A Deadly Betrothal

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  ‘No, I didn’t. Brockley wouldn’t let me.’

  ‘Very proper. Brockley, therefore, can attend the inquest and testify to finding the body. Spelton can also attend, and testify that it was his idea to look up into the trees. Neither of them will advance any theories about who killed Thomas. I shall see them personally and make sure of that. I want a verdict of murder by an unknown person or persons and I hope to get it. I have my reasons. You are to concentrate on her majesty’s interests.’

  ‘But …!’

  For a moment, Walsingham looked as tired as Thomas Radcliffe but when he spoke, his face hardened. ‘Leave Thomas Harrison and Eric Lake alone, Ursula! Now then. The queen. I am worried about her. The step she contemplates is huge. She will have to give up half her power. The Duke of Alençon will expect to rule jointly with her; that is the nature of a man. And there are other dangers.’

  I was appalled by the idea of ignoring the deaths of Thomas Harrison and Eric Lake but Walsingham looked at me so sternly that I dared not pursue them now. I said nothing.

  ‘For a woman of the queen’s age,’ Walsingham said, ‘childbirth presents a considerable risk.’

  This time, I was expected to comment. ‘Am I to dissuade her?’

  ‘If you can. Sussex will oppose you, of course. Well, the ultimate decision will be hers.’ Again, there was that look of tiredness. ‘Meanwhile,’ he said, ‘try to save Leicester’s good name. For myself, I don’t believe for a moment that he ever tried to injure de Simier. Leicester can be wrongheaded and even violent, but he is not one for knives in the dark – or potions in the wine, either. I know him. Well, mistress, that concludes our business, I think. Please, devote yourself to serving your royal sister.’

  I said: ‘You mentioned your tailor. I have often admired the excellence of your clothes.’ This was true enough. Walsingham’s taste in dress was sombre, but his doublets and hose were always cut to perfection, from costly materials. ‘Does he supply women’s gowns at all?’

  ‘No. John Willingdale, master tailor, specializes in gentlemen’s garments,’ said Walsingham. ‘You must get your fine gowns made elsewhere.’

  ‘Very well,’ I said humbly.

  Which was a pretence, for I did not feel humble. I was seething. I was to leave the matter of Thomas and Eric, was I? How dared he dismiss them so casually! I couldn’t.

  ‘There is one matter which you might consider,’ Walsingham said, ‘as it is part of serving her majesty. The last letter from Janus – the one that Christopher Spelton brought here, just ahead of you – speaks of rumours now current in France, that some move may be made to prevent the marriage between the queen and Alençon, either by discrediting her, or by discrediting him in her eyes. In France, there are ardent Catholics who want to see Mary Stuart on the English throne. They certainly don’t want treaties – or marriages – between France and England. You might keep your ears open for anything that could bear upon that.’

  ‘I will indeed,’ I said, smoothly, concealing my feelings.

  I was furious with him. Yes, I would do my best for the queen, but I would not stop trying to bring George and Robert Harrison to justice. Walsingham was blocking my path for no discernible reason and I meant to overcome the blockage. I made for my apartment, where I found Dale, stitching. ‘Where’s Brockley?’ I asked her.

  ‘In the stables, I think, ma’am. Giving Eddie a hand.’

  ‘Please fetch him.’

  When Brockley came, I said: ‘I have a commission for you. It may mean a visit to London …’

  With Brockley on his way, I had for the moment done all I could for Thomas and Eric. I turned my attention to Elizabeth’s requests, wondering hopelessly how to deal with them. Had the rumour about Leicester attempting the life of de Simier been started as part of a scheme to damage the chances of the Alençon marriage? If de Simier had started it, it couldn’t be, for he was surely on his master’s side and therefore in favour of the marriage. He might resent Leicester’s opposition, but he had done Leicester enough harm already, by telling the queen about Lettice Knollys. No – de Simier wasn’t a likely source for the rumour. So, where on earth was I to start? I felt strongly inclined to run away, to go home and retire to bed and bury my head under a pillow.

  There was one thing I could do, I supposed. I could talk to Leicester himself.

