The Sisterhood:: Curse of Abbot Hewitt

by Annette Siketa

  “Never mind my wisdom or folly, just do as I ask.”

  “You don't need my aid. Just fly over the wall.”

  “I left my broomstick at home. Will you do it? Please, it's very important.”

  Nicholas eyed her suspiciously. “I hope you're not intending any… mischief.”

  “Far from it. If what I suspect is true, then the King will have a great reason for remembering his visit.”

  “I have not the first clue what you're talking about, however, you obviously have a purpose.” Nicholas thought for a moment and then explained about the play. “Make no mistake though, Nancy, I cannot answer for your safety. If ill comes of it I am not to blame.”

  Nancy signified that she understood, and held onto the saddle as they pushed through the crowd. They were soon under the arch of the gate, and Nancy would have been refused entry by a halberdier if Nicholas had not produced his pass and stated that she was with him. The guard was still eyeing Nancy when another woman approached.

  “No!” cried the woman, pushing forward. She was quite as comely as Nancy, and equally gaily dressed. “Master Faulkner engaged me to play the part, and this saucy hussy seeks to take my place.”

  The guard was scratching his head in puzzlement when a third woman announced, “You're both wrong. Master Nicholas offered me the part.”

  “I had been drinking at the time and knew not what I was saying,” rejoined Nicholas, sinking in his saddle. He had temporarily forgotten that he'd told the women to meet him at the Tower.

  “But you promised me the part a few minutes ago,” said Nancy, “and you’re sober enough now.”

  As the women exchanged murderous glances, Nicholas slipped a gold coin into the guard's hand and whispered, “For heaven's sake, my good fellow, let them all in. I promise you, the only danger is from their wrath if they're refused entry.”

  “Well, I don't like to see women quarrelling, so I suppose three more won't do no harm. But, if I were called on to decide…” he cast an amorous leer at the first woman, whose ample proportions were most alluring, “I know where my choice would lie. Proceed.”

  All obstacles now being removed, Nicholas and the women entered the great courtyard. The more important guests, though not the King and his retinue, were being housed in a two-storey building on the right. The upper storey was surrounded by a carved balustrade, and the rooms accessed by two external stone staircases.

  The noise and confusion were equally great. It seemed every new arrival wanted to be the centre of attention, demanding information as to their quarters which, as they soon discovered, was not easily obtained. This was due to the fact that the pages - smart young men in brilliant livery, were more interested in chatting and flirting with the influx of pretty young damsels. Some viewed the antics with grave, puritanical expressions, but these were in the minority, for the overall atmosphere was lively and gay.

  Lackeys continuously bustled to and fro, pushing aside all who impeded their progress with a 'by your leave', or a 'your pardon', or 'out of my way, knave', as the case may be.

  Anything connected with the King was a source of attraction, and this included the stables. An army of grooms attended the horses, much to the interest of the crowd, who admired or criticised as the case may be. Naturally, the King's horses were the objects of special attention, and such as could obtain a glimpse of them and of the royal coach, thought themselves privileged.

  The three ‘actresses’ disappeared in the crowd as Nicholas dismounted, threw his bridle to an attendant, and hurried across to Richard, who was standing beside the huge spit that was roasting the bull.

  Before either could exchange a word, there was a blast of trumpets to announce that the King was about to appear. The crowd surged forward but were held at bay by two rows of halberdiers. Two men, each wearing the King’s livery and holding a white wand, came out of the chapel and ordered clear passage to the main hall.

  The crowd fell back into two lines, and Nicholas informed Richard in a whisper that the more stately looking gentleman, a handsome young man of slight frame, was Sir John Finett, Master of Ceremonies. His licentious reputation notwithstanding, he was witty and charming, which suited the duties of his office quite perfectly.

  When the King finally shuffled out of the chapel, such was the blandness of his apparel that he might have been mistaken for a gentleman usher. His face was long with a wispy beard that barely hid his weak chin. His hair was brushed towards the back of his head, thereby revealing his high-domed forehead, of which he was prodigiously vain. He was wearing a green silk doublet - thickly quilted so as to be dagger-proof, brown hose and close fitting buff-coloured boots. His only adornments were a row of gold buttons on his jerkin, and an ostentatious jewel on his black plumed hat, which was being carried by a page dressed in royal blue velvet.

