Agitated once again, he shoved back his chair and got to his feet. “God’s wounds. We must know what’s in that letter! Do you think—?”
“I’ve been doing nothing but thinking about how to lay my hands on it. My best chance will be when she and her stepson ride off to Naworth. But I doubt Vine will accompany them, although it is possible he’ll be off on one of his own mysterious ventures. Also, I have the servants to contend with. I must not be caught by one of them.”
“How did you come across it in the first place? And if she does not read, how did she recognize it?”
Maddy related the story of Lady Dacre’s stacks of papers and her embroidery silk system. And how she’d picked up one of the stacks when the letter, right on the top, had fairly jumped out at her. “A few days later, I offered to help her sort her papers. She told me she keeps important documents locked in a coffer and the key on her person.”
Ryder began pacing. “That will make it tricky.” Finally, he flung himself back into his chair and rubbed at his beard. She nearly smiled, having noticed this was a habit of his when he was puzzling over something.
“One thing is in my favor, however. Her papers are extremely unorganized. She has stacks of them all over her chamber, even on her bed. If I had to guess, I would say she’s not yet done anything about locking up the letter.”
“So the sooner you can undertake the search, the better.”
She drank the last few sips of her wine, then set the glass down. “Lady Dacre has been kind to me. I believe this problem with her stepson—William, not Christopher—has worn her down. I dislike spying on her.”
Ryder’s expression grew hard. “But you like it better than the alternative.”
Maddy had time only to scowl at him before the door opened. In walked the little boy, Ryder’s ward.
“Daniel, what have I told you about interrupting me when I have a visitor?” The child hung his head but did not leave. “Come here,” Ryder said, his tone softening. When Daniel was close enough, Ryder hauled him up onto his lap and jiggled his knee. That brought a smile to the lad’s face. “Are we done, mistress?”
“Aye.” She had no desire to leave, despite the implied threat in his last words. Seeing Nicholas Ryder with his nephew gave her an entirely different impression of the man. “Master Daniel, do you read? What is your favorite story?”
He shook his head. She once again wondered why he didn’t speak, but decided it was best not to ask. Maddy didn’t want to embarrass the boy—and Ryder had chosen not to tell her.
“He has but six years. But he has recently started with a tutor, so it won’t be long. For now, he must put up with his uncle reading to him, eh lad? Tell—show Mistress Vernon your favorite story.” The boy hesitated, clearly shy of performing before a stranger.
Maddy leaned forward. “Pray do, Master Daniel. I see the sun is lowering and I must soon depart. Won’t you show me before I take my leave?”
He slid off his uncle’s knee and walked over to the open space near the door. Then he motioned to Ryder, who said, “Oh, no. You must do this alone.”
When Daniel glared at him, arms akimbo, Ryder relented and said, “Very well. It won’t be the first time I’ve made an ass of myself.” He walked over and lifted Daniel by grasping him around his upper chest. Then he hurled him, gently, to the ground. After this, Ryder pretended to lock Daniel up. As soon as he did so, he returned, got down on all fours, and made a great, roaring noise.
Maddy clapped with delight when she recognized the story. Daniel in the lion’s den! How perfect. The little boy and the lion feinted a few times, and then Daniel crouched down and seemingly made a friend of the great cat, who now meowed like a kitten and rubbed his head against the child’s legs. Daniel, while trying to remain true to his character, couldn’t help laughing, nor could Maddy. When the enactment was over, she said, “Well done, Daniel. I understand why that is your favorite story. Might you slay a real lion someday?”
He seemed to think seriously about this. Then, quite solemnly, he nodded. “I do not doubt it,” she said. Glancing out the window, Maddy saw that the sun was already low in the winter sky. “I must go. And I haven’t left any time for the market.”
“Where is your basket?” Ryder asked. Before she could even look around, Daniel had found it and now held it out toward his uncle. “Take the rest of these cheese tarts. You can say you bought them at the market. What else can I give you?” Daniel gestured toward the bookshelf. “Good idea.” He grabbed a volume and set it in the basket.
