Jerrid moved further to block the doorway, standing wide legged, arms crossed. Nicholas remained seated, but the earl stood in a hurry, turning from one to the other. “Is this necessary? I’ll not take up arms against my own flesh and blood, but there’s no escape, m’boy. You’ll stay here until I know what’s going on.”
“Feeling trapped, Adrian? You could leap from the window,” suggested Nicholas. “Or you could come back, sit down, and listen to sense.” He regarded his cousin for some moments, then said, “Do you know that I have the letter?”
The pause echoed. Adrian’s pale face flushed slowly scarlet, a blush that spread up from his neck like the dying of chicken feathers. He slumped, and sat. “What – what does that mean?” he whispered.
“You know exactly what it means,” Nicholas sighed. “I intercepted a messenger riding full tilt for the north, and took from him a letter which I now hold, and will take immediately to the king on my return to Westminster. Two nights later your henchmen tumbled over mine in the local inn’s stables. Apparently fearing recognition, they knocked out one, and knifed another. Just a boy, poor child, who had seen and recognised one of yours so had to be silenced. Your henchmen told you of this, no doubt but presumably you thought it an unfortunate coincidence that I was staying at the same inn. Once warned, you were able to avoid me. Believing me a wastrel, it never occurred to you that I was at Weymouth for reasons concerning the same business, as yourself, and in particular concerning your friend Urswick.”
Adrian gaped. Jerrid smiled. “Your cowardly cousin has been following the king’s orders for nigh on five years, boy. I have helped occasionally, when the matter at hand was urgent. So, well trusted by kings, but foolish we truly were perhaps – never to suspect you, nor understand your treachery.”
“What was your job, then, cousin?” Nicholas asked. “To take Tudor’s letter from Urswick, and deliver it to Northumberland while Urswick returned safe to France?”
“Treachery,” spat Jerrid. “What act more vile?”
“Or murder.” The door had opened again. Lady Wrotham stood in the doorway. In one hand she held a candle. In the other she held a small folded paper. “So Mister Frye, tell me,” she asked as everyone else stopped speaking. Her voice echoed a little up the corridor and stairs behind her. “Why did you murder my husband?”
The earl stood again in a hurry, his stool clattering back behind him. “Is this true? Not only – but this too? And Peter?”
“What madness,’ Adrian exclaimed, staring around him as the baroness entered and Jerrid shut the door behind her. “Madam – sir – what do you think of me? I had no hand in either – nor even barely knew the baron –”
“But you know Urswick,” said Nicholas quietly.
“And perhaps you also knew your sister was shamed and sullied by your cousin Peter,” said the baroness quietly. She placed the paper she had been clasping on the table. “Your sister’s confession,” she said softly. “Although she claims you never knew of it. Is she right? Or did you know, and defended her honour by murdering the man who got her pregnant when she was barely out of the nursery, and then forced her to a back street abortionist? And after killing one immoral bastard, did you decide to slaughter another? So finding my husband in the arms of his mistress, killed them too, and set fire to the evidence?”
“Oh, dear God,” Adrian said, and leaning his arms on the table, closed his eyes and rested his head down on his arms in surrender,
Chapter Forty-Eight
Speechless, the Earl of Chatwyn stared at the baroness, tried to sit, discovered his fallen stool, and resettled himself with a deep sigh. Then after a moment he stood again and leaning over his nephew, shouted at the back of his head, “Did you know this about your sister, boy? Is it true? Is it you the coward, then – and the killer?”
The earl grabbed the back of Adrian’s shirt, hauling him up. Adrian appeared to be weeping. “I didn’t know,” he mumbled. “But I guessed.” He stared around, shaking off his uncle’s grip. “I asked her, poor dearest Sissy. She wouldn’t answer me. I wondered, I couldn’t sleep, but I didn’t want to believe so I shut the thought away. But it was there all the time at the back of my mind like a black stone.” He glared at Nicholas. “But then she seemed alright. She was happy again. Running to Peter. I thought perhaps – it couldn’t have been him. Would a woman still love a man after that?”
The baroness spoke quietly behind him. “Read her confession. She has written it this hour past, at my request. Sysabel admits her part and names Peter. She is trying to make good the evil done.”
