The Reluctant Assassin

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  ‘I would certainly prefer it that way,’ I said. ‘I shall be going with them!’

  ‘Really?’ Sir Ambrose was startled. ‘I would hardly have expected …’

  ‘Mistress Stannard is equal to anything.’ Russell Woodley had come up to us unseen and now appeared at my elbow. ‘I too would like to dissuade her but it is her son who is in danger and I can understand her wish to be there. We shan’t let her climb any walls or run into any danger, I promise. I shall make a point of seeing that she doesn’t!’

  ‘The attack had best be by night,’ said Sir Ambrose. ‘Sir George agrees. He also agrees that it should be carried out as soon as possible, meaning tonight. I must speak with him again, if you will excuse me. Ah, here is my wife. She will look after you, Mistress Stannard, and show you your quarters.’

  He led me away from Woodley and handed me over to the care of Lady Anne, who gathered up Bess and Lady Alice and Jenny as well, and showed us to the guest quarters. Bess and Alice were to share a room, and Jenny and I had one adjoining. Jenny was an amiable young woman, clever with her fingers and really gifted at dressing hair although in other ways not especially bright. I liked her, but I missed Dale and hoped the baggage wagons would not take too long to catch up, so that she could join us.

  For the moment, we were all thankful to wash and change and take some rest before dinner, and after dinner, I think most of us rested, or amused themselves with quiet occupations, until the early evening, when we gathered again in the hall, where I was promptly drawn aside by Russell, who had evidently been waiting for me.

  ‘I have been so anxious to speak with you, Mistress Stannard. There never seemed to be a chance before. On the road, we always seemed to be too close to other riders and the inns where we stayed were so crowded; there was no privacy. There’s much more in this fine big hall. Come over to that window seat for a moment. Let us look out and seem to be admiring the view of the spring flowers in the knot garden. I believe my lady Anne is fond of flowers and positively harasses the gardeners to make sure that she has a colourful show at all seasons when flowers are possible.’

  ‘My late husband, Hugh, was very attached to his roses and worked in his rose garden with his own hands,’ I said, as he steered me across an acre or so of chequered paving to a seat below a tall, narrow window.

  ‘Ah yes.’ We sat down and gazed outwards. I was uneasy. I doubted if Russell really wanted to talk about gardening. ‘Your late husband,’ he said. ‘But it was some years ago, was it not? Mistress Stannard, grief for a lost love is natural and admirable, but life goes on, and as I have said before, yours is full of responsibilities which surely you would like to share. I ask you again; will you not agree to share them with me? I will not be overbearing, I promise. I will not force ideas on you, or push you into the background …’

  ‘Russell, please!’

  ‘Nor,’ said Russell, ploughing on like a team of oxen who are being beckoned with carrots, ‘will I expect you to give me children. You may call it temerity and perhaps you are right but I have thought about your age. There are ways to enjoy married life without imperilling the health of a lady now in sight of … forgive me … the half-century. Perhaps I shouldn’t speak of such things to you but when something as serious as matrimony is under discussion, it is best to be clear about these matters. I promise you …’

  ‘Russell!’

  ‘Yes, my dear?’

  ‘I am very touched by your proposal, and very honoured, but when I say I don’t want to marry again, I mean it. I really, truly, don’t.’

  I not only meant it; but the feeling had strengthened as time went on. It was, partly, that I was now accustomed to being the one in command. In that, I perhaps resembled my half-sister. I knew very well that Elizabeth, apart from fearing the physical side of marriage, also disliked the idea of sharing power. She preferred to be the queen, alone and in control, and by now I had learned, in my private life, that I too preferred to be the sole maker of decisions. Also, I had had three husbands and knew how much energy, how much sheer endeavour, went into creating the deep bond that marriage demanded. I didn’t think I could summon up that energy again.

  None of this was easy to explain and I didn’t try. I looked at him, and met his uncomprehending eyes, and simply repeated myself. ‘I do not wish to remarry. That is final. Please believe me.’

  ‘I see,’ he said. It was as though a shutter had come down over his face. His eyes went blank. ‘This is the third time you have refused me,’ he said. ‘Three times is too many. I could have given you so much, including love, a very real love, believe me. I would have worshipped you and cared for you all your life. Now, I must say farewell. I shall not trouble you again.’

