A Deadly Betrothal

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  They left us to talk in private, and having motioned Christopher to a seat, I took one opposite him rather than seating myself next to him. With Christopher, I was careful, always, to offer friendly hospitality but nothing more intimate. ‘Have you been calling on Mistress Kate again?’ I asked.

  ‘I have. How did you guess?’ said Spelton dryly. ‘I visit West Leys when I can and offer any help or advice the lady might require, since her family are far away in Dover, and you, her former guardian, have also been away, at court. I am biding my time. Kate is young. She can’t mourn for ever, and the child, when it is born, will turn her mind towards the future. Then – I think – I hope – she will consider that future, consider the advantages of having a man to help her run her farm and be a father to her little one. Meanwhile, I make sure she doesn’t forget my existence.’

  His brown eyes were bright with his hopes and they were probably justified. He would win his Kate before too long and I could only wish him well. ‘How is she?’ I asked.

  ‘She is in good health. She is a sensible young woman and knows that she must eat and sleep properly for the sake of her baby, and that surrendering too much to her grief would be bad for both of them.’

  ‘I will find time to visit her soon. Have you called on me to bring me news of her, or have you some other purpose?’

  ‘Yes, I have. I have news for you, apart from Kate’s welfare. I was charged with a message for you, from the queen; it gave me a good opportunity to see Kate. The message is that there is a warrant out for the arrest of George and Robert Harrison, for the murders of Thomas Harrison and Eric Lake. Robert is out of the country at the moment but is expected back shortly, to fulfil his promise to marry his cousin Jane. That marriage will not take place now, of course, but he won’t find that out until he gets back to England. He will probably be picked up as soon as he lands.’

  ‘So, the queen has acted,’ I said.

  ‘The queen?’

  I explained the curious embargo that Walsingham and Cecil had placed on my search for the killers of Thomas and Eric, and my subsequent interview with Elizabeth. He nodded.

  ‘Yes. I see. Her fiat trumps the decisions of Cecil and Walsingham. I didn’t realize that you had inspired it. Well done, if I may say so. I can’t understand why Lord Burghley and Sir Francis were against taking action.’

  ‘Nor can I. Thank you for the news, Christopher.’

  ‘Cousin marriages are bad things, anyway,’ he said, sipping wine. ‘They breed sickly children, as often as not, and in my opinion, the old church was right to forbid them. Jane is well out of it.’

  ‘She is indeed!’ I said with fervour. ‘And not just because of that! To think she might have married one of her brother’s murderers! Tell me, is there any news of Antoine de Lacey? Moves against him were also being planned; Cecil and Walsingham didn’t try to block those. Did you know that he is suspected of attempting to ruin the queen’s marriage plans? Have you heard about the dinner he arranged for Leicester?’

  I explained about the accidental exchange of Lady Margaret’s glass for Leicester’s. He was interested. ‘So that is how it happened that young Lady Mollinder died! Your mistake saved the earl’s life, by the sound of it, though it was the worse for her, poor wench. Did you know that de Lacey has disappeared?’

  ‘He’s probably been quietly removed from the country, put on a ship for France and sent off under guard,’ I said. ‘I think that was the plan.’

  ‘Yes, I know about that, but the plan was never put into action. He vanished too soon. I am not on close terms with either Lord Burghley or Sir Francis Walsingham, but I have cultivated some of their employees. Both Cecil and Walsingham are furious. De Lacey slipped out of Richmond Palace one afternoon and didn’t return and no one knows where he is. They don’t want to issue a warrant for him – he’s a foreign national and part of Alençon’s entourage; it could be politically damaging. But he is being quietly sought.’

  ‘So I should hope,’ I said. ‘I think he might be a dangerous man. Will you stay to dine?’

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The Rage of Spain

  After dinner, when Christopher Spelton had left, I went to my chamber and looked into my mirror. I was forty-five years old now, and although the mirror showed me that my hair was still dark, that I had few lines and my eyes were still an undimmed greenish hazel with clear whites, nevertheless, within myself, I was aware of my age. I was no young girl, but a mother of two and a grandmother by one of them and I had seen the world.

