The Phantom Tree

by Nicola Cornick

  ‘It’s something of a random list, isn’t it?’ Adam was watching her. ‘I guess if the box was a charm against witches they would put all kinds of stuff in there. It’s lucky it didn’t include urine.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s random,’ Alison said slowly. ‘I think it’s a riddle.’ She ran her fingers thoughtfully over the surface of the box again, relishing the satiny surface. ‘You know, a word game. Weren’t the Tudors supposed to be fond of puzzles?’

  Adam looked unimpressed. ‘Were they? I thought card games and cockfighting was more their thing.’

  Alison shook her head. ‘Definitely it’s a riddle.’ She had already worked out the first couple of clues, or she thought she had. The rosemary was for remembrance.

  ‘You see, Alison, I did not forget you…’

  She could almost hear Mary’s voice; see her smile. The angel in the portrait pointed to Mary as the messenger.

  The inclusion of a penny from 1560 could be no coincidence either. It had been the year Arthur was born, the year before they were banished from Wolf Hall.

  The rest of the items, though, were a mystery to her, but one she was determined she would work out.

  Adam checked his watch, stretched. ‘Well, I guess we can try to work it out if you think it’s worth a go. Do you want to grab something to eat? Unless you’ve got plans for this evening?’

  Alison hadn’t thought that far ahead but now she saw that the afternoon light had gone and it was full dark over Green Park, the lights on the buildings, the cranes and the shops twinkling with a vivid colour to rival the Christmas decorations.

  ‘I was supposed to be going to the cinema with Kate,’ she said, ‘but she texted me that she had a better offer.’

  ‘Unexpected date?’ Adam asked.

  Alison shook her head. ‘A free ticket for Mamma Mia!. She’s only seen it five times already.’ She gathered up her bag, still thinking about the list of items in the box. What was the significance of the cloth of gold and the button in the shape of a shield? Cloth of gold was for the rich—it signified wealth and fortune. A shield signified protection.

  She gave herself a little shake. It was easy to see how she could become obsessed with this, searching for meanings just as she had been searching for Arthur all her adult life.

  ‘Ali?’ Adam was waiting for her answer. ‘Do you want to go out or not? I’m only suggesting a quick pizza, not dinner at the Ritz.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Alison said. ‘Yes, that would be nice. May I keep the list,’ she added, holding out the paper to Adam, ‘or do you need to return it?’

  ‘Keep it,’ Adam said.

  They went out into St James’s, where shoppers and sightseers vied for space on the pavements. The air was thick with noise and fumes. Unconsciously, Alison squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, only becoming aware a moment later that Adam was watching her.

  ‘You love the city, don’t you,’ he said, smiling. ‘You kind of come alight when you’re out here.’

  ‘You feel a part of something bigger here,’ Alison said. ‘I’ve always felt as though I belonged in London.’

  They ate seafood at a little café in Soho and talked about everything except the past. Alison had thought it would be awkward but it was dangerously easy. It felt as it had done ten years before only better. There was more to talk about, experiences, ideas, interests. She could not imagine being bored with Adam. And underneath the conversation ran the attraction, hot and intense, and the fact that both of them were scrupulously ignoring it only served to make it feel more exciting.

  They sat late over coffee, later than Alison had intended, but it was still only eight when they went out into a city just waking up for the night.

  ‘I’ll see you home,’ Adam said.

  ‘You’re so old-fashioned,’ Alison said.

  ‘Yeah.’ Adam gave her the glimmer of a smile. ‘I am.’ He straightened. ‘No, actually, it’s on my way. I have a place in Kensal Rise.’

  ‘Very nice,’ Alison said.

  ‘Not as cool as Camden,’ Adam said, with a sideways glance at her. ‘How did you manage that?’

  ‘I got lucky,’ Alison said lightly. ‘I had a bit of cash and I bought a bargain.’

  After her disastrous first attempt to sell the jewels she had stolen from Wolf Hall had ended with her taken into care, she had become much more wary. She had hidden the gems away for several years, eventually taking them to a dealer in South London who had been suspicious, but not enough to refuse to buy them. He had paid her a fair price and that had given her enough for a deposit for a flat.

