Queen Without a Crown

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  SEVENTEEN

  Fight for Freedom

  I had my lockpicks. Once shut into my room, I thought, I could escape. I couldn’t escape from Ulverdale’s grip on my arm, and I didn’t try. He marched me back to my room, and only when we got there did I notice something I hadn’t taken in before, which was that although the door had a keyhole, it had no key. Instead, like the door to Blanche’s bedchamber, it had bolts on the outside. Two of them, at top and bottom, and now, glancing swiftly round as Ulverdale thrust me forward, I saw that other doors along the passage were similarly equipped.

  It was a curious arrangement, but grimly comprehensible to me. Aunt Tabitha and Uncle Herbert, who had brought me up, had had bolts on the outside of my door, so that I could be locked in when I annoyed them, which was frequently, since my mere existence annoyed them. At that time, far from being recognized as the queen’s half-sister, I was the embarrassing love-child of Uncle Herbert’s sister, who would not name the father of her child. Had she told them it was King Henry, I sometimes thought they might have been kinder to us both.

  No doubt some previous owner of Ramsfold had also been in the habit of locking his children and possibly his wife into their rooms when they provoked him, and found bolts more convenient than keys. Ulverdale bundled me over the threshold and slammed the door after me. I heard the bolts shoot home. My lockpicks wouldn’t save me this time.

  I went to the window and looked across to the hall. I could still hear the sounds of swordplay and shouting, but even as I stood there, the sounds changed. The clash of blades stopped and then started again, more violently, while the shouts acquired a different note, one of genuine fury.

  Then the main door burst open, and out of it, in partnership now, going backwards and fighting as they did so, came Brockley and Trelawny, followed by Hankin and a young stable boy, the gatekeeper and the three men I had seen playing cards, whose names I did not know except that one was called Robby. Several had swords; the others all had daggers. As I watched, Ulverdale appeared, running across the courtyard, drawing a dagger as he did so, and joined in.

  I knew what must happen. Brockley and Trelawny were hopelessly outnumbered and tired, too; they were not young, and they had been performing, as it were, in the hall for a long time. They couldn’t . . .

  No, they couldn’t, though they tried. Brockley cut the gatekeeper down in the hall doorway, while Hankin, a moment later, fell to a slashing blow from Trelawny’s sword and collapsed on his face, a red stain spreading round him and soaking into the snow.

  The stable boy cast himself down beside Hankin, shaking his fist at Trelawny. My two men were stumbling backwards, running out of strength. Then they were overwhelmed and disarmed, and standing helplessly at my window, I saw them being dragged across the courtyard to the door below our rooms.

  A number of women, including the maidservant Annet who had been inflicted on me and also Lady Anne – though not Blanche – now appeared in the hall doorway and stood surveying the scene. Brockley and Trelawny were hustled in at the entrance below me, and turning from the window, I heard them being hauled up the staircase to the passage, presumably to be shut into their chamber. My quick glance along the passage had shown me that their door, too, had bolts on the outside. Unless the resourceful Trelawny could invent a way of undoing the damned things from within, I thought bitterly, we were all trapped.

  Then I heard the footsteps skid to a halt; heard a startled grunt and an anguished shout; heard Brockley bark what sounded like an order; heard Trelawny laugh and then swear.

  Then came some thuds, followed by sounds of scuffling and spluttered curses, and then Brockley, breathlessly gasping: ‘Heave ’em through. No, not through our door. The one next to it!’

  Trelawny snarled: ‘Oh, no you don’t, sod you!’ I didn’t think he was addressing Brockley.

  A door banged shut, and bolts crashed home. Muffled shouts and sounds of hammering followed.

  My own bolts were drawn, and Brockley, sounding out of breath, said: ‘Mistress Stannard, are you there?’

  ‘Yes! I’m all right! I’m not harmed!’

  The door was pulled open, and there they were, dishevelled, in their shirtsleeves, but grinning broadly. Trelawny had a bloodied dagger. There was no sign of their captors, but their whereabouts was obvious, for the pounding on a door some yards away continued.

