The Doublet Affair (Ursula Blanchard Mysteries)

by Buckley, Fiona

Brockley studied me. His face was well shaped, with that high, intelligent forehead and the strong bones of nose and jaw, but it was not expressive. I knew him well enough, though, to read his eyes. I saw the expected glint of disapproval at my strong language, and then the dawning of a reluctant acceptance.

  “Yes, madam,” he said. “In your place, I would feel as you do. But I still wish you’d say no to this.”

  “I can’t,” I said.

  “So be it,” said Brockley. “We will come with you. Someone must look after you!”

  “Cecil has given me careful instructions and made provision for my safety,” I said. “He’s not just sending me off the edge of the known world with no backing at all into the bit marked Here Be Dragons!”

  Cecil had also offered me a good rate of pay, simply for going to Lockhill, whether or not I got results. If I were to stay in England until May, I would still have to find the wages for Dale and Brockley, and for Meg’s nurse Bridget, whose wages remained my responsibility. Gold is an amazing solvent: doubts and fears dissolve in it in a most remarkable way.

  • • •

  “Don’t concern yourself,” Cecil had told me, “with the question of who did away with Dawson. Just keep alert and note anything which seems strange or unusual. Take heed of any odd coincidences, and, note who Leonard Mason visits or entertains. Above all, your main task is to get into his study and read his papers. Unlock his document boxes. Do you think you can do that?”

  “I hope so, Sir William.”

  “I’ve arranged an escort to see you to Lockhill,” Cecil said. “Meg’s guardian, Rob Henderson, and two of his men will protect you on the road. I believe in secrecy, but Rob knows about your mission. If you need help at any time, you should have someone to call on if I’m not here. I am away on the Queen’s business at times. Rob can be trusted.”

  I had thanked him with genuine gratitude. Now, having persuaded Dale and Brockley to come too, I prepared, in my own words, to go through with it.

  I wrote the letter to Matthew after all, thanking him for his forgiveness, sending him my love, and saying that I would come in May; that the Queen would not release me sooner. Cecil duly provided a messenger. Meanwhile, with Dale’s help, I stitched pockets inside all my over-gowns, in order to carry my lock-picks, and a little slate and pencil for taking notes. I would also carry a small dagger. The open-fronted gown is an elegant fashion which, I am glad to say, has never gone out. From my point of view, it is thoroughly practical.

  The court was in process of moving to Richmond. I was informed that I was officially on leave and moved myself to Thamesbank instead, to say goodbye to Meg, and to join up with Rob Henderson.

  The Hendersons were good people. Rob was a cheerful, strapping, tow-haired fellow in his thirties, endearingly fond of his wife Mattie. Mattie was a gracious dumpling of a woman, always trying to behave in a manner befitting a wellbred lady, but given on occasion to uncontrollable gurgles of merriment. I had grown fond of them both. I was glad I would have Rob for company on my journey.

  I spent two nights at Thamesbank. I played with my dark-haired Meg, heard of her progress in her lessons, and was delighted to learn that she showed early aptitude on the spinet and lyre.

  Early on the second morning I kissed her goodbye and we set off. Rob was debonair, cloaked in green velvet with a matching hat adorned by a kestrel’s feather. He also wore a very practical sword, and he and his men all had the kind of broad shoulders which even thick winter cloaks couldn’t conceal. In such company, we weren’t likely to be attacked by footpads, or anyone else.

  It was a pity, I thought, as we mounted, that for some reason, Brockley had chosen to undermine the dignity of the cavalcade by donning some extraordinary garments. His clothes all seemed to be too big for him. His hat was enormous, and when he held my mare, Bay Star, for me to mount, I saw that his doublet was oddly wide across the chest.

  He saw me looking at him and gave me his rare smile. Then he raised his hat as if to scratch his head, resettled it when I had had a chance to see beneath it, and opened a button on his doublet to let me see what was under that.

  “A helmet and breastplate?” I said quietly.

  “And my sword.” He lifted his cloak further back to reveal that he too was travelling well armed. “All left over from my soldiering days, madam. Because we may be going into danger, may we not?”

  “I sincerely hope,” I said, “that it turns out to be all a mare’s nest.”