Adrian shook his head. “I can’t read it. I accept your word.”
“Did you kill Peter?”
Adrian gazed back at the earl. “May the good Lord forgive me, I didn’t blame Peter. When my sister seemed better, I thought either I had been wrong and there’d been no wickedness done after all, or perhaps – perhaps being so small and young – her body had righted itself with God’s kindness. But she adored Peter. I never liked him much, but how could he have been the culprit when she loved him still? It was Nicholas Sissy despised. So I thought – when I could bear thinking about it at all – I thought –”
“Sweet Jesus,” murmured Nicholas. “You thought it was me?”
“I did,” Adrian mumbled, shaking his head. “Forgive me. I thought it could have been – against her will – and in jealousy of Peter.” He stared around again, finally facing the earl. “I always knew, you see, it must have been Nicholas who killed his brother.”
Shuffling in the silence, the scraping of stools pushed back or pulled forwards. One candle guttered, sank, and blinked out. Lady Wrotham replaced it with her own. It was the earl who finally reached to the folded paper on the table and started to read.
But it was Nicholas who spoke first. “I don’t believe you,” he said abruptly.
“My Peter,” mumbled the earl, refolding the paper. “Little Sissy.”
“You’re lying, Adrian.” Nicholas stared, unblinking, at his cousin. “If you genuinely believed I’d raped your sister, got her pregnant, and then dragged her off for an abortion which might have killed her, you would have accused me, threatened me. You would have fought me. Ostracised me, announced my crime to my father and spat in my face. You’d hardly have brought your sister to my wedding, then invited me for a friendly visit after the castle fire.”
“Your wife,” Adrian mumbled. “She wasn’t to blame for anything. I sympathised – poor girl. Already wed to you. Then the ruin of the fire. I felt obliged to offer a refuge.”
“To have me in your house, and guest of your sister?” Nicholas shook his head. “And this already some months after you must have guessed about Sissy’s predicament, and yet had done nothing. To me, you said not one word. You called me coward, but I never thought to call you that. Yet it would have been cowardice beyond possibility to think me guilty of such behaviour, then culminating in Peter’s murder, and yet come to my wedding, invite me to your house, greet me with all civility and say not one word in anger.”
“I couldn’t be sure. I hoped it wasn’t true.” Adrian voice was unsteady. “Inviting you – I thought I’d see – see how you spoke to my6 sister and how she spoke to you. Try to find out the truth. I was ready – ready to kill you if I discovered the truth.”
The earl interrupted, puzzled. “But if my Peter loved little Sysabel so well, why didn’t he marry her? I’d have adjusted, accepted, stopped the negotiations with the Wrothams. Oh, a little bluster perhaps, a little shouting, and none too pleased. But with the girl expecting a Chatwyn child, a dispensation could have been asked and paid for. She and Peter could have wed.”
The baroness took up another stool and drew it to the head of the table. She spoke quietly. “Peter never loved Sysabel,” she said. “I came to know him later, and I doubt he was capable of loving anyone. He wished to marry my daughter because she’s an heiress. Sysabel had no money, nor even a dower. I imagine Peter used her, despising her for being easy, a
nd nothing more. When he discovered she was carrying his child, he sent her off to the abortionist with a servant. He neither collected her afterwards, nor contacted her for three weeks following, during which time she was desperately ill.”
Nicholas looked again at Adrian. “Peter laughed behind her back, joking about her passion for him. I knew nothing more. But you lived with her Adrian. She was so ill, and for so long? And you claim you knew nothing?”
“I said I guessed.”
“Simply a guess. But still did nothing.”
The earl was going pink. “No one must ever know. The scandal would ruin us. Everyone must keep silent. What of this woman – the crone who performed –”
“She is dead,” interrupted the baroness.
Nicholas looked up. “You know that, my lady? How?”
