by Candace Robb
Thoresby relented; after all, he had accepted Wykeham’s invitation. ‘In faith, I can answer part of it. His Grace is sending so many small companies out on your behalf that he is running short of trustworthy retainers. I therefore offered the captain of my retainers for this particular mission. York is a natural rendezvous point before riding to Fountains Abbey.’ Thoresby lifted his hands, dropped them. ‘That is all.’
Wykeham glanced aside, obviously annoyed and doubting Thoresby’s words. But he did not challenge them. ‘And Ned Townley?’
‘I had not heard of his involvement until the King announced it to us. For that you might ask Mistress Perrers. Surely she would tell you?’
Wykeham bent over his wine again, his eyes closed.
Thoresby waited.
Without looking up, Wykeham suddenly said, ‘Lancaster thinks I hold too much power already. He has arranged for Townley to make trouble on this mission – I am certain of it.’
Thoresby had imagined the same when he had heard of Ned’s involvement. But since then he had seen the flaw in that idea. ‘Were the mighty Lancaster plotting against you, he would devise a subtler scheme. No, I think you must look to Mistress Perrers for the architect of your uncertainty.’
Now Wykeham looked up. ‘What would be her purpose?’
‘Only God knows her heart, I think.’
Wykeham studied Thoresby. ‘I have heard that there is something between you.’
Thoresby did not wish to comment, but he must not appear to avoid the topic. ‘I make no secret of the fact that I believe her presence at court is an unforgivable insult to the Queen. I have angered the King with my opinions.’
Wykeham swirled the wine in his cup, his lids low while he followed the motion. ‘I doubt you are alone in your feelings.’
He despised her, too? ‘Merely more outspoken than most.’ Thoresby sat back in his chair. ‘What are your suspicions about Daniel’s death?’
Wykeham directed Peter to bring on the food. ‘It is the lack of attention his death brought. A brief outburst against Ned Townley, then – forgive me for bringing her up again, but it is necessary in order to answer your question – Mistress Perrers steps forward and swears that he was with her maid, and then, as if Townley were the only possible culprit, everyone agrees to agree that it was an accident. That is what bothers me.’
Thoresby studied the man. Should he mention Michaelo’s observation about the page’s wrists? And the quantity of ale on the cloak? ‘Have you discussed this with anyone else?’
Wykeham nodded. ‘I brought it to Sir William of Wyndesore’s attention.’
‘And?’
Wykeham’s expression had soured. ‘An arrogant, ill-mannered man, Wyndesore.’
Thoresby grinned. ‘You soon became fast friends?’
Wykeham started, then caught the grin and laughed. ‘Indeed.’ He was quiet while Peter served the food.
Thoresby tasted the pie. ‘The guards are fortunate in their cook.’
Wykeham nodded towards Peter, who sat quietly on a bench against the wall. ‘He is so slender, you would never guess, but Peter lives for his food rather than by it. When he hears of a good cook, he befriends him. I fear he trades gossip from the high table for tasty titbits. But discreetly, choosing with care.’
They ate in silence for a while. As Wykeham paused to refill his cup, Thoresby asked, ‘What did Wyndesore say?’
‘Oh. Wyndesore.’ Wykeham nodded. ‘He could not be bothered with it. “The lad’s dead. Pity. I had trained him well. But he could not hold his drink.” That was it. Not a pause to consider. He had made up his mind and that was that. An appallingly ignorant man to hold such a high station.’
Thoresby raised an eyebrow. Wykeham certainly had made up his mind about Sir William of Wyndesore. ‘No different from most military men.’ Still, he liked the sentiment. This meeting was changing Thoresby’s opinion of his host. ‘Concerning Daniel, my secretary saw the lad’s body as it was carried away.’
Wykeham looked up from his food, leaned forward with interest. ‘Did he notice anything out of place?’
‘Indeed he did. Daniel’s wrists showed signs of having been bound. And his cloak had been soaked in ale. Difficult to imagine how that might happen.’
Wykeham put down his knife, bowed his head, crossed himself.
Thoresby did also. ‘I am afraid I paid it little heed. But your analysis has given me pause.’
