The Reluctant Assassin

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  ‘We are here,’ said Sir Ambrose, also dismounting, ‘to search these premises for a missing boy and a man called Russell Woodley and we don’t intend to ask permission.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘Cullings, Miller, Watts, stay to look after the horses! The rest of you, dismount and forward!’

  Other figures had now come into view in the entrance hall behind the Corby family and they were gaping and exclaiming, but we were a crowd against a handful and we surged into the house like a giant wave overwhelming a sea wall. Inside, more orders were barked and the house was suddenly filled by the sound of striding feet, up and down flights of stairs and across floors, of room doors and cupboard doors being flung open and heavy furniture being yanked aside.

  There were shouts. There’s an attic up here! Look out for a priest’s hole! Don’t miss the cellars; Hayley and Banks go down and don’t be fooled by any walled-off bits; look for hidden doors! Nothing up here, sir! Make sure – don’t miss any cupboards! Nothing in the cellars, sir, though the wine barrels look fair tempting!

  Brockley had gone with the searchers but Sir Ambrose, Sir George and I found our way through an open door into what proved to be a well-lit kitchen where someone had evidently been having a late supper, as the fire was still burning. The light came from numerous candles, benches were drawn close to a pinewood table and on the table were some wooden platters with crumbs and chicken bones on them.

  The three Corbys came with us, glowering. All six of us were still just standing there when the others began to return, including Brockley, looking crestfallen.

  ‘This is the house I found, madam, but there’s no sign of Harry; or Master Woodley, not a trace and now I’m wondering …’

  ‘You may well wonder!’ said William Corby furiously. ‘What all this is about I have no idea, but I can only say that for a gentleman’s house to be attacked like this, after dark and without warning, or any explanation, is outrageous. In the name of the queen, indeed! Taking her majesty’s name in vain, that’s what that is. I demand an explanation!’

  He thumped a furious fist on the pinewood table, making the platters jump. One of them sent a chicken wishbone onto William Corby’s wrist. He flicked it off with a fastidious movement.

  And then I knew. I had last seen him with black hair to his shoulders and a bronzed face but I knew those unnaturally long fingers. I had seen them flicking through a pack of cards as though the cards were made of water; and I had seen them twisting nervously together as he talked to me of the dreadful choice that lay before me.

  ‘That’s him!’ I shouted, pointing at him. ‘That’s their ringleader! He looks different but I know that’s him, the leader of the players who seized me, the one who does card tricks with those queer, long fingers! He was in disguise but I know him. It’s him! We are in the right place, we are! And …’

  The search party were still coming in, in twos and threes. Now came a pair of them, two men that I recognized as part of the Talbot garrison, excitedly brandishing trophies.

  ‘We found these! Outside in a barn where fodder is stored, in a sack, tossed in among some other sacks with oats in!’

  ‘The sack looked funny. Knobbly, like. Not like oats. So we had a look! And there they were. Do they mean anything?’

  ‘They look like disguises!’

  They were. The trophies the two delighted Talbot men were flourishing included half a dozen wigs of long dark hair and one wig of red hair, several motley coloured tunics, a bright green gown sewn with crystal beads and a glass bottle full of some dark liquid. One of the Talbot men saw me looking at it and said: ‘Walnut juice. Could be used to make faces brown.’

  All three Corbys had gone pale. Brockley, stepping forward almost as though he, and not Sir Ambrose or Sir George, were in charge, addressed William Corby. ‘Where is Harry? Where is Russell Woodley? You’d better tell us.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of this Harry, or this Russell Wood! What are you talking about?’ But William Corby was blustering. There was sweat on his pale forehead. Brockley turned to me: ‘Madam, this will not be pretty. Leave us.’

  Sir Ambrose suddenly emitted a sound like Humph and Brockley glanced at him and bent an apologetic head. ‘Your pardon, sir, and Sir George. But Harry is the son of Mistress Stannard, whose servant I am, and in himself is dear to me. Please forgive me, sir, for usurping your authority. Madam …’

  I opened my mouth to protest at being shooed away, but Brockley, now usurping my authority as well, caught hold of my arm and actually pushed me out of the door. ‘No, madam! You must not witness this! We’re going to make him talk.’