  Theft, lies, and a life based on deception… But what choice had she had?

  She looked at Adam, at the strong, clear-cut lines of his face and the steadiness in his eyes. She had idealised him as a teenager, she realised. She had thought he epitomised all the honour and gallantry that should have been present in her life but had been so conspicuously lacking. It had been an illusion, a fantasy. She had been trying to find an anchor and it was unfair to Adam to make him take that role. She had needed to find her way for herself and now she had. For the first time in her renewed quest to find Arthur she felt torn. She had friends, a home, a job and a life here now. Did she really want to go back for Arthur? Doubts had crept in somehow when her back was turned. She felt appalled, guilty. She thought of Arthur lying in her arms, his deep blue eyes unfocused and sleepy, his tiny fingers, his scent of newness and milk and sweet baby freshness. Her heart clenched hard. Fiercely, she banished the betrayal. She was closer now to finding him than she had ever been. Mary had kept her vow. She would keep her own promise.

  Chapter 17

  Mary, 1566

  That summer we sat for our portraits, Eleanor and I. Eleanor grumbled, complaining that she could pen a better likeness than the artist Will had chosen. He was young and poor but also Italian and exotic. He soon won Eleanor round with his flashing black eyes and facile tongue. He told her she was bellissima and she blushed and smiled at him. I was not beautiful, of course. He called me Lady Mary, very correctly, and painted me with touch of mystery that I quite liked.

  Will had not said so but I guessed that the portrait was for him, to mark our betrothal. That thought lent a smile to my lips and a sparkle to my modestly cast down gaze. I expected him to speak formally to me any day now, once he had gained the approval of Cousin Edward to our marriage. Oh, I was full of hope and expectation that summer. Will no longer stole kisses from me at the fair or in the stables. I told myself this was because everything had to be formal and proper between us now that we were to wed. I also told myself that I was not like Alison, risking ruin for an hour in a lover’s arms but, in truth, I would have given almost anything for a taste of such passion. But Will was preoccupied as the summer days lengthened into early autumn. His study overflowed with documents that went unread: there were lawsuits and mortgages, debts and disputations. Not even Lady Fenner could speak to him without fear of violent reaction. The household tiptoed about him as though on hot coals.

  Yet I loved him, or I loved the idea of being in love with him. It seems impossible now, now that I know the truth. Yet then I was blind to it. Will was the most exciting, the most glamorous person I had ever met and that dazzled me.

  It was on one of those long summer days that I met Anne, Lady Hungerford, for the first time. We were visiting one of Lady Fenner’s many Essex relatives, this time in the village of Lambourn. Her cousin Sir John owned a fair manor there, though not as extensive as Middlecote, as Lady Fenner was pleased to note. His wife Dulcibella was a faded, anxious woman, given to fusses and flusters. She bobbed about us: Had we had sufficient to eat? Was the sun in the solar too bright? Were we too warm, too cold? Lady Fenner treated her with contempt and she seemed to consider it her due, whilst Sir John was bluff and cross and the entire visit was most uncomfortable.

  Will did not accompany us, much to the disappointment of the Essex’s three giggling daughters who plied Eleanor and I with questions about h
im when Lady Fenner’s back was turned. Was it true that he was in dispute with Jacob Green over some land where he had felled the trees for profit without permission? Had Green accused him of inciting riots? Was the truth of it that he had seduced Green’s wife and the man had sworn revenge on him? They giggled and bobbed like their mother until Lady Fenner turned her dark, disdainful gaze on them, when they subsided like pricked bladders.

  There was a summer downpour on the way back to Middlecote, a huge heavy shower from out of nowhere that turned the roads to mud within moments. The horses laboured hard to pull us up the hill towards home and, as we reached the crossroads near Lambourn Woodlands, we saw that a fine carriage was stuck fast, with one wheel broken and another entrenched in the mud. It completely blocked the way.

  ‘It is Sir Walter Hungerford’s carriage,’ Eleanor said, catching sight of the shield painted on the side. ‘Oh dear. Oh, no.’