  Christopher was about the same age as I was, but it was natural enough for him to prefer Kate, who was still young, with no lines at all in her face, as yet, even though she had seen trouble during her short life. That very trouble probably made him feel protective, and that she had borne it all with considerable courage, would only have enhanced his wish to look after her. I knew Christopher Spelton well enough to know that.

  On her side, once Kate had recovered from her first grief, and had Eric’s child safely in her arms, she would need a man and before long she would realize it. While I had no need of a husband. I had had three and that was quite enough for anyone. I had my home – two homes, Hawkswood and Withysham. I had my household. I had my dear Dale and my trusted Brockley, and if he and I had never been lovers, there was all the same a close if unspoken bond between us that I did not wish to break. Nor, I knew, did he, although he had at times pushed his feelings aside and encouraged me towards a new marriage, out of a sense of duty and a wish for my well-being. Brockley was a most honest man.

  No, I did not need Christopher, but before long, Kate probably would, and I must be glad for them both.

  I lingered in my room for a while, thinking about the queen. She was forty-six, older than me by several months. She was right to fear the dangers of childbirth. She had asked me to soothe her fears of marriage, but she hadn’t asked for reassurance about childbirth and I couldn’t have given her that anyway. I feared it myself. I tried to imagine what would happen in England if Elizabeth attempted to give it an heir and failed to come through. I tried to imagine how she herself would feel, if once a child were conceived and the ultimate business of giving birth, with all its dangers, became inevitable.

  Perhaps it was my duty – was still my duty – while there was still time, to discourage her. Walsingham and Leicester would approve and so would Cecil, even if they didn’t do so openly. We couldn’t rely on the Netherlands situation to solve the problem; it might come to an end quite quickly. Meanwhile, the Earl of Sussex was anxious for the queen to marry and have an heir, but it seemed to me that he was shutting his eyes to the risks. Perhaps I should go back to court forthwith, and set about scuppering his hopes.

  I went downstairs again, turning my thoughts elsewhere. I really must make plans about Harry. He was fast approaching the age of eight. I had myself made a good start in his education but when we were in Cornwall I had realized that he needed a proper tutor and I must get on with it. Between my court contacts and the social circle to which Hugh had introduced me, I had a wide acquaintance. I could think of a few names. I would go to the study now and write some letters.

  Five days later, I sat by the fire in the east room, perusing three replies. The weather had now turned cold and I was glad of the fire. Its soft crackling was the only sound, for the house was quiet.

  Brockley, I knew, was in the stable yard, trying to teach a reluctant Mealy to back between the shafts of a cart. Cooking was under way in the kitchen, the maids were cleaning the great hall, and Harry was upstairs, doing a Latin exercise which I had told him he must finish before he could go out. Sybil and Dale were also upstairs, engaged on some mysterious task which they wouldn’t show me; I suspected that they were making me a Christmas present, probably embroidered sleeves or gloves or slippers.

  The first of the letters was written in such a small, cramped hand that I had brought a magnifying lens from the study so as to read it more easily. I would need eyeglasses soon, I said to mysel
f, as I examined the credentials of a Master John Hewitt. He had tutored the two daughters of one of the queen’s ladies and was now seeking another position, since the elder daughter had just married and the younger one, though she was only fourteen, was betrothed.

  I read with care, seeking answers to the questions I had asked about his teaching methods. The mother of his previous pupils had never said whether or not he was kind to them, but I did not want Harry to be roughly treated. Learning, in my opinion, should be a pleasure, not a matter of fear, and a great many tutors did make it frightening.

  I was immersed when I heard feet and voices approaching, and the door was opened to reveal Adam Wilder, looking harassed, which he never did as a rule, and with him …

  ‘M’sieu de Lacey!’ I said faintly.

  ‘The same.’ Antoine pushed past Adam and came straight on into the room. He glanced over his shoulder at my affronted steward and said: ‘Thank you. That will be all. I have a private matter to discuss with your mistress and must insist that we are left undisturbed. No one is to come to this room until they are sent for; is that clear?’

  ‘Perfectly, sir,’ said Adam and then looked at me, eyebrows questioningly lifted.