  He went back into the kitchen and shut the door and I heard a bolt crash home. For a moment I stood irresolutely in the entrance hall, which was dimly lit, since William Corby had dumped his lantern on a small table. Then I took the lantern up and found my way through another door which seemed to divide the kitchen quarters from the rest of the house. I tried a further door and arrived in a room which looked like a parlour. I had left both doors open behind me and from the kitchen, faintly, I could hear sounds: a man crying out, a woman weeping. I sank down on a stool.

  This was the right house and therefore Harry had been here lately: surely he had. I could almost sense him here. But he hadn’t been found. Oh, dear God, did Russell get here in time for them to spirit him away and if so where had he been spirited to? Harry. Oh, Harry!

  Then Brockley was calling me and I rose and ran back to the kitchen. This door too was now open. The Corbys, all three of them white-faced and trembling, were seated, under guard. The woman was in tears, the so-called Thomas Corby looked as though he had been stunned and William Corby’s mouth was shaking.

  Most of the searchers had gone, and sounds in the house suggested that they were searching again. But the ones who had found the disguises, along with Sir Ambrose and Sir George, were present and looking happy. Brockley met me with a grin. ‘We haven’t hurt him, madam. We didn’t have to. Just threats were enough. Certain threats.’ Corby tightened his mouth but his eyes were terrified.

  ‘Russell did come here,’ Brockley said. ‘We guessed right. He has warned them and Harry has been got away. It seems that these people have no safe houses other than here and Heath House at Epsom, but they’ve whisked Harry off to an abandoned and very lonely shepherd’s cot, some miles to the south. Russell and the man called Lucas took him. We’re going there now.’

  ‘And Master Corby here is going to show us the way,’ said Sir Ambrose. ‘Aren’t you, my friend?’

  ‘I … I don’t know the way. I’ve never been there myself! I …’

  ‘Then perhaps your … er … brother knows, or your wife, if she is your wife, or one of the others – your servants? Where are your servants, by the way? We’ve seen no sign of them. Have they melted into the air?’

  ‘They were all inside the stable, sir.’ One of Sir Ambrose’s men had come into the kitchen behind me. ‘We found them saddling up in frantic haste. We’ve got them.’

  ‘Someone in this household must know where this shepherd’s cot is,’ said Talbot. ‘Bring them all here and let’s find out! I do hope, Master Corby, that you haven’t been telling us any naughty lies? I take it that there really is a ruined shepherd’s cot and that it really does lie to the south? Because if you have lied …’

  ‘No, it’s to the north!’ Corby had evidently tried to the last to mislead us but something in Talbot’s voice and in the implacable faces around him, had broken the last of his nerve. The sweat was now streaming down his temples. ‘Yes, yes, it’s real enough and yes, that’s where Harry has been taken, but it’s north, not south. I do know where it is! I can show you.’

  ‘You’d better,’ said Brockley, in a voice that was positively silky.

  ‘The horses must be tired,’ I said to Brockley, as we thundered northwards, in force except for six men who had been left in charge of Ivy House, where the occupants had been made prisoners, under lock and key. This time, the only light was moonlight, in whi
ch trees and grass were an otherworldly silver and shadows were impenetrable.

  ‘They will hold up,’ Brockley said. ‘This is the last journey. At the end of it, madam, we will find Harry. His ordeal is nearly over. We gathered that he was taken off only a short time before we arrived, and it would take about an hour to get to this ruinous place they’ve taken him to. We’ll be hard behind them.’

  ‘I hate to think of Harry being with that man Lucas. I remember Lucas. I know which one he was. He looked – he sounded – cruel.’

  ‘We’ll rescue him soon. Very soon, madam. Take heart. You’re tired yourself, you know.’

  ‘No, I’m not, Brockley. I’m too angry, too desperate, to be tired. I want to find Harry safe and unharmed. He must be so frightened. I could kill that man Corby. Why didn’t you want me to be there when you … persuaded him? I would have been glad to be there; I would have liked to see him break!’

  We were riding side by side, just behind Corby and his escort. In the uncertain moonlight, wise riders watched the track. But now I saw Brockley’s face turn towards me.

