“I assume you know that Dacre and his stepmother suspect both of you,” Musgrave said. “They questioned Mistress Vernon about you when she returned. She handled it well, but it was obvious they thought she was lying.”
“She told me. Did Dacre say anything to you about it?” Nicholas asked.
“Nay. He couldn’t, not without revealing why they grilled her.”
On his way out the door, Musgrave paused. “I can tell you who killed Cath. Or who I strongly suspect. Dacre. Christopher Dacre.”
God’s wounds. “Does Madeleine know this?”
Musgrave shook his head. “Nay.”
Nicholas got to his feet. “You must inform her immediately. Stay close to Dacre and don’t allow him to be alone with her. Do you understand?”
“Aye. I’ll do what I can.”
When he’d left, Nicholas turned and scowled at his father. “We must talk,” he said.
Francis Ryder claimed the chair Musgrave had vacated. “You’ve lost sight of your duty in this mission, Nick. I should have made good on my threat and taken over the handling of the Vernon wench.”
“But you did not. I’ve simply come to my senses. Maddy’s safety is my primary objective. To get her out of Lanercost before any harm befalls her. If we do not hear from Musgrave by tomorrow, I’ll ride to the priory and retrieve her myself.”
“God’s breath, Nick, I told the man to get word to you if she was in danger. If we hear nothing, that’s a good sign.”
“I don’t trust him. For all we know, he’s working for Dacre.”
His father sighed. “I warned you about becoming involved with the girl.”
“It’s too late, Father. I love her. Just as Richard loved Susan, as you loved Mother. It is not something to turn on and off at will. It simply is.”
His father said nothing; he only looked heavenward as though to beseech the Almighty for aid. Nicholas ploughed ahead. “After this is over, I’m done serving the queen. It doesn’t suit me.”
“I can’t force you, Nick. But what will you do?”
“Marry Maddy, if I can persuade her to accept me. Raise Daniel. Your grandson started speaking while you were away, largely due to Madeleine.”
Francis Ryder actually smiled. “That is good news indeed.”
“I want to import and grow roses. Sell them. I think there is enough money to be made in the endeavor to support myself and a family.”
“When this mission is over, we can discuss your future.”
His father was right. No use speculating on a life with Maddy until the Dacres and their accomplices were caught and she was safe…and in his arms.
…
After Lady Dacre set off for Carlisle, Maddy spent some time sewing. Ripping out more stitches than she sewed forced her to abandon that pursuit. Lady Dacre’s words kept repeating in her head. Your loyalty will soon be tested. Can you be my Ruth? On Maddy’s first morning at Lanercost, she’d wondered if that was how the woman viewed her. Had she been trying to instill that faithfulness, that loyalty in her, right from the beginning?
Maddy had the feeling she’d failed the test. Rather than pledging her unquestioning devotion, she’d attached a caveat. She would not endanger anybody else. Lady Dacre hadn’t liked that answer, and had coldly released Maddy, not even responding to her farewell. Well, then. At least she’d stood up to her, and she was glad of it. Maddy would not be blindly loyal; nor would she pretend to be. What she had said, however, must have been a sure indication to the woman that Maddy suspected she and her son were up to no good.
She dined with the men. Without Lady Dacre there to steer the conversation, they were quiet. After they’d eaten their last course of fruit, cheese, and marchpane, Dacre said, “What shall you do with your time while my stepmother is away, Madeleine?”
She didn’t like him calling her by her Christian name, did not recall granting permission for him to do so. “I intend to continue working on organizing your stepmother’s papers.”
“Is this something she has approved?”
“Aye. She is well aware of what I am doing.”
He nodded. Maddy wished she were bold enough to say she’d lately observed him riding with Nicholas. She would love to hear his response. Or evasion. But he may think she was spying on him, which she was, of course, even if it had been accidental. After the meal, Maddy retired to her chamber to refresh herself and let Useless out. They walked toward the stables, in time to see Musgrave and Dacre ride out together. Perhaps they were off to a meeting with Nicholas to engage in some devious scheme. Her rational mind told her this was a ridiculous idea, but nothing made sense anymore.