  Richard studied the man who held his fate in his hands. Portraits had flattered him, for the alleged shrewdness of look was missing from the original. Moreover, his weak legs and bent knees seemed incapable of supporting his frame. He looked exactly what he was – a fat little man with too much power.

  The King took the arm of a nobleman and started forward at his usual shambling pace. Nodding his head in acknowledgement of the curtseys and salutations, his eyes alighted on Richard. James nudged the nobleman and asked, “Who's the bonnie lad with the pale face?”

  Knowing that the nobleman had not seen Richard before, Nicholas seized the opportunity. “Your Majesty,” he began, bowing low, “this is my cousin, Richard Faulkner of Foxbury Chase, the man your majesty gave me the honour of summoning this morning.”

  Protocol dictated that Richard acknowledge the introduction, but he was so tongue-tied that he could only bow. Nicholas came to the rescue. “Please forgive him, Your Majesty. Except on rare and happy occasions like today, the refined graces of courtly life seldom reach us.”

  “Well, we won’t be hard upon him,” said the King good-naturedly. “But, we canna understand the long face. Is he in mourning?”

  Nicholas inwardly sighed. Clearly the monarch had forgotten the summons, even though he, Nicholas, had just reminded him of it. He dropped a subtle hint. “It is an affair of the heart, sire.”

  Though James nodded as though in understanding, it was obvious to those within earshot that he didn’t have a clue. Indeed, the ensuing barrage of questions seemed to further confirm this fact.

  “Is it a hopeless suit? Can we throw in a good word for ye? Do we know the lassie? Is she here? What is her name?”

  Richard felt something very cold stir inside his stomach as he announced, “Her name is Lavinia Nash.”

  The monarch’s face flooded with angry colour. If he had been ‘foxing’ earlier, he’d done it well. “What? The daughter of Alice Nash of Barkham Manor? Why, man, she's a witch, malignant vermin with which this part of our realm is infested. This accounts for ye gruesome looks. Yes, I see it all now. Look at him, Master Nicholas. Does anything strike you as strange?”

  “Nothing except that he is embarrassed by your Majesty's speech,” he replied dryly.

  “Clearly you lack penetration, sir,” said James testily. “I will tell you what ails him, he is bewitched!”

  Every eye turned upon Richard, who could feel sweat trickling down his back. “You are mistaken, sire. If you would allow me to plead her cause, I am sure you will judge her innocent.”

  “We are rarely mistaken,” replied the King gravely, “and seldom change our opinion.” He seemingly changed the subject. “You were ill recently?”

  “Ill?” Richard frowned. “No I… oh, I had a stomach upset a few weeks ago, a touch of food poisoning I suppose, but that’s all.”

  “A sudden seizure was it? Where was the lassie at the time?”

  Richard suddenly saw how he’d very nearly walked into the trap. “Sire, she was no-where near me. I would answer for her innocence with my life.”

  “And your misplaced faith in her may cost you your life,” said the King. “I tell ye,
nothing wicked is impossible for witches. I have heard the story of Alice Nash. She is a notorious witch and fugitive, though I’m sure if either of you two gentlemen had an inkling of her whereabouts, you would not fail to do your duty to us. This is a serious matter and must be considered most carefully before we dismiss it.”

  “Sire,” Nicholas began, but the monarch flicked a wrist dismissively.

  “Nay, no argument now. We wish to partake of refreshment, which we will no longer delay, for truth to tell we are well-nigh famished. Neither of you is to leave here without our permission. We do not place you under arrest, nor do we inhibit you from the hunt or other activities. You are to remain at our sovereign pleasure. Have we your word that you will not disobey our injunction?”

  “Yes, sire,” said Nicholas, who would have dearly loved to ask the pedantic monarch a few questions of his own.

  “And mine too,” said Richard. Then, as the King moved away, he called out, “I will justify Lavinia to your Majesty.”