  ‘We let them think we’d given in and then attacked at the right moment – when we were here, close to you,’ Trelawny said. ‘We’re a good partnership. We learned a trick or two in France. Listen. We have to get out of this house.’

  Catching up my cloak, I joined them in the passage. ‘Get some more clothes!’ I said. ‘You didn’t shut those bullies into your own room, I think. You two have only your shirts between your top halves and the weather.’

  Without speaking further, they plunged together through their own door, to reappear in a moment, struggling into doublets and clutching mantles. ‘But they took our weapons,’ Brockley said.

  Donning my cloak, I pointed at Trelawny’s red-stained dagger.

  ‘Oh, this is Ulverdale’s,’ said Trelawny airily. ‘I snatched it off him. Luckily, we only had three of them to deal with.’ He made it all sound simple. ‘One each holding us from behind in an armlock and that damned butler prodding me in the back with this.’ He flourished the dagger. ‘Brockley here rammed his man in the chest with an elbow – you saw him do that to me when we met at Windsor—’

  ‘And kicked backwards at the same time, to get him on the kneecap,’ said Brockley. ‘It weakened his grip. I wrenched free, turned round and punched him on the nose.’ Our captives increased their battering on the door of their makeshift prison, and Brockley eyed it dubiously. ‘What a din they’re making. Let’s get down to the stable!’

  ‘Brockley’s efforts,’ said Trelawny, grinning, and leading us towards the stairs, ‘distracted my two so well that I broke loose too. I twisted round, grabbed the dagger, put an armlock on Ulverdale and stuck the blade into the other fellow. Only into his forearm, though, so I hit him on the jaw for good measure. Down here, quick.’

  We were on the stairs. They led down into the stable, close to the door that led out to the courtyard. I was doing a headcount in my mind. Hankin and the gatekeeper were certainly wounded and possibly dead. Ulverdale and two others were locked up. There remained one of the unnamed men and the stable boy, but there didn’t seem to be many other men in the house. Most of them had answered Northumberland’s summons and were now in Scotland, presumably. We might be able to fight our way out. We had two daggers, for I had a small one in my hidden pouch. If we could find our saddlery and our horses . . .

  Shouts had broken out outside. Looking warily out, we realized that the captives had stopped assaulting their door and were bellowing for help from their window. Over by the kitchen, a couple of women servants were staring, and a boy who had apparently just come in by the side gate with a donkey cart, bringing supplies of some kind, was standing beside his vehicle, gaping at the scene. But others were more active. We had been seen, and a menacing phalanx was advancing across the courtyard.

  I had been foolish. I am a woman myself, yet in my calculations I had sadly underestimated my own sex. Leading the reinforcements, striding masterfully, was Lady Anne. Close behind her were five women servants, Annet and Joan among them, together with the stable boy and the unnamed man. Both the males had swords, but Annet and two other women had brooms, Joan had a businesslike meat-chopper and Lady Anne had armed herself with a terrifying whip.

  We were facing superior weaponry, and we were outnumbered.

  ‘The donkey cart,’ Trelawny said. ‘If we can get to that, I’ll deal with the boy and I’ll make that donkey move . . .’

  ‘Keep together,’ said Brockley. ‘Keep together!’

  ‘Here they come!’ growled Trelawny.

  Here they came indeed. They rushed us, and the scrimmage was over in moments. Brockley was downed by the men and two of the women.
I tried to reach for my dagger as Lady Anne’s whip struck at me, but I wasn’t quick enough. Having thrown back my cloak in order to get at my pouch, I took the force of the lash across my right side and heard myself cry out as a broom handle crashed into me from the left. Annet, who for all her tiny stature was remarkably strong, seized hold of me, aided by a powerful capped and aproned kitchen wench, and between them they threw me to the ground, whereupon Lady Anne’s lash landed again, the pain cutting through my clothes like a knife blade.

  Trelawny was the only one who evaded them. Through a haze of anguish and tears, as I struggled uselessly against Annet and her sturdy colleague, I saw him knock Joan’s cleaver arm up, seize her bodily and throw her at Lady Anne, which made that ferocious noblewoman stagger backwards before she could use her whip on me again, and then he ran for it, making for the gate and the donkey cart.