“Does the market have a bookseller’s stall?”
“Aye.” Ryder grabbed her cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders, his hands lingering, and she felt his breath at the back of her neck. Flustered, she stepped away. The two men, big and little, walked her to the door. A stable lad brought her horse around, and suddenly, Ryder held up a hand.
“One moment. Have you no groom or lad who accompanied you here?”
“Nay, sir. Why should I?”
When he spoke, she heard exasperation in his voice. “Because you should not be traveling these roads by yourself. It is not safe. I’ll escort you home.” He turned back to the house. Maddy grabbed his arm, stopping him.
“Do not concern yourself. No harm will come to me. It is not a very long ride, after all. Next time I’ll talk to Lady Dacre about an escort.”
He studied her, his eyes troubled. “As you say, then. But I mislike it.”
Maddy had stepped forward, ready to mount, when she felt a little hand grasping her skirts. It was Daniel, gesturing at her.
“He wants to kiss you,” Ryder said. “Do you mind?”
Did she mind? When she craved the touch of someone who cared for her, how could she mind? Rather, she welcomed it. She crouched down, and Daniel put his arms about her neck and kissed her soundly on the cheek. She did the same for him. Tears pricked her eyes. She needed to be off before she embarrassed herself.
Maddy and Ryder made their farewells. She did not want to look at him for fear he would notice her moist eyes. “Pray, give me a boost up.” He did, and she walked her mount through the garth and out toward the road, glancing back once. Ryder had lifted Daniel into his arms. They waved to her, and she waved back.
Chapter Nine
Lady Dacre had lent Maddy a smart little palfrey, Eve, to ride to Brampton. Wrapped in her hooded travel cloak, her feet booted, Maddy stayed relatively warm even in the waning light. She’d strapped the dirk about her waist, but God be thanked, there was no sign of Musgrave. She yearned to be safely inside the walls of the priory. If the knave confronted her there, at least she wouldn’t be on a lonely, isolated road.
There had been a slight thaw the past week, and in some places the ground was visible. Alongside the road, snow lay in deep, curving drifts. Now, as the day waned, the trees cast long, spidery shadows against the stark white. The sky, indeed, it seemed the very air, was the color of pewter. Maddy had always loved the quality of the light in winter. Despite her eagerness to be back at Lanercost, it was good to have some time to ponder her visit with Nicholas Ryder.
Upon her arrival, Maddy had thought it was going to be a disaster. She’d looked forward to this day. Though she had told herself not to think of Ryder as her friend, plainly she had not heeded her own counsel. In vain she had waited for a few words of kindness before they settled down to business. How fare you, or are they being kind to you? They had never come, and yet the day had turned out to be the best she’d experienced in a long while.
Why?
In large part, it was because of Daniel. The child was a delight. A mystery as well. Why did he not speak? Was it a physical deformity? Perhaps his tongue did not work as it should. When he laughed, though, she could not see anything wrong with it. He was a very loving—and lovable—child. Ryder seemed to be completely under his spell. Intriguing to learn that he had a caring, patient side. A side she hadn’t seen before.
And, unexpectedly, Maddy had enjoyed her exchange with
Ryder.
When he’d expressed concern for her safety, she had searched his face. She could not doubt his sincerity. But when she’d professed her sympathy for Lady Dacre, he’d threatened her. Indirect though it was, his words had conveyed the fact that if she weren’t at Lanercost spying, she would be back in a cell at Carlisle Castle awaiting her fate. If Daniel hadn’t entered the room, she would have challenged him on it.
And the man was too perceptive for her peace of mind. He’d guessed she was keeping something from him. Fortunately, he had accepted her recounting of the Cath episode without probing further regarding Musgrave. It had irritated her that he seemed concerned for her well-being, yet he was the one who had placed her in this position.
They hit an icy patch and Eve slipped, nearly tossing her to the ground. She must pay closer attention. Taking a firmer hold on the reins, for a time she kept all thoughts of Ryder at bay.
