a gleaming sidelong glance. And then fell irritatingly silent.

  I persisted. “You seem so sure of yourself, Sir Philip. And that’s what I don’t understand. I think you have a secret!” I tried not to stumble over my words and attempted to sound sweetly roguish, but realized to my annoyance that I had overdone it. The wine had got me after all. I was more fuddled than he was. “You’re hiding something from me.” I started to wag an arch finger but stopped myself hastily. “Do tell me how you intend to achieve your ambition. Have you found a hidden treasure?”

  My host-cum-guest put a knowing forefinger alongside his nose, and grinned at me. “Ah,” said Sir Philip Mortimer slyly. “Now, wouldn’t you like to know that, my pretty one? And why would you want to know? I’ve heard that you could get your marriage set aside if you wished. Would you like to be chatelaine of the Mortimer castles yourself?”

  It would have been rude to tell him that I wouldn’t want to be chatelaine of any castle at all if I had to marry him to do it, and that Vetch Castle in particular was drafty and out-of-date. I began on a modest assurance that I would never think of such a thing but I never got to the end of the sentence. With startling suddenness, he reached once more across the table, shoving our two glasses aside so that they slopped, and this time seized both my hands. He pulled me toward him, changed his grip to clasp the back of my head, turned me so that he could get at my mouth, and planted his own over it.

  I had a horrible vision of Gerald watching this scene, and then an even more horrible one of Matthew bursting in on it. With my upper half stretched awkwardly across the table and my reeling head being almost dragged off, it was difficult to put up an effective resistance. Since my mouth was stopped up, I couldn’t even ask him to desist, let alone shout for help. I strove to get my left ear out of the remains of the sweet cheese flan and clutched at the edge of the table, trying to anchor myself against being pulled any farther. My fingers touched a heavy silver platter. I caught it up and walloped it down on the top of Mortimer’s head.

  He jerked his mouth away from mine but it was no respite. “You bitch! What are you doing? You lead me on and then you … I’ll show you!” said Mortimer savagely, and getting to his feet, he hauled me roughly around the table, right into his arms. I still had hold of the dish but it was useless at such close quarters. I tried to use my knee but he was ready for that and avoided it, shoving me down on my back on the settle.

  “Don’t!” I gasped. “Please, Sir Philip, don’t do this. I didn’t intend …”

  “Didn’t you? Well, I do!” His intentions were all too obvious and most alarming. I then tried to sink my teeth in his wrist, but he grabbed my unoccupied hand and smashed the knuckles against the table so viciously that I let go. Still struggling, I saw beyond Sir Philip’s shoulder that the door was opening. Brockley’s head came around it. His expression at once became scandalized. Mortimer’s mouth was down on mine again. Desperately, I signaled for help with my eyes but to my bewilderment, Brockley merely disappeared again.

  Mortimer was too strong, and I was too drunk. The worst was going to happen. Now what do I do? I asked myself wildly. I tried, and failed, to free my mouth in order to scream (where in hell’s name had Brockley got to?). Should I give in, in the cause of duty, in the hope that a sated Sir Philip might yet yield up his secret? No, absolutely not. Even if I hadn’t been a wife, I wouldn’t want to give in to this. I didn’t want Mortimer and didn’t intend to let him force himself on me. He lifted his mouth at last, presumably in order to breathe, and I drew a lungful of air, ready to shriek for aid. Then I realized that someone else was ahead of me. Somewhere, close at hand, a child was screaming for her mother.

  “That’s Meg! Let go! Let me up!”

  “Oh, in God’s name! What a time for a child to have a nightmare!”

  “Get off me! Get off, I say!” Meg needed me, and with her need came instant sobriety and a strength which surprised me much as it did Mortimer. I heaved and kicked with such violence that he toppled off me. Hurling myself off the settle, I rushed out and was in Meg’s room in moments. And there was Meg, sitting up in bed and screaming at the top of her lungs, while Bridget, Brockley, Dale, and the Hendersons all stood around smiling with approval. She stopped as soon as she saw me, jumped out of bed and ran to me, laughing.

  “Did I do it well? Did I, Mother? Mr. Brockley said you needed help and this was how to do it. He said Sir Philip was drunk and being rude.”

  “Shhh. Pretend to be crying,” I whispered, and held her close as Mortimer lurched into the doorway behind me.

  “Oh, the poor child, sir!” cried Bridget, wiping her eyes with her apron. “She has bad dreams sometimes and cries for her mother’s arms. When her mother’s been away, I’ve had such times with her. This time she says she dreamed of a face looking out from that haunted tower. That Susanna told us today that the southwest tower is haunted. I said she should be ashamed, repeating such a tale to a child, and now see what’s come of it.”

  Bridget was nearly illiterate, not always clean, and decidedly overweight, but she was no fool. This superb flight of imagination proved it. I had always known that Meg could have no better nurse.

  “Sir Philip,” I said, savagely polite, as I cradled my daughter and surreptitiously massaged the
knuckles my affectionate supper guest had bruised against the table, “I must cut our evening short, I fear. I think I must stay with Meg.”

  His face was thunderous but he knew he must accept defeat and as he had not seen Brockley look around the door, he also assumed I was shielding him. “Quite,” he said. “Quite.” To my relief, he turned away and we heard him stumping off down the stairs.

  “I’ve heard the story of the haunted tower,” I said. “They’re supposed to be the ghosts of a lady and a minstrel. Did Susanna really tell Meg about them?”

  “Yes, ma’am, she did. And that girl Olwen, that’s no better than she ought to be, she came in for a gossip and she joined in and she and Susanna both swore that they’d heard a ghostly harp played in the tower once or twice and Susanna said she once saw a face looking out. Then when Lady Thomasine came to say goodnight to Meg this evening after supper, before she went away, Meg asked her if it was true that there were ghosts in the southwest tower, and she said there were.”

  “I wasn’t frightened,” said Meg proudly, drawing herself out of my arms. “Susanna said the ghosts sometimes come out of the tower. She said the harp’s been heard in other places in the castle, always when something terrible is going to happen. But Lady Thomasine said I wasn’t to be afraid because the ghosts wouldn’t hurt me, even if I did hear them, or see anything.”

  “Of course they wouldn’t, my love. None of us would let ghosts or anything else do you any harm.” Bridget picked her up and lifted her back into her bed.

  I looked at Brockley. “Thank you. It was an inspiration, getting Meg to scream. I wondered why you’d disappeared.”

  “I hoped it would give you a chance to get away without me interfering directly and giving extra offense,” said Brockley. “I’d have interfered if I’d had to.”

  “I take it,” said Rob, “that the scheme failed.”

  “And you put yourself in peril, Ursula,” Mattie said reprovingly. “I did try to warn you, you know.”