Her thoughts soon drifted back to that odd meeting with Lady Dacre this morning. She’d all but said a major event was about to occur. Something that would test Maddy’s loyalty to her and the Dacre family. Maybe she should try to find out exactly what was afoot, although what she would do with the information, she did not know.
Back inside, Maddy rested on the settle, which had remained in her chamber since her bout of influenza. Useless hopped up beside her, and she absent-mindedly scratched behind the pup’s floppy ears while considering what to do. Making a mental list of everything she knew for a certainty might be helpful before trying to gather more information.
First, the raid. There was no question that it was an attempt to cover up a meeting, most likely with one or more of the Scottish lairds. Ferniehurst might have been recognized, if he’d arrived in the light of day. And if Maddy hadn’t been convinced before, Mistress Derby’s admission that Lady Dacre had advised her to vacate the premises that night persuaded her. Ever since Maddy had returned from her stay at the Ryders’, the Dacres had acted suspicious of her, as though they no longer trusted her. They’d questioned her upon her arrival, and again after market day last week.
Lady Dacre had asked her to read aloud Thomas More’s “A Godly Meditation.” It had seemed like a warning, now more than ever after her peculiar lecture about loyalty. For that was what it was. She’d had no intention of revealing anything, of allowing Maddy to know why she was demanding her loyalty. And she’d expected nothing from Maddy other than acquiescence.
And how did Cath’s murder fit into all this? No longer sure Musgrave was the killer, she was, nevertheless, no closer to finding out who had done the cruel deed. Curse Musgrave, why couldn’t he simply have told her? Was he protecting somebody? Perhaps himself. If he revealed who the killer was, and that person found out, Musgrave’s life could be endangered.
Since Lady Dacre expected her to be working in her chamber while she was in Carlisle, Maddy was certain she would have asked Christopher to remove any incriminating documents. It was his chamber that might yield something. This was her opportunity, with both men gone. Edith had accompanied her mistress, and the other servants always completed their work in this part of the house before the midday meal. She would have the vicarage to herself.
Maddy gave Useless one final pat and descended the stairs as soundlessly as possible. The kitchen was quiet, the cleaning up from dinner finished. Mistress Derby and her staff were probably having a rest. The vicarage itself was deserted. When she reached the passage with the bedchambers, she paused. She’d better have a reason for wanting to speak to Master Dacre, in the event he’d returned. She could tell him about the plan to use a vacant room as storage for his stepmother’s papers and request his help in choosing a suitable one.
Maddy rapped lightly on his door and waited. The sound echoed in the empty hallway. She knocked once again, and after a moment had passed, unlatched the door and walked in. The chamber looked much the same as before, with everything in its place. Only this time, there were no papers stacked on the escritoire. No book on the bed table. The man lived like a monk. Or a Puritan.
It was almost eerie, as though a spirit resided here. A being who owned no earthly possessions and left no trace of himself in the room. She peered out the window to make sure there was no sign of the men riding in. A groom was l
eading a horse toward the smithy, but that was the extent of what she could see.
Mayhap there was something in Dacre’s wardrobe she’d missed before. Maddy swung the doors open. The same neat piles of clothing sat on the shelves, a fussy man’s arrangement. No doubt he required the servants to place them that way. A more thorough search was in order. Hastily, she unfolded all his apparel and shook each item out. She found nothing, and then had to waste precious time refolding all of it as precisely as she’d found it.
Her eyes drifted to the bottom of the heavy piece of furniture. Maddy hadn’t examined it closely the first time. Hunkering down, she pulled out a pair of boots, shined and ready for the master’s feet, and a pair of formal shoes. And then she spotted it. Pushed way to the back, behind the footwear, was a small wooden coffer. She pulled it out and set it on the floor. Before examining it, she walked over to the door and listened, then cracked it and checked the passage. Nothing.