“More sudden suspicions, Nicholas?” Lady Wrotham smiled back at her son-in-law. “No, Martha informed me. I knew nothing of this until quite recently but evidently one of the old family retainers did. Martha was once my daughters’ nurse, and has remained with us ever since. She has a manner which encourages confidences. Young Sysabel’s maid told Martha a great deal. Thinking to bring the matter into the open, Martha took the girls past that particular street on a trip to London from the Strand House. The herbalist’s house was gutted, and half the lane with it. Martha made enquiries the next day, and was told the old woman had been murdered. She was known to help girls in trouble. Her killing was therefore never investigated by the sheriff, and taken as justice for wicked immorality.” The baroness sighed. “It seems these slayings are all much the same design, and all finish in fire.
Jerrid sighed, remaining slumped against the wall at the doorway. Nicholas still sat on the long bench, watching the others. For some time he was silent. The earl sniffed loudly. “We’re saying – murder. For what was done, if it’s true, though I find it impossible to credit – sinful, of course, of both of them. Had I known – but it seems I misjudged.” He stopped suddenly, sniffed again, and blew his nose loudly on the kerchief he pulled from his doublet lacings. “But murder? Revenge? Adrian?”
Adrian was now openly crying. “I would have. I should have,” Adrian sobbed. “But I never did. I didn’t want to – believe – it of her. Even of Peter. I blinded myself.”
“You preferred not to believe it of her. Nor, it seems, of Peter. Yet apparently you were able to believe it of me.” Nicholas remained unmoved. “Did you also blind yourself to high treason, my friend?”
“Muddles, mischief, lies and lunacy.” Jerrid leaned back against the door jamb. He shook his head as the second candle spluttered, the tallow flared, and the stench renewed. “Sysabel and Peter. Adrian and Urswick. What wickedness have we uncovered?”
The earl stared, his eyes red rimmed. “My Peter – so wrong, so terribly wrong. And he never told me, never asked my help.” He swallowed, half choking, then glared at Adrian. “And you slaughtered your own cousin? You killed my son?”
“Never.” Adrian stood, panicked and desperate. “Alright. I know Christopher Urswick, and I know what he came here to do. I meant to take the letter north to Northumberland. My motives are my own business, and if you intend to inform on me to the king, I’ll accept the consequences. But murder Peter – I never did. Nicholas killed his brother, and I know it. I’ve always known it.” He was wild eyed and now he was shouting. “I said nothing and I let him get away with it, for I knew one of my damned cousins violated my little sister, and I hated them both. I hated – I hated everyone.”
In the fury and the scuffle, with the earl now openly sobbing and Adrian throwing back his stool and marching once again to the door, Nicholas sat quiet, and smiled. He looked only at his father. And he spoke very softly. “I answer to no one else, but I will explain myself to you, Father,” he said, little more than a murmur. “I knew Peter had seduced Sysabel, and I argued with him, asking him to leave her in innocence. He didn’t care what I said of course, which I already expected. I did not denounce him for I’d no idea she carried his child. I saw too little of her. And I did not kill Peter. To slaughter my own brother? Not something I could ever contemplate – never considered – whatever his crimes, however much he threatened, humiliated and hurt me. I grieved when he died. Not as much, perhaps, as you, Papa. But enough from one brother for another. His killer is someone else. There are several possibilities. It could have been the father of the girl he was with at that time, a Leicester magistrate, a wealthy man angry that his daughter had been ruined by the local lord.”
“Nicholas, forgive me. I always thought it was you.” The earl stared at his son through his tears. “I refused to accuse you – with sympathy, a little – I knew, you see, that Peter shot the arrow purposefully. But I always thought –”
“I accept that.” Nicholas still spoke only to his father. “I was the obvious suspect. But knowing myself innocent, my principal suspect was Adrian. At first, I thought the father of the girl – but he could hardly have murdered Baron Wrotham. Yet it was clearly the same killer. There could be no doubt of that. And so I thought of Adrian. Yet Adrian’s friendship with Urswick and subsequent treason was something I did not suspect.”
Adrian jumped up, shouting. “Neither killer nor traitor. Is it treachery simply to deliver a letter? The letter speaks of marriage, and says nothing against the king. Urswick is a man of God. Henry Tudor wrote the letter, but he’s simply an exile – no murderous traitor. And Northumberland is loyal to King Richard.” The earl stumbled up, reaching for his nephew, but Adrian backed and Jerrid came between.
