Uneasy Lies the Crown

by Tasha Alexander

  “I’m not entirely convinced, no, but I do think that in light of the evidence, it’s the most likely scenario. If I could, I’d lock the king up to keep him safe, but that would be impractical for a number of reasons. I am reasonably confident that we are taking every precaution. But if I’m missing something…”

  I could see the tension on his handsome face. His well-cut lips pressed in a hard line, and his strong jaw clenched. He might not approve of Bertie, but he would never let his personal feelings stand in the way of doing his duty. I took his hand. “Well, then, we shall just have to work harder. I’m going to call on Mrs. Grummidge and see if I can inspire her to remember something—anything—about Lizzie and Ned that might lead us to a reasonable conclusion as to who our man might be after next. Care to come with me?”

  “She’s taken quite a shining to Bainbridge. Why don’t you ring him and ask him to take you in that ridiculous motorcar?”

  “I’m surprised by your attitude,” I said. “I should have thought a man like you would be eager to embrace new technology, as reflected in your insistence on having that dreadful telephone installed the moment it was possible.”

  “The telephone provides convenience without negative impact. I don’t see that loud vehicles spewing noxious fumes will enhance life in our new century. Is not London filthy enough?”

  “You can’t say they aren’t convenient. Only think how fast they are! We could drive to Anglemore Park—”

  “In approximately the same length of time it would take us to reach there on a train in a compartment that, if I may be so bold, is far more comfortable and allows for far more interesting ways to pass the time during the journey than any motorcar ever could. Furthermore, the condition of the roads and the presence of other vehicles, many of them slower than—”

  “Enough! I’ll hear no more. You have, however, piqued my curiosity. Elaborate, if you will, on these far more interesting ways to pass the time on a journey.”

  “I believe I showed you in detail on our wedding trip when we were en route to Constantinople,” he said, looking deep into my eyes. “Surely you have not already forgot?”

  “That was nearly a decade ago.”

  He put his hands around my waist and pulled me across the desktop until I was directly in front of him. “Perhaps I should order a special train to Anglemore and remind you of the possibilities.”

  “I can think of nothing I would better enjoy,” I said, and bent over to kiss him. “You’re quite certain Henry isn’t hiding somewhere in here?”

  “I now make it a habit to inspect every room when I enter it, just to be sure.” He pulled me off the desk and onto his lap. The interlude that followed left me focused and refreshed and in such an agreeable frame of mind I did not object to using the telephone to summon Jeremy. When he arrived to collect me, I all but floated down the steps to the motorcar.

  “This cold air suits you, Em,” he said, passing me a pair of goggles. “Your cheeks are all aglow and your eyes are sparkling. Winter must be your season.”

  1415

  34

  Cecily felt ashamed of those days she spent wandering through the castle like a ghost. On the third morning, a message came with news from France. The English had soundly defeated the enemy in a victory described as nothing short of miraculous. Lord Esterby ordered a mass of thanksgiving and a celebratory feast, and the castle all but vibrated with excitement. Father Simon, telling her that the rolls of the dead did not include William’s name, was beaming, and Hugh de Morland, standing beside him, let out a joyful yelp and stepped forward as if he would embrace Cecily.

  She moved aside and reached for the priest’s hand instead, neatly avoiding any contact with de Morland. That she had to do this angered her. Master de Morland had never given her even the slightest indication that he was flirting with her. He had always behaved with honor, but she could not risk anyone—least of all Father Simon—coming to an evil and erroneous conclusion about their friendship. After expressing her relief and delight that her husband would soon return, she excused herself and went in search of Adeline.

  The baroness was deep in plans for the feast. Cecily, her voice serious, asked to speak to her privately, and this time, rather than dismissing her, Adeline acquiesced to the request. They went into her bed chamber, Adeline closing the door behind them.

  “I am most disturbed by what I have seen happening in this house,” Cecily said, not waiting for Adeline to invite her to speak. “I have tried to be a good friend to you. I recognize that you did not appreciate the words of advice I offered regarding Signor Gabrieli. You could argue that your interactions with him are none of my concern, and, in truth they wouldn’t be if I cared not for you. We were not close as children, despite being much thrown together.”

  “You always despised me,” Adeline said.

  “I did not. I half envied you and half feared you. You had a vivacity that I did not understand.”

  “You were always too holy to tolerate, dedicated to preserving the memory of your saintly mother.”

  Cecily all but laughed. “You have misunderstood me from the beginning, and no doubt I have you. But that is no longer of any consequence. We are grown now, both married ladies, and we owe it to ourselves—and to each other—to speak honestly. I do not know what has transpired between you and the troubadour. Yet I cannot, in good conscience, keep from warning you of the danger I see. You know the peril you would put yourself in by entering into an affair. You risk the happiness of your household, but more deadly is the risk to your immortal soul. I shall speak no further on the subject. I have made my feelings and worries clear to you and only want to say, in the strongest terms possible, that I do this not only because it is right, but because I care about you.”

  “Haven’t you some clever phrase from your beloved Christine de Pizan to throw at me? I had not thought you could hold an opinion separate from hers.”

