Lord of Deception

by Keysian, Elizabeth

  How could she bear to inherit a house stained with blood and betrayal? “I don’t care about getting Selwood—my conscience, my soul, mean more to me than mere bricks and mortar. I don’t want to be a Judas, condemning my nearest kin for gain.”

  “Forgive me. I worded that badly. But surely your conscience requires you to abide by the law, both lay and religious? Your cousin and her friends are doing quite the opposite. And they care not one whit for you.”

  “That doesn’t mean I want them dead!” She was overwhelmed now, as his disclosure—and all its horrifying ramifications—sank in. She turned away, but he caught at her elbow.

  “Where are you going? What will you do?”

  “Oh, be not afeared I’ll give you away.” She wrenched out of his grip. “I’m not that unchristian. I only ask that you do whatever you have to without my help. Nay, I ask for more than that. Leave Selwood now. We go to Norfolk next week—send one of Walsingham’s henchmen to spy on us there if you must. If proof of their guilt is found, I will take my chances. I know my own soul to be clean, and if there is any justice in Heaven, I’ll be found innocent of collusion. Then I’ll at least have the satisfaction of knowing I never betrayed what little family I have left.”

  As if to echo her mood, a low growl of thunder sounded off in the distance. She looked up to see the sky had become ominously dark. Moments later, the first fat drops of rain splashed down on her shoulders. Soon, the surface of the old pond fizzed under the onslaught of raindrops.

  Kit stood before her, a shadowy figure in the gloom, hands held out in supplication. “Alys, please don’t go. Not like this.”

  If she didn’t go now, she’d be soaked to the skin. There was no more to say anyway. She could barely think straight, confused, betrayed by this impostor.

  Had his loving tenderness towards her been false as well?

  “I don’t want to set eyes on you ever again, Kit Ludlow, do you hear me?”

  She picked up her skirts and ran back along the path, heading for the house as fast as she could, praying he’d not follow her.

  Hot tears mingled with the runnels of rain on her cheeks.

  So this was what it felt like to have a broken heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “You seem a little dull this night, Mistress Barchard. I hope naught ails you.” Richard Avery scanned her face.

  He must never discover she’d been weeping. “Ah, ’tis nothing. I’m a little weary, I suppose, what with the additional company from London, and the preparations to remove to Norfolk.”

  “I hope you haven’t put yourself out too much on our account. But as for Norfolk, why, ’tis meant to be a pleasure, not a burden. You’ll find the sea air most reviving.”

  Alys stared at her cards, trying to concentrate on the game. After the gamut of emotions she’d experienced today, all she wanted was the security of her chamber. She had a great deal of thinking to do, which could only be accomplished in private. But Kate had insisted she join the company downstairs.

  Richard leaned closer. “Seeing you with so wan a face has me worried I’m out of favor.”

  “Oh, nay, indeed not. Please do not take it so.” He mustn’t know she now held him in the deep distrust after what Kit had said. Which of the two men was in earnest, and which the liar? Which one had the most to hide? It was hard not to start suspecting everybody, even Hannah Shawcross and the servants.

  Time to move the subject away from herself. “Have you heard any news from London lately? It takes such a long time for it to permeate here.”

  “You surprise me. Did you not garner any when you went to the market? That’s the usual place for picking up the latest tales.”

  She failed to prevent a flush—she’d been much distracted while at market.

  “Ah, I see you blush! No doubt your eyes were enslaved by all the lovely gewgaws and fairings on sale. I cannot blame any young lady for that. Did you buy any pretty trinkets for yourself?”

  Her color deepened still further. She’d not been given any money to spend upon herself—only what was needed to buy the ribbons for Kate. It was Kit who’d paid for everything. To think she’d accepted his generosity so blithely, little knowing what harm he was about to do to her and her family name.

  “Again, I can see that you did.” Avery chuckled. “Was there any particular news you might have been interested in? I could, perhaps, bring you up to date.”