‘Do not blame yourself. No one else made note of the wrists. No one else has questioned that it was an accident, except those who dislike Ned Townley and wish him to be guilty.’
Thoresby walked back to his own quarters in a thoughtful mood. Who would have thought the ambitious William of Wykeham would be such a decent, conscientious man? Indeed, he seemed a man admirably suited to the position of bishop, someone with a heart, mind, and soul that worked in concert. He might even make a good chancellor; though Thoresby wondered what he knew of the law.
It was a pity, really, that Wykeham was the King’s man. He would feel the conflicts as Thoresby did, the frustration when a compromise was necessary to please the King, a compromise in morals or justice.
Did Wykeham understand that? Did he see the price of becoming the King’s bishop?
Thoresby paused at his door, shrugged. If he had not been the King’s man, Wykeham would never have risen so high. He could be nothing but the King’s bishop.
Pity. The man would undoubtedly someday regret it. But not now.
Five
Mistress Mary
Ned spent the days before departure banished to his small room. For your safety, Wyndesore had explained. For his safety. Hah! Sir William meant to torture him. Ned had gone to Brother Michaelo in the hope that Chancellor Thoresby might intercede and recommend his freedom, but the secretary told him it was in his best interest to stay away from Wyndesore’s angry men. In truth, Michaelo’s behaviour towards him had been less than courteous. Everyone condemned Ned despite Mistress Perrers’s testimony that he was with Mary the night of Daniel’s death.
So Ned spent his days practising with his daggers, throwing them at a straw target until his wrists and eyes ached. Or staring out of his small, unglazed window at St George’s Chapel and especially the yard before it, where men bustled about their tasks with the confidence that God was pleased with their industry. As Ned gazed out on the life in the lower ward he thought back over the past few weeks, examining his behaviour towards Mary and Daniel. Gradually he came to see that his misery was his own fault. It was true that time and again he had discovered Daniel sitting with Mary when he’d gone to call, but he had seen no embraces, no fond touching, no meaningful looks. It was not until after he had lost his temper several times that Mary and Daniel had seemed at all uncomfortable about his finding them together.
Ned had to see Mary before he left, to beg her forgiveness, to ask whether there was any hope for him. Twice he sneaked to her quarters, twice she refused to see him. How could she be so cruel? Was not his beloved to stand beside him when all deserted him?
And then, miracle of miracles, Mary appeared at Ned’s door the afternoon before he was to leave.
‘Mary! Sweet Heaven, I am glad to see you.’ Ned dropped down to his knees, wrapped his arms round her legs before she had time to back away. ‘Mary, my love, forgive me for my foolish jealousy. It was only that I could not imagine a man looking on you and not wanting you as I do. I should have listened to you. I vow I shall be your obedient servant all the rest of my days.’
Mary smoothed his hair. She had the gentlest touch. ‘Peace, my love. Peace,’ she whispered.
My love! Ned rose and, cupping her lovely face in his hands, looked deep into Mary’s eyes. ‘You love me?’
‘You know that I do.’
‘You turned me away, Mary. Twice! I could never tum you away.’
Her sweet eyes swam with tears. ‘Oh, Ned, I have been so miserable!’ She stood on tiptoe and kissed him.
Blessed Mary, Mother
of God, thank you for hearing my prayers. Ned covered Mary’s face with kisses. Then, holding her close to him, he edged slowly backwards, drawing her into his room.
Breathlessly, she whispered, ‘I must not stay long. Mistress Alice will miss me.’
‘Just a little while, my love,’ Ned begged as he closed the door with his foot. He let her go, brought the lamp closer to see her.
Mary pushed back the hood of her cloak, shook out her hair. The dark cloud fell softly round her face, tumbled about her white shoulders, which were partially bared by her low-cut gown – his favourite silk. It whispered at her slightest move and gave off her exquisite scent. ‘Say but that you shall remain at Windsor and all is forgiven,’ she whispered, moving towards him.
Bless her innocent heart that beat so softly under those white, white breasts. Ned had to clear his throat before he could speak. ‘Sweet Mary, would that I might say yes. Ask me anything else. But I cannot stay; I am ordered north on the King’s business. I must go.’ He reached for her hands.