“My lords.” Lady Wrotham waved a cautious hand. “Quietly, please. The hostelry sleeps. It would be wise to let them sleep on. We want no interruptions.”
“Perhaps,” Jerrid nodded, “we also need to sleep on this whole affair. Decisions are always best left till morning.”
“If Adrian decides to run –”
Nicholas shook his head. “He can’t. He must speak to his sister in the morning. He knows the substance of her written confession, and can hardly choose to ignore it.” Nicholas smiled suddenly. “Besides, my men will now have his men under guard. Adrian can go nowhere unless he goes on foot.”
“Running barefoot from retribution?” Jerrid fingered his thin leather belt and the hilt of his knife wedged there. “I believe I can run as fast.”
“I’m an innocent man, and will stay to face my sister in the morning,” Adrian announced with furious deliberation, glaring at his uncle.
“And I will make one last visit to the stables,” Nicholas said softly, “and ensure my orders have been carried out. And then,” he smiled a little, “I shall find my own bed, and sleep deep with an untroubled conscience.”
“Are you suggesting –?”
“A little more than simple suggestion, cousin.”
“If your conscience is genuinely untroubled, Adrian my boy,” declared the earl, eyes still moist, “then you’ve a conscience needs re educating.” He pushed at Adrian from behind. “Indeed, it’s a conscience needs a good thrashing. And you’ll get up those stairs with me hard at your back, and sleep with me one side and your Uncle Jerrid tight to the other.”
Emeline was asleep when Nicholas returned to the little attic bedchamber.
He stood a moment in the dark, watching the small blanketed body in the bed, and smiled. As usual she was muttering in her dreams, small murmurs impossible to decipher, a gentle mumble of unintelligible words. Then quite suddenly she called his name. Nicholas crossed quickly to the bed and sat beside her.
“What is it, little one? Bad dreams?” He stroked the side of her face, and realised she had been crying. “So many tears.”
Emeline blinked and opened her eyes. “It’s really you?”
“Who else? From now on, it will always be me.”
“Oh, Nicholas.” She struggled up from the bed’s swathing warmth, breathing deep. “You were away so long and I was worried. I would have come down to see, but I thought everyone might scream ‘Pestilence
– be gone,’ and run screaming from me. It’s all so horrible, Nicholas, and I feel so – dirty. But I’m not sick, not even a little bit unwell, really I’m not.” She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and cuddled up tight to the warmth of his outstretched arms. “Was it – terrible – with Adrian?”
“Unpleasant.” He smoothed the hair tangles back from her face, and the wet streaks from her cheeks. “Crying? For Adrian? For me? For yourself?”
“Oh yes, for everyone. Especially Sissy.” She gazed up at him. “Don’t you ever cry, my love?”
He shook his head. “I cried so much when my mother and little sister and the baby all died, I doubt I had any tears left.” He thought a moment. “Though perhaps I cried when the surgeon ripped my face apart to pull Peter’s arrow out of my head.” He smiled suddenly. “Cried – or screamed.”
She whispered, “Did you cry when Peter was killed?”
“No.” Nicholas pulled her tighter into his embrace. “Lord forgive me, but I knew life would be a damn sight easier without him. Better for Sissy, and probably for a few other besotted females around the countryside. It certainly improved every day and every night for me. Peter was not an easy companion.”
“And did you,” she murmured, “think dying like that would serve him right for being so vile? And serve your father right for all his prejudice?”
Nicholas grinned widely. “Yes, I thought exactly that.” He kissed the tip of his wife’s cold damp nose. “But I grieved too, even missing him at times. We’d had pleasant moments together over the years.” He frowned momentarily, the grin subsiding. “My father took no wards, so for much of my life Peter was my principal or only companion. We were close – once – as children.” Nicholas paused again, then sighed. “I knew exactly where he was that day, where his latest mistress lived, and that he’d planned to be there overnight. So when news came of his death, I also knew I’d be the first suspect. But killing Peter was never an option, bastard that he was. So I went south, or north, anywhere to be away from him. Perhaps my work for the king was partly due to that. First escaping Peter. Then escaping the loss of him.”
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