  “You may mock and insult me as you wish,” Cecily said. “But know that I am an honest and loyal friend. I cannot force you to do anything and would not try. But my warnings and cautions are genuine. William will return from France soon and take me away, so you will not be burdened with me for much longer. Until then, I shall keep out of your way and never again speak of this matter. Should you, however, decide not to pursue this affair, I would once again open my heart to you and offer any support you might need.”

  Adeline’s eyes flashed and her pretty face colored a dark crimson. “You disgust me. Accusing me of the very crime you are committing. Your husband shall hear what I’ve seen, and you will regret forever having tried to slander me.”

  “I have never slandered you,” Cecily said. “If anything, it is you who has resorted to such tactics, in what I can only believe is an attempt to distract your husband from your own behavior. If you think—”

  But Adeline did not let Cecily finish. She opened the door and shoved her into the corridor with such force that Cecily slammed into the hard stone wall. Her shoulder would be bruised, but her conscience, at last, would be clear.

  * * *

  The dead buried, the English prepared to resume their march to Calais. Before Agincourt, they had expected battle every day. That was no longer the case; the French defeat was absolute. The king did not even insist that they wear their coats of arms. As William prepared to leave camp, a man approached him and ordered him to follow him to the place where the king was lodging.

  “King Henry would have words with you.”

  William followed in silence until he was brought before his sovereign. He fell to his knees and bowed his head.

  “We are most grateful, Sir William Hargrave, for the service you offered our brother, not only through your skillful fighting that kept the enemy from causing him even more grievous wounds, but also for carrying him to safety. As a gesture of our thanks, we grant you a tract of land in Derbyshire, thirty thousand of the prettiest acres in all of fair England. Rise, then, and prepare to return home.”

 
; “I am most humbly obliged, my lord. Your generosity is without parallel.”

  “Our generosity is never unearned.” The king held out a scroll that documented the transfer of land. “We will require your services again, no doubt, and we know that we can count on you to serve us with as much courage as you have shown on this campaign. Tell us, does your wound still trouble you? We know all too well the pain caused by an arrow in the cheek.”

  William still kept his head bowed and could not see the king’s face, but he thought he detected a note of good humor in this last comment. “It is much better, my lord, and I owe you thanks for ordering your own physician to attend to me.”

  “It is what physicians are for,” the king said. “Go finish your preparations for the march, Sir William, and do not forget to continue to pray. We are not back in England yet, and our enemy, though vanquished, should not be dismissed from our minds.”

  By the time William returned to camp, the march was about to begin. King Henry’s words stayed with him, and he did not let down his guard. They could not ignore the possibility of a French attack, even if it seemed unlikely. But no attack came, and the army, unmolested, covered the miles to Calais, where fresh supplies awaited them. The king arrived a day later and entered the city to the cheers of his supporters, stopping at St. Nicholas’ church to offer prayers of thanksgiving to God for having remained at his side.

  They would remain in Calais for some weeks, while the king dealt with his prisoners from the campaign; there were ransoms to be determined. No man of honor would fail to come, not after having surrendered. William had taken two captives of his own. The ransoms he collected for them would support his wife and, God willing, the children they would have, for years.

  He waited to leave Calais until the day of the king’s departure, and by the time he saw Dover’s white cliffs thrusting through the blue twilight, snow had started to fall. The next morning, he joined the king and his retinue as they trekked through Canterbury en route to London. After the royal party left the cathedral, William ducked back inside. He stood before the tomb of the Black Prince, and studied the effigy, offering a prayer on behalf of the mighty warrior. He then turned his attention to the legendary fighter’s funeral achievements. His eyes passed over the bascinet, on top of which was mounted the prince’s crest, a mighty lion statant, and then the shield and the surcoat, but he could not tear his gaze from the prince’s gauntlets. He might have been wearing them as he wielded his sword in battle, defeating the French at Crécy nearly seventy years earlier.

  And now, William, too, had helped defeat the French. Agincourt, he believed, would come to be even more significant than Crécy. King Henry’s victory was nothing short of a triumph, and England would forever celebrate the day her army conquered France.

  1901

  35

  Before setting off with Jeremy to call on Mrs. Grummidge, I had telephoned the clerk at The Times. In short order, he rang back with the information I had requested: Mrs. Crofton’s maiden name. Much to my disappointment, however, Mrs. Grummidge insisted that she knew no one called Mabel Walding and that she had never been acquainted with either of the Croftons.

  “I’m more sorry than I can say to be of so little use.” She squirmed in her chair, next to the fireplace in her snug parlor. “Are you quite certain you won’t take tea?”

  “I should love a cup,” Jeremy said. He rose to his feet and crossed toward her, resting his arm on the mantel. “You’ve made a most comfortable home here, Mrs. Grummidge. I hope I can manage to find a wife who can create such a cozy nest.”

  “I’m sure your home is too grand to ever be cozy, your grace.” She blushed as she spoke.

  “Too right,” he replied. “Did you grow up nearby?”

  “Not far away,” she said. “After my adoptive parents took me in, that is. I spent my early years in an orphanage.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  “There’s no need to apologize. There were some there who were kind,” she said, “and once the Athertons chose me, I was very happily settled. They picked me because I’d taught myself to read. Their house was full of kindness and love. I was far luckier than most of the other children I knew.”