  He slipped from the window seat and left me. I watched him retreat across the hall and thought sadly that I had probably hurt his feelings badly; that it was no doubt a fault in me that I preferred autonomy to a good man’s love, but I did not want to call him back. I had lost a friend and I was sorry, but no more than that.

  Evening was setting in. Supper was to be served, we learned, not in the great hall but in a separate dining chamber and then there would be time to rest again before we must set out on our rescue mission. We were to leave at midnight.

  I found myself keyed up, immensely nervous, anxious to be mounted and away and not hungry for my food, though the supper was excellent.

  I didn’t take much wine, fearing that it would make me sleepy. I was therefore very wide awake and noticing things, which included the fact that at supper there seemed to be an absentee. All members of the prospective rescue party were there, including the ten men that Sir Ambrose had already picked out, and the Talbot twenty, status was marked by the position of the salt. Near the salt, though not far above it, a place had been set that wasn’t occupied. I was wondering who was missing when Bess, who was beside me, said: ‘Where is Russell Woodley?’ She turned towards her husband, who was on her other side. ‘My lord, where is your clerk Woodley? His place is set but where is he?’

  I looked again and realized that she was right. Russell was not there. But why not? Angry because I had refused him? Upset? Unwell? Brockley was just below the salt, some way off, but I caught his eye and beckoned. He rose at once and came to me. ‘Madam?’

  ‘Russell Woodley isn’t here. Will you find out why?’

  He nodded and was gone. Bess said: ‘You are worried, Ursula?’

  ‘Yes, I am. A little.’ I turned my head to look at her. ‘He has been courting me,’ I said. ‘As I suppose you know.’

  ‘I’ve known since he began courting you at Richmond. But it was not my business,’ said Bess.

  ‘Or mine,’ put in George Talbot, ‘though I couldn’t think him worthy of you, Mistress Stannard. However, I agree with my lady that it is for you to say, not us.’

  ‘I have said,’ I told them. ‘I refused him when he first approached me, which was at the queen’s court, and refused him at Sheffield and today I refused him yet again. He renewed his suit just now, when we arrived and were in the great hall, and once more, I said no. I wonder if I have made him angry, or unhappy.’

  ‘He is entitled to be any of those things,’ said Talbot, frowning, ‘but not to indulge them when we have a serious venture before us, this very night. You have sent your man to find him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I hope he brings him here,’ said Bess. ‘He should certainly eat before he has to ride with the rescue party. Perhaps he asked for something in his room.’

  Sir Ambrose, on my other side, had been listening. ‘I can soon find that out.’ He called to one of the serving men. ‘See if a Master Woodley has asked for supper in his room. Quickly, if you please!’

  The man disappeared on his errand and supper went on. I felt unreasonably worried. Dear heaven, even if I had hurt Russell’s feelings, I surely hadn’t done that much damage to him. After all, I had said no to him twice before and he had survived that without sinking into a fit of depression, or sulks.<
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  The serving man reappeared in the hall just ahead of Brockley and came briskly to Sir Ambrose. ‘No one has had supper in private this evening, my lord. Master Woodley’s platter was set here in readiness for him and …’

  Brockley did not arrive briskly. He arrived at a run, hurtling into the room, brushing aside the guard at the door, dashing across the floor to kneel before us. ‘Madam! Woodley has gone! He took his horse from the stable a good hour ago! I hurried to his room and his things are gone as well. Everything. His sword too.’

  Sir Ambrose and Sir George looked bewildered. ‘But where can he have gone?’ said Sir Ambrose.

  ‘There has always been the possibility,’ said Brockley, ‘that someone in Sheffield Castle was keeping watch on Mistress Stannard on behalf of the enemy and the name of Russell Woodley has in fact been mentioned. Could it be that he is – or was – indeed the spy concerned?’