Mary hid them behind her back. Her face was flushed. ‘Is that truly the only reason you go?’
‘What other reason could there be?’ Ned could think of none.
‘That you fear what Daniel’s friends might do to you.’
Ned’s heart sank. Still she gnawed on that bone between them. ‘You know that is not so, Mary. I am no saint, but neither am I a coward. I do not run from my troubles. In better times you worried that I was incautious.’
Mary bit her lip, which Ned read as a hopeful sign that she was listening. ‘I think the King is sending you away to protect you,’ she said, ‘because Mistress Alice told His Grace that you could not have followed Daniel from the hall that night.’
‘That may be His Grace’s reason, but not mine.’
‘Then stay.’ Mary said it with a thrust of her chin, challenging him. ‘Do not let the King make you act the coward.’
Would that Ned might accept the challenge. He gently pressed Mary’s shoulders. ‘Please, Mary, let us not argue. I must obey the King; I am in his service.’
Mary retreated from him. ‘You are in the service of the Duke of Lancaster.’
Ned nodded. ‘And the Duke left me here at court to learn from and serve the King, his father. Now the King has need of me. The Duke would expect me to obey.’
Mary turned away from Ned, stood with one hand to her chin.
‘Mary?’ Ned whispered.
She tossed her hair, took a deep breath, spun round prettily on her slipper, her silk rustling. ‘Perhaps I can change your orders.’
Ned grinned. ‘You, Mary? And how would you do that?’
She stood quite straight, her hands clasped behind her. ‘Mistress Alice might intercede for us. I shall tell her I cannot bear to be separated from you.’
In her innocence she was but a child. ‘You have forgotten what your mistress thinks of me. She would never succumb to such a plot. She does not support our union. In truth, it may be Mistress Alice who suggested me for this mission. And once I am away up north she will distract you with a more suitable man. A nice, elderly knight who can provide for you.’
Tears swam in Mary’s pretty eyes, her lower lip trembled. ‘I do not want an elderly knight. I would hate that.’
‘People would consider such a man more suitable for you, Mary. Far better than a young spy with neither land nor title.’
Mary’s tears flowed freely now. She wiped them away angrily. ‘You must not go, Ned!’
‘I must, Mary. And it will not be the last time you must accept my absence. If we wed, you must reconcile yourself to a life of separations. As Lancaster’s man I shall often be called away. It is the nature of my work.’
Mary crossed her arms, stomped a pretty foot, hung her head.
Ned stood there stupidly, hands at his sides, wondering how to proceed. Suddenly, in the gathering quiet, he saw Mary shiver, heard a trembling intake of breath. In one stride he had her in his arms.
‘Mary, my dearest love,’ he whispered, ‘I shall return. Never doubt it. With you waiting for me, I could not do otherwise. And when I return we shall be wed.’
She looked up into his eyes. ‘But how long, Ned? How long must you be away?’
He squeezed her hard. ‘Oh, my sweetness, my love.’
Mary clung to Ned. He picked her up and carried her to the bed, fumbled with the clasp of her cloak, drew it off her, tilted her head back. Her tears had stopped. Her mouth parted. He kissed her hungrily. Soon he held her soft, naked body in his arms.
‘I am afraid,’ Mary whispered, pressing herself against him. ‘Oh, Ned, I am so afraid.’
‘You have nothing to fear, my love. I would never hurt you.’
*
Ned woke to the sound of someone quietly weeping. Disoriented, he glanced round, discovered Mary lying beside him with her hands over her eyes. ‘Mary, my love. I am not yet gone. Do not weep while we are so happy.’ He gathered her into his arms. ‘Do you not know how much I love you? Do you doubt that I shall return to you?’
She kissed his chin. ‘I do not doubt you, Ned.’
‘Then what is it?’
She did not answer at once. ‘I shall be so alone without you.’
‘And I without you, my love. But soon we shall be together always.’
‘But while you are gone, Ned. What about while you are gone? Am I strong enough to stand up to Mistress Alice and her ambitions for me?’
‘You have stood up to her so far, my love. I have not played your protector in this. She thinks it beneath her to speak to me.’
Mary sat up with a sigh. ‘I weary of butting heads with Mistress Alice.’