  The boy in charge of it sprang to meet him, met Trelawny’s fist instead and went down. My captors turned me over, ramming me nose first into the snow, but from the corner of my eye I saw Trelawny leap into the cart, and I heard the clatter of wheels and little donkey hooves as he fled, pursued by a chorus of curses. I wondered how far he would get and if he would come back with help.

  My cap had fallen off. Someone seized me by my hair and hauled me to my feet. I found that Annet was doing the hauling and that Lady Northumberland now stood before me, glaring. I tried to get free of Annet, and my skirt, with its hidden pouch inside, struck against her knee.

  ‘What’s this?’ she said, reaching down with her spare hand, and a moment later, my dagger and my lockpicks had been pulled out and tossed on to the snowy cobbles.

  Lady Anne stooped to pick them up. ‘You carry strange objects about with you,’ she said. ‘A dagger, for fear some man should press his attentions on you, I suppose. But what are these?’ She held up the slender lock-picks with their hooked ends.

  I tried to think of a convincing explanation other than the truth. Lady Anne ran her thumb ominously along the handle of her whip. I wouldn’t withstand much of that, and knew it. ‘Lockpicks,’ I said in a sulky voice. ‘I’d have got into that locked box of yours if I’d had more time,’ I added, snatching the chance of a convincing lie. Better, I thought, if Lady Anne felt quite sure that I hadn’t read her Vatican correspondence.

  ‘Well, well. You really are a well-equipped spy, are you not? You must be highly valued. You’ll make a very useful hostage, and this time you won’t escape. You won’t get out of the wine cellar, and here’s a reminder not to try. Pull her cloak off, Annet.’

  Annet obeyed, and Lady Anne used the whip again, twice. I cried out, and Brockley, unable to help me, swore furiously in his captors’ hands. Then Lady Anne said: ‘Bring them!’

  ‘Quite like old times, isn’t it?’ said Brockley, obviously trying to be cheerful. ‘Reminds me of Vetch Castle, this does. Only, this one’s just a little more hospitable. We shan’t die of thirst, at least.’

  He was referring to the Welsh border castle whose dungeon we had once experienced. That one certainly had been worse than this. I looked at the wine casks round the walls of our prison.

  ‘I suppose we could drink ourselves to death,’ I said. I shivered, crouching where I had been thrown, huddling my knees into my chest. Someone had flung my cloak down after me, probably because a live hostage is more useful than one who has frozen to death. I didn’t imagine it was an act of kindness. I was still grateful to have the cloak and pulled it round my shoulders. ‘Where’s the light coming from? And the draught?’

  The faint, pale light which enabled us to see each other seemed to come from the same source as the chill stream of air which made the place so cold. The effects of Lady Anne’s whip and the serving maid’s broom handle were subsiding a little, but nevertheless, for the moment, I preferred not to move too much. Brockley, however, was prowling about, examining the door, the walls and the vaulted roof above us.

  ‘They both come through this grating,’ he said, pointing upwards. ‘I think it’s the one Trelawny mentioned, in the courtyard. I imagine it’s there to let in light, and I expect the grating can be undone so that barrels can be lowered through it. This cellar seems to be partly under the hall and partly under the courtyard.’

  ‘I can see that the door has a lock,’ I said dismally. ‘But Lady Anne has my lockpicks. We’re trapped.’

  ‘Yes, madam. I think we are. We can suppose ourselves lucky that you are known to be the queen’s sister; otherwise I fancy they would have disposed of us by now. They may yet dispose of me.’

  ‘Dear God, I hope not! But look, Trelawny’s got away! I suppose he’ll make for Carlisle.’

  ‘How long will it take him, though? And will we still be here if he brings help? In Lady Anne’s place, I’d move us to another hiding place. We might be hard to find.’

  I said: ‘I hear footsteps. I think someone’s coming.’

  EIGHTEEN

  Pewter Plates and Olive Oil

  What was arriving was food and, to our surprise, blankets. Annet and Ulverdale carried them, but with them were Lady Anne, Robby and the other man who had been briefly captured by Brockley and Trelawny.