  Now was her chance to test him. “I should like to know what goes on at court. I also wonder how fares Queen Mary. It amazes me that one monarch can imprison another, and escape revenge for so long.”

  Avery’s blue eyes narrowed. “Neither queen is getting any younger. One at least has an heir, but what is to happen when Elizabeth dies?”

  “Is she in poor health then?”

  “Not that I’ve heard, but should Elizabeth die without naming an heir, we risk descending into chaos, as when Jane Grey was elevated to the throne at the same time as Mary Tudor. That was before your day, I know, and my own, but ’tis a very dangerous time for any kingdom. Destabilization allows the rise of factions, who’ll battle it out amongst themselves until the whole land is reduced to wrack and ruin. But I should not speak to a lady of such things—you’ll be bored.”

  “Nay, I want to understand. Do you think Elizabeth should name Mary her successor?”

  “I know not what she might want personally—her actions are initiated by her advisors. Would it be any great harm if Mary were to succeed Gloriana?”

  “I feel too ignorant to venture an opinion on the subject.” Alys attempted a simper, copying the sort of expression Kate often used. “Only gentlemen like you can expound on such an idea.”

  Avery seemed pleased with her answer. She breathed a sigh of relief. He’d said nothing incriminating—indeed, he seemed, rather, to be questioning her loyalty. But at the same time, he’d not said anything against Mary becoming England’s queen, despite her Spanish connections. She decided it was time to change the subject to more mundane topics, such as the forthcoming visit to Norfolk.

  As the summer downpour pounded incessantly against the windows, they ruminated on what state the roads would be in and whether their journey would be affected. Then they resumed play.

  Alys was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate on the cards. Could Avery’s criticism of the queen be considered seditious? Could Kate, shallow, demanding, boastful Kate, be part of a plot to destroy Elizabeth and put Mary on the throne? To be a traitor, to contrive meetings with fellow conspirators without any of her household suspecting a thing, required nerve, and the ability to dissemble. And very likely, the collusion of her husband. There had been rumors circulating about him, but they’d died with the man. No one had ever pointed the finger at Kate.

  If only she hadn’t been so dismissive of Kit. Her mind hummed with questions only he could answer, and the rock on which her certainties were built was starting to crumble. She was desperate to return to her room, to think things through in peace and quiet. Then tomorrow, she’d be up with the lark, and see if Kit was still here.

  At last, yawns spread about the room and, one by one, everyone sought their chambers. Alys went to bed but remained awake, listening to the subdued noises of the servants as they put the house to bed, and the steady descent of the rain. Suddenly, the room was illuminated by a brilliant flash of light. As the red ghosts of objects swam before her eyes, a massive blast of thunder assaulted her ears. The wind had brought the storm circling back—they weren’t free of it yet. Ruefully, she spared a thought for Kit, damp and shivering in his hut—and hoped the roof would hold up to the relentless beating of the rain.

  She eyed the empty hearth—a fire would not be unwelcome. Extravagant, but comforting. She was too enervated by the storm and the events of the day to sleep anyway. Slipping out of bed, she piled kindling in the middle of the hearth and was just on the point of striking a spark from her tinder box when she heard a terrific rushing noise. Something struck the wall of
the house with such force, the whole building shook. A great crashing sound came up from below.

  “What is it? What’s happened?” She rushed out into the passageway. Tousled heads were peering out down the corridor, and a male voice was calling for lights. The air felt very damp and cold, and an odd splashing sound could be heard.

  Sir Thomas, a cloak thrown over his nightgown, leaned over the banister, staring into the hall below. “Bring more light!”

  A couple of servants scampered downstairs. There was a second of silence, followed by a loud splashing, and cries and shrieks of alarm. New voices rose from below, and the stairs were overrun with damp, frightened kitchen wenches and pot boys, their nightclothes clinging and wet.