Ned pushed himself up on one elbow, touched a finger to Mary’s cheek, catching a tear on the tip of his finger. ‘You are a strong woman, Mary.’
She attempted a smile, with modest results. ‘Ned, my love. Are you certain that Daniel’s death was truly an accident?’
Ned fell back on to the pillows with a groan. That again! ‘You know I did not do it!’
‘No, no, please, Ned, what I mean is – well, do you believe it was an accident?’ She leaned over him, her hair caressing him. Her eyes did not smile now, nor did they weep. She was quite serious.
Ned wearied of Daniel, even in death. He put a hand over his eyes. ‘I don’t know, Mary. They said he drowned. They accused me of murder. That is all I know for certain.’
Mary lay down facing him, propping her head up on one elbow. ‘Why would it have occurred to them to accuse you? Why did they not assume at once that it had been an accident? Folk drown all the time.’
‘It was because of our argument in the hall. I threatened him. Meaning naught by it, I swear. But I did threaten him – with the daggers.’
‘I have heard no talk of knife wounds,’ Mary said, ‘nor wounds of any sort.’ She grew quiet.
Ned stole a peek at Mary. She was biting her lip, deep in thought. ‘What is it?’
‘He did drown, didn’t he?’
‘I did not see his body.’ Ned stroked her hair, kissed her forehead. ‘Why does it worry you so?’
‘I – ’ Mary looked confused.
Immediately suspicious, Ned grabbed her shoulders. ‘What was between you?’
‘Nothing! For the love of God, Ned, I am fearful because if he was murdered, whoever did it might be in the castle. And I am in the castle. And when you leave, I’ve no one to protect me. No one to run to if I’m frightened.’
Ned pulled her to him, hugged her hard. ‘You have nothing to fear, Mary. You are in the King’s court, under Mistress Alice’s protection. You will be quite safe.’
Alice Perrers returned from an exhausting morning with the ailing Queen to find her bed unmade, her chamber not yet aired.
The elegant Mistresses Cecily and Isabeau sat near the window using the daylight for their embroidery.
‘Where is Mary?’ Alice demanded of them.
Mistress Cecily rolled her eyes. ‘Whimpering on her bed … my la
dy.’ Cecily always paused on the last two words. It rankled her to serve Alice, who was of lesser birth than she. But as the King’s mistress, mother of his bastard son, Alice must be treated with respect. It was the King himself who had insisted on Alice’s serving women calling her ‘lady’.
‘On her bed? At midday?’
Cecily and Isabeau dropped their eyes to their embroidery, tittering at poor Mary’s misfortune. Their needles did not move. Alice had no doubt they had sat there all the while in their elegant silk gowns and gossiped.
‘Mary is worth ten of you, you lazy ornaments!’ Alice hissed as she left the room. What had Queen Phillippa been thinking when she’d asked Alice to take them into her chambers?
Mary was different. She had been Alice’s choice, an orphan like herself, only two years younger. Alice trusted Mary, understood her lot in life. Ned Townley had upset the balance. He had been warned to stay away, but the damnable man had kept returning, swearing his undying love, turning Mary’s pretty head.
Well, if one considered a handsome man with pretty speech an ideal knight, Ned was that, and more. Lancaster would never have trained him as a spy if he were not brave and cunning. But he was a nobody. And would ever be a nobody. His sort never acquired property. Never advanced in rank beyond captain. Already it was plain that what little money Ned made he squandered on clothes. It was true he had an eye for colour and fabric, but clothes did not appreciate in value. Mary deserved better. Mary required better.
Alice found Mary sitting in a dark, airless room. She threw open the shutters. ‘For pity’s sake, Mary, how can you breathe?’
Mary blinked, then held her hands before her eyes to shield them from the sudden light. ‘Forgive me, mistress.’
Alice knelt down, lifted Mary’s face towards the light, pushing her hair back from her face. ‘Mon Dieu, what a pitiful sight!’ Mary’s lovely face was swollen and red, her eyes bloodshot. ‘Enough of this, Mary! I will stand no more. You must put your knife-thrower out of your mind. I have plans for you.’
Mary twisted out of Alice’s grasp. ‘I shall wed no one but Ned.’