  “Is that really likely, madam?”

  “I want it to be likely!” I told him.

  • • •

  I was whistling in the dark, of course, but I was committed now. A good rate of pay was not, after all, a total antidote to fear, but I had better ignore the shrinking sensation which intermittently attacked my vitals, so I put a good face on things, and tried not to pine for Matthew. The work in hand required concentration.

  Rob, who was musical, encouraged us to sing as we rode, and I joined in with the rest. We jogged across the flat, wintry ploughlands and meadows round Maidenhead, singing all the way, and it did make me feel better.

  We crossed the bridge into Maidenhead, singing a popular roundelay about the street calls of London. Rob took the chimney sweep’s part, and his two men, although they were dragging a lazy packhorse, still found the energy, respectively and hilariously, to vend mutton pies and mousetraps. I sang the strawberry seller, Dale made quite a tuneful attempt at the cry of the milkmaid, and Brockley, whose voice was surprisingly good, was the ballad-monger. In noisy harmony, we arrived at the Sign of the Greyhound in Maidenhead and put up for the night.

  • • •

  Next day we set out again, in weak winter sunshine, reaching Lockhill later in the morning.

  The village was as I recalled it: a dozen thatched hovels and a couple of slightly bigger houses, one of which was a vicarage attached to a church smaller than itself; an alehouse and a well; a blacksmith, working in a cave-like stone building.

  We rode through the village and up a lane, with ploughland on either side, cultivated in strips in the old-fashioned way. Leonard Mason, I knew, had little interest in farming and it was no surprise to see that the banks between the strips needed weeding, and that the ditch beside the track was choked with wintry grass and overgrown bushes.

  The lane led to a gatehouse. The gate was open and there was no porter, so we rode straight on into the courtyard.

  Lockhill manorhouse was attractive, built of a mellow stone, with a wide porch and a small tower at one end. It had a few modern mullioned windows and decorative chimneys, but it had been built over a hundred years ago, when some manor houses still had to withstand seige, and no one would have dreamed of building one without battlements. The walls and tower of Lockhill were crenellated.

  We had little chance to stare, though, for just as on my previous visit, we were greeted by the loud baying of a mastiff on a chain, whereupon the same thickset butler as before hurried out to shout at the dog, and just as before, it ignored him. Rob had to shout to explain that he had brought Mistress Blanchard and believed that she was expected.

  The butler quietened the dog at last, and as the baying subsided, we heard voices. Out of the main door came Ann Mason, carrying a baby and accompanied by five excited, not to say unruly, children. The Mason family surrounded us, all talking at once.

  “So here you are! I’m glad to see you. What a long ride for you, at this time of year . . .”

  “Are you Mrs. Blanchard who’s going to teach us to dance and sew?”

  “Yes, I am. And you are . . . ?”

  “I’m Pen and this is Jane and the little one’s Cathy. Cathy, you’re supposed to curtsy!”

  “Do you hear that, Phil? Why, the girls are showing signs of manners!”

  “And you boys ought to bow! Where are your manners?”

  “Will you children hush? Why must you always quarrel? I’m so sorry, they really are dreadful, and where is Dr. Crichton?”

 
“Is this the new baby?”

  “Yes, this is my little Ned . . . will you children go inside? George, you’re the eldest. Take them indoors and find your tutor! I’m truly happy to see you again, Mrs. Blanchard. And this gentleman is . . . ?”

  “Rob Henderson at your service, madam.” Rob doffed his hat, though he had to raise his voice above the continuing uproar of the young Masons. “I’ve escorted Mistress Blanchard here!” boomed Rob. “I will see her indoors and then take my leave. I have two men with me and we wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble . . .”

  “But you must stay and dine! Of course you must! Oh, here are the grooms. They’ll see to the horses.”

  “Children!” A lanky and unprepossessing figure which I recognised as that of the tutor, Dr. Crichton, swept out of the door. A dusty black gown swished round his ankles and a dusty black cap was set askew on his head. “What do you mean by rushing out of the room in the middle of a lesson like that? Will none of you ever learn how to conduct yourselves? Ah. Mrs. Blanchard. Good day.” He swept me a rather ungracious bow.