  ‘As the gentleman says, but please remain within call,’ I said.

  ‘Not too close,’ said Antoine and his voice had an unmistakably nasty edge. ‘I want no eavesdroppers. Return, if you please, to the servants’ quarters.’

  Adam bristled, but I gave him a nod, and he went. I hoped he would be sensible enough not to go to the servants’ quarters but to stay within earshot as I had requested, but the situation was uncomfortable for him and I didn’t want to prolong it. He left the door open but Antoine kicked it shut. Then he stood with his back to it, staring at me. He looked as unremarkable as ever, but he was carrying both sword and dagger and his eyes were dangerous. I saw that I was in the presence of a very angry man. I was still holding the letter and the magnifying lens. I put them down, quietly. ‘This is an unexpected visit, M’sieu de Lacey.’

  ‘I’m sure it is. I was meant to be in France by now, if you and the Council had had your way. Taken there under guard and handed over to the henchmen of the Duke of Alençon, unmasked as a traitor to France and a servant of Spain. Isn’t that what you expected?’

  ‘And wanted,’ I said. I must not show fear, I thought. Why should I, anyway? I was the mistress of the house, here in my own parlour; if I were to shout loudly enough, Adam would surely be near enough to hear. This man was an enemy, to me, to the queen, to England. And I was sister to that queen, and daughter, however illegally, of a famous king.

  ‘You escaped from the court before you were taken,’ I said. ‘But you will be found. You realize that?’

  ‘Very possibly, though I do have friends. I have one or two at court; one of them warned me of the plans that were being made for me.’

  I made a secret vow to let Cecil and Walsingham know that somewhere among their employees was a traitor.

  ‘I also have friends in London,’ de Lacey said. ‘A family of Spanish sympathizers have been sheltering me and making plans on my behalf. I hope to get away to Spain safely. But I very much wanted to deal with you first. Your interference, your nosing into matters unsuitable for a lady, your tattling to Sir Francis Walsingham and Lord Burghley, have spoiled my future plans, spoiled Spain’s hopes. In Spain, we avenge wrongs. I am here to avenge mine.’

  It struck me suddenly that if this angry intruder were to seize my throat, and did it quickly enough, I would not be able to call for help and he could then murder me quite easily. I felt the blood draining from my face and he saw it and laughed.

  ‘Oh, I am not going to kill you, dear Mistress Stannard. It is a tempting thought but after consideration, I decided against it. I would be sorry to wipe you out of the world, for you are still quite beautiful; in fact most attractive, and that would be a waste. Beauty and attraction should be given homage, not destroyed. This room isn’t quite warm enough for a son of the south,’ he added, with apparent inconsequence. He moved to the hearth and poked the fire. ‘That will improve things, I think,’ he said.

  Then he lunged. In one smooth, fierce incredibly swift movement, he threw a powerful arm round me, clamped the other hand over my mouth and pushed me backwards, down on the settle from which I had just risen. I tried to bite, but failed. He was on top of me, weighing me down. And leaning to the right, reaching out towards the hearth, grabbing the poker. Its tip was red-hot.

  ‘One sound from you,’ he said, ‘and I use this. Then your beauty will be spoiled, for ever, and you will lose an eye, and I shall both regret that and rejoice, even if I find myself in a dungeon, or worse. Though I will probably be able to fight my way out through your servants; with luck, I shall escape. But be quiet, be amiable, and you will escape unhurt. I will allow it. I really don’t want to do permanent harm to such a charming lady, but I do want to make it plain to her that she cannot, with impunity, arouse the rage of Spain. Meanwhile, I’ll make sure that this stays – nice and warm.’

  He pushed the poker back into the fire and looked at me. ‘You will be quiet?’

  I managed to nod and he took his hand from my mouth. Then he removed his sword and laid it on a small table close at hand. After that …

  I had known three husbands and also experienced one, enforced love affair. But I had never been raped, never been so utterly unready for congress as I was now. So this, I thought, as he scraped and rasped his way into me, tearing dry and unwilling tissues on the way, was what the queen feared. This invasion, this assault on one’s deepest privacy, this ugly pain. I almost did scream, but he saw my mouth open and clamped a hand over it again. The tears poured out of my eyes, down my temples, into my hair. The horror went on and on. When it finally ceased and he withdrew, I was a ruin, a shaking, agonized shell. He stood up and put on his sword again.

