The Reluctant Assassin

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  For some reason, these people seemed to be working up to some kind of scheme against Mary and I instinctively knew that it boded no good to me although I couldn’t think how. But, again by instinct, I set myself to argue against the danger of a Spanish invasion.

  ‘A foreign army would have to come by sea,’ I protested. ‘We have a navy. The enemy ships would be intercepted.’

  ‘If there were enough of them, the navy might not win. It would on the whole be better,’ said the tumbler, ‘if Mary were simply not there at all.’

  ‘I’m sure the queen would agree with you, but Mary is there,’ I said. ‘In Sheffield Castle. What has this to do with me? Or Harry?’

  ‘We know,’ said the ringleader, ‘that you are in fact a half-sister to the queen. Your feelings for her and her safety must be very strong. Your past history suggests it. We know a good deal about you. Our company includes people who have mixed in good society, where your name is known, where you have a reputation. You are an ideal tool.’

  ‘A tool?’

  ‘We want you,’ said the ringleader, ‘to assassinate Mary Stuart.’

  He said it as calmly as though he were proposing some commonplace thing; asking me to take a message to someone, or be a guest at a wedding, or help somebody’s young daughter to choose her first formal dress, or make a choice from a litter of puppies …

  Puppies. For a mad moment, my mind slipped into the mundane. If I ever got back home, I would certainly find myself choosing puppies. I would have to. Goldie and Remus were dead.

  And, thinking of that, I clenched my fists. I couldn’t speak.

  ‘I expect this comes as a shock to you,’ said the woman, quite kindly. ‘But we do mean it.’

  ‘Yes. I will repeat it.’ The lanky ringleader was still using that calm, reasonable voice. ‘We want you to assassinate Mary Stuart. You have a good chance of gaining access to her. You are one of the few who might. That is one reason why we have chosen you. And we have a means of compelling you.’

  ‘You take the idea of assassination very easily,’ I said, and then I found myself so angry that I was able to speak my mind. ‘You have already slaughtered my dogs. What harm had they done you? They were happy, running about in the woods, and you killed them.’

  ‘We regret that. We have already told you so. Did we not also say that some things are more important than the lives of dogs? The safety of the realm, for instance.’

  ‘But I can’t … I couldn’t … I couldn’t do such a thing, even if I could get into Sheffield Castle in the first place!’

  ‘I said, you have a chance of access. It shouldn’t be too hard. You can’t get permission to go into the castle except by approaching Walsingham, we think, but if you went to him and offered your services as a spy, sent into Sheffield Castle on some pretext, but staying there for a while and watching Mary, he might well accept. You know her a little, do you not? You have met her …’

  ‘Yes. I have!’ I burst in. ‘And the last time, we parted on unfriendly terms. I had deceived her and – to her way of thinking – betrayed her. She won’t want me anywhere near her. I won’t be able to get anywhere near her!’

  ‘If you are in Sheffield Castle at Walsingham’s orders, then Talbot will have to accept whatever Walsingham commands. So will Mary. Even if she refuses to speak to you or acknowledge your existence in any way; even if she has hysterics at the sight of you, she must put up with whatever orders Talbot gives.’

  ‘She may very well have hysterics at the sight of me and it might not be as trivial a matter as you seem to think!’

  ‘You can tell her that you are a Catholic convert and drowning in guilt for your past practices against her, and longing to be reconciled with her. It might work. As for Walsingham, you had better not tell him the truth …’

  ‘He would like to have Mary executed,’ I said, ‘but legally and publicly, on the block. He would never cooperate with assassination.’

  ‘Quite. So we will prime you with a story of something overheard, that has made you suspicious, made you think that Mary is involved in some conspiracy or other. That will be the reason why you offer to enter her service as a spy. Your reputation is that of an agent, Mistress Stannard. It is the sort of thing you might well do.’

  ‘But I couldn’t kill in cold blood! I could never …’

  I stopped.

  He was smiling. ‘You have understood, I think. I told you that we have means of compelling you. You haven’t asked what they are, but of course, you have already realized. You are not a fool. We have Harry.’