  I answered politely, and he at once turned away to collect up his charges and shoo them indoors. I looked round for Brockley, to give me a hand in dismounting.

  Look out, Cecil had said, for anything strange or unusual. What happened next was both, although it could hardly be classed as incriminating. Momentarily, a shadow, as of a big bird, passed over us, and then a thing which was indeed shaped like a bird, except that I never saw one with a blunt snout instead of a beak, or with a fin sticking up from the middle of its tail, drifted down towards the cobbles. It was about three feet long, end to end, but nearer ten feet from wingtip to wingtip. Its tail was a huge fan, tipped with feathers, but the rest seemed to be made of wood and paper. It wavered unsteadily through the air, came down on its nose and cartwheeled in front of our horses.

  Bay Star snorted in alarm, and several of the others shied. Brockley’s grey cob, Speckle, backed away, and Rob’s tall black gelding let out a whinny of fright and reared.

  “What in the world . . . ?” gasped Rob indignantly, from an awkward position astride a saddle which was now slanting upwards at an acute angle. One of the grooms, a gangling fellow, clearly the type who believed in delegating tasks to others, pushed a young stableboy forward and the lad caught helpfully at Rob’s bridle. The rearing black horse rolled its eyes wildly but responded at last to gentle persuasion and coaxing noises from Rob and the stableboy, and brought its forefeet down again, narrowly missing a trailing wing.

  “Careful! Don’t let the horses trample it!” cried a voice from above.

  We all looked up, and I saw another face I knew, though in an unlikely place. Master Leonard Mason, Ann’s husband, stood on the roof of the tower, peering down at us over the ornamental battlements.

  “I’m coming down!” he announced. He stooped, presumably to a trapdoor, and then disappeared.

  A moment later, Leonard Mason, formally gowned like Dr. Crichton but in tawny velvet with fur trimming, and not looking in the least as though he had just come from a windy rooftop, hurried out to join us and rescue his extraordinary plaything. It was evidently not heavy, since he picked it up easily. He beckoned to the butler.

  “Take it back to my workshop, will you, Redman? Watch the wings as you go through the porch.”

  The butler took the curious device and bore it away, and Mason then turned his attention to his astonished guests.

  “Just a little experiment of mine. I am sorry it upset your horses. My apologies. So here you are, Mrs. Blanchard.”

  He had a long, serious face, with vertical furrows on either side of his mouth, and as he looked at me, I saw to my disquiet that they had deepened with distaste.

  “I trust,” he said, with unexpected sharpness, “that you will not object if we call you Mrs. in the modern style? It is true that in many respects I am old fashioned. I wish my daughters to grow up modest and virtuous, as young women did in times gone by . . .”

  I would have loved to remark that judging from what I had seen of his daughters, his efforts hadn’t so far succeeded too well. The thought of Matthew suddenly overwhelmed me. I wanted him with me, so that I could whisper my uncomplimentary opinion of the Mason girls’ upbringing to him, and hear him say, “Saltspoon!” The longing was so great that my head swam, but Mason was still talking.

  “. . . In other ways, however, I am trying to bring up my children to live in the modern world, so here at Lockhill, we have adopted modern forms of address. If you agree?”

  I pulled myself together. “I am sure you’re wise, Mr. Mason, and I will do my best to help you with your daughters.”

  “I trust so,” said Mason, still sharply. “You seem rather young for the task!”

  So that was behind my unfriendly welcome. Or was it? Once more, I experienced that uneasy quivering in my guts. Well, I was here now. If something really was amiss in this house, then my best course would be to seem as innocent and harmless as possible, to keep suspicion from arising, or disarm it if it already existed. I was Ursula Blanchard, who had been unwell and had come to Berkshire for a rest, and to help Ann instruct her daughters in needlework and dancing. I smiled sweetly and said I would try to be of use.

  “I’m sure you will be the greatest help to me!” Ann’s kind blue eyes were anxious, but I also saw her give her husband a slightly irritated glance, as though wishing he had greeted me more pleasantly. “Please,” she said, “all of you, dismount and come indoors. Mrs. Blanchard, would you introduce your companions to my husband?”