  ‘We do not intend to harm you,’ Lady Anne informed us. I could still feel, all too well, the places where her whip had landed but Anne of Northumberland probably didn’t regard that as harming me. Indeed, the expression in her chilly eyes was very much that of a cat which knows it will never eat the pretty bird in the cage, but would dearly love to all the same. I was very much afraid of her.

  ‘Because you could be useful to us,’ she said, ‘we have to feed you and make sure that you don’t die of cold down here. Tomorrow,’ she informed us, ‘we shall move somewhere else and take you with us. Mistress Winthorpe will be glad when we’re gone, though she may be lonely. When I took over the house I made her send her own servants away, though I didn’t let her explain why.’

  Some had probably guessed, I thought. Here, perhaps, lay the origin of the rumours which had alerted Lord Sussex and fastened suspicion on Ramsfold. I felt better. Inefficiency in an adversary is always cheering.

  ‘When we go,’ said Lady Anne, ‘she’ll be on her own. She may be able to persuade some of the villagers to come and sweep her floors and cook her meals, I dare say. She’s a poor thing,’ said Northumberland’s unpleasant wife disdainfully.

  ‘Where is she now?’ I asked. With an effort, I stretched for a blanket to pull round me, over my cloak. The warmth was wonderful.

  ‘Locked in her chamber,’ Lady Anne said. ‘Don’t look to her to rescue you. You will find enough food on the tray, I trust. There are also two goblets. You have my permission,’ she added with a thin smile, ‘to help yourselves to any of Mistress Winthorpe’s wine which appeals to you. However, we have also supplied a flask of well water.’

  That was the end of the visit. Lady Anne, having said her say, turned away and they all left us. We heard the key turn in the lock.

  ‘Let’s see what they’ve given us,’ said Brockley.

  There was bread, a bowl of bean soup, a stew with a reasonable amount of meat in it and a spoon each. There were goblets and the promised flask of water, too.

  ‘They do value you, madam,’ said Brockley. ‘They may even be a little frightened of you and your influence in Windsor.’

  ‘Lady Anne isn’t nearly frightened enough,’ I said, pressing my hand to my side where her whip had left its memory.

  ‘Did she hurt you much?’

  ‘It could have been worse, but only because my clothes are thick. I hate that woman. I want something painful and undignified to happen to her, as soon as possible.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ said Brockley. ‘We’d better eat this,’ he added. ‘Before they change their minds!’

  We ate, drank some of the water and then prowled round the cellar to get ourselves some wine, though I had to move gingerly. Brockley, in a cleverly judged mixture of deferential manservant and loftily knowledgeable courtier, made absurdly pom
pous remarks about the rival merits of various wines. He even managed, once or twice, to get me to laugh. Brockley always denied that he had in him the makings of a strolling player, but he would have made a very good one.

  ‘After all,’ he said when we finally settled down again, blanket-wrapped and as far from the draught as we could manage, to sip our final choice of canary, ‘we’re not in mortal danger, and Trelawny is free. If only he gets safe away and gets help. Every time I hear a sound from above, I wonder if he’s been caught and they’re bringing him back.’

  ‘I hope he’s somehow exchanged that donkey cart for a horse,’ I said. ‘He won’t get far with the cart.’

  Brockley said: ‘Wherever he is, he’ll need shelter soon. The night will be cold.’

  The day wore tediously away. As darkness fell, we tried to sleep, without success. The blankets were little protection from the rough paving of our prison floor, and my bruises ached anew. Moonlight shone through the grating, casting a criss-cross pattern of black and white on to the paving stones.

  We were both still wide awake when a shadow obscured the moonlight, something clinked against the grating and Trelawny’s voice said softly: ‘Mistress Stannard! Roger! Are you there? I’ve got your dungeon key.’

  ‘How in heaven’s name . . .?’ Brockley, shedding his blanket, was under the grating at once, his face upturned. ‘Trelawny? But how did you get back? What was that about the key? Where . . .?’

  ‘Here,’ said Trelawny, and with some difficulty pushed a big iron key through the bars of the grating.

  Brockley caught it. ‘But how . . .?’

  ‘You went off with the donkey cart!’ I said, ignoring my stiffness, throwing off my blanket and coming to Brockley’s side.