  “We shall be well pleased to hear ye do it,” rejoined the King, his tone as hard as iron, “but we have our doubts, we have our doubts!”

  As the King moved away, Nicholas whispered to Richard, “His Majesty might be famished, but he has completely destroyed my appetite.”

  “That was a disaster,” said Richard bitterly. “I need a drink.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Royal Prerogative

  In the wake of the King was the Duke of Buckingham, who eclipsed the nobles in splendour of his apparel. Haughtily returning the cheers and salutations of the crowd, which were no less reverential than those addressed to the monarch, the prime favourite walked proud and alone, as if he too was a prince of the blood. He was followed by a bevy of Earls, Viscounts, and favoured Lords and Baronets. One or two stopped to inquire of Richard what had passed between him and the King, but his reserved manner and deep-set scowl clearly indicated that he was in no mood for questions.

  A group of knights came next, including Sir Howarth, who was looking grave and anxious. He stopped long enough to whisper to Nicholas, “Go to your quarters and stay there. I’ll be with you presently. There is more danger here than you realise.”

  “What danger?” asked Richard in alarm. “Is it anything to do with Lavinia?”

  “If you wait here a minute you will understand whom I mean, but I beg of you, both of you, be careful what you say.” And on that enigmatic note, Sir Howarth re-joined his fellow knights.

  With the monarch and the more important flunkies on their way to breakfast, the crowd had thinned considerably, and Nicholas and Richard had a much clearer view of the chapel. And then both men stiffened. Amidst the last of the worshippers were Thomas Metcalf, Roger Knowles, and Horace Twissleton.

  Knowles and Metcalf bowed respectfully but coldly, while Twissleton’s bow was more insolent than courteous. “Master Nicholas, Master Richard, I suppose you never expected to see me again, but then, you always did underestimate me,” and with a smile akin to gratified vengeance, he turned away and followed the others, a jaunty spring in his step.

  In one of those strange quirks of synchronicity, Nicholas and Richard grabbed each other to stop the other from throwing a punch. “What means the fellow?” said Nicholas furiously. “If I ever get my hands on him…oh, come on, let’s find our quarters.”

  ***

  A valet named Hudson, led them to the building on the right, and ascending the flight of stone steps, ushered them into a commodious and well-furnished room. He withdrew for about ten minutes, and then returned with two yeomen of the kitchen, one carrying a tray of food and the other a bottle of wine. A snowy cloth was laid on the table, and Nicholas, in spite of his earlier assertion to the contrary, began to eat with gusto.

  Richard however, made straight for the wine, and to his cousin's surprise, drank more than usual. Having thus administered to the guests, Hudson withdrew again.

  “He’s a spy,” said Nicholas, biting into a chicken leg.

  “How do you know?”

  “Gut instinct. Eat something or the wine will go to your head.”

  Richard refilled his goblet. “Right now, this is all the sustenance I need. God’s teeth! I don’t know whom to be more angry at.”

  Nicholas snatched the goblet out of his cousin’s hand and replaced it with a hunk of bread. “Eat first, talk after.”

  “Will you stop riding me about food!”

  Nicholas banged the table. “Look, be as angry as you like, I’m bloody furious too, but you’ll be no good to anyone if you’re soused.”

  “I must do something to convince the King that he is wrong about Lavinia and that I am not bewitched. I would laugh if it wasn’t so serious. Had any other than the King made the accusation, I would have challenged him at once.”

  “It’s a foregone conclusion that Twissleton had something to do with it.”

  “And the King seems to have judged her already. If we’re not careful, his obstinacy may lead to her destruction.”

  “Speak quietly, Dick, the walls may have ears.”

  “Then let them tell the King that Lavinia is innocent,” said Richard robustly, and retrieving the goblet, held it up. “Here's to her health and confusion to her enemies!”

  “I'll drink to that,” said Nicholas, raising his own goblet. “Now, will you please eat something, preferably the bread. It’ll soak up the wine.”

  Richard reluctantly obeyed, then leaning across the table, asked in a low voice, “Have you seen Alice recently?”