  • • •

  Little at Lockhill had altered. The children were as wild as ever, their tutor Dr. Crichton as dowdy and harried, with his ragged, greying beard and his forehead as furrowed as the Lockhill ploughland. Mason himself was as long legged, ascetic and obsessed with abstract ideas as I remembered, and I was sorry to see that Ann Mason, who was wearing an old gown, and had tentrils of brown hair escaping from her cap, still seemed tired and worried. The only item missing was the pack of small yapping dogs which, last autumn, had added to the uproar.

  We sorted ourselves out, and the luggage and the horses were taken away. Brockley and the Henderson manservants went with the horses to see that all was well with them.

  Ann Mason took the rest of us indoors. We followed her through the big, untidy hall where dust lay unheeded on the antlers which adorned the walls and the vast hearth was cold, and on into the parlour. Here, blessedly, a warm fire burned and the atmosphere was hospitable if not orderly, for there was a cradle in one corner, and almost every surface intended as a seat was occupied by something or other: a workbasket, a pile of mending, a sleeping tabby cat. Ann kept repeating that Rob and his men were not to leave until they had dined.

  “Logan can manage, I’m sure. Just a moment.” She put the infant Ned down in the cradle and hurried out of the room. An instant later, we heard her exclaiming because someone called Jennet was apparently in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “Jennet, for goodness’ sake, what were you doing upstairs?”

  “I were just a’dusting the master’s study, ma’am,” said a slow, slightly aggrieved Berkshire voice.

  “Oh, for the love of God! Ann, I told you!” Leonard Mason must have followed us indoors, but had got no further than the hall. “Jennet is not to dust my things. She disarranges them and then I can’t find anything. Only you are to go into my study, Ann. I moved it to an upstairs room just to get it out of the way—of maidservants’ dusters as well as the children’s noise! Really!”

  If anything, I thought bemusedly, dogs or no dogs, the house was even more chaotic than before. I heard Ann sending Jennet to the kitchen to fetch us some wine, and then our hostess reappeared, rubbing her forehead with her fingers as though her head ached. “I’m so sorry about all this to-do—what must you think of us?” She shifted the cat and the other clutter so that we could all sit down. “Ah. Here’s Jennet with the wine.”

  “It’s the Rhenish, ma’
am. I can’t find Redman so I had to guess. Is the Rhenish all right?” Jennet was young, probably about fifteen, though tall and strong. She had slow, heavy movements, large brown eyes in a round face, and sounded as though she took it for granted that the Rhenish wouldn’t be all right. Ann, however, merely thanked her, and told her to hand the goblets round. There was one for Dale as well, of which I approved. Jennet took the empty tray away, while Ann smiled gently round at us.

  “I feel that I too must apologise for the fright that Leonard’s gliding device gave your horses. Leonard,” Ann explained, “has become very interested lately in the work of his namesake Leonardo da Vinci. Have you heard of him?”

  “He was a Tuscan artist, wasn’t he?” Rob said. “I thought he was simply a painter. I didn’t know he had experimented with engines of any kind.”

  “Oh, he did! My husband says he was a great engineer who left drawings and theories concerning many strange devices.” Ann’s voice was awed. “He had visions, even, of wings that would carry men through the sky. I know little of such things, but Leonard is fascinated by them. He wants to develop some of da Vinci’s ideas further.”

  “But what use is a pretend-bird?” Rob asked reasonably. “What can one do with it?”

  “My husband thinks,” said Ann, “that bigger versions could be made, strong enough to carry a man.”

  “Surely it would be too heavy? It would just fall to the ground. No one in their senses would volunteer to try it out, and no wonder!” Rob exclaimed.

  “I’d try it out myself. I would hardly ask it of anyone else,” said Mason with asperity, as he came into the room. Ann bit her lip and I guessed that he had said this before, and that she had protested in vain. “My theories,” he said, “are for the most part my own. I soon realised that da Vinci had not worked his ideas out far enough to help me much.”

  “I’ve heard of his theories, I think,” I said. “My—” I almost said “my first husband” but stopped myself in time. I must be careful. I must appear ordinary, without any irregularities in my life. “My husband Gerald spoke of them sometimes. He said that da Vinci believed that men could find a way of flying, if they could unlock the secret of how birds fly.”