  Her mother silenced her with one fierce look. It seemed Lady Fenner would not deign to set foot out of the carriage in the rain, least of all for Sir Walter, but she summoned a groom to bear a message to him to move his coach out of our way. This he did eventually, with much heaving, shoving and shouting from the mud-splashed servants, whilst we sat in frigid silence, waiting. When at last we could pass by the coach was canted at a violent angle up on the bank to allow us room. Sir Walter was glaring out at us whilst at his side sat a slender fair woman with an ethereal beauty that made me catch my breath.

  ‘That is Lady Hungerford,’ Eleanor whispered to me. The jolting and heaving of the coach as it struggled along the rutted track had distracted Lady Fenner’s attention from us for a moment.

  ‘I thought you said she was old?’ I whispered back, hot with jealousy.

  Eleanor stared at me. ‘She is. Thirty or more.’

  ‘But beautiful still.’

  ‘Beautiful enough for Will to want to bed her still,’ Eleanor said. She laughed. ‘She wrote him a letter saying that if Sir Walter died she would wed him. It made Will laugh. He showed it to everyone.’

  ‘That was unkind of him,’ I said. I wanted to be pleased that Will did not take Lady Anne’s professions of love seriously but I was not. Instead, I felt upset for her.

  Eleanor shrugged. ‘Sir Walter is hale and hearty so Will is spared the trouble.’

  Will is free to marry me.

  I did not say it, but I thought it. God help me, I still wanted it, Lady Hungerford and her beauty notwithstanding.

  Lady Fenner’s gaze turned back to us. ‘What are you two girls whispering about?’ she demanded.

  ‘Nothing, Mama,’ Eleanor said. ‘Nothing of consequence.’

  *

  The portraits were finished. Eleanor’s was delightful, a true facsimile of her person, pretty and delicate and sweet. I saw Lady Fenner’s smile when she viewed it. She was pleased to have raised such a pattern-perfect daughter, yet at the same time she did not value delicacy, seeing it as weakness. Thus she managed to look both contemptuous and satisfied at the same time.

  I was less happy with my likeness. It was true enough, but the artist had made me look secretive rather than mysterious. There was something uneasy about it. Both pictures had a small drawing of a wyvern in the bottom left hand corner to signify the heraldic beasts that snarled at Middlecote’s gates. Will glanced at them in cursory fashion.

  ‘Very pretty,’ he said, dismissively, handing mine back to me when I had hoped he would keep it for himself. I was disappointed. As there seemed nothing else to do with it, I put it in the hiding place up the chimney where I kept Alison’s box, the one that was no hiding place at all since Lady Fenner knew all about it.

  There was more trouble that day. Will had refused to pay the painter and had kicked him out of the house. The poor man was dragged down the drive, protesting volubly in torrents of Italian.

  ‘I do wish Will would not do things like this,’ Eleanor said, sighing, as we watched from the window. ‘It is very bad of him.’

  Barely had the artist been dispatched when Sir Henry Knyvett stormed around to demand payment of a debt that Will owed him. Will gave him short shrift too and Knyvett left swearing to high heaven that he would be revenged upon Will for his knavish behaviour. Hot on his heels came an agent representing the Earl of Rutland, who was demanding the repair of land in Chilton Foliat that Will had apparently despoiled.

  ‘Lord Rutland will see you hang!’ the man yelled as he too was summarily ejected from the house.

  This set the tone for the week. Barely a day passed without some luckless tradesman petitioning to have his bills paid and being laughed off the premises. It was difficult to concentrate on my embroidery with such dramatic affairs at every turn. Lady Fenner’s thin lips became more pursed with every knock upon the door. Nell shrank in on herself, shuddering at each loud noise. Will had threatened to marry her off to whoever paid the highest price and she crept about the house like a wraith in the hope he would forget she existed.

  On the Friday eve, I had retired early with a headache but I had not slept well. The cold cloth on my forehead did not soothe me, and the fretful moonlight skipping across the room kept waking me whenever I did fall asleep. Besides, my ears were attuned by now to the sounds of Will’s nocturnal activities. I heard the crunch of his boots on the gravel and the muffled clop of his horse’s hooves. I wondered what would be his target tonight—the gaming tables, to win a fortune perhaps, or perhaps a lady’s bed.