  ‘You are a gallant lady, and I value you for it, even though at times I have wished that you would lead a less dangerous, more womanly life. You have seen and done much that no woman should have to see or do, in my opinion. But there are still things that you have not seen or done, and I pray that you never do. I want you to remain, always, my gallant, honest lady. Madam, I pushed you out of that kitchen in case we had to proceed to extremes. I don’t want you … please, madam, I wouldn’t want you to become corrupted.’

  ‘Brockley! I …’

  I could say no more. I didn’t know what to say. Brockley turned away from me again and once more gave his attention to the track. And then, in front of us, I saw the group round Corby slowing down, and one of them threw up an arm and shouted: ‘Easy, easy! There’s something ahead …!’

  There was. A horse and rider had just emerged, at a gallop, from a copse of trees a furlong or so in front. They tore straight towards us and then the horse half-reared as the rider tried to pull up, just as Corby’s escort moved to surround them. One of the escort dragged the rider from his saddle and another grabbed the horse’s reins, and then the man who had seized the rider had turned his own mount and was coming towards the rest of us. They came into a patch of full moonlight and, pressing forward with Brockley, I saw the face of the person who was now perched before his captor. Who was laughing as he said: ‘Madam, is this who we’re looking for?’

  ‘Harry!’ I gasped.

  His young face peered at me wildly from his captor’s arms. Then the man came close beside me and I realized that he was Captain Grey. Very carefully, he shifted his burden from the withers of his horse to Jewel’s withers instead. My arms closed thankfully round him. ‘Oh, Harry!’

  ‘Mother!’ said Harry. ‘I killed him. That man Lucas. I killed him, Mother.’

  It came out as a whimper and then I saw that he was crying, and that he was clutching a dagger and that although the stains on it looked black in the moonlight, I knew very well that in moonlight so does the colour red.

  Brockley was beside me. ‘Take heart, young man,’ he said. ‘If you killed Lucas, I’m overjoyed to hear it!’

  ‘But I’m being chased!’ Harry was twisting round, trying to look over his own shoulder and past that of his rescuer. ‘I’m … here he is!’

  And so he was. Another rider now came flying out of the copse, riding far faster than was safe in tree shadow, leaning forward on the neck of his horse, encouraging it to greater speed.

  He rode straight into our arms.

  Russell Woodley.

  TWENTY-TWO

  My Son, My Son

  We were too far from Warwick Castle and most of us were too tired anyway to go back to it that night. We returned instead to Ivy House, where the men who had been left on guard – the ones called Hayley and Banks were in charge of them – told us that the prisoners were still safely secured, up in the attic.

  ‘The woman won’t stop crying and the men won’t stop cursing,’ Hayley informed us. He was the taller and better-looking of the two, with very blue eyes, a small beard and broad shoulders. Banks was younger, pink-complexioned, a little plump, with bright, pale and very intelligent eyes. He looked as though he was enjoying the adventure. ‘We let them have some wine,’ he said. ‘The cellars are full of it and if they get drunk they’ll maybe fall asleep and stop making such a racket.’

  Many of us laughed, and we took ourselves into the kitchen, where candles were still burning. The night had turned cold but Hayley and Banks had kept the fire going. The room was overcrowded for a moment, but Sir Ambrose gave orders and three men marched William Corby off to join his fellow conspirators in the attic. Most of the rest were sent to investigate the cellar and a hopeful-looking door from the kitchen. They shortly reappeared with ale, bread and cheese and slices of cold lamb. A couple of men had been despatched to find bedding so that everyone could have somewhere to sleep. Harry, who at first had been distressed and tearful, had now become calmer and was able to tell them where to find a supply of blankets. Then Sir George and Sir Ambrose, Captain Grey, Hayley and Banks, Brockley, Harry and I all seated ourselves in the kitchen and for the moment we kept Russell with us. It was at my request. ‘There are things I want to ask him,’ I said.

  I looked at Harry with concern, for although he was now quiet, he was still drawn and white with exhaustion, and his dark eyes seemed enormous. He needed rest. But I also knew that he was strung as tightly as a lute string and that he would not sleep yet. For the moment, he was better where he was, in the lit, warm kitchen, among friends.