  I began to tremble. The room spun. The woman looked at me with some concern and then murmured something quietly to a man who had not yet spoken (though I remembered him as portraying the villain in the play at Hawkswood, and recalled that he had a soft, insinuating voice). He went at once to a cabinet and brought out a flagon of wine and a glass, which he filled and handed to me. ‘Drink this, Mistress. It will put heart into you.’

  I drank as recommended. I needed it. I must keep my head. I must get Harry and me out of this, somehow. I must be cunning, wary …

  ‘Where is Harry?’ I said, in the firmest voice I could manage.

  ‘Not here,’ said the ringleader. ‘But safe and well in another house, a good way away. He will remain safe and well, we trust. We are not threatening his life, Mistress Stannard. We are not murderers. In the case of Mary Stuart, we would regard her death as an execution. However, since we feared that you would be reluctant to act the headsman for us, we have to make use of Harry. No, we will not kill him. But you know, from experience, I think, that corsairs from Algiers do at times come into English waters and raid coastal houses for valuables and to capture slaves. They had a base on the island of Lundy in the Bristol Channel at one time. They have been cleared out of there, but they still come into English waters now and then; pounce, seize and flee. If you will not help us, we will deliver Harry to them.’

  ‘You … no, you wouldn’t, you couldn’t …!’

  ‘He would not necessarily have an unhappy life with them,’ said the soft-voiced man. It wasn’t a pleasant voice, I thought. It had an up and down cadence that spoke of cruelty and his pale eyes were cold.

  He said: ‘A fine young boy like your son would command a good price and would probably be bought by a man of wealth. He could do well. He might even, one day, win his freedom and come home, but that would be far in the future. More likely, of course, he would become something like a steward or a bodyguard or perhaps a eunuch in charge of a harem …’

  ‘No!’ It came out as a scream.

  ‘There are dangers in the operation, of course.’ The ringleader spoke briskly. ‘But those who survive it often do win highly rewarded and powerful positions. They are not always deprived even of natural pleasures. Some eunuchs, so we understand, can perform. They just can’t breed.’

  ‘Not Harry! Not Harry!’

  ‘Well, there’s no need, is there?’ said the ringleader coaxingly. ‘If you agree to do what we ask, he will come home safely and England will be that much safer, too.’

  ‘If Mary were murdered, Philip of Spain would probably invade at once, to avenge her!’ I clutched at the idea, desperately.

  ‘It would depend on how it was done,’ said Insinuating Voice. ‘Mary’s health is not good. She has a recurring pain in her side and languishes when the weather is bad and she can’t get into the fresh air. Talbot has to let her ride out sometimes, escorted by armed men, of course. Her death could be made to look like the outcome of illness.’

  ‘That would protect us from Philip of Spain, I think,’ said the tumbler. ‘And when she was dead, you would be free to go home and you would find Harry there to greet you.’

  ‘This has been a shock to you,’ said the ringleader, in a voice now full of maddening compassion. ‘You need time to think about it – and about Harry. A room has been prepared for you and Eva here …’ he nodded towards the woman ‘… will attend you. It isn’t yet very late, but I expect
you would like to retire. You will want to think over what we have said. Eva, show Mistress Stannard the way.’

  I was shown to a panelled bedchamber looking over the yard at the back. A washstand was there, with towels and a jug of cold water and a basin, and there was a tester bed with a plain nightgown lying ready across the moleskin coverlet. On a table beside the bed stood a carafe of wine and a glass. The red-haired young woman left me for a few moments but reappeared very quickly with a further jug, containing hot water. Then she wished me goodnight and went away. She didn’t lock the door. There was no need. I was not a prisoner.

  But Harry was.

  I washed and went to bed but not to sleep. I don’t like to remember that dreadful night. I lay staring into the darkness and trying in vain to see a way out of this morass. I drank some of the wine, hoping that it would make me drowsy, but it had no effect at all.