  “Like Lizzie?” Jeremy asked.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Grummidge said.

  “Who else were you close to growing up?” I asked, certain the clue to the murderer’s identity lay somewhere in Mrs. Grummidge’s past.

  “Oh, there were loads of children around. Most of them had to work, and none of us went to school, but there was still time to play.”

  “Ned Traddles was one of them?” I asked.

  “Yes, and his friend Gilbert. And there was a boy called Rodney whom Ned and Gil all but worshipped.”

  “Can you recall their surnames?”

  “Gil Barton. I knew him well. But Rodney was not someone my parents wanted me to associate with. Like Ned, he ran with the King’s Boys and was always organizing confidence games. He was quite a big man in the gang. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wound up running the whole thing. That was always his goal.”

  “What about Gil?” Jeremy asked.

  “Oh, yes, he was a King’s Boy, too, and an orphan like me. No one wanted to adopt him, though,” she said. “He never knew what happened to his parents, but one day they never came home. I think he was four years old. A chimney sweep found him wandering the streets in search of food and took him in. He was awfully skinny, Gil. Could squirm down the narrowest spaces. That’s why the sweep wanted him, of course, but when he grew too big, the man abandoned him. The King’s Boys were like a new family to him.”

  “A criminal family,” Jeremy said.

  “Yes, I suppose you could describe it as such,” Mrs. Grummidge said. “But what else was a boy in his position to do? He hated the orphanage—only stayed there for a few weeks, and then went out on his own. I never did know where he lived. Lizzie and I suspected he drifted from place to place and slept on the street. His clothes were always in tatters.”

  “And Rodney?” I asked.

  “I never knew him well. He was older than us and not interested in silly girls who made lace.”

  “Did you make all this?” I had noticed the lace doilies and tablecloths the first time I’d come into Mrs. Grummidge’s parlor. The work was exquisite.

  “I did,” she said. “My mother taught me. She thought it would give me an occupation that would keep me inside and out of trouble. Our neighborhood, as you already know, was not the best. A ladylike skill, she always said, helps make a lady.”

  “Quite right.” I smiled at her. A picture had begun to form in my mind, of a group of youngsters being pulled in different directions, each of them trying in their way to rise above their circumstances. Lizzie had not escaped the squalor around her. Ned had, but had still died a horrible death. Violet, who had appeared to have a comfortable life, had married a man who battered her. What had become of Gil? And how did Rodney factor in with the rest? Violet may not have known him well, but Lizzie could have.

  Most important, I decided, was the continuing mentions of the King’s Boys. It will have escaped no one’s notice that a gang with such a name was no doubt run by a person who considered himself a king. I no longer believed Bertie to be in the slightest danger, but as for the odious individual who lured boys into lives of crime? He should not be resting easy.

  Realizing I had stopped paying attention to the conversation between Jeremy and Mrs. Grummidge, I shook myself back to the present. The young widow was blossoming under my friend’s attention. Her husband had most likely never been kind without expecting something in return, and his notice had brought her more pain than happiness. She was not flirting with Jeremy, but her relief at speaking to a gentleman who would not hurt her was palpable. I hoped her future would contain no more violence.

  “It’s astonishing how quickly she started to trust you,” I said, after we had left the house and were back in the motorcar. “Given her past experience, I should
have thought she would despise all men. Yet with you…”

  “It’s the dukedom, Em,” he said. “All the ladies trust in it.”

  “You can be glib all you like, but it’s not that. There’s something about you that inspires … well, not confidence precisely—”

  “I should hope not!”

  “But trust,” I finished. “You may pretend to be useless, but you cannot hide your decency.”

  “I’ve not the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” He pulled the lever next to him, stomped on a pedal, and our speed increased. “I’m a profligate wastrel.”

  I studied his face. There was no denying he was attractive—not breathtakingly handsome like Colin, but his well-formed features, bright eyes, and easy smile were appealing. He did his best to appear useless and fast, but I knew his heart was kind and true. Never before had I felt such a strong urge to play matchmaker. Jeremy deserved to find someone who would recognize the golden character hidden beneath his well-curated foppish exterior.

  He glanced over at me. “I don’t like the way you are looking at me, Em. Either you’re considering kissing me, which seems unlikely in the extreme, or you’re thinking about trying to marry me off. I recognize the signs all too well. Don’t tell me you’ve become one of those wretched matrons bent on ensuring the girl of her choice will provide me with a suitable heir.”

  “How on earth could you know?”

  “In my not inconsiderable experience, those are the only two explanations for a lady pulling such a face. I much prefer the former and have, on occasion, taken brash action in an attempt to keep from having to deal with the latter. Even old matrons like a good kiss now and again, and it generally keeps them from being too keen on marrying off a chap.”

  “Good heavens, Jeremy, you can’t tell me that you’ve been going around—”

  “Kissing mothers who want me to marry their daughters?” He laughed. “No, not quite. I only kiss the ones who don’t have daughters. To do otherwise could bring nothing but disaster.”