  I turned my attention to Russell, who had been thrust into a seat, with Hayley and Banks on either side of him. ‘Why do you want him here, Mistress Stannard? Shouldn’t he be with the other prisoners in the attic?’ said Sir Ambrose, picking up a couple of spare candles and starting to light them from the ones already there. Brockley quietly took them from him and finished the task.

  ‘I need a few explanations from him,’ I said. ‘We can lock him up later. Russell, how could you? After all you have said to me! You swore you loved me!’

  He glared at me.

  ‘Well, why?’ I said. ‘I really want to know. It is a dreadful thing that you have done to me – and nearly done to Harry. What made you do it?’

  ‘From the moment I first saw you,’ said Russell, ‘when we were all at Richmond, I wanted, I longed … for you! I am, and I was then, already part of the Players – that’s what we call ourselves. We are the Players, honest patriots, who only want to protect our country! But I would have abandoned them on the instant if only you had said yes! Only you kept saying no. You were so remote, so withdrawn, so indifferent! Yes, I loved you! I think I still do but if you won’t love me … then I remain a Player, in a game that is no game, but a true attempt to protect our queen, our realm. If only you had said that you would marry me!’

  ‘I see. So it was all my fault!’

  ‘Don’t talk to my mother like that!’ Harry shouted.

  ‘If I’d caught up with you in time,’ said Russell malevolently, now glowering at Harry, ‘if only I’d got hold of you before you met your saviours, I’d have had you safe in hiding by now. Not in the ruined cottage; we knew you would be sure to find out about that. We were aiming for an old charcoal-burner’s hut instead, two miles further on. We’d have taken you there, and then I’d have made you wish you’d never been born. But when you attacked Lucas and broke away, my damned horse was upset and threw me. I got back on but you’d had too long a start … God wasn’t with me! Oh, dear God, why not, why weren’t you?’

  ‘Oh, take him to the attic!’ said Talbot. He stared at Russell. ‘I trusted you. I thought you were a good, reliable clerk, an aide to my chief secretary and of value to my household. Instead, I find you are a conspirator, an abductor of children and in league with slavers. You are dismissed from my service and under arrest.’ He looked at the guar
ds. ‘Just get him out of my sight!’

  Hayley and Banks took him away. He did not resist but he gave me a parting look over his shoulder. It was a look of mingled anger and grief. I turned away. Brockley was telling Harry who everyone was. Having done so, he said: ‘Now, Harry, can you tell us your story? Just what happened tonight? How did you get away from Russell and Lucas?’

  Harry shivered. ‘It was all such a muddle.’ His eyes looked more enormous than ever.

  I said: ‘One moment. If there’s wine in the cellars, could someone fetch some and mull it? We could all do with it and Harry can have a little, too. He needs something.’

  Captain Grey went with Brockley to fetch the wine and together they set about mulling it. I looked for some glasses and at the same time watched Harry, knowing that he was trying to gather his narrative together. When the wine was ready and I had found the glasses I wanted, in a small cupboard, I poured for us all, with a small measure for Harry, and handed everything round. Smiling at Harry I said: ‘Tell us, then. What happened?’

  ‘Someone arrived,’ Harry said. ‘I was in bed. There was a great to-do. He banged on the gate and was let in and I got up and looked out. My window faces the front. I saw him dismount … he almost fell off his horse, he was in such haste! … and then people were running about and shouting and then he – this man who’d arrived in such a hurry – and that man Lucas came running into my room, pulled me out of bed, told me to dress, fast, fast, and then they rushed me downstairs. That’s when I heard Master Woodley’s name; Lucas called him by it. Two saddled horses were ready in the courtyard and Lucas mounted and Master Woodley grabbed me and threw me up to him. Lucas sat me in front of his saddle, and said if I gave him any trouble, I’d be dead!’

  His voice shook at that point and I urged him to sip his wine. He did so and seemed to take heart. ‘He showed me his dagger and said if I didn’t want it stuck into me, I’d better behave, and then we were off, galloping out of the gate and away. He sheathed his dagger because he needed one arm and hand for holding me and the other for the reins. I did ask where we were going and Master Woodley …’