But gradually, her mind found its way back to him. In the coming week, when she thought of Ryder at all, she must remember the brutal way he had told her that Ann’s head had been split open by a lance. How carelessly he had informed her that she would be hanged if she didn’t cooperate with him. She would recall the contemptuous look in his eyes as he’d accused her of worrying more about her status as a servant in the home of her in-laws than of the fate of her friends. She would remember the judgmental look when he’d implied that she hadn’t mourned her brother properly. That was the real Nicholas Ryder. Not this paragon of fatherhood she’d seen today. Not the person who seemed genuinely concerned about her safety.
Aye, she would do well to remember exactly what that meant. It was in his best interest to keep her safe. If something happened to her, he would be left without an informant. Then perhaps he would be in trouble. He reported to somebody, possibly to William Cecil, the Secretary of State, himself. If something awful were to befall Maddy, he would be forced to find another way to obtain the information she was now supplying. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that this was the only reason he was the least bit concerned about her welfare.
By the time she rode over the wooden bridge that crossed the river Irthing, twilight had fallen, and she was tired and chilled to the bone. But she had managed to banish Ryder from her thoughts.
Maddy stopped by the kitchen with her basket, which contained at least a half dozen cheese tarts. Perhaps Cook would like to serve them with supper. She had been cool to her ever since the episode with Cath, so Maddy had no idea how her offering would be received.
“Good even, Mistress Derby. Something smells wonderful.” A joint of beef was roasting on a spit in the hearth, fat crackling as it dripped onto the fire. The potboy stood sentinel nearby, ready to turn it. Maddy had noticed the priory did not observe the usual strictures of the Lenten season, eating as much meat as they pleased. The cook did not acknowledge her comment.
“Mistress.” She barely inclined her head. Tendrils of hair, damp from perspiration, peeked out of her cap. It struck her that perhaps Cook was the one who had informed on her. Musgrave could easily have persuaded her, more likely bribed her, to let him know when anything occurred that might be of interest to him.
“I visited the market on the way home. I thought you might like these cheese tarts for our supper.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You think I can’t prepare a proper meal, mistress?”
Her rudeness shocked Maddy. “Certainly not. I have been in residence here long enough to know you’re an excellent cook. The stall was closing, and the tarts looked very tempting. They sold them to me at a bargain price. If you do not want them, I’ll pass them out to the servants.” As Maddy made for the stairway to her chamber, the cook spoke.
“I’ll take them. Warmed up, they’ll be a nice addition to the supper.” Maddy walked back over and handed her the basket, and she began placing the tarts on the long wooden worktable. When she’d finished, she handed Maddy the volume Nicholas Ryder had given her. “You’ll be wanting this.”
“Aye.” Maddy waved the book at her and said, “From the bookseller’s stall.” After tossing the volume into the empty basket, she fled. Mistress Derby did not thank her, but then she hadn’t expected her to. Convinced the woman was Musgrave’s spy, Maddy would be wary of her from now on.
…
On the whole, Mistress Vernon’s first visit had gone well. She had discovered more useful information than expected. At supper, Nicholas reported her findings to his father, who was not impressed.
Francis Ryder quaffed his ale before commenting. “She’ll need to do better than that, Nick. Most of this we already knew, or at the very least, suspected.”
“Perhaps. She has been at the priory for less than a full week, you recall. Norfolk’s missive is significant. Why would he be writing to Lady Jane Dacre?”
The elder Ryder drew his bushy brows together. “Significant it may be, but we don’t yet know its contents, and we may never. Norfolk could be writing to her for any number of reasons. He’s a wily bastard.”
Nicholas swallowed a bite of quail. “She will find the letter, I assure you. The lass has pluck and no end of determination.”
Francis Ryder cocked his head at his son. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you may be developing an interest there. Be careful. She may end up a casualty of this.”
Not if I can help it. “I am well aware of the strictures placed on such familiarities by the queen and William Cecil,” Nicholas said, with barely contained rancor.
“With good reason. Lust can distort judgment, cause otherwise intelligent men to throw reason out the window. The wench can’t be your whore, Nick.”