  There was the rattle of stones at my window and my foolish heart leaped with excitement, headache quite forgotten.

  ‘Mary! Come down!’

  Why did I go with him that night? Why did he ask me? The answer to the first question was that loving Will made me rash and reckless. The answer to the second I did not know.

  It was a fair night and we rode out to the north, along the old trackways that led up onto the Downs, the Thieves’ Way and the Rogues’ Way, which Will told me were the haunt of highwaymen and footpads, and thus had gained their name and reputation.

  ‘We never ride this way,’ I said. ‘Why is that?’

  ‘It’s too dangerous.’ He gave me a wolfish grin. ‘You will need me to protect you.’ He patted the pistol in his belt.

  I admit it; I was excited, by the night, by the man, by the adventure.

  ‘Whither do we go?’ I asked.

  ‘To church.’ His shoulders shook with suppressed amusement. He was in a merry mood that night. ‘We go to Kingston Parva. There is a church there, small, rich, well endowed and poorly protected. It holds the De Morven treasure. We go to relieve the priest of his gold and silver plate.’

  My mouth dropped open. ‘You are robbing a priest?’

  He cast me a sideways look. ‘We are robbing a priest. You will distract him whilst I steal the key.’

  ‘I? How…?’ I was all at sea, fearful suddenly, not simply because of the enormity of his plan but because, for the first time, the doubts I had repressed were swimming back up to the surface, too dark and persistent to be ignored. I knew Will was a rogue. I had even admired him for it. But this… this was wrong.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘I can’t.’

  He stopped his horse and caught the bridle of mine to make me halt too. We were deep in a holloway where the track passed between high banks. It was very dark, but I could see that he was smiling.

  ‘Mary…’ His voice was soft, wheedling. ‘Won’t you do it for me?’

  ‘But why?’ I almost wailed the words. Don’t ask this of me. Don’t put me to the test. I will fail you. ‘You don’t need to steal,’ I said. ‘I have money.’

  He looked sad. ‘Not enough, Mary,’ he said. ‘Not anywhere near enough. Taking Reginald De Morven’s treasure will enable me to wed you. Help me so that we may be together.’

  I like to think that I would have refused him though I cannot be entirely sure. For good or ill I never had the chance to find out, for there was a shout behind us and the sound of pounding hoof beats and then Will pushed me, hard. Taken by
surprise, I lost my balance and fell from the saddle, landing on the ground with a sickening thud. Earth spattered my face. My head spun. The sound of retreating hoof beats rang in my ears. I tried to sit up only to sink back with a heartfelt groan, closing my eyes. It felt as though my head was about to cleave in two.

  There was a lantern. Someone was kneeling beside me, turning me over so that my face was to the light. I opened my eyes.

  A man. He was leaning over me. This was not good.

  I could not see his face well. The lantern was between us, dazzling me, yet, oddly, there was something about him that seemed familiar.

  Then his voice jerked me from my confusion.

  So,’ he said, ‘who the devil are you?’

  Chapter 18

  ‘Would you like to come in?’ Alison asked. She had not meant to invite Adam back. There were several dozen reasons why it was a bad idea. She was always cautious in her relationships these days. She’d made more mistakes in one lifetime than most people could have managed in ten. Besides, none of her relationships were serious. They could not be where there was no honesty.

  She saw Adam’s eyes widen with surprise and realised he hadn’t expected the invitation. Then, just as she was starting to feel hot, embarrassed and something of an idiot, he smiled, a proper smile that warmed his eyes and made her feel even hotter inside.

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

  Alison was very conscious of him as he followed her into the flat. The staircase was narrow. She could feel his presence behind her and it made her shiver in a way she barely remembered. She needed to get a grip on herself before she did anything stupid.

  Adam was looking around. ‘Wow!’

  ‘Do you like it?’

  The living room was huge, with a big bay window, the floors bare wood scattered with colourful rugs. Alison had always loved the rich colours and elegant plainness of modern classic designs. The one concession she had made to anything personal was that there was a large charcoal drawing on the wall that she had done herself. It was of Wolf Hall, long, low, rambling, a tumbledown manor covered in ivy. That was how she remembered it.