Maddy brought the coffer, carved from mahogany and bearing the Dacre crest, over to the escritoire and into the light. She tugged at the lid, fearing it would be locked. But it opened easily. Obviously, Dacre stored odds and ends here. She began laying them out on the writing table. A penknife, a man’s signet ring, a miniature of a stern-visaged man. His father, Sir Thomas? A few pins and points. There were no letters or other papers among the assortment, and thus nothing useful to her. Maddy wondered why he bothered to hide the small chest in the back of the wardrobe, especially since he used it to hold everyday items.
Lifting the coffer, she examined the underside of it to see if it had a hidden compartment. She found nothing. The remaining contents shifted, and when she set it back down, Maddy noticed a strip of bright blue at the bottom. She tugged on it, pulling it free; it was a length of ribbon. Hair ribbon. Alarm bells went off in her head. She had seen it before. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to visualize it in someone’s hair. When it came to her, she had to sit down on the bed. It was Cath’s. Nobody else at Lanercost had ever worn a ribbon of that vibrant shade. God have mercy!
“I hated having to kill her. She was such a pretty lass.”
Maddy jumped up and spun around. Christopher Dacre stood in the doorway, his close-set eyes boring into her. She’d heard nothing. Not a footstep, not the door unlatching. How could she not have sensed his presence?
She was trapped.
“This is what comes of snooping, mistress. You inevitably find out something you would have been better off not knowing.” He closed the door and moved into the room.
Maddy stood there staring at him, then blurted out the first thing that leaped into her head. “Why did you do it?”
He shrugged, as if murder was no great matter. “Unfortunately, she overheard a conversation between my stepmother and me. The subject, if generally known, would have put us in great peril. I had no choice, really.”
“You had no choice but to murder a young, innocent girl? Loathsome coward! I would not have believed it of you.”
He let out a laugh, then plucked the ribbon from Maddy’s hand. Motioning to the bed, he said, “Sit down, mistress.”
Could she make a run for it? Not yet. She’d wait until they left this room. Certain he would not keep her here, she complied with his request.
“If I’m a coward, you, my dear, are a fool. All those visits to your cousin. Each time I was certain you would not return, especially after the raid. But you kept coming back. I had to ask myself why. The obvious explanation was that you were a spy, and your so-called cousin an agent of the queen.”
“Let me go,” Maddy said. “I’ll return to my home near Carlisle and tell no one about any of this. Nothing I do can bring Cath back.”
He snorted, as she’d been sure he would. But she had to try.
“You must tell me everything you know, all the information you’ve already passed along to the Ryders. How much do they know? If they’ve planned anything to compromise our scheme, they’ll need to be dealt with.”
In the same way he’d dealt with Cath? Maddy stared at him defiantly, not saying a word.
“I could call the sheriff in. I caught you stealing from me. You know what the penalty for thieving is, don’t you?”
Hanging. “You couldn’t risk it. I would tell them you killed Cath.”
He smirked. “But you have no evidence. Why on earth would I commit such a heinous act? And whom do you think they’ll believe? A pathetic nothing of a girl whose brother was executed for treason, or me, a landowner and law-abiding citizen?”
So they had known about Robbie all along. “I would not be too certain about your reputation with the authorities. After all, Leonard Dacre is your close relation. And I am not without connections.”
Dacre scoffed at that. “Carleton already questioned me, and he’s pronounced me innocent.” He stepped closer to her, hatred beaming from his eyes. “I’ve already killed once. I can do it again.” He flexed his fingers, as though he couldn’t wait to set them about Maddy’s neck. She had some time, though. He sought information only she could provide, and the longer she could hold out, the longer she’d stay alive.