  Harry’s danger filled my mind. If Harry were to be … oh, God forbid … sold to the corsairs, in that case … at one point, probably about three in the morning, in a surge of fury, I swore that I would follow him to Algiers, and find him and save him. The approach of dawn, like the chill light of reason, told me that such an idea was madness; that I would never succeed, would probably end as a slave myself. I tossed from one side to the other, trying to imagine myself as an assassin, a poisoner. I couldn’t. But there was Harry. Round and round went my frantic thoughts. By the time the light was full, I was even more jaded and exhausted than I had been the night before.

  Breakfast was brought to me in my room. I ate it. I dressed. Then I waited, sitting wearily by the window, leaning on my hand and looking out on the yard, and realizing that there was a sunlit garden beyond. It was unkempt but dew was sparkling in the early sunlight and there were some pretty spring flowers. Deceptive, I thought bitterly. How dare the world look so beguiling? Presently, Eva came for me. She led me out to use the privy and then took me back to the parlour where, yesterday, I had heard of the dreadful choice that lay before me.

  They were all there, waiting for me. The ringleader (until much later, I never heard the names of any of them except for Eva), said, again compassionately: ‘I won’t ask if you slept well. I don’t suppose you did and we are sorry. But when the safety of a realm is at stake …’

  ‘I have heard that argument before,’ I said. ‘And suffered for it.’ Lord Burghley, Sir William Cecil, had at various times said it or implied it. So had Sir Francis Walsingham. So had my sister the queen. It was an all too familiar argument.

  ‘We are not going to keep you here,’ said the ringleader. ‘There is no need, and indeed, the sooner you are free to carry out the assignment we have given you, the better. We are not going to tell you how to go about it, except that as I said to you yesterday, we have worked out a story, about something overheard, that you may use if you like, to persuade Walsingham to get you into Mary’s presence.

  ‘We suggest, in fact, that you should pretend you have heard of a plan being made by a group of young Catholic gentlemen, to collect an army on the Continent. You could have overheard one of their discussions, by chance, during your time at court, or perhaps when visiting a Catholic neighbour. We believe you have a Catholic working in your kitchen. Is that so?’

  ‘Yes. Ben Flood. He helps my chief cook, Hawthorn.’

  ‘But is loyal to you, is he not? Perhaps he has heard a rumour and repeated it to you. He attends unlawful Masses, I think? He could well have heard something on such an occasion. He is one possible channel through which this imaginary rumour could have reached you. You will have to decide on the details, if you use this story as your pretext. Or you may have ideas of your own. We can offer you one thing that might help.’ He glanced towards Eva. ‘Do you have it there, lass?’

  ‘Yes.’ Eva had a pouch on her girdle. She delved into it and produced a small phial of dark glass. She handed it to him and he in turn passed it to me.

  ‘What’s this?’ I said.

  ‘Liquid death, if you want to use it,’ said Eva. ‘Better keep it by, anyway.’

  I examined the phial and then pulled out the stopper and smelt it. And withdrew with a snort of dislike. ‘Hemlock! I know that stink.’

  ‘Quite. Used in small doses to kill pain,’ said the ringleader. ‘Take it with you.’

  There was nothing to be done but secrete it in my own belt pouch. I shuddered as it swung against me, a constant reminder of its contents and their purpose.

  The ringleader said: ‘We must warn you against setting the law on our track. If there should be any hue and cry after us – well, if necessary, we would carry out our threat, dispose of Harry, out of this land, where you cannot pursue him, and then reassemble and find another tool. It could even mean taking another member of your family.’ I stared at him, shuddering, thinking of my married daughter Meg, of her children, even of Aunt Tabitha and Uncle Herbert. I was not fond of them but I owed them something and besides, they were ageing and becoming frail and …

  ‘We know of no one else we can coerce,’ said the long-fingered leader. ‘No one who stands a chance of entering Mary’s circle. We have tried to approach some of those already in it but we had to be very cautious and we met with no success. Nor have we any means of coercing any of them.’

  The wretch smiled. ‘You are angry with us. But that doesn’t matter. What does matter is freeing England from the menace that is Mary Stuart, and freeing Elizabeth to make this most valuable alliance with France. You will need time, of course. We suggest three months. But if when three months are spent Mary is still alive, if she has not been laid on a bier with her hands folded on her breast, then … remember, we have Harry. He will pay the price.’