Nicholas rose so swiftly, he knocked his empty tankard over. “That is the last thing she is. I must see Daniel before he goes to sleep. I give you good night, Father.” Nicholas threw his napkin on the table and strode from the room before Francis Ryder could say another word.
God’s wounds, sometimes he hated the man.
Margery was with Daniel. Bedtime was still difficult for the lad, and either he or Margery stayed with the boy until he slept. Occasionally, this was impossible, and Nicholas imagined Daniel cried himself to sleep on those nights.
“What ho, Daniel! Still awake? Were you waiting for me?” Nicholas nodded to Margery, and she left the room.
He lowered himself to the side of the bed. “Would you like a pony ride tomorrow? Perhaps it will be a bit warmer.”
Daniel nodded enthusiastically.
“I will be speaking to your tutor in the morning. Will I receive a good report?” The boy dipped his head once again, if less enthusiastically. Nicholas chuckled and ruffled the lad’s hair. “Give me a kiss, then. It’s time you were asleep.”
Daniel made no move to kiss his uncle, and Nicholas waited patiently. He’d learned over the past year that sometimes the boy had to think about how to communicate. At length, Daniel arose from his bed and stood on the cold floor, imitating, Nicholas realized at last, a lass. By smiling, wiggling his fingers alongside his head, and hugging himself.
Nicholas watched, laughing. “I see. A big smile, long hair, a loving nature. You are referring to our guest, Mistress Vernon, are you not?”
Daniel nodded.
“Did you like her?” The boy’s grin was so wide, his answer was not in doubt. After Madeleine had gone, Nicholas realized how good she’d been with Daniel. She had such an easy manner with him. Real and true. His nephew had sensed that, as children do.
Daniel set his hands on his hips and glared at his uncle. Then he mimicked kissing somebody, afterward putting his arms up in a question.
Nicholas got it. “You’re asking why I did not kiss her goodbye. Because I am not a little lad, but a grown man. And we are not well acquainted. Come now, to bed with you.”
Reluctantly, Daniel climbed back into bed, hugged Nicholas around the neck, and kissed him soundly.
“Good night, dear boy,” he said.
As he sat, waiting for his nephew to fall
asleep, Nicholas weighed matters. All things considered, he wished he had kissed Madeleine Vernon. If the opportunity presented itself again, he would. But how could he stop at only a kiss?
…
During supper, Maddy realized Ryder had been correct about her mistress taking little interest in her. She made no inquiries regarding her day. Maddy thanked her again for providing her with a mount, and the talk then turned to which day she and Christopher would visit tenants. They were to go two days hence. Maddy said nothing, certain that if they wanted her to attend them on their mission, one of them would say so.
“I have business in Carlisle tomorrow,” Musgrave said. “I shall take my leave early and return late the following day.” She could not help wondering what business he could have there, if indeed he had any, but she was more concerned that Nicholas might be there and they could accidentally meet. She supposed Ryder could invent a reason for his presence, but it might be better if he were warned. That meant she would have to write him a note and place it under the loose stone at the foot of the Lanercost Cross.
“A pity,” Lady Dacre said. “Sussex dines with us tomorrow.”
“So Christopher told me,” Musgrave replied.
Holy Blessed Virgin. Sussex, Lord President of the Council of the North. He had presided when Maddy appeared before the council to plead for Robert’s life. An astute man, he would recognize her before he took the first bite of game. He’d reveal all to Lady Dacre, and she would be forced to put an end to Maddy’s service here. She should have told her employer about Robert from the beginning. Now that she knew the woman, she believed Lady Dacre would have been sympathetic. But to learn from Sussex that she’d been lying—she doubted she’d countenance her staying on. Could Maddy plead a headache? An unsettled stomach? Whatever it was, she would need to invent a plausible reason why she could not be present.
During the remainder of the meal, Maddy considered why the Earl of Sussex would be calling on the Dacres. She could not imagine what business he would have here, unless they were old friends. One thing came clear, however. Musgrave must have a reason for wishing to avoid an encounter with the man, which was why he was absenting himself.
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