  Alys caught one by the arm as she scuttled past. “Bessie! What’s happened?”

  “Oh, my lady! We were nearly drownded! I was just dozing off in front of the kitchen fire, and then the last trump sounded. Terrible, it was. We must get to the roof, high as we can.”

  Alarmed by the woman’s frantic gabbling, Alys pushed her way to the top of the stairs and stood next to Sir Thomas, staring down. The sight revealed by his lantern made her heart stand still.

  The entire hall was a swirling mass of water, with ripples and waves glittering in the faint candlelight. Small objects bobbed about like ships at sea and crunched and crashed against the walls.

  Selwood Manor was flooded!

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Only Kit’s leather jerkin had prevented him from being totally drenched. His hair hung lank and straight, dripping down his back, and his shoes were wet through and probably beyond repair. Rain ran down his face and splashed off his shoulders to join the teeming flow on the highway below. This itself was rapidly becoming a sea of mud and would render travel impossible for some days.

  None of this perturbed him or could distract him from his purpose. He stood by the hollow oak tree he’d found yesterday, listening intently. Yes! He could hear it, down below him, a noise faint compared to the rainstorm, but quite distinct to the avid listener. He knelt and clawed at the dead leaves choking the base of the old tree.

  A searing flash of lightning illuminated a plank of wood beneath his searching fingers. Wait—several planks, like the top of a barrel, forming a trapdoor. This he heaved up, then found a fallen branch with which to prop it open. A yawning void was revealed, from which issued the sound of water slapping and splashing against solid walls.

  He was right! By flooding the property, he’d located the tunnel, the Spaniard’s hidden access to Selwood Manor. Dropping a stone into the void, he heard it plop into the waters not far beneath. With any luck, his mission was very near completion. Buoying up his courage, he slipped down into the darkness.

  The water came above his shoulders—surely there must be enough of it to disrupt the plotters’ communications. Once again, he thanked God for the inspiration which had come to him earlier that day. It had softened the blow of his argument with Alys, made him feel less guilty. Lord, but she’d be none too pleased with what he had wrought this night!

  He struck a spark from his tinder box, grateful he’d thought to tie it high around his neck, and lit the lantern he’d brought with him. The flickering light revealed a low, brick-built tunnel, like a culvert to carry a stream underground. He saw the ceiling was free of cobwebs, so the tunnel must have been used a lot, and recently. Holding the lantern above his head, he counted out his paces until, after about a hundred and fifty, his way was blocked by a wooden door. The boards glistened where the floodwater had soaked into them, but he could see the level was going down already—he didn’t have much time.

  He had to pick the lock on the door, not easy to do below the water but, eventually, he was through, and into the undercroft.

  When he held up his light to examine the cellar, he was tempted to extinguish it again. Bobbing about on the dark waters were several small kegs which he feared might contain gunpowder—he was going to have to be very careful moving about amongst such volatile material. Hanging from pegs on the wall were a number of arquebuses, above which a shelf held tin boxes of black powder with which to fire them. Breaking open a straw-filled wooden box, he discovered shot.

  There was no time to get help before the waters receded. If he didn’t disable this arsenal himself, many lives besides the queen’s could be lost. Could he make it look as if the flood, and not a human hand, had done the damage?

  His body buzzing with tension, he loosened the weapons, and rammed one up against the shelf, precipitating both it and its contents into the water. He didn’t worry about the gunpowder—by the time that dried out, all the conspirators would be behind locked doors.

  Hearing a noise coming from the other end of the cellar, Kit decided he’d done enough and hurried back to the door he’d come through, making sure to lock it behind him. It was only as he was scrambling out of the tunnel entrance beneath the roots of the ancient tree that he wondered if it would have been wiser to prime and take one of the guns with him.