  TWENTY-ONE

  Manhunt

  I shot to my feet. ‘He left an hour ago?’ I said. ‘But … but …’

  I couldn’t think clearly. I lost my way mid-sentence and then said: ‘Perhaps he has just gone home, back to Sheffield, upset by my hard-heartedness and …’

  ‘Perhaps he has. But perhaps he hasn’t. We can’t afford to ignore the possibility that he’s made for Ivy House to warn them about our plans, that he is part of this horrible conspiracy!’ Sir George was emphatic.

  ‘But he …’ Again I lost my way. Could Russell, could anyone, have sworn so much love and yet still go off to betray not just me but my son as well? Had he been all the time involved in this ugly plot? Had all his expressions of passion been pretence? Or was he hopefully pursuing both purposes? I sat down again, my head spinning.

  Other heads were steadier. ‘If he’s going to Ivy House, he’s two-thirds of the way there by now!’ Brockley said. ‘We’ll never catch him in time!’

  It was Sir Ambrose who said decisively: ‘Well, we have to get after him. Whether or not he has actually gone that way. And we must do it quickly!’ and he too rose, throwing down his napkin and heading out of the room all in one swift, complicated movement. In that moment, I suddenly saw that there really was a decided resemblance between him and his colourful brother Robin. When it came to the point, the quiet Earl of Warwick could turn in an instant into a soldier and a general. As he reached the door, he shouted: ‘Men! Follow me!’ over his shoulder and from below the salt, the thirty men who were our picked force sprang up and went after him. So did Brockley.

  I got up again, taking command of myself, aware that I was not only bewildered and hurt but also very angry. If Russell had really gone to Ivy House then … then the sooner he went to the block, the better. ‘I must go too,’ I said, and began to push my way out between my seat and that of Bess. She caught at my sleeve.

  ‘Ursula, you can’t, you mustn’t. It was all very well when it was the raid to rescue your son; I could understand that. But a lady can’t go on a manhunt …’

  ‘This is the rescue raid! We’ll end up at Ivy House for sure and then we’ll rescue Harry, if we can. Let me go!’ She had no choice for I had already wrenched my arm away from her. ‘I must make ready!’

  I ran, headlong past the lower table, where I scooped up Jenny, and swept her, bewildered and expostulating, out of the dining hall, through the castle and up the stairs, into my chamber.

  ‘I had some old breeches in my baggage!’ I gasped, looking round. ‘Where are they? Have you put them away? We’re leaving now – I mean the raiding party is leaving – something’s happened – Russell Woodley has absconded, an hour since … Where are those breeches?’

  ‘Ma’am, surely you can’t …’

  ‘Yes, I can! Don’t argue! Find them, there’s no time to waste, the rest will be mounted and away in next to no time and I must be with them. This is it!’

  ‘But … what …?’

  ‘Find them!’ I shouted, wishing with all my heart that Dale were here. Dale would probably be flustered too but at least she wouldn’t gape at me as though she couldn’t understand English.

  Jenny looked at me wildly for a few seconds more, obviously overset by my loud orders and air of frantic haste, but at last pulled herself together, scrabbled in a chest and produced the breeches, along with a shirt and an old doublet. I had used the outfit before, now and then. I always had it with me. She came to help me, undoing laces, pulling my sleeves off, half-lifting me out of my kirtle. I scrambled into the male clothing, rushed to the press where a dress hung that had my hidden pouch and its usual contents in it, grabbed the said contents, bundled them into a drawstring bag and hung it on my breeches belt. Then I pulled on a pair of boots, kissed Jenny and fled.

  I reached the stable yard just in time. Twilight was near and the yard was shadowed by the castle’s bulk, so that a couple of men were holding up lanterns to make fiddling with straps easier while the horses were being saddled. It takes a little while to get saddles on to over thirty horses, which had given me time to change and catch up. The quiet-spoken Captain John Grey, leader of Talbot’s men, was shouting orders and when I caught sight of Brockley, I shouted orders too.

  ‘Saddle Jewel for me! Cross-saddle!’ He stared at me and began to shake his head but I shouted: ‘Do it! Oh, all right, I will! This is the raid, taking place early, that’s all! Where’s the bloody tack-room?’