  ‘Very satisfactory,’ he said. ‘You’ll never forget that, will you? You have learned now that for a lady, wisdom lies in minding her needlework and her household and leaving men’s business alone. Leaving Spain’s business alone …’

  Behind him, the door was flung open. I half sat up, stared in amazement at the man who burst through it, and then collapsed back because I had no strength and every movement hurt.

  ‘And perhaps you will now learn something,’ said the voice, most improbably, of Robert Harrison. ‘That you cannot attack an English lady in her own home and not pay for it. You had better draw that sword.’

  TWENTY-SIX

  Settles and Swords

  Through a haze of pain and shock and also embarrassment, for my clothes were disarranged and I wasn’t too far gone to realize it, through all this, I peered bewilderedly at Robert Harrison. He had cast off his doublet and thrown it into a corner, drawn his sword, and was advancing on de Lacey with what looked like murderous intent. Well, if the pair of them were going to slaughter each other … I wouldn’t object to that.

  De Lacey also threw off his doublet but he didn’t go for his sword. Instead, he went for the poker, which was still sticking out of the fire. Robert promptly kicked it out of his grasp. ‘Draw, damn you, or I’ll run you through where you stand!’

  Then, all in a moment, the room was full of people. On his way through the house, Robert must have created a stir, for the entire household seemed to be crowding in after him. Adam was first through the door, but behind him came Sybil and Dale, who must have rushed downstairs when they heard the commotion below, and from somewhere or other, Gladys had appeared, and Brockley came last, at a run, breathless and horrified, exclaiming that he had seen Master Harrison arrive and dismount and rush into the house and what in heaven’s name was going on here …?

  ‘He’s trying to fight a duel! Are you out of your mind, man!’ Adam shouted at Robert. ‘You can’t fight in here, it’s a parlour, the mistress is present!’ He seemed to become suddenly aware of the women at his heels. ‘You women, take care of Mistress Stannard! Look at her; she’s been atta
cked!’

  They ran to me, crying out.

  ‘Ma’am, what has happened to you …?’

  ‘Dale, she’s been … oh no, oh, Ursula, surely he didn’t …!’

  ‘Clear enough what the rotten bugger did, look you!’

  ‘De Lacey there raped me,’ I said furiously. Anger had come to my rescue. The pain was lessening and the feeling of helpless collapse was passing too. My hammering heart was quietening. I pulled myself upright. Dale was tugging my skirts into decency. ‘Ma’am, let us get you to your bed! Can you stand?’

  ‘I want to see this!’ I said. ‘I want to see that whatever happens, that damned servant of Spain doesn’t get away! Don’t pull at me like that! Let me stay and see!’

  ‘You let her be.’ That was Gladys. ‘She wants to see him dead and so would I, if it were me he’d gone for!’

  ‘Who’d go for you, you fanged witch!’ De Lacey rounded on Gladys. ‘I know who you are; there’re those at court who’ve met you. Been tried for sorcery, haven’t you? Witches are heretics. The stake, that’s where you’d go if this were Spain, for that’s the sort you are, it’s plain to see!’

  ‘Here, don’t you call me a witch …!’

  ‘I’m waiting! I’ll count to five!’ shouted Robert. He made a threatening movement and all but tripped over a rug. ‘Someone get these damned rugs away from our feet; they’ll have us skating all over the room!’

  Brockley thrust his way past Adam, snatched up the rugs and threw them into the corner on top of the two discarded doublets. Meanwhile, in the interests of self-protection, I heaved myself off the settle and retired to the comparative safety of a window seat. Dale again begged me to come away but I would not, and after a moment, she and Sybil followed me and the three of us sat there, wedged together. Gladys, defiantly, planted herself on the settle and over her shoulder, said: ‘You leave her be!’ to Dale. ‘Time for soothing potions later. She wants to see that man’s blood and so do I! Don’t you?’