  NINETEEN

  Deceit in High Places

  Leicester was said to be at his house in Wanstead, about sixteen miles away, if one were a crow; longer if one must follow roads and tracks, which had a habit of winding. Early next morning, I took Eddie, with Dale on his pillion, and set off on horseback.

  The day was humid but at least it was dry and the roads were good. We were there by noon. In the front courtyard, servants came out to us and I announced myself, asking if the Earl of Leicester were at home and if he would see me. His butler, pointing to another archway, said that my lord was in the stable yard. Eddie was already leading the horses off to the stables so Dale and I followed him. We found Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, famed for being the elegantly dressed and powerful friend of her majesty, prosaically clad in old clothes, leaning over a tub of soapy water and washing a large wolfhound, which was yelping in protest and had splashed its master lavishly with water and soapsuds.

  I knew Leicester, of course, had known him for years, ever since he appointed me to the household of his first wife because she feared that she was in danger and he wanted me to watch over her and try to reassure her. She had died, mysteriously, and he had been accused of her murder, but I knew him innocent of that. All the same, I had still, at first, neither liked nor trusted him and certainly I was never impressed by his looks, handsome though he was.

  But over the years I had seen how Elizabeth depended on his steady devotion, which never seemed to falter despite his quick temper and imperious nature. For her he had been a rock on which she leant for support, and I was sure that once she had accustomed herself to the idea that like other men, he needed a wife for his bed and his home and perhaps a mother for lawful children (he had one natural son, but no tactful person ever mentioned that), then she would take him back into her favour. I hoped she would. I did not dislike him now.

  Seeing me, he stepped back, shaking water from his hands. ‘Ursula Stannard! What brings you here? Jeff! Peter!’ Grooms came running. ‘Help Mistress Stannard’s groom with her horses and take this dog over for me! He just needs rinsing now; you’ll want fresh water – stop yelping, Brutus, you’re not hurt; you just don’t like the smell of soap. Come into the house, mistress. My wife will be pleased to see you.’

  He spoke with pride in his voice. No matter how angry Elizabeth might be, Leicester was obviously not ashamed of his marriage.

  I also knew Lettice Knollys, now the Countess of Leicester, and like the queen, I was wary of her, for her long sloe-blue eyes always seemed predatory and she was unashamedly appreciative of good-looking men. Though it was true that her first husband had left her alone for years while he was on duty in Ireland and that must have borne hard on a woman as interested in sex as Lettice was said to be.

  Leicester, brushing soap off his clothes and wiping his wet shoes on a mat, led me and Dale inside. We heard Lettice’s voice somewhere in the distance, whereupon Leicester said: ‘Ah. I know where she is,’ and a moment later, we were at the door of her stillroom, where the new Countess of Leicester was being a busy housewife, instructing a maid to clean out some bottles including those with only a little left in them.

  ‘Those odd inches won’t be used. Throw them away and wash the bottles well, ready for the new season’s preserves and … my lord? Mistress Stannard! You should have let us know that you were coming!’

  The stillroom was abandoned to the maid, and we repaired to my lady’s parlour, which was comfortable, domestic and not what I would have expected as a setting for Lettice, who at court had been fashionable and proud to an extreme degree, and wasn’t known for her embroidery. Today, she was simply dressed
with neither ruff nor farthingale, and there was an embroidery frame with some part-done work on it, lying on a window ledge. She smiled at Dudley and me and pulled a settle forward for me and I thought that she seemed different, gentler than I remembered, and clearly desirous of pleasing her new husband.

  There were refreshments, an invitation to stay to dinner and small talk, just as one might expect, and at my request, Dale was allowed to sit with us. But at length, Leicester, who had been watching my face, said: ‘I imagine that Mistress Stannard had some reason for this visit. Had you, Ursula?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. I am on the queen’s business.’

  ‘Lettice …’ said Leicester, and before he had reached the rest of the sentence, she had nodded, and smiled again and slipped tactfully out of the room. I could hardly believe that Lettice Knollys could be so biddable.

  ‘So. What is it?’ Leicester asked, as the door closed behind her. He glanced doubtfully at Dale.