  ‘All right!’ Brockley spluttered, recognizing that I wasn’t going to be gainsaid. He led the way and we did the job together; with Brockley seeing to the bridle while I flung a saddle over Jewel’s back and dealt with the girths. I led her out of the stable and mounted in haste. A horseman moved alongside me and to my surprise I saw that it was Sir George Talbot. He caught my eye. ‘The queen might not approve, but a man in my employment, Russell Woodley my trusted second secretary, may have betrayed us. I feel responsible. I am coming with you after all.’

  ‘And so am I.’ Sir Ambrose was there as well, kneeing his horse to my other side. ‘If Sir George is riding with you, I’m damned if I’ll be left behind!’ And in the lantern light I saw him grin and saw the spark in his dark eyes, once again saw his flamboyant brother the Earl of Leicester look out of them.

  Brockley came out of the stable last, at a run, to where someone was holding Jaunty for him, and fairly threw himself aboard. And then we were off.

  Oddly enough, that furious ride through the gathering darkness is a good memory. Despite my fears for Harry and for myself, and my longing for him, there was a kind of joy in this crazy expedition, as there had been on the ride from Sheffield. Only this time it was more intense, for now I was going direct to Harry; God willing I might see him within the hour; the rescue party was on its way; and we were riding fast, fast, as swiftly as we could while there was any light at all. It had been a clear day and in any case, a full moon was already rising. The fierce hammering of the hooves all around me was in time with the pounding of my heart, and we were on our way and nothing was hindering us and if we did catch Russell Woodley, if he really had betrayed us, then heaven have mercy on him, for I would not and nor would Brockley.

  We had brought no ladders. If Russell Woodley had indeed made for Ivy House, then he would assuredly get there first, so stealth was pointless; the enemy would be warned. At the moment of starting off, Sir Ambrose had said: ‘We’ll trust to superior numbers, demand entrance and break the gate open if we have to, and go straight in.’

  The wall and the gate, a massive, two-leaved affair, loomed up on us suddenly, lit by the moon and the very last gleam of the dusk. Sir Ambrose signalled to one of his men, who drew his sword and hammered on the gate with the hilt, shouting: ‘Open up! Open up in the name of the queen!’ in a most commanding fashion.

  The first response was an outburst of baying from what sounded like some very large dogs, but the man who was pounding on the gate persisted and eventually, one leaf was drawn back and a defensive figure, a man with a cloak wrapped over a nightshirt, appeared in the aperture. ‘What is all this? What
’s this about, all this shouting about the name of the queen? Who are you, making this racket? And how many are you …?’

  The indignant voice faded as its owner stepped forward and peered at us, and then rose again, in new outrage. ‘You look like an army! What’s the meaning of this?’

  ‘We’re coming in,’ snapped Sir Ambrose, ‘and if you don’t want those dogs spitted on our swords then get them under control!’ Grumbling, the man in the cloak and nightshirt called his hounds to order, and with that, we entered. The porter, if that was what he was, stood aside, scowling. The house was in front of us, across a cobbled courtyard. There was candlelight in several windows, and a lantern over the front door, which had a short flight of steps leading up to it.

  We clattered across the cobbles and then the front door was flung open and another man came out to the top of the steps, holding up a lantern, by which we could see that he was dressed, though probably in haste for he had an open shirt under an unfastened doublet and with his spare hand was still pulling at his hose. ‘What’s the matter? Why this incursion?’

  George Talbot was swinging out of his saddle. ‘Is this Ivy House?’

  ‘Yes, it is, and I would like to know …’

  ‘Who are you, sir?’

  ‘Who am I? I’m the master of the house, William Corby! And here is my wife, Frances, and this …’ he pointed to the man who had opened the gate ‘… is Thomas, my brother.’ A woman, enswathed in a mantle, had appeared behind him. ‘We live here with our servants. What is all this?’

  Talbot said to me: ‘Do you recognize him, Mistress Stannard?’

  ‘No,’ I said. I had been staring at him but as far as I could make out, he was unknown to me. The lantern showed a very ordinary looking man with a pale, indoor face and short, mousey hair, and as the other two moved into the light, I could see that they too were nondescript; and that none of them looked at all like any of the players who had come to Hawkswood and later, kidnapped me.