  Now, if he were discovered, he had nothing more than a gardener’s knife with which to defend himself.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  To Alys’ relief, Sir Thomas proved a master of organization. He entreated Kate to chivvy the guests back to their beds, informing them there was nothing they could do. Hannah offered her chamber for the servants who had been flooded out below, but Kate made no such offer. Alys’ room, unfortunately, was too small to accommodate anyone but herself.

  The servants, arrayed in a motley mixture of night and day clothes, set to with a will to rescue what they could from the flood, particularly in the kitchen and storerooms.

  Fortunately, the waters receded rapidly but left behind an unpleasant odor. All besoms and brushes had been called into use, and every leather bucket and empty chamber pot in the house was being constantly filled and emptied outside. Soon the stone-flagged floor reappeared, glistening under the light of many candles and lamps.

  The strongest men were deployed to rescue the contents of Selwood’s cellars. Sir Thomas and Avery, both stony-faced and frowning, were supervising operations here with surprising vigor—Alys hadn’t realized they valued Selwood’s good wines so highly. She put on her pattens and, throwing a cloak about her shoulders, hastened into the kitchen to manage the relocation of the cellars’ contents.

  Someone had removed the curfew from the kitchen fire, which had been stoked into a blaze and Alys encouraged the servants to dry themselves by it when they needed a rest. She ordered space cleared in the dairy, so the old cheeses and dry goods from the cellars could be placed on shelves. The ale barrels were rolled into corners, and the cades and bottles of wine were stored along the walls and under the dairy table. Kate was nowhere to be seen. A relief, as she would only have countermanded Alys’ orders, and created chaos.

  She was just wondering how much more was to come when someone stopped in front of her. Looking up, she discovered with a yank of the heart it was Kit. He grimaced at her as he shifted a barrel in his arms. “Where to, my lady?”

  So, he had not taken her advice and left. But she couldn’t dispute with him here. Shock stole her breath, and her eyes were drawn to the way his wet shirt clung to the strained muscles of his chest and outlined the mounds of his biceps as he held the heavy barrel.

  When she made no response, he carried his burden down the passageway towards the servants’ privy.

  “I don’t think that’s a good place—”

  “Needs must where the devil drives.” Kit glanced back over his shoulder. “It can always be moved again in the morning.”

  She stared at him as he came back, grinning and wiping his hands on his sodden hose. He must have been working hard down below, for his fingers were filthy with slime, and his brow was beaded with sweat. She felt a fleeting sense of gratitude that he’d come to their aid, and ventured a smile as he passed her on his way back to the cellars.

  Activity was slowing. Confident her helpers would be able to find ro
om for the remaining items, Alys repaired to the kitchen and put another log on the fire, then stuck a poker beneath it to heat. One by one, the household staff gathered around the flames for a final warm through. Bidding them have a care on the slippery floor, she filled a jug with ale and mulled it with the poker, then passed it around. People settled down behind the long kitchen table or on benches by the fire, and accepted their reward.

  Kate, now fully-dressed, chose this moment to come into the room, and everyone stood to greet her. She ignored them, and swung away, grim-faced, towards the cellars to join Kirlham and Avery.

  How typical of Kate not to thank anyone. But perhaps she could be forgiven—some of their stored foodstuffs would be inedible, so she had a right to be angry at such a disaster. But what could have caused so large a body of water to hit the house, and then recede?

  “How now, my lady. Can some of that ale be spared for me?” Kit settled next to her, so she was now trapped on the bench in front of the table, stuck between him and Bessie. She tried wriggling to one side, but it was impossible to avoid the pressure of his knee against hers. She scowled at him, but he just took a swig from the jug and passed it to her.

  “It haven’t rained like this in a score of years, not as long as I’ve been here.” Bessie, one of the kitchen wenches, accepted the jug from Alys and filled a small horn beaker for herself.

  Annys, the black-toothed old woman who scoured the dishes every day, held up a pewter cup to be filled. “To my mind, any summer as hot and dry as this always end in tears and tantrums. ’Twas so in the last year of Henry, which is the first I remember, and many other years since.”