  For safety’s sake, Nicholas had not divulged her location to his cousin. Apart from her two servants, only two other people knew where she was – his father and Crouch, and Nicholas trusted both implicitly.

  He glanced at the door before answering, “Yes, but she keeps changing her mind about France. One minute she agrees to go, and the next, says she wants to give herself up. I fear the seclusion is driving her mad.”

  “If she perishes, her self-sacrifice will also destroy Lavinia.”

  “So I keep telling her, but she…”

  “Ah!” Richard clutched his side, his face contorted with agony.

  Nicholas was around the table in a second. “What is it?” he demanded.

  Richard could hardly breathe as the pain shot through him like an arrow. “It will pass in a minute,” he managed to say. “It always does.”

  “Always does? You mean it’s happened before?”

  “Several times. Please, give me some wine.”

  Nicholas held the goblet to his cousin’s lips. “Shall I summon assistance? There must be a physician around here somewhere.”

  Richard shook his head. “No, it’s all right, it’s passing.”

  “What the hell was it?”

  But before Richard could answer, there was a knock on the door and Sir Howarth entered. “Good, you’re here, I…” He noticed Richard’s pale face and sweating brow. “What’s the matter with him?”

  “He’s just had some sort of attack,” said Nicholas.

  “Please,” said Richard feebly. “I’ll be fine soon. Just give me half an hour to rest.”

  “I’m afraid you don’t have that long,” said Sir Howarth, sitting at the table and taking Richard’s hand. “Nicholas, he needs water not wine. Go and find some and be quick about it, we don’t have much time.”

  Nicholas ran outside and down the stairs. The courtyard was crammed with foresters, falconers, and grooms and pages leading caparisoned horses. He was back in the room in five minutes, a large jug of spring water in his hand.

  “I see what you mean about time being short,” he said, pouring a cup of water for Richard. “Of all the shitty times to go hunting.”

  “Did you see our friends?” asked Sir Howarth.

  “Not just now but I saw them earlier as you directed. What the hell is Twissleton doing here? The impudent dog, I almost punched him.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t, he's now in favour with the King.”

  “What!” Nicho
las could not believe his ears. “Father, please tell me you jest.”

  “I wish I could.” Sir Howarth looked at Richard pityingly. “Ah, the colour is returning to your cheeks, good. But, I’m afraid I have more bad news. Twissleton, that snake-in-the-grass, told His Majesty all about Alice, the ducking of Nancy Redfern, the Ashmores, the burning of Dymock and Craddock, and of course, your relationship with Lavinia.”

  “I guessed as much,” said Nicholas.

  Sir Howarth held up a hand. “There’s more. The King, in his supposed infinite wisdom, decided to bring both parties hither without either being aware of it, that he might see and judge for himself in the matter.”

  Richard stared at him mortified. “Are you saying that Lavinia is here?”

  “Not yet, but she soon will be. Poor Sir Roland had no choice in the matter.”

  “The carriage!” cried Nicholas. “It passed us on the way here.” His face darkened with anger. “That cunning bastard. All the time he was talking to Richard earlier, interrogating him, humiliating him, he knew Lavinia was on her way.”

  “But even the King can’t convict her purely on suspicion,” said Richard, who had turned quite pale again.

  “In cases of witchcraft, suspicion is enough,” replied the knight gravely. “However, there is talk of a witness.”

  “Who?” asked Nicholas.

  “I don’t know, but whoever it is, their identity is being very closely guarded.” A hunting horn sounded in the courtyard. Sir Howarth looked at Richard. “I know you’re ill but you’ll have to go. It will look damned suspicious if you don’t.”

  “But Lavinia…”

  “Will be safe. I’ll tell Sir Finett that I have a touch of gout and stay behind. I’m old enough to get away with it. Now hurry, and both of you, act naturally. If the King even suspects that you know of his plan, he’ll put you in a dungeon and throw away the key.”

  “And Twissleton?” asked Nicholas through gritted teeth. He had realised what Richard had seemingly not. That it was because of the solicitor’s greed and ambition that the wedding had been stopped.