  ‘How can you?’ I said, and knew how feeble I sounded.

  ‘Rest assured, we can. Now, we must get you home, before the hue and cry about you becomes too loud. It is up to you, of course, exactly how you word your request to Walsingham and how much you tell your household. In every word you say, and every move you make, you will, we trust, bear in mind that we do have Harry. And we have means of keeping watch on you. We will know what you are doing.’

  ‘We shall be taking you back more or less to where we found you,’ said Insinuating Voice. ‘You will have to travel as you did on the way here. It wouldn’t do at all for you to know where you are now. We will make you as comfortable as possible. Please don’t make the mistake of resisting. We shall have to bind and gag you again, though. You might struggle free and scream for help in the hope of giving us in charge away and trusting that we will be forced to reveal Harry’s whereabouts. We shan’t let you do that.’

  There was no point in resisting. They bound and silenced me and rolled me up again in the horrible carpet. I was loaded again onto their beastly handcart. On the way, I tried hard to work out where we were going, but I could hear very little and nothing that would help. Once again we passed through some populated place, for I heard voices and horses’ hooves, but I had no idea where we were.

  There came a time when I could hear wind in trees and sensed that we had entered woodland. We came to a halt. I was being lifted down. I was being unwrapped and partly released from my bonds, though they left my feet bound. Looking about me, I saw that I was in a clearing that looked somehow familiar. I seemed to have an escort of three: the ringleader, the tumbler and Insinuating Voice.

  ‘I imagine you know where you are,’ said the ringleader. ‘A mile from home, roughly, and to the north of it. But you know your own local tracks. We’ll be off now. You can undo your feet yourself – we’ve left you your belt-knife. Rub your arms and legs to get the stiffness out. The walk will do the rest.’

  And then they were gone, taking their handcart with them. I found my belt-knife and cut my feet free. I got up but was so stiff that I had to spend several moments leaning on a tree. I knew the place, of course. It wasn’t where I had been seized, but in a small dell, with beech trees all around, and a perfectly familiar path leading up the side of the dell. That path woul
d take me home. I had ridden it dozens of times. I shook out my crumpled skirts and set off.

  It seemed a long way, for I was very tired. But at length, I came in sight of Hawkswood’s dear chimneys, and then I was walking, or stumbling, towards the gatehouse. I went through it and then Arthur and Simon came running towards me, shouting as they came, and, young Eddie was rushing into the house, also shouting, and on the instant, it seemed, Dale and Brockley and Sybil were all there, with Gladys hobbling after them, and I was being half-carried into the hall and placed on a settle.

  At which point, I fainted.

  EIGHT

  The Queen’s Advice

  I came round to find myself still lying on the settle in the great hall. Someone had put a cushion under my head and removed my shoes, and Dale, with Brockley at her side, was hovering with a glass. ‘Well water,’ Dale said. ‘Try to sit up and sip, ma’am. It may help.’

  I did as she asked, and became aware that most of my household was gathered anxiously around. Sybil was adjusting my cushion. My senior maid, Phoebe, was there, looking worried, along with the other maids, Netta and Margery. Wilder was there, anxiety in every line of his long, amiable face. My head spun when I tried to sit up, and I leant back quickly. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m so tired. I didn’t sleep at all last night and … and …’

  ‘We’ve been frantic!’ said Sybil tearfully. ‘Jewel came home without you and then Master Sandley’s horse and we sent out a search party – all the grooms – and they found Master Sandley blundering about in the woods, lost and dazed. They got him home but he collapsed and it was hours before he could tell us anything. Then he said you’d been carried off by madmen in horrible masks …’

  ‘I was afraid Philip had been killed,’ I said unsteadily, and with that, he emerged from the crowd and knelt down beside me. He had a bandage round his head.

  ‘I was knocked flat. I had a bang on the head that dazed me. It still aches.’ He put a hand to the back of his head. ‘I have some spectacular bruises but no, they didn’t kill me,’ he said. ‘But when I first got up, I didn’t know what I was doing. They’d driven off my horse. I tried to get home but I got lost. I was wobbling about and lurching from tree to tree when the search party found me. Who were those madmen?’