When she remained silent, he grabbed her arm and yanked her up. “Come. I have a place to put you that might encourage you to talk.” Dacre thrust open the door, not seeming to care who might be about, and marched her to the end of the passage, through the drawing room, and into the gallery. They stopped before one of the rooms Maddy had suggested to Lady Dacre as her workroom. She tried to wrest herself from his grasp, but his grip was far too strong. He unlocked the door and gave her a nasty shove. She fell hard on her knees, and an icy tremor of fear arced through her.
“I shall return soon. It would be more convenient to know what you told the Ryders, but not essential. In fact, it may be easier to simply get rid of a troublesome little meddler like you, and Ryder and his father as well.” He was gone before Maddy could gather her wits enough to respond.
The door latched and she heard a key turn in the lock. The room was dark as a moonless night, and her eyes required a few moments to adjust. Sitting back on her heels, she forced herself to breathe deeply.
In. Out. Have courage, Madeleine.
Even though Maddy knew it would be futile, she banged on the door with her fists and yelled for help. But there was nobody about who might hear her. She was wasting precious time. When that door opened again, she had to be prepared.
She was in a windowless chamber, but after a while she could make out shapes. To her left was a small bed, pushed against the wall. On the other side, a table and chair. Maddy got to her feet, slowly. Her knees were bruised, but not truly injured. Reaching out to the objects on the table, she identified them by touch. An ink jar. Quills. A candle in a holder—but no tinder. She moved toward the back wall where a high cupboard stood. An oddly shaped object rested on top of it.
By exploring with her hands, Maddy ascertained that it was helm-shaped, with rough iron bands curving at intervals toward the base. The center band forked into two parts. She ran her fingers around the circular base and found a piece of iron, about two inches long, just below the opening created by the forked bands. Maddy jerked her hands away. Something akin to the way she’d felt when she heard Robbie was to be executed sent her to the bed, where she dropped like a stone. A thick, heavy pressure in her chest made it difficult to breathe.
Maddy had seen a woman wearing such a device in the market square in Carlisle when she was a child. Her father had pulled her along by her hand so fast she’d stumbled. Horrified and fascinated all at once, she’d kept turning her head to watch. “Why does the goodwife have a cage on her head?” she had asked. He had explained it to her later.
“What you saw today was a cruel and inhuman punishment. The poor woman was wearing a scold’s bridle, lass, to prevent her from talking. And to shame her.”
“Does it hurt, Father?” she’d asked.
“Oh, my dear child, I imagine it does.” His eyes had looked sad.
As a small child,
Maddy had pictured the woman over and over. The nightmares had begun after Robbie had told her the bit had sharp spikes on it. She was no longer sure what was real and what she’d dreamed. Always, when Maddy conjured the woman, her eyes streamed tears and her face was contorted into a grimace of excruciating pain.
The object on top of the cupboard was a scold’s bridle.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was vital that she escape this room, this prison, before Dacre returned. The door. Check the door. Perhaps it hadn’t latched properly. The lock might be rusty; the mechanism might have failed after years of disuse. The resounding click Maddy had heard, however, made her doubt that possibility. Nevertheless, she spent several minutes bearing down with all her strength on the lever—it proved to be immovable—and then feeling her way about the chamber to locate anything she might use to substitute for a key. Nothing. There was nothing.
Could there be a window she hadn’t noticed? Concealed in some way, so no daylight could penetrate? But after a thorough search of the back wall, she knew no window existed, except in her wasted hopes. Dropping to her sore knees, she crawled around the perimeter of the room, examining the floorboards, ending with a search under the bed. She came up empty-handed. This chamber was more Spartan than Dacre’s own.
Periodically, Maddy banged on the door and screamed for help.
Beads of perspiration had broken out on her forehead from all her exertions. She couldn’t think of anything else to try. Giving in to despair, she lowered herself to the bed and wept.
After several minutes, Maddy wiped her eyes and dripping nose on her sleeve. Dacre could walk through that door any time, and she was no further along in an escape plan. Fear and desperation were getting her nowhere; it was time to collect herself. She got to her feet and began to pace. Thinking came easier when she was moving.
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