  ‘Dale knows my business,’ I said. ‘I often discuss things with her. My lord …’

  I stopped, not sure how to say what I must. Leicester grinned. ‘You have come to ask or to tell me something difficult. Well, speak your mind. The queen never hesitates to speak hers,’ he added, and the grin vanished. I saw how her rage had pained him.

  ‘I came to ask …’

  I stopped again and Leicester groaned. ‘Say it, whatever it is! Presumably you aren’t going to tell me I am destined for the block. A squad of soldiers would have come for that! It must be something a trifle less terrible, but what?’

  Frankness seemed the only way. ‘The queen has asked me to find out whether you really did try to … try to …’

  ‘Try to what?’

  ‘Get rid of Jean de Simier.’ I got it out at last.

  ‘You mean did I try to poison him, or have him poisoned?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The answer is no.’ He looked irritated but took the question in good part. ‘He had an attack of food poisoning, I think. Unless someone else wished to dispose of him, but I doubt that. Others of the Council besides myself are unhappy about this proposed marriage with Alençon, but – good God, if the Duke of Alençon’s emissary were poisoned here in England, it would blacken the queen’s name from end to end of Europe. None of us would deal in murder anyway. I have been accused of it, as you know. But I was innocent then and I am innocent now.’

  Like Sussex and like Walsingham, he looked tired. ‘Though how I can prove that, I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I don’t think it can be proved. I may have to live with the suspicion for the rest of my life. I can only say that if you wish me to swear my innocence upon a Bible, standing in a house of God with one hand on the altar, I will do so. I can do no more. There is a chapel here.’

  ‘You would do that?’ I asked. ‘It wouldn’t be proof – I don’t see how we could produce proof – but it would be something to tell her majesty. I think she would find it close to proof. She knows you well, after all.’

  ‘I will so swear,’ Leicester said.

  He did, too, and in a most dignified manner, changing first into good clothes and clean shoes, calling his chaplain, and investing the whole business with great formality. With one hand on a Bible and the other on the chapel altar, he swore his innocence. When it was done, I dined with him and Lettice, and across the meal we talked as civilized people should, of mutual acquaintances, of harvest prospects and a little – carefully – of the latest news, but avoiding sensitive subjects such as the Alençon marriage. Then I took my leave.

  It was dusk by the time Dale and I returned to our rooms at the palace. It was too late that evening for a private audience with the queen. I would make my report to her in the morning. One duty had been discharged – at least as far as it possibly could be. Now I had only to worry about unknown schemes to dislodge the Duke of Alençon from his English plans (how on earth did Walsingham expect me to investigate that?) and also, the task which I had set Brockley.

  Dale and I were both weary. We were resting and sharing a flagon of wine, when to our annoyance a page arrived at the outer door of our suite to announce that Antoine de Lacey wished to call upon me.

  I would have liked to refuse him but thought I had better not. Therefore, I welcomed him politely and asked what had brought him to visit me.

  ‘You can help me, I hope,’ he said. ‘I came earlier, twice, in fact, but no one was here. You have been away today, it seems.’

  ‘I rode to Wanstead, to call on the Earl of Leicester.’

  ‘Indeed? You are in touch with him and on friendly terms? Well, that could be convenient.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I have an errand to the earl.’

  ‘You mean to the Earl of Leicester?’

  ‘To him and also to her majesty. Late yesterday evening, a courier arrived, bringing letters, one for myself, one for the queen and one for the Earl of Leicester. They all came from my master, Jean de Simier. This morning I was granted the favour of a short audience with the queen and I gave her letter to her. She was glad to receive it. It exonerates the Earl of Leicester. My master has thought matters over and concluded that his illness was accidental, and that his suspicions were unfounded. He apologizes.’

  So de Simier really had been the source of the rumour, but perhaps genuinely, not mischievously. I was happy to hear it, though it made my journey to Wanstead seem irrelevant. ‘The earl’s letter, I have already sent on,’ de Lacey said. ‘However, my own, which gives me certain instructions, does I think repeat much of what my master has written to Leicester.’ He reached inside his doublet and pulled out a scroll. ‘This is mine. You are welcome to read it. I wish you to do so.’

  He handed it to me. In it, de Simier explained that he had written an apology to Leicester for casting doubts on his character. It seemed a euphemistic way of referring to an accusation of attempted murder, but still, an apology it presumably was.

  The text further explained that de Simier was now sure of his ground because he had recalled that at the dinner after which he had been taken so unpleasantly ill, there had been a dish consisting of small roundels of duck flesh on spikes, half a dozen or so to a spike, accompanied by a rosemary dipping sauce. The dish was not popular as the duck roundels seemed underdone. De Simier himself, however, being fond of duck, had taken three or four spikes. It had since been pointed out to him that duck was one of the meats that should always be thoroughly cooked; that if underdone, it could cause trouble. Thinking it over, he had remembered that the roundels had tasted slightly odd, metallic. He feared that he had been unjust. By way of expressing his regrets in a material fashion, he was sending the earl a small keg of exceptionally fine wine. It would be delivered to de Lacey, who was to invite the earl to dinner, entertain him well, and broach the wine on that occasion, thus making a little ceremony of it.

  ‘But I can’t invite him to dinner here,’ said de Lacey. ‘The queen herself told me, this morning, that he is still not welcome at court. However, I can invite him to dine with me at a good inn. I would leave it to him to choose a suitable one. I would invite my lord’s countess as well, and perhaps, Mistress Stannard, you would join us? And perhaps another couple – so that the company is not too pointedly political. My own feeling is that it should be a little informal, merry and sociable, even though the reason behind it is serious. There is such a solemn feeling about the court, these days. I would like to lighten the air.’ He gave me a broad smile that illuminated his otherwise uninteresting features.

  ‘If I am to attend, I would have to ask the queen’s permission,’ I said.

  ‘Will you do that?’

  ‘Very well,’ I said.

  De Lacey left at last. Dale and I sat talking about this latest turn of events and she began to fret because Brockley was so long away, but he arrived half an hour later, to her obvious relief. I was very pleased to see him, too. ‘So here you are!’ I said. ‘What news? You found Master Willingdale?’

  ‘I did.’ Brockley
looked pleased with himself. ‘It was easy. His Guild were only too pleased to give me his direction. I didn’t wish to start scandalous rumours by mentioning that this was part of an enquiry into murder. I represented myself as the servant of a gentleman who had lately returned to England from a foreign posting, was looking for a good tailor and had been recommended to go to Master Willingdale. I was quite inventive,’ said Brockley. ‘I said that Willingdale’s direction had been mislaid during the gentleman’s very rough voyage across the English Channel and …’

  ‘Never mind that! What did you learn?’

  ‘When I found Master Willingdale, in his shop in a narrow little lane in the City, I didn’t tell him any tarradiddles. I was frank about my purpose and I showed him the button.’ He produced it, holding it up. ‘I asked if he had ever seen such a button before, indeed, if he had ever offered this pattern to Sir Frances Walsingham. He said no, he had never seen it before and therefore had not offered such a thing to Sir Francis. He was intrigued by the pattern – wondered where he might obtain some. I couldn’t help him there, of course. So, madam, it seems that Sir Francis Walsingham was – er – deceiving you.’

  ‘Lying to me. Deceit in high places! And all to dissuade me from regarding it as good evidence against Robert Harrison. Well, well, well.’

  TWENTY

  A Merry and Informal Party

  The queen did not object when I asked if I might attend what I had privately named de Lacey’s Apologetic Dinner. I told her about that and it amused her, which was a good thing for when I entered her room, I was just in time to see her throwing a slipper at a lady in waiting who, apparently, had failed to starch a ruff properly.

  The lady fled our presence and the queen, with a lightning change of mood, let herself laugh at my name for the dinner and was glad when I told her of Leicester’s solemn oath. ‘He is a man of piety in his fashion,’ she said. ‘He respects God and I think would not have taken such an oath unless he meant it. Even without de Simier’s apology, that oath would convince me. I thank you, Ursula. You did well. You will be rewarded. Yes, go to the